Trail to Clear Creek (Thanksgiving Books & Blessings Collection One Book 3)

by Kit Morgan

  “It sure was,” he quipped.

  She looked at him, his face still close to hers, and laughed in joy and relief. She knew what she wanted to say, but no words would form. So she just let him hold her and laughed, and soon he laughed too.

  When they were all chuckled out, he rested his head on top of hers, and they stood there for what seemed a long time. The sky darkened to night, the stars began to come out and the camp filled with the sounds of families, crickets, nocturnal creatures and, far off, the melody of a lone fiddle.

  “Henry,” Jefferson mumbled.

  “I beg your pardon?” Honoria said, finally able to speak. “Who is Henry?”

  “Henry Fig. His wife Fanny told me he played the fiddle, but this is the first time I’ve heard him.”

  “Maybe he has stage fright. He sounds quite far away.”

  Jefferson chuckled. “He probably is. Henry’s kind of shy. Nice couple – they’re near the front of the train.”

  “Yes, I’ve met Fanny.” Henry’s wife often hung around the Wallers’ wagon, regaling Grandma and anyone else in earshot with the latest gossip from around the train. Grandma had jokingly called her “the town newspaper.”

  They stood and gazed at each other another moment before Jefferson cleared his throat. “I, um, better go check the stock.” He released her, but didn’t move for a second, just stared at her thoughtfully. Finally he turned and walked away.

  Honoria felt a sudden chill as he left, and missed his warmth. “My goodness,” she whispered to herself, “what was that about?” She hoped she knew. But how could she be sure?

  Jefferson had gone to check something, but it wasn’t the stock. It didn’t take him long to find Jack and Sam. All he had to do was look in dark corners and listen for laughter. If there was one thing his sons liked to do, it was to pick on the innocent.

  They’d picked up their mother’s cynicism, then built on it during her illness. Rather than grow in compassion as he had, they’d grown cruel. He still had no clue what to do about it, how to turn them around, and feared they were heading down a path from which there was no return. He’d hoped his marriage to Honoria would give them a better sense of family, but so far it had only widened the gap between him and them.

  “Jack? Sam?” he called into the shadows when he reached the north end of camp.

  “Yeah, Pa?” Jack replied.

  They’d built no fire, or if they had they’d put it out. “You missed supper,” Jefferson said.

  “Don’t matter, we done ate,” Sam said.

  Jefferson stepped into the spot between the trees where the boys were hiding. “How long have you been here?”

  Jack shrugged. “Not long. Been wanderin’ ‘round, mostly.”

  Jefferson eyed his sons. They weren’t prone to “wandering,” but they could be lazy and would disappear when chores needed to be done. He hooked his thumbs on his belt and sighed. “Boys, we need to talk.”

  “’Bout what?” Sam asked. “If it’s ‘bout that woman ya married, forget it.”

  “It is and I won’t,” he said firmly. “You two need to give Honoria more respect. She made a great supper tonight. It was delicious.”

  “Ya mean she didn’t burn it for once?” Jack said. The two brothers laughed.

  “She’s improving,” Jefferson said. “Which means you have no more excuses for slithering out of camp like a couple of snakes. What are you doing out here anyway? You don’t have guard duty tonight.”

  “No, but we don’t want to spend time in camp, either,” Sam said. “Not while those boys are there.”

  Jefferson shook his head and kicked at the dirt. “You need to give them a chance. Heck, I’ve heard them talk to you. They’re polite enough.”

  “Too polite,” Sam griped. “They sound like a bunch of dandies.”

  “Don’t let the accents fool you,” Jefferson said. “They’ve only been in this country a few years, but they learn fast.”

  “We don’t like ‘em, Pa,” Jack said. “Never will.”

  Jefferson noticed his son didn’t look him in the eye when he spoke. “You sure about that? ‘Cause I plan on being married to their mother for a good long time.”

  Sam’s jaw tightened. Jack just sighed. “It’s no good, Pa. They’re just so … I dunno, not like us.”

  “They have no problem with you,” Jefferson pointed out.

  “Well, we have one with them!” Sam snapped. “Why’d you have to go marry that woman anyway? We was plannin’ to come west by ourselves, just the three of us!”

  Jefferson took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair. “She needed a man to protect her …”

  “Pa, stop,” Sam interrupted. “You took on a heap of trouble and put us in the middle.”

  Jefferson straightened, his hands going to his hips. “Sam, Jack, that’s enough. What’s done is done. You two are men now, not a couple of snot-nosed younguns. I know how you feel, but I wanted a wife. Women are scarce out west. You’ll find that out soon enough when it comes time for you two to marry.”

  “Marry!” Jack said, aghast. He glanced at Sam, who was glaring daggers at his father. “Who says we want to get married?”

  “God and Mother Nature,” Jefferson retorted.

  Jack and Sam stared at him a moment, took one look at each other, and burst out laughing. “God’s got no say in what we do,” Sam scoffed.

  Jefferson stared at both, his eyes heavy with disapproval. “He has more say than you know, boys.” He turned to leave. “Gather some firewood. I’ll see you back at camp.”

  “Make them gather firewood,” Sam sneered.

  Jefferson stopped and began to count silently. One, two, three …

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “Why should we have to?”

  Four, five …

  Sam laughed. “That’s right, let the children gather firewood.”

  Jefferson didn’t make it to ten. He spun on his heel and faced his sons. “You two consider yourselves men?”

  “Sure do,” Sam said. “More than those whelps ya brought home.”

  Jefferson’s eyes narrowed. “Good, then you can do the all the ‘man chores’.”

  Jack smiled in victory. Sam didn’t. He glanced at his grinning brother and smacked him on the arm.

  Now it was Jefferson’s turn to grin. “Since you think gathering wood is children’s work and deem yourselves men, then you can not only unhitch and tend the teams when we camp for the night, but build the fire, haul the water for Honoria and otherwise be there for whatever she might need.”

  Jack and Sam’s jaws plummeted.

  “On top of which, when she’s done with you, then you can do the neighborly thing and offer yourselves to the Van Cleets, Wallers, Mulligans, Turners, Whites, Figs and Browns for whatever they might need. You being men, I have no doubt you can handle it. Is that clear?”

  His sons could only stare, speechless.

  “Good, I’ll let the other families know you’re at their disposal from here on. After all, that’s what men do.” Jefferson smiled, patted them each on the back and turned to leave. “I’ll see you back at camp. In ten minutes.”

  There was a moment of silence before Jack said, “Yes, Pa.”

  “Sam?”

  Sam shuffled his boots in the dirt. “Fine.”

  “Fine what?”

  “Fine, sir.”

  Jefferson smiled, nodded and went on his way. When he reached camp, Colin and Harrison were sitting on the log on either side of Honoria. “Evening, boys. Chores done?”

  “Yes, except for the inventory,” Harrison said.

  “Inventory?” Jefferson stood in front of them. “What’s this?”

  “Harrison feels that if we take a nightly inventory of our supplies, we have a better chance of catching the culprit,” Honoria explained.

  Jefferson crossed his arms. “I see. And what makes you think someone is stealing, young man?”

  “Oh, it’s not just from us,” Harrison said. “Tommy Turner said
his candy went missing.”

  “Tommy is what, five?” Jefferson said. “He probably ate whatever his mother gave him and wants more. She’s rationing it.”

  “We know that,” Colin said. “But Mary Mulligan also said they had a few things missing too.”

  “She does?” Honoria asked. “You never told me this.”

  “I just remembered,” Colin said. “She’s missing a cook pot.”

  Jefferson looked at his wife, who shrugged. “Now why would anyone steal a cook pot?”

  “To cook with, I’d assume,” Harrison suggested. “Though perhaps someone else picked it up, thought it belonged to them.”

  Jefferson scratched his head. “Maybe, but unlikely. Most women know their pots.”

  “Even if they all look alike?” Harrison asked. “At least they do to me.”

  “If children were washing them in a stream, it could happen,” Colin suggested. “Maybe one got left behind.”

  “My, but this is a mystery,” Honoria said.

  “Which is why I’m starting the inventory,” Harrison said. “Come on, Colin, you can help.”

  “Oh very well, but I don’t see how this will help us catch the thief.”

  “Easy – we count everything again in the morning and see if anything’s missing.”

  Colin rolled his eyes. “You do realize you’re creating more work.”

  “Does it matter if we catch the blighter?” Harrison asked.

  Colin groaned. “All right, let’s go.” The boys stood, kissed their mother and headed for the wagons.

  As soon as they disappeared into one, Honoria sighed and looked at Jefferson. “I suppose you think they could be spending their time more productively.”

  He eased himself onto the log beside her. “On the contrary, I think it’s a good idea. We’ll know which wagon someone got into and might find a clue.”

  Honoria raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to help them?”

  Jefferson thought a moment. “Yeah, I think I would.” He leaned over, kissed her and stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a mystery to solve.” He strode to the wagon the boys had climbed into. “Want some help?”

  Colin and Harrison poked their heads out the back and stared at him a moment before grinning. “Come along, sir,” Colin said. “There’s plenty of room.”

  Jefferson smiled, winked at Honoria and climbed into the wagon.

  Chapter Twelve

  My dearest Benedict,

  I’ve not written much in weeks, and I’m sorry, my love. Every day is a busy one, and it can be difficult to stop and think.

  It’s hard to believe that we left Independence three months ago. We have reached Ft. Laramie. It is a far cry from Ft. Kearney, which wasn’t so much a fort as a collection of sod houses. At both the boys have delighted themselves speaking with the soldiers, Harrison especially. The solders at Ft. Kearney told him how snakes crawl through the walls of the buildings and get into their beds, and Harrison was delightfully horrified. You know he’s not afraid of snakes, but he definitely isn’t keen on having them in his bed. Ft. Laramie is more civilized, developed. It even has a post office.

  Jefferson says we’ll take on a few supplies, but not many. He’s concerned about the weight of our wagons. I’ve not written about Jefferson of late. What can I say about the man to whom I’ve committed myself? He has no formal education, but knows how to live off the land and survive. He can build things with his hands. He plans to build us a cabin when we reach our destination. Where that will be, I’m not sure. He talks with Cyrus Van Cleet and Dr. Waller a great deal. A friend of Cyrus now settled in Oregon Territory never made it as far as Oregon City. He stopped somewhere east of there and wrote Cyrus about it. That letter is part of the reason he and his wife Polly are heading west.

  Our wagon train is made up of many different types of people, most of which are still eager to go on. Irene Dunnigan has put up a fuss since our arrival at the fort and told her husband she wants to turn back, but Jefferson and her husband Wilfred talked her out of it. She fears the Sioux, an Indian tribe that is becoming increasingly hostile toward emigrants. I asked Jefferson about them, who said so long as we keep an eye out and are prepared we should be fine.

  Will Jefferson and I be fine, I wonder? I do not have an answer. He shows me affection, and I confess I have shared the marriage bed with him. He protects me. But he does not have my heart, nor I his that I know of. I think we are both hanging on to our pasts – I you, Jefferson his Mary.

  To be honest, I don’t think I can ever let go of you. Is that wrong of me? Jefferson is such a different man. He is not you in the least, though you share many of the same values – honesty, integrity, forthrightness. But you are as different as night and day.

  Honoria stopped and stared at her latest entry. She really wasn’t writing as often as before. The trip had grown more treacherous, between all the rivers to cross and the looming threat of Indians. It was hard for her to concentrate, so for a time she’d stopped writing, instead praying during her private time. Jefferson reassured her they would all be okay, but her foreboding of disaster wouldn’t leave. Would one of them fall ill, become injured or killed? But so far, no such disasters had befallen anyone in the Kinzey Company.

  “Honoria?”

  She looked up. Jefferson stood a few feet away. She hadn’t heard him approach. “What is it?”

  “Almost time to head out.”

  She glanced around. She’d been so busy writing she hadn’t noticed the time. “I’m sorry.” She rose from the fallen log she’d found. “Are the teams hitched up?”

  “Yes, and Harrison is off telling the soldiers goodbye. Hope he gets back in time.”

  “That boy.” She wiped off the back of her skirt. “I don’t know what to do with him at times.”

  “He’s fine. Boredom has a way of making a lad wander.”

  “Bored?” she said in surprise. “How can he be bored when there’s so much to do?”

  Jefferson smiled and pulled her into his arms. “But it’s the same things over and over again, day in, day out. Why do you think everyone’s mood lifts when we get to a fort?”

  She shook her head at her own ignorance. He was right of course. “I don’t think at times. Naturally he’d be excited. He loves all things martial.”

  “I think they enjoy talking with him too,” Jefferson said, then whispered, “I know I like talking to you.”

  She smiled. They’d only been sharing a bed a few weeks. He’d given her enough time, and she could deny him no longer – they were married, after all. And though she enjoyed their coupling, she couldn’t bring herself to unlock her heart to him. What if she did and he never loved her in return? What if small displays of affection and sharing a bed was all their union would ever be? Would he open up to her? And when he did, how would she know?

  Honoria pushed the thoughts aside. They were frustrating to think about. She should know what it feels like to be in love, shouldn’t she? She knew she’d been in love with Benedict. Would it feel different with …

  … Jefferson kissed her, a long, leisurely kiss that left her breathless. This he could do, and quite well. But she wanted more, and the only way to get more would be to open her heart to him. Easier said than done.

  “It’s time to go,” he whispered. He kissed her hair and released her. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

  “Where is the next fort?” she asked as they headed for the wagons.

  “Fort Bridger, but it’s a long way off.” His hand slipped over hers and held it as they walked. “There are some landmarks between here and there – Independence Rock is the next one. We’ll be halfway by then.”

  “Halfway,” she said with a heartfelt smile. “I can’t believe it.”

  He chuckled and glanced at her. “We’ll rest there a day. The halfway mark is supposed to be cause for a celebration. Unless Mr. Kinzey thinks we should keep going. We left later than most, but we’re making good time.”

  “Will w
e be able to get a shelter built before winter sets in?” The thought of sleeping outdoors in the winter tied her stomach in knots. This was not her quiet country home in Sussex – she’d left civilization behind so her husband could fulfill his dream. She’d married Jefferson to keep that dream alive. Was that why she couldn’t open her heart to this man, because the dream belonged to Benedict?

  “Don’t worry, we’ll build something,” he said. “For now, let’s concentrate on getting there.”

  She nodded. “I’m looking forward to that.”

  “So’s everyone,” he said with a smile. He squeezed her hand, kissed it, then let it go. “Come, I’ll help you up.”

  Honoria spied Harrison next to the wagon, staring at the oxen as if they were a team of high-stepping Hackneys. “Oh dear.”

  “You worry too much. He’ll be fine.”

  “But …”

  “No buts, Honoria. Let the boy drive. He’s not a child anymore.”

  “I know, it’s just that …”

  “He wants to, and he asked all the right questions. Let the boy grow up.”

  That stung. She closed her eyes and sighed. “Jefferson …”

  “Honoria, stop.”

  Her back stiffened. She liked that Jefferson was growing closer to her sons, but she was still protective of them, just as he was of Jack and Sam. There was little she could do to discipline his boys when they were rude or disrespectful – it was like speaking to a locked door. But when she told Jefferson, he took care of it, and they would treat her better for a few days before going back to avoiding her and her sons.

  “I apologize,” she finally said. “You’re right, I hover over him like an old mother hen.”

  He sighed and turned to her. “I don’t blame you. Not considering how your late husband died.”

  She looked at the ground. “Oh yes, of course.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Honoria, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. No one can blame you for being a little overprotective. Duncan and Colin are older and take better care of themselves.”