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

by Kit Morgan

“Colin isn’t that much older,” she corrected.

  “True, but he tags after Duncan. Harrison wanders by himself a lot.”

  “True enough.” She glanced at Harrison, who was removing the lines from the brake. Her first instinct was to tell him to stop, but she forced herself to look at Jefferson instead. “You’ll sit with him?”

  “No, you will. I’ll walk for a spell.”

  She swallowed hard. “But Jefferson …”

  “It’ll be good for him, make him feel proud – especially with you there to see it. Besides, wife, these aren’t horses. They’re not gonna take off on him.”

  She smiled and blushed. “No, I suppose not.” She glanced at Harrison again. He was now up in the driver’s seat, sitting straight, eyes ahead, ready to be off. “I’d best get up there beside him.”

  “Yes, before he busts a gut waiting. Poor lad.” They laughed as Jefferson released her shoulders and steered her to the wagon. He helped her up, gave her foot a tender pat and took his post beside them. He probably planned to walk until lunch, then take over the driving. By then both she and Harrison would be ready to stretch their legs and walk until they camped that night.

  “Mother!” Harrison said happily as she sat. “Ready to go?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” she said with a smile.

  “I can’t believe I finally get to drive!”

  She saw his happy face. “Neither can I. You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

  “Of course – I’m not an imbecile. I’ve been watching Jefferson every day, and Colin and Duncan.”

  “What about Jack and Sam? Have you watched them too?”

  “Er … no.” He took a sudden interest in the frayed leather of the lines. “They don’t like it when I’m around, so I don’t walk or ride with them.”

  Honoria turned, saw Jefferson speaking with Wilfred and faced forward again. “I know it’s hard, dearest, but you have to learn to get along with them.”

  “I try, Mother, really I do, but they don’t want to talk to me. At all.”

  She studied him. “What have they done?”

  Harrison hesitated, a sure sign Jefferson’s sons had done something. “Nothing,” he said with an exaggerated shake of his head.

  She looked stern. “Harrison …”

  “No, really. They’ve not lifted a hand to me.”

  “I should hope not.”

  He faced forward. “What’s taking so long?”

  “The wagons up front must not be ready,” she said. “Don’t worry, we’ll be off soon enough.” She glanced over her shoulder to see what was happening behind them. There was no sign of Jefferson or Wilfred now, just Cyrus on the seat of his wagon, waiting along with everyone else for the signal.

  They didn’t have to wait long. A minute later, the call sounded down the line and Harrison grinned. “Here we go, Mother!” He gave the team a slap of leather. “Ho there! Giddyap!”

  Honoria gripped the seat just in case. Had Jefferson shown him how to use the whip she wondered? But as the wagon lurched forward, she was surprised at the pride that warmed her heart. Jefferson was right – Harrison would be fine. And so would she.

  Jack pulled some jerky from his shirt pocket and popped it into his mouth. “Wish Pa would’ve let us buy more of this back at the fort.”

  “He didn’t think we needed a lot of supplies,” Sam commented on the seat next to him. “Sometimes I wonder if he thinks at all. Like when he married that woman.”

  “Shut up, Sam. What’s done is done. No sense talkin’ ‘bout it no more.”

  Sam glared at him. “Easy for you to say – ya like her.”

  “What of it? She’s nice to me, and she don’t burn supper no more.”

  Sam glanced around, then hissed, “What happened to us makin’ her three boys look like they’ve been thievin’?”

  “I dunno. Just ain’t got ‘round to it.”

  “Ya keep comin’ up with excuses,” Sam complained. “I’m sick of it.”

  “So what’re ya gonna do?”

  “I dunno, but I’ll think of somethin’. Pete don’t talk to us no more anyways.”

  “That’s ‘cause he’s got more important things to do than flap his gums. He’s workin’.”

  Sam faced him, a suspicious gleam in his eye. “Don’t tell me yer startin’ to like …”

  “No, I ain’t!” Jack snapped. “I hate ‘em!”

  “Then why’re ya stallin’? If Mr. Kinzey thought they was stealin’ from folks, he’d have ‘em arrested and leave ‘em at the next fort.”

  “How do ya know? And where is the next fort, anyway?”

  “Pa says it’s Fort Bridger, and it’s far enough away for us to make somethin’ happen ‘fore we get there.”

  “I dunno, Sam … seems more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “What’s the matter, Jack? Ya gone soft?”

  Jack butted him with his shoulder and almost knocked him off the wagon seat.

  “Stop it!” Sam snapped.

  “You stop it.”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Jack, we’re gonna do somethin’ and soon. I don’t care if ya wanna or not. Besides, what’re ya gonna do – tell Pa?” He waited for an answer that didn’t come. “Yeah, thought so. Pa’ll kill us either way. We’ll be stuck workin’ his farm forever. I dunno ‘bout you, but that ain’t how I wanna spend the rest of my life.”

  “Workin’ Pa’s farm means food and shelter,” Jack countered.

  “It means work. I ain’t taken a likin’ to work, and I don’t plan to.”

  Jack stared at him a moment, his mouth half-open.

  “Yer no different.” Sam pulled his hat over his eyes and folded his arms. “Ya know I’m right.”

  Jack didn’t reply, largely because it was true. They both viewed their labor as being forced upon them, that it earned them no profit and only enhanced the lives of those around them. For years Jack and Sam had discussed their dilemma, but never came up with a solution. This led Jack to ask the inevitable. “What good will gettin’ rid of them boys do us? Then we’ll be stuck with all the work for the rest of this journey, and on Pa’s new place.”

  Sam’s eyes widened. He obviously hadn’t thought of that. “Dagnabit!”

  “See? Told ya.”

  “Then we’ll have to come up with somethin’ else. Maybe just get rid of one or two of ‘em.”

  Jack sighed. “Pa’s gonna find out …”

  “No, he ain’t. We’ll see he don’t.”

  “Okay. What’re ya thinkin’?”

  “Maybe we can get rid of the oldest.”

  “Why Duncan? Wouldn’t it be easier to get rid of the middle one?”

  “Better yet the youngest.”

  “Nah.” Jack shook his head. “Not that one. Pa likes him too much.”

  Sam smirked. “Sounds like you like him too?”

  “I didn’t say that!”

  “You didn’t say that.”

  Jack shook his head again. “Leave Harrison alone, Sam.”

  “Or what, ya gonna tell Pa? What good’ll that do? He’ll toss us both to the nearest sheriff.”

  “No, he won’t,” Jack argued.

  “Yes, on account he likes Harrison too much, like ya said. Face it, Jack, Pa’s forgotten all about us. He’s got them for sons now.”

  “Shut up!”

  Sam smiled. “Ya know it’s true. All the more reason we should get rid of the oldest. Bet we could sell him to the Injuns …”

  “Stop.”

  Sam’s smile broadened. “It is a thought …”

  Jack sighed, took out the jerky and tore off another chunk with his teeth. “Shut up, Sam. I don’t wanna hear no more.”

  Sam shrugged. “Fine, I’ll be quiet. If you won’t help me, maybe I’ll find someone who will.”

  Jack stared at him a moment, took another bite of jerky and continued to drive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “So tell me, child, have the cooking lessons paid off?”

>   Honoria smiled as she wrung out one of Jefferson’s shirts. She was doing some washing with Grandma Waller. “Yes, and I can’t thank you enough for teaching me. I’ve hardly burned a thing the last two hundred miles.”

  Grandma laughed. “That’s good. I’d hate to think of Jefferson and those boys battling bellyaches.”

  “Rest assured, they’re fine. Though none of them would mind if the menu was more varied.”

  “That’s a man for you – and you’ve got six of them! I only have the one to worry about, and Abijah isn’t too picky. He knew what going west would entail. We aren’t going to complain about such a blessing.”

  “No, one can’t,” Honoria agreed. Her own thoughts consisted of ices, biscuits with clotted cream, tea and other sweets and savories from her native England. Some of them she could find in New York or even St. Louis, but she wondered if she’d ever see any of those foods again. She might have to be inventive and create new delights. She was sure none of her men would mind.

  They hung laundry on a rope tied between two wagons. Washing happened whenever they came across enough fresh water, a few times a month. The same went for bathing. But that was one of the minor problems of the trail, small compared to fording rivers, putting down lame animals (thankfully, there’d only been a couple), stretching the food supplies, guarding against Indians and predatory animals, or dealing with the constant exhaustion of slow, laborious travel.

  And of course, keeping an eye out for the elusive supply thief. His latest victim was Irene Dunnigan, who didn’t trust anyone to begin with. “Did Irene find any clues?” Honoria asked Grandma.

  “No, and she’s in a state, I can tell you that. Be careful when you speak with her – she’s never without that hatchet of hers.”

  “Oh dear me. She wouldn’t really use it on anyone, would she?”

  Grandma sat for a few minutes to rest. “I don’t know – she threatens often enough. One of these days it might slip out of her hands, and then what?”

  “Oh heavens.” Honoria cringed. She herself had witnessed Irene waving that hatchet as she talked – she could picture her losing her grip and striking someone. As often as the little Tommy and some of the other children played around the Dunnigans’ wagon due to Wilfred giving them candy, that could turn into tragedy quickly. “Shouldn’t someone speak to her?”

  “I’ll do it. She needs to wave something less dangerous.”

  “Perhaps a spoon?” Honoria said with a mischievous smile.

  Grandma shook her head. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t do for Irene. She’ll want something substantial – just not lethal. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.”

  Honoria sighed. “I’m sure you will.” She stood and stretched. Her back felt twisted, and she longed for a warm bath. But that wasn’t about to happen unless they came across a hot spring tomorrow. The way she felt, a cold spring – or a stagnant pond – would do.

  “Grandma!” Lucy Holman cried as she ran into their midst. “Have you seen Tommy?”

  “No, isn’t he in Mr. Dunnigan’s camp?”

  “No, ma’am. I can’t find him nowhere.”

  Grandma put her hands on her hips. “Did you try looking in the Turners’ wagon?”

  The young girl blushed. “Oh, um … no.”

  Grandma rolled her eyes. “Then I suggest there. I’m sure his mother knows where he is.”

  Lucy, her cheeks red as a beet, nodded and slunk off to find her charge.

  “What was that about?” Honoria asked.

  “Lucy’s supposed to be watching Tommy.”

  “Ohhh,” Honoria looked toward where Lucy had gone. “I thought there was something really wrong.”

  “No, just Lucy not paying attention. Mark my words, that child’s close by – if he’s not with Wilfred and Irene, he’s probably back in his own camp waiting for supper.”

  “Speaking of which, I should go start mine. Would you and Abijah care to join us tonight?”

  “Well, that’s mighty neighborly of you, child. Why don’t I bring biscuits?”

  Honoria smiled. Sometimes families combined foodstuffs and ate together. It was always fun and she enjoyed working alongside another woman instead of having to prepare the meal alone. “Splendid. Jefferson and some of the boys caught rabbits and should be done cleaning them.”

  “Fine. I’ll let Doc know we’re eating with you, but first I’d better have that talk with Irene.”

  Honoria giggled. “Good luck.”

  “Child, I don’t need luck. I just need to present her with a better weapon.”

  Honoria laughed, hugged Grandma and headed back to her own camp. Once there, she gathered what she needed, then went to find Jefferson to let him know they’d have guests for supper.

  “Mother!” Harrison called with a wide smile. “I got to skin the rabbits!”

  “Jolly good,” she said. “Colin, what did you do?”

  Colin made a face. “Cleaned them, and I hope they taste better than they look.”

  Jefferson slapped him on the back. “For a first timer, you did real good. I’m proud of you.”

  Honoria saw the look of surprise on her middle son’s face. They’d done little hunting with their father in England and none successfully. These were Colin and Harrison’s first catches. “They’ll be delicious.” She looked at Jefferson. “Will there be enough for Grandma and Dr. Waller?”

  Jefferson looked at their catch. “If we go easy, yes.”

  “Good. I invited them to dinner.”

  “They can have my portion,” Duncan said as he joined them. “I have guard duty tonight.”

  “But Duncan, you have to eat something,” she protested.

  “I will, later. Besides, Wilfred always brings a snack.”

  “Guard duty with Wilfred again, is it?” Jefferson said with a smile. What was that about, she wondered.

  “Yes,” Duncan hedged, “I often do. It’s either Wilfred or Paddy Mulligan.”

  “Yes, but I notice you eat with us the nights you pull guard duty with Paddy,” Jefferson pointed out.

  Duncan shrugged.

  Jefferson stood. “So what’s Irene making for supper tonight?”

  Duncan shrugged helplessly. “How should I know?”

  Jefferson just shook his head and chuckled knowingly.

  Duncan exchanged a quick look with his brothers, shrugged again and turned to Honoria. “I could take some biscuits and jam with me.”

  “Grandma is making biscuits. I’m taking care of …” She pointed at the carcasses. “… those.”

  Duncan glanced at their catch, then at Jefferson. “With the Wallers dining with us, you’ll need the extra. Really, Mother, I don’t mind giving up my portion.”

  “You already said that,” Jefferson reminded him with that little smile.

  “A noble offer, Duncan,” she said. “If there are some extra biscuits, I’m sure Grandma won’t mind sending you off with some.”

  “I’m sure she won’t.” Jefferson muttered.

  Duncan boldly stared back. “If we can’t spare the biscuits, then I’m fine with whatever Wilfred brings.”

  Jefferson stood and laughed. “Oh, I’m sure you are.”

  Honoria glanced between them, her hands on her hips. “All right, what’s going on?”

  Jefferson laughed again. “Wilfred told me that Duncan’s been having more than a snack with him.”

  “Bugger,” Duncan muttered under his breath.

  Honoria’s eyebrows shot up. “What?”

  Duncan looked sheepish. “Mrs. Dunnigan … does send more than just a few biscuits.”

  She looked at him for a moment, mouth half open, then laughed. Did he really think she’d be offended that he thought Irene’s cooking was better than her own? She thought the same. “Oh, is that all? That does explain why I haven’t seen you eating much of late.”

  “I hope Irene isn’t accusing you of stealing food, Duncan,” Jefferson said.

  “On the contrary, Wilfred and I
have discussed Harrison’s method of catching the culprit.”

  “And?” Honoria prompted.

  “Mrs. Dunnigan already had it underway,” Duncan said. “She’s found nothing amiss as far as food stuffs go. But she has mentioned that she’s missing some cooking utensils.”

  “Thank Heaven for that,” Honoria said. “I’d hate to think of someone getting clobbered with her hatchet.”

  “As would I,” Duncan said with a shudder. “She has mentioned that she’s missing some things.”

  Honoria studied him a moment. She already knew about that and hoped his trembling wasn’t because Irene had accused him and gotten too close with her weapon of choice. “Well, I think we’ve said all that needs saying on that subject. Now if one of you would be so kind as to bring our game along, I’ll see that it’s turned into something tasty.” She waved a hand in the air. “Or at least edible.”

  “You won’t take it as an insult if I offer to help?” Jefferson asked.

  She tried not to gasp with delight. “Not at all – how could I refuse?”

  He picked up their catch. “There are several ways to cook these. Easiest is, they make a fine stew.”

  “Stew it is, then.” she replied, and together they walked back to camp.

  Two hours later, everyone except Duncan was seated around the fire looking satisfied. “Honoria?” Jack said haltingly.

  She stopped pouring coffee for Jefferson to look at him. “Yes?”

  “That was a … mighty fine meal, ma’am.”

  She exchanged a quick look with her husband, finished filling his cup and handed it to him. “Why, thank you, Jack. How nice of you to say.”

  Jefferson nodded and glanced at Sam, who was glaring at Jack, obviously not happy with his compliment. Well, one couldn’t win them all.

  “I traded Irene something for a few candies,” Grandma said.

  “You did?” Harrison said, eyes bright.

  “Sure did, Harrison. Would you like one?”

  Harrison jumped off the log he was sitting on and went to her. She gave him a couple of peppermints, reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a few more. “Anyone else?”

  Sam held out his hand but said nothing.

  “Do the lady a favor, Sam,” Colin said. “Go get one. She shouldn’t have to come to you.”