by Kit Morgan
Chapter Nineteen
Dear Benedict,
I’ve done a terrible thing. I questioned Jefferson’s integrity, and in the process called into question my own. Right now I don’t know which is worse. And I wonder: could the news I heard concerning Jefferson’s sons be true? Did they steal, and has Jefferson been covering it up all this time? Would he, could he do such a thing? And if so, why?
I don’t understand what I’m doing wrong, my love. How I could be so blind one moment and see clearly the next? I don’t want to live with deceit, for
Honoria stared at the page as tears filled her eyes.
I do think I love the man. Oh, Benedict, how did this happen?
She set the pen down, squeezed her eyes shut and put a hand over them to boot, then slid it down to her mouth to stifle a sob. How had it happened? Her heart had seemed so inaccessible all this time – and now this, right when she doubted him most? She had no answers why or how or when, but there it was, like a tiny flame growing in the darkness.
“He’s not like you,” she whispered to the diary in her other hand. “Not at all.”
But then, he never had to be. Jefferson Cooke was who he was, and that suddenly seemed enough. All these months on the trail she’d been waiting, hoping to share a love with Jefferson like the one she’d shared with Benedict. But they were two very different men. No wonder the love she felt was different. But love it most certainly was.
Honoria sniffed back her tears and put pen to paper again.
I’m sorry, but it has happened. I do not know what to say to you other than I hope you are happy for me. I promise I will not forget you. You were my first and, I thought, my last love. But Jefferson has given me hope, though that hope could easily end in heartache, unrequited. What if he never feels anything beyond simple responsibility for me? What then? To live and breathe a life with him, only to have his inattention suffocate me … how can I bear it? I’m not sure I can.
She sat on the log beyond the wagons and stared at the mountains on every horizon. They were in the last leg of their journey now – in fact, according to Mr. Kinzey they should be in Oregon Territory already. “I can’t go back,” she said aloud. “I can never go back.”
She closed her diary and put everything away in her satchel. A cool breeze blew wisps of hair around her face – she hadn’t had time to brush it out and put it up again. She needed to write, to think. She and Jefferson had hardly spoken to each other since yesterday’s “discussion.”
She hung her head as a few tears fell. She felt awful and knew she needed to apologize. But the questions remained: were Jack and Sam guilty, and did Jefferson know about it? He’d acted strangely when she questioned him and she knew, knew he was aware they had done something, or at least could believe they had. If one of her sons had been doing wrong, she would tell him. Why hadn’t he seen fit to tell her?
She sighed heavily, wiped her eyes and stood. The problem is, she thought as she continued to look toward the west, if he didn’t tell me about this, what else hasn’t he told me? Does he withhold things all the time? Doesn’t he trust me?
Honoria heard men shouting in the distance as the front of the wagon train assembled. Their wagons were still in the middle, but she had to get back – she’d lingered far too long. Usually Jefferson would’ve come to fetch her, but after yesterday she didn’t entirely expect him to. He was angry, and after much thought and prayer this morning, she conceded he had the right to be. As much as she did.
She slung her satchel over her shoulder and headed back. A prairie dog popped out of its hole, twitched its little nose at her, then scurried out of sight. Harrison and Colin liked to watch them. Well, Colin liked to watch – Harrison was more interested in catching one and making a pet out of it. “Oh, my dear sweet boys, what’s to become of us?” she mused aloud.
She hadn’t thought her marriage to Jefferson would be easy, that there would be no conflict. But she also hadn’t dreamed of how much there would be. That naiveté had helped her talk herself into marrying him, but now she was in the thick of it and would have to do something. If only she wasn’t in love, things would be easier. But she was, and she didn’t know how to stop her heart from falling for the man. It wasn’t like being with Benedict, her handsome knight in shining armor.
She stopped and watched people preparing to leave. What then was Jefferson? He was … solid. Protective, strong. A man of good character. Until yesterday, she would have added “honest” to that list. So given all of that, why on Earth would he not tell her about Jack and Sam?
“Maybe because there really isn’t anything to tell,” she whispered to herself. “Which means … hm.” It could mean a few different things.
“Mother! What are you doing over there?” Duncan called from atop her mare. “We’re leaving!”
She glanced up, smiled and waved. “I’m coming!” She watched him ride off, probably to help the Van Cleets and Wallers; he even helped Irene Dunnigan when she let him. She suddenly felt oddly detached, as if she were an angel watching everyone break camp, seeing into a life she never thought to have herself.
“Are you ready?”
Honoria turned to find Jefferson standing near Pip, one of their horses. Was he going to ride Pip instead of drive? “Yes. I’m sorry I’m late getting back.”
“Thinking?”
She sighed and looked at the ground. “Yes.”
“Me too.”
She looked up, met his gaze and stopped breathing. “Oh?”
He nodded and led Pip to where she stood. “Honoria …”
“Jefferson, I’m sorry.”
He stared at her. “So am I.”
They stood staring at each other in silence a few moments. “I’ve been foolish,” she said. “I was so angry I wasn’t thinking …”
Pip’s reins still in his hands, he took her by the arms and pulled her close. “So was I. But I’m thinking now.” He lowered his face to hers. It was a gentle kiss, an apology, one she knew must be returned. And did. She didn’t know how long they stood making up for words neither of them should have said. Someone rode by on horseback, but she had no idea who and didn’t care.
Jefferson broke the kiss, looked into her eyes and swallowed hard. “Don’t ever leave me like that again.”
She cocked her head. “Leave? I didn’t …”
“Leave me not knowing where we stand. I could barely sleep. But I knew you needed time to sort things out and so did I. I would never lie to you, Honoria. I swear that on every Bible in the world.”
She shivered and her jaw trembled as she realized she believed him implicitly, all her doubt vaporized like morning fog. “So what do we do?”
He smiled at the question. “We work together to find out the truth.”
She smiled as relief flooded her. “I like the sound of that.”
“Hoping you would.” He ran a finger along her jaw line. “There’s no room for fighting out here. We get to our land, build us a home, then we can argue all we want.”
“Or not at all?” she asked.
He shrugged. “A little tussle now and then’s okay. Keeps things lively.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
He pulled her closer. “Yeah, and then we get to make up.”
She smiled at the remark. He was right – there wasn’t time or energy to waste out here disagreeing or fighting. A broken heart was a distraction they couldn’t afford with all the dangers on the trail. How awful would it be to go on wondering how he felt about her the entire journey?
Except that she didn’t know, not exactly. She pulled back and looked into his eyes. Was there love in them, or just the usual admiration she’d glimpsed before? How could she tell?
He pulled away reluctantly. “We have to go – we’re holding everyone up.”
“I know,” she sighed, watching the wagons around them begin to move. “You’re riding?”
“No, Harrison is. I just saddled the horse for him. I wanted to drive today
– and have you all to myself.”
She blushed. “You wanted to talk.”
So did he. “Among other things.”
Honoria’s face broke into a wide smile. “Sounds good to me.”
Jefferson took her by the hand. “Well, now that that’s settled, let’s go find Harrison.”
Duncan watched from afar as Jefferson helped his mother onto the wagon seat, settled next to her and got the wagon moving. Colin drove the second wagon, with Jack and Sam behind as usual. He’d switch with Colin at midday, let him ride Juliet and watch for trouble ahead of the train. He was old enough and capable – and less likely to be sidetracked than Harrison, who was helping them that day. Amazing the difference a couple of years made – despite his taste for pranks, he was still more responsible than the youngest brother.
He thought of the joke Colin played on Mr. Greenly and smiled. By now the shop owner had probably taken down Colin’s little prank and hopefully had a good laugh about it. But Duncan and his brothers weren’t laughing now, not after yesterday. And though it looked as if Jefferson and their mother had made up, judging from the kiss they shared as he rode by earlier, there was still the question of Jack and Sam’s guilt. Had they been stealing? Duncan didn’t doubt it. Was Jefferson going to do something if they had? There, he wasn’t sure.
Duncan sighed. All he could do was protect his brothers and mother and pray he didn’t come to blows with Jefferson’s sons. The “new family” was precarious enough as it was. He didn’t want to think of Jack and Sam as family, but things were what they were.
For now, he concentrated on getting to the back of the train to act as rear guard. He passed Lucy Holman, who was staring brightly at Theodore White with a goofy smile on her face. Duncan smiled too, and wondered if the two families would settle near each other or part ways once they reached Oregon City.
Duncan took up his position next to Mr. Mattson, one of Kinzey’s men. Mattson complained a lot, but also told stories about working cattle and all it entailed, things Duncan and his brothers would need to know. But would they really start a cattle ranch? What if Jefferson didn’t want to? He was a farmer, not a rancher – a big difference. For all they knew, they’d be raising produce, not beef. Did Jefferson know they were heading west to fulfill their father’s dream? If he did, was he willing to go along with it?
His eyes widened at the thought. He didn’t recall the subject coming up when he and Mother interviewed him. Unless she’s told Jefferson since, the man didn’t know. Good grief, where did that leave them? What if they came all this way for nothing? That would mean his mother married for nothing as well …
“Keep a sharp eye out, Cooke,” Mattson said.
Duncan cringed. “The name’s Sayer.”
“Yer ma’s married to Jefferson Cooke. Makes ya a Cooke, don’t it.”
“No,” Duncan said as mildly as he could manage.
“Suit yerself.” Mattson was silent for a minute before continuing. “Yer ma’s a right pretty gal.”
Duncan stiffened in his saddle. He turned and glared at Mattson, jaw tight.
“Whoa! I-I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, I just … uh … ya boys should look out for her.”
“Why?” Duncan snarled.
Mattson scanned their surroundings. That was what they were back there for, but Duncan didn’t think he was scouting the rocks for Indians. “On account of Pete … I mean …”
“Pete … Smithers?” Duncan asked cautiously.
“Um, well … I think he’s kinda … sweet on her.”
“What?!” Duncan looked him over. He seemed sincere enough. “And you know this how?”
Mattson shrugged nervously. “Well … ya know Pete. He, uh, likes to talk.”
Duncan’s mouth hung open. If it wasn’t his own mother they were discussing, he might laugh – Pete was a dirty little cave troll who’d probably never spent time with a woman he didn’t pay in advance. But trolls could be dangerous, and any interest in his mother was no laughing matter. “What exactly did he say?”
“Believe me, ya don’t wanna know. I just thought I’d mention it.”
Duncan growled. This could complicate things. He eyed Mattson.
“Hey, don’t look at me like that. I know I done fought with Pete and Thornton that day at the staging area, but I was just having fun, I didn’t really wanna marry her –”
“You were there?”
Mattson’s face turned red. “Yeah, I was. Sorry.”
Duncan fought the urge to strike him.
“Now I said my piece – stop starin’ at me like yer gonna shoot me or somethin’!”
“Tell me, Mr. Mattson,” Duncan said, ignoring his comment. “Who else knows about this? Does Mr. Kinzey? Does Jefferson?”
“I dunno, I dunno!”
“Do you trust Pete Smithers?”
Mattson almost laughed. “Oh Lordy, no! There’s a reason we all call him ‘Sneaky Pete’.”
Duncan licked his lips. “Sneaky Pete, eh? Tell me, how much sneaking has this man done?”
“On this trip? I dunno – I been too busy to keep an eye on him. But he’s been in trouble on others. We’ve both worked for Mr. Kinzey a few years – this is our third crossin’. Prob’ly Pete’s last – he mentioned last night he’s settlin’ in Oregon City after this trip. But I don’t see how – I get paid the same as him and I couldn’t afford it if it weren’t for saving up.”
Duncan nodded. “I see. You’ve been very informative, Mr. Mattson.”
“I’m sorry for getting’ ya riled, but yer ma seems nice. I’d hate to see somethin’ happen to her.”
Duncan studied the man’s face. He didn’t quite trust him, but couldn’t discount the information either. Maybe he was telling the truth and Smithers had said all that. “So … what else was ‘Sneaky Pete’ saying last night?”
Mattson sighed and shook his head. “Like I said, ya don’t wanna know.”
“So why do I keep asking?” But Duncan recalled some of the men he and his mother interviewed, who were interested in money, land, anything they could get their hands on. According to Mr. Van Cleet, Pete Smithers had been interested in getting his hands on his mother – Mattson’s report confirmed that. “Never mind – I believe I understand enough.”
“So what’re ya gonna do? Pete ain’t one to tangle with. I just meant for ya to keep an eye on things.”
“Rest assured, my brothers and I will keep our mother safe. In the meantime, perhaps Pete and I should have a little talk.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that. I’d rather wrestle a badger than get Pete riled.”
“Don’t you mean a bear?”
“Nossir. Ya can scare off a bear – they’ll quit if ya make it too hard for ‘em, go find somethin’ else to fight. But a badger’s just mean – they’ll fight ‘til there’s no fight left. They don’t care. Neither does Pete.”
Duncan slowly nodded. “I understand. We will keep an eye on him, though.”
“Ya do that. Oh, and Mr. Cooke … I mean, Sayer? Please don’t mention me to Pete if ya end up in some sorta, ya know, confrontation. I’d rather stay outta it.”
“Seems to be me you just put yourself in the thick of it.”
“I wouldn’ta bothered if it weren’t for hearin’ Pete last night talkin’to himself ‘bout stealin’ yer ma away –” Mattson caught himself, covered his mouth, then must have decided he was already in up to his neck and shrugged. “Yeah, he said that. I ain’t no saint, but some things a man just can’t let stand.”
Duncan nodded sagely. “And I’m glad you didn’t. Thank you.”
Mattson tipped his hat. “I’d better go tell the boss it’s all clear back here.” He rode toward the head of the train.
Duncan knew Mattson was through with the conversation. The question was, was the man telling the truth? Time would tell. And with any luck, so would Pete.
Chapter Twenty
“Look, Mother – Fort Boise!”
Honoria saw Harrison’s
excitement and shared it. Her smile was broad, her relief evident in every tear streaming down her face. The last few months had been rough, dangerous, filled with disasters. Luckily, none had befallen her family, but others weren’t so lucky.
It had taken them a month to travel from Fort Hall to Fort Boise, a most treacherous trek. Several families lost oxen fording rivers, another’s wagon broke down, its damage irreparable. Other people took on the family’s supplies and necessities, helping to transport them and their load, but some items had to be left behind. A walnut dresser, a family heirloom, was dumped at the side of the trail along with a beautiful mirror and chair. There just wasn’t room. People were more important than furniture.
They weren’t the first to have to do so – the trail was littered with the belongings of those that came before. They’d ridden by tables, bedsteads, chairs, stoves, much of it not yet damaged by the weather and elements. But alas, they were all too much weight. None dare add any. Colin had jokingly suggested someone could come along with an empty wagon, scoop them up and start a furniture store in Oregon City if they could get them all there. But no one else thought it was funny.
“Will they have supplies here?” Harrison asked.
“I don’t know, dearest,” she said. “We’re probably the last train through for this year. The other companies going west might have bought them out by now.”
“Oh, that would be bad. I was hoping to get a few things – I’ve some money, you know.”
“From working for Mr. Van Cleet? Yes, I recall you made a few coins.” She ruffled his thick brown hair.
He smiled and batted her hand away. “Oh, Mother …”
She laughed. The gesture embarrassed him now, and she had to remind herself that her youngest was growing up. Driving oxen, learning to shoot a rifle and hunting had seen to that. Jefferson loved to teach, and Colin and Harrison were good students. Over the last few months (not to mention recovery from their first real argument) Jefferson had grown closer to her sons, especially the two younger ones. Duncan was an apt student as well, but was often called away to guard duty or some other chore for Mr. Kinzey.