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

by Kit Morgan

  “He wanders off and that Lucy lets him,” Sam griped.

  “Then maybe you should be the one to watch him from now on,” Jefferson countered. “Now start looking.” He took Honoria’s arm and pulled her away from the wagons. “Come on, let’s look over here.”

  She followed, his hand warm on her arm. “Jefferson, do you think he’s wandered off like he did the one time?”

  “More than likely he’s in camp, playing or sleeping in someone else’s wagon. That boy acts like the whole train belongs to him.”

  She giggled. It was true – Tommy tended to go wherever he desired, no matter who was there or what was going on. He’d almost interrupted them a time or two…

  “But if he has wandered off, this is a bad place to do it,” Jefferson went on. “Scouts said they saw Indians again yesterday.”

  That perked her up. “Where and when?”

  “Yesterday evening,” he said as they walked. “I don’t know what tribes are here other than the Umatilla.”

  “Are they friendly?”

  “I don’t know – I haven’t had a chance to ask Mr. Kinzey, and he’s been through here before. I hope so.”

  Honoria said nothing, but gently pulled her arm from his grasp and took his hand in hers. Time to do some more praying.

  A couple of hours later there was still no sign of Tommy, and every wagon had been checked twice. It was obvious the child was really missing.

  “What will I do?” Mabel Turner cried before burying her face in her husband’s chest. Frank held her close, shut his eyes and gulped.

  Jefferson put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Frank, we’ll find him.”

  Frank opened his eyes and nodded silently.

  Honoria wrung her hands. Jefferson had told her there was a 50-50 chance they’d find him. The boy could be anywhere, and it was almost dark. Their best bet now was that he’d wander back on his own.

  She heard someone behind her, turned and found Jack and Sam. “Any luck?”

  “Nothin’.” Sam said dourly.

  She noted the look of worry in his and Jack’s eyes, and her heart sank. If these two were concerned, then everyone should be. “Oh, Jefferson …”

  “Keep looking,” their father said. “Where are the others?”

  “You mean …” Jack exchanged a quick look with Sam. “… our brothers?”

  Now Honoria was more alarmed.

  “Yes,” Jefferson said. “Where are they?”

  Sam put up a calming hand. “Still looking. Don’t fret, Pa – we’ll keep looking too.” He waved farewell and off they went.

  Mabel, her face still buried in her husband’s shirtfront, wailed in despair. Honoria went to her and patted her shoulder. “There, there. We’re all looking. He’ll turn up.”

  Duncan rushed into the camp, gasping for air. “Jefferson, Frank … we think we found him.”

  “You think?” Jefferson said, jaw tight.

  Mabel tore away from her husband, her eyes frantic. “Where is he? Where’s my baby?”

  It took Duncan a moment to catch his breath. “Follow me.” He coughed. “But be quiet.”

  Frank frowned. “Mabel, stay here.”

  She didn’t argue and turned in time to see Grandma enter their camp. The older woman took Mabel into her arms and held her close.

  Honoria, Jefferson and Frank followed Duncan past some wagons and onto the prairie. Over the last few days they’d left the mountains and entered rolling grasslands, though there were more mountains in the distance. Honoria wondered if Indians lived somewhere on the surrounding prairie.

  Several hundred yards outside of camp, they spied a tree line at the base of some hills. Between the hills and where they stood, a light shone on the prairie – a fire. Honoria gasped “Oh my goodness, are those …?”

  Jefferson and Duncan grabbed her at the same time. All three were on the ground before she could blink, as was Frank Turner. “Quiet,” Jefferson hissed. “Your voice might carry.”

  “Who are they?” she whispered.

  “I haven’t the foggiest,” Duncan said. “Jefferson?”

  “Probably Umatilla,” Frank said. “Wilfred told me. Not sure how much he knows ‘bout it, though.”

  “Duncan,” Jefferson said in a low voice. “Were you able to get closer?”

  “Yes, and I believe I know where our stolen goods have got to.”

  Frank and Jefferson exchanged a quick look. “Come again?” Frank said.

  Duncan half-smiled. “Follow me.”

  They inched closer. Honoria’s skirt caught on sticks and rocks in several places, and finally Jefferson waved for her to stay back. She smacked his arm to let him know she was going wherever they went and that was that. Quite aside from rescuing Tommy, she did not feel safe alone in the vicinity of savages.

  When they got closer they saw Tommy seated with at least four Indians. These were dressed much differently than any they’d seen before. The quilt they sat on was one of Lucy Holman’s and it was covered with pots, pans and small bags. And was that her favorite serving spoon Tommy was holding? “Heavens, what is he doing?”

  “I think he’s trying to trade,” Duncan said.

  “Why, that little …” Frank stopped himself. “Wait ‘til I get my hands on that boy.”

  “He’s not harmed,” Duncan pointed out. “He’s been sitting there talking since I spied him earlier.”

  “Talking? The whole time?” Jefferson asked.

  “Sounds like Tommy,” Frank commented.

  “It’s true,” Duncan confirmed. “Colin and Harrison have been keeping an eye on them. They’re over there,” he said, tossing his head to the right. “Wilfred and Patrick are over there.” He motioned to the left.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Jefferson said. “I wonder what got it into Tommy’s head to trade?”

  “I wonder what got it into his head to steal.” Frank was clearly not placated.

  “What do we do now?” Honoria asked.

  “Get my son,” Frank said. “What else?”

  “Right,” Duncan said. “Mother, stay here.”

  “I most certainly will not. That poor boy will need someone to mother him. He’s probably scared to death.”

  “He doesn’t look scared to me,” Jefferson remarked.

  Honoria studied the scene. Tommy was currently putting a pot lid on top of one of the Indians’ heads. He didn’t look like he needed mothering – he looked like he was having a grand old time. But it might not last. “Oh dear. Best fetch him before he bangs that lid with a spoon.”

  Frank got to his feet. “Let’s go.” Jefferson helped Honoria up and they walked in.

  The Indians saw them immediately and got to their feet. Tommy, her best serving spoon in his hand, caught sight of them and moaned. She thought she heard Frank mutter something like “yeah, ya better be scared,” but wasn’t sure.

  Tommy pointed at his father. “That’s my pa,” he said nervously. The Indians frowned at the newcomers.

  “Tommy,” Frank said. “Come here.”

  “Aw, Pa, can’t ya see I’m tradin’?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a string of beads. “See what I got?”

  Frank took a deep breath. “Tommy, I’m only gonna say this once more. Come. Here.”

  Tommy went to the nearest Indian and tugged on his deerskin shirt. “That’s my pa,” he repeated, more sourly. The Indian looked at Frank and frowned again.

  “Oh dear, this might not bode well,” Honoria said.

  “It’s all right,” Jefferson assured. “But just in case, please – stay here.”

  “Very well.” She saw the stern expressions of the Indian braves, then noticed several squaws off to one side. One had a small child with her. “Oh heavens, we must be near their home.”

  “Don’t fret,” Jefferson said. “Just stand over there – we’ll send Tommy to you.”

  She did as instructed. Within moments Tommy trudged her way, hands in his pockets, looking as if this was
the worst day of his life. After his father got through with him, it would be. “Tommy, what are you doing?” she scolded.

  He looked up at her. “Just … tradin’ with the Injuns. I saved everyone, ya know. They like to trade.”

  She fought the urge to laugh. The child was adorably innocent. She bent down to eye level with him. “Tommy, you can’t keep looking for Indians. And you can’t keep taking other people’s things. Both are dangerous.” She looked at one of his pockets. “Is that a fork?”

  He pulled it out. “Yeah, they like these. This one’s Mrs. Dunnigan’s.”

  “Mrs. Dunnigan’s?” she said in surprise.

  “Sure, she’s got plenty, so she don’t need this’un. But these folks don’t got no forks. How’re they gonna eat?”

  Honoria suppressed a smile. “Oh, my dear sweet boy. Let’s get you home to your mother, shall we?”

  “What? We can’t leave. I ain’t done trading yet. I only got one necklace so far. The last Injuns I traded with, I didn’t get nothin’.”

  “The last … you mean the Indians that brought you back to camp?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I took them a few things, but I fell asleep waitin’ to see one and never got a chance to trade. They took the presents I brought, though.”

  “Presents?” She arched an eyebrow. “What presents?”

  “Oh, candy from Mrs. Dunnigan, a few spoons, a teapot …”

  “Oh heavens.” She covered her mouth to stifle a laugh. “When your mother finds out …”

  “Ya ain’t gonna tell her, are ya?”

  Honoria straightened.” No, I’m not. You are.” She turned the boy toward camp. “I think we’d best go. Let the men deal with your new friends.”

  “Aw, please, Mrs. Cooke, cain’t we stay?”

  “Absolutely not,” Honoria said sternly. She gave him a gentle shove to get him going. It was a good thing he was a child, she thought – otherwise Irene Dunnigan would want him hung by the neck. And she wasn’t the only one.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  It took days for Mabel Turner to stop hovering over Tommy, scolding him at every turn. This was in addition to Frank’s solution to the problem – about ten yards of stout rope, one end tied to their wagon, the other around Tommy’s waist. The boy’s father had made it plain that except to bathe or go take care of private business (where he would be accompanied by a parent), that rope would keep him tethered until they reached their destination. Tommy was despondent, but his father was unmoved.

  And Irene Dunnigan was fit to be tied that Tommy had traded her favorite cook pot to the Indians. “I hope they appreciate it!” she snapped one late afternoon after everyone finished setting up camp. “Cost me a pretty penny, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Now, Irene,” Wilfred consoled, “we can always order another one.”

  “And wait a year to get it!”

  “True, but more folks will come west and things will get here quicker. You’ll see.”

  “What I see is the need for a new pot. Now!” She glared at him.

  It didn’t have the effect she’d hoped. Wilfred was also unmoved. And Jack and Sam Cooke fell into hysterics.

  “This is no laughing matter!” she barked, turning her anger on Jefferson. “Teach those sons of yours some manners or mark my words, they’ll come to ruin!”

  Honoria hid her own smile with effort. Despite her bluster, Irene had endeared herself to Honoria over the long journey. She wondered if the woman got more crotchety when wet. Word was that after they passed through the Blue Mountains, they’d be in rainy country. For now, they were in a wide plain near a remarkably clear stream – almost a small river, really, but so clean you could see the bottom for a hundred yards.

  She caught sight of Cyrus and Polly approaching with papers in their hands. Jefferson noticed them too and raised a curious eyebrow. “What’s that, Cyrus?”

  Cyrus walked into their midst and looked at the men gathered there – Jefferson, Jack, Sam, Frank, Duncan, Wilfred, and Paddy Mulligan – plus Colin and Harrison. “Gentlemen, what do you think of this spot?”

  Jefferson looked at the others and shrugged. “It’s mighty pretty. But what about it?”

  “It is pretty,” Cyrus agreed. “In fact, we’re close enough to Oregon City that I wouldn’t mind staying a few days. Maybe longer.”

  “Longer?” Jefferson said in surprise. “Cyrus, we got several more weeks of traveling. Winter will be coming on. We can’t stay.”

  “Sure we can. True, winter is coming. But not far from here is my friend Gerhard Mueller, the one that talked me into coming west in the first place. He’s got a cabin and a small farm, and Polly and I can stay with him. If any of the rest of you would like to as well, we’d be happy to build a structure big enough for all of you to get through the winter. There’s just …” He shook his head. “I can’t explain it, but when Geri wrote me about this place, I fell in love with it the moment we arrived.” He put an arm around his wife. “So did Polly.”

  Jefferson stared at him for a moment. “You sound … sad.”

  “Yes,” Cyrus said, “I imagine I do. I’ve made a lot of friends during the course of our journey and I don’t mind telling you, I’d like us to become good neighbors as well.”

  They glanced at one another, unsure of what Cyrus was talking about.

  “Now these papers are land grants. Geri had me get them drawn up and I brought them with me. I’ve got eight sets.”

  Honoria looked around the small circle of pioneers. “Are you saying you want to settle here? You’re not going on to Oregon City?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” Cyrus pulled up a camp stool and sat. “I’ve always wanted to have a grand adventure, and this journey has been a small part of it. But I also want to create something special.”

  Polly stood behind him and rested her hands on his shoulders. “Cyrus is trying to say that he wants to create an entire town. He never does anything small.”

  Everyone stared at him in shock. “A town? Out of what?” Irene barked.

  “Out of what we have and what we can find, Irene, and with our own hands,” Cyrus replied cheerily. “You and Wilfred could build a mercantile. Polly and I would like to have a farm to start, then build a hotel for people traveling west. We won’t be the last people on the Oregon Trail, and you know there aren’t many comfortable places to stop on the way.”

  Jefferson could only stare. “A town?” he said flatly.

  “Don’t you mean a settlement?” Frank asked.

  “No, laddie,” Patrick said. “He means a town.”

  Jefferson glanced between them. “I take it you two have been talking?”

  “Of course we have,” Cyrus said. “Think about it, Jefferson – we’re right on the main route to Oregon City. People would stop for supplies. It would help to fund our building as we get things going.”

  “But we’d have to have supplies to sell them,” Jefferson pointed out.

  “We will,” Cyrus said. “I can get things from Oregon City in the spring and bring them back.”

  “What sort of things?” Duncan asked.

  “All sorts,” Cyrus said. “Tools for building, for setting up a small sawmill. Food and cloth and anything else they can make in Oregon City or bring on the trail from the East or ship around the Horn. So what do you say?”

  Everyone looked at everyone else in bewilderment.

  Cyrus stood. “It’s something to think about. Tomorrow we’ll reach Geri’s cabin. If any of you want to stay on with us, you’re more than welcome.” He looked at each of them and smiled. “Good night.” He took his wife’s hand and left.

  Colin stared after him, stunned. “Why would he want to stay here and not go to Oregon City?”

  Mr. Mulligan grinned. “Because out here, lad, a man can make something of his own. He’s a natural leader, that one. Make a fine mayor if ye ask me.”

  “Mayor of what?” Jack asked, waving an arm at the landscape. “A bunch of prairie dogs?”
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  “Jack,” Jefferson warned.

  “Pa, you gotta admit it’s kinda …”

  “Enough, boy. Can’t you see the man has a dream?”

  Honoria took Jefferson’s hand. “We all have a dream.”

  He squeezed her hand. “You’re right. It’s the reason we’re all here. Cyrus is just asking if we want to start that dream here instead of Oregon City.”

  “It is somethin’ to think ‘bout,” Frank commented. “I’ve heard of people settlin’ along the trail, though not on the one we traveled – leastwise not yet.” He sighed. “Aside from my son’s little capers, this trip’s been blessed, no one can argue it. We hardly had any issues with Injuns, and the ones we met were friendly. Others left us alone. We didn’t lose a single man, woman or child – ya know how rare that is? Maybe the good Lord’s tryin’ to tell us somethin’ and we should listen to Cyrus.”

  Harrison stood and looked around the circle. “Well, if you ask me, I think it would be a grand adventure!”

  Colin rolled his eyes. “No one asked you.”

  Harrison held up a finger. “But if they did –”

  Jack and Sam started guffawing again. “Boys!” Jefferson barked. “This is serious.”

  “It ain’t complicated, Pa,” Sam replied between chuckles. “We stay or we go.”

  Jefferson looked at him. “It means hard work, Sam. Lots of it.”

  “Both of ‘em do,” Sam retorted. “Ain’t gonna be any less work here than anyplace else we settle. Different kinda work, maybe, but still work.”

  Jack nodded. “And if we gotta work anyways, this ain’t such a bad place to do it.”

  Honoria thought she might faint. Usually Jack and Sam would go pale at the very mention of hard labor. Now they sounded, if not thrilled, at least resigned to it.

  “Well … that’s something for me and your ma to discuss,” Jefferson rubbed Honoria’s hand.

  She noticed all their sons were watching them now. Her throat became thick and she hoped none of them asked her what she thought – she’d never be able to speak. And no one protested his remark – there were no sardonic looks, no curling of the lips. Jack and Sam just took it for granted that she was now “their ma.”