Bartered Bride Romance Collection (14 page)

Charity sucked in a deep, shocked breath. “I’m sorry! It never occurred to me….”

“Yeah, well, remember that in the future. The other thing is, you can’t go tossing your gold away with both hands, Charity. If you do, you won’t manage at all once we reach the trail’s end. To my reckoning, even if everyone pays you back for what you bought, you’ll only have eighty bucks to your name. Gal, that’s about four months’ wages for a man—and you won’t be able to last long on that!”

Charity cast a glance all about her then leaned close. “Ethan, please don’t worry about that anymore. I’ve not quite spent all of Daddy’s carrying money. That was only a small fraction of what he had. The highboy has a false bottom. I have funds”—she looked down then back at him—“
considerable
funds left in it.”

Ethan stared at her in shock. He’d almost convinced himself that they might consider matrimony. Even with her fancy upbringing and fine goods, she never acted superior or haughty. Now he knew better. There was more than just a class barrier between them. No self-respecting man married a woman whose wealth eclipsed his to the point of humiliation.

Oblivious to the fact that she’d poleaxed him, Charity said, “Daddy told me to keep it a secret. I owe you peace of mind not to fret about me. I’m sorry I let you worry. I understand now that I acted far less circumspectly than I should have back at the store, but I was appalled at how stingy he was with his limits.” She paused a moment longer then added, “I promise to exercise reserve so there won’t be any more awkward moments.”

Until now, Ethan hadn’t realized he’d let his heart get ahead of his mind. He forced himself to sound conversational when he really wanted to walk off and kick a stump. “I can’t believe you bought all of that stuff,” he shuffled uncomfortably, “and I can’t figure out for the life of me where you put it all.”

Charity smiled. “I had it all planned out. Aren’t you glad we can give the others our surplus?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure it’s wise for you to give stuff away. Even if you trust them and figure they won’t rob you, you need to concern yourself with the fact that folks will feel beholden.”

“Nonsense! I owe so many of those people more than I can ever repay.” In an instant, her cheerful countenance melted. Tears welled up, and she choked out, “Banner helped me prepare Mama for her burial. Rick took my guard duty. Jed minded my oxen. You helped bury Daddy and took me on….”

“Hush,” he crooned softly as he squeezed her hand. “We all help one another, Charity. It’s the Christian thing to do.”

She turned soulful eyes to him. “Then please don’t be upset with me when I use the money the Lord blessed me with to help others. It’s all I have to give. The Bible says, ‘To him whom much is given, much is required.’ ”

A short while later, as Ethan sat whittling a button for Cricket, Tad asked, “Pa, was Miss Davis crying?”

“Yes, son. She lost both of her folks since we’ve been on the trail. That is a powerful lot of sorrow to bear.”

“Pa, that makes me wonder,” Tad asked as he scratched his knee, “why doesn’t she cry all the livelong day like Aunt Lydia did?”

“Because people are different. Miss Davis is a very strong young woman, and she seems to be able to bear a big burden without complaining. She mostly does it by leaning on the Lord. Those are qualities to admire, Tad.”

“There are lots of good things about her.”

“I kind of feel that way myself.” Ethan admitted that much, but he said nothing more. As the days passed, his feelings for Charity deepened. All along, he’d known it was unfair for him to reveal the attraction. Tenderhearted and sensitive as she was, she’d probably feel indebted and accept his suit, but he didn’t want a wife who married him out of gratitude or pity. Now, staggered by the fact that she could spend such a sum and still possess “considerable funds,” Ethan pushed aside any hope of marriage. He knew they’d have to part at the trail’s end in the Willamette Valley.

They continued along the north fork of the Platte River. The water supply grew less and less tasty as they traveled on, but the oxen were happy with it. Previous parties had been displeased with the river water taste and tried to dig water holes. The guide warned them not to—much of the water was too salty or plain bad. They made do the best they could.

Their scout seemed satisfied with the distance they’d managed each day. On average they covered a bit over fifteen miles, but he’d warned once they hit the Continental Divide and traveled through the mountainous terrain, they’d slow down considerably. Fear of not making it through the mountains before winter storms hit motivated them to push onward.

Delays happened—a broken wheel needing to be repaired or replaced, an axle that cracked after the wagon ran over a big stone. Several wagons benefited from Ethan’s skills. Never once did he ask to be paid for his expertise. Most of the travelers were lean on cash, so when Ethan fixed a yoke or repaired a wagon, the recipient usually offered to pull his guard duty in return.

Working together and learning to give and take kept the train moving along. On occasion, they encountered an abandoned wagon. If there was anything to be salvaged, the men did so quickly and efficiently. The Laswells had just used their only spare wheel when an abandoned rig was found with two good ones still available.

Everyone gave praise to the Lord for His providence, but their guide heaved a sigh. “Folks, I’m just as grateful to the Almighty, but I may as well use this time when you’re all together to give you warning. The going will be getting much rougher. In another month, things will be downright miserable a fair part of the time. Tempers will get mighty short, and if things get bad, I’ll suggest that the troublemakers take back a portion of their fee and join up with another train or go on to the California Territory instead of heading to the Willamette Valley with us. I don’t cotton to backbiting or gossip, but if there’s a problem, you aren’t to keep it quiet. Come to me or Jason at once. I’ve seen men get riled up enough to come to blows on several trips, and on two crossings there were even shootings. I’ll not abide anything of the sort. Far more men die from fighting with their trail mates than fighting with Indians. First wind I get of discord, I want a full account.”

Solemn faces stared back, and heads nodded in slow assent. This was the ugly side of humanity. The crucible of hardship and grief had drawn them together. It sobered them to hear their unity was tenuous.

The evening they reached the Sweetwater River crossing, Jason walked through the train and collected a string of women. He specifically chose them and left others out. Charity felt a twinge of worry when he nodded his head at her and said, “You, too, Miss Davis.”

Jason pulled the knot of women off to the side and set his weathered hands on his hips. He gave them a stern look. “I’m not putting up with no nonsense.”

Nonsense? What have I done?
Charity shot a worried glance at her friends then focused back on their leader.

“Trail’s getting harder. Hotter, too. Them hoops have gotta go. Shuck ’em and leave ’em here.” He swung his arm in an arc. “The womenfolk who went ahead of you already did, so I don’t want no fuss.” Without another word, he paced away.

Abby Legacy started to twitter, and her cousin, Hyacinth, gasped, “Dear mercy! They’ve hung their hoops from the trees!”

Charity had been busy with Cricket, so she hadn’t noticed the strange sight. Months ago, when they set out, she would have blushed at anything half as indelicate. Now she smiled. “I’ll bet the birds here make odd nests.” Everyone laughed.

Myrtle looked down at her gown. “I’d best do some hemming. I can’t stand to leave a stitch of clothing behind. Guess I’ll cut the hoops from my crinoline and shorten all of my things.”

“Add some buckshot to your hem,” someone said. “It’ll keep your skirts weighted down so the wind won’t cause you grief.”

Daddy read women did that, and he’d instructed the seamstress to stitch gold coins into the hems of their skirts and gowns. It worked well. Charity determined she’d simply move them. As she walked back to the wagon, she decided to use the fabric she cut off to make Cricket a gown. She turned to Myrtle. “You’re right. Wasting fabric would be foolish. Had Jason waited until morning to make his announcement, we wouldn’t have time to salvage the fabric. Scraping the ground all day would ruin it.”

“I’ll save my extra for quilt blocks,” Hyacinth decided. “Maybe we could all trade a square and make memory quilts.”

“You’re forever trading things,” Abby said. “I’d venture to say your button string doesn’t have a single button on it that hasn’t been swapped!”

Hyacinth laughed as she reached up and touched the piece. “They’re called memory strings, too. I remember everyone I ever traded with to have these. Each one means something to me!”

Myrtle said, “Back home we always called them charmstrings because most of the gals had charmstring glass buttons on them. Charity has more kinds of buttons than I ever imagined existed on hers—but it’s the charmingest thing I ever did see!”

“Thank you,” Charity said. Somehow, the single women and girls on their train had come to the habit of wearing their button strings on Sundays. Life and work was too hard to subject their treasured pieces to daily wear, but it was sweet to bring them out once a week. Leaving friends and family behind was hard; being able to finger a button and remember those loved ones still helped them feel in touch.

Charity smiled. “Ethan is carving beautiful little buttons for Cricket’s string. He’s so clever with his hands. He uses all kinds of wood. He brought a few corozo nuts to carve so she’ll have vegetable ivory, and he has horn he saved to do the same. Her string will surely become a family heirloom. He helped Tad make a leather bag for his marbles last night, too.”

Myrtle held her back as the others went ahead. “Charity, are you losing your heart to him?”

“Ethan? Myrtle, I deeply admire him. He’s a godly man. He cherishes his children and has been kindness itself to me, but we’ve both done our utmost to remain cordial and circumspect, so I’d be mortified if anyone thought there was anything improper between us.”

“Oh, now, I didn’t mean to imply you were chasing after him,” Myrtle said as they started to walk again. “He’s a fine young man. I’ve wondered if perhaps he’s taken a shine to you.”

Ethan remained kneeling by the Jasons’ wagon. He’d needed to replace a cracked doubletree. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but Charity’s words warmed his heart. It was good to know she held him in high regard. Their relationship didn’t fit into any of the usual molds, and he tried to make things easier for her when he could. Keeping things balanced strained his mind at times. Because he could never wed her, he didn’t want to do anything to give the appearance that they might be courting, but she deserved special treatment for the countless ways she eased life for him and his kids.

He agreed with Myrtle. Even to a common man’s undiscriminating eye, Charity’s string held rare and wondrous buttons. Sometimes she’d tell Cricket a nap-time story about how she’d been given a particular button. In those moments, Ethan learned little things about Charity she’d otherwise never have revealed.

The touch button—her first—was a big, gold military button from her great-great-grandfather’s Revolutionary War uniform. Her birthday was in July, which accounted for the buttons that held genuine rubies. A small cluster of buttons commemorated her first formal tea when she turned ten: a pearl, a cameo, two china portraits from Austria, a thumbnail-sized gold teapot from Silesia, and a coral flower. She cherished a simple crocheted button from a church widow every bit as much as she enjoyed the jet button her grandmother had worn when she met Queen Victoria.

He knew she kept track of each button in a tiny red leather book that had dainty, gold vines embossed down the cover. Her joy wasn’t merely in having a collection of beautiful baubles; she used it as a means to remember important events and cherished people in her past. Memory by memory, charm by charm, she’d recorded each addition to her button string.

Tad took a liking to the buttons because Charity made doing his sums and multiplication tables fun by concocting problems for him using her string. The kaleidoscopes, swirlbacks, paperweights, and charmglass buttons kept his attention long enough to cipher. When he was especially clever, Charity sometimes gave him another marble from the supply she bought back at Fort Laramie.