Westward Hearts (20 page)

“It’s a finable offense,” a woman called out.

“That’s right.” Asa nodded then turned back to the man. “Who’s your councilman?”

“I dunno,” the man mumbled.

Asa tilted his head to one side. “Well now, that is troubling. First you’re caught picking a fight. Next you’re caught swearing. Now you can’t recall who your councilman is? I think you could just about get yourself thrown off this train before you’re even started.”

“Our councilman is Harris,” the kid said quickly. “But, please, don’t kick us off the train. We sold everything we own to come. My ma and the rest of us need to get to Oregon Territory. Please, sir. I’m sorry. I just did what my pa said to do.”

Asa looked kindly upon him. “Well, you seem like a good boy. How old are you, son?”

“I’m eighteen.”

“You think you’re old enough to keep your pa in line?”

The boy looked perplexed.

“Eighteen’s old enough to do guard duty,” Asa told him. “How about you practice by doing some guard duty on your pa?”

The man growled, and the boy made an uneasy shrug. “I reckon I can try.”

“I expect you to help keep him in line until he figures out the rules for himself.”

The young man nodded.

“In the meantime, I will let Harris know about the infraction. What’s your pa’s name?”

The boy told him their names and, with his father in tow, quietly left. And now the crowd slowly dispersed as well.

“Come on,” Elizabeth said to Brady. “Let’s go back to camp.”

“No,” Matthew sharply told her. “Brady and I still want to get that wood. No sense letting it go to waste.”

“That’s right.” Asa nodded to Brady. “You fellas get that wood, and I’ll go speak to Harris about this matter.”

As much as Elizabeth wanted to protect Brady and take him back to camp with her, she understood. This was a matter of male pride, and she had interfered. She turned to her son, but remembering he too was part of the “men’s club,” she refrained from grabbing his hand and dragging him back to camp with her. Instead, she considered her words. “I suppose you’ll want to help the men with that wood, JT.”

He gave her a lopsided grin, and she could tell he was pleased that she’d remembered to call him JT. “Don’t be late for supper,” she called as she left.

Before long she was back at their campsite, dramatically retelling the whole story for the sake of her mother and Ruth. “Father handled it so perfectly,” she said finally. “I was very proud of him.”

“Poor Brady.” Clara dropped a peeled potato into the water. “I figured we’d run into some folks like that. I’m glad the men were around to defend him.”

“I just wish I hadn’t jumped in like I did,” Elizabeth admitted. “But I was so mad.”

“I probably would have done the same thing,” Clara said.

“Me too,” Ruth declared. “Nobody should be mean to our Brady just because he’s colored.”

“Well, your grandpa set them straight,” Elizabeth said. “But I don’t see how I can be expected to hold my tongue if something like that happens again. Woman or not, I will not sit idly by when there’s injustice going on.”

“It’s not easy being a woman in a man’s world,” Clara said.

“This is our world too,” Elizabeth reminded her.

“But you still have to respect their manly pride,” her mother counseled.

Elizabeth sighed as she tied on her apron. “So I’m expected to be able to drive a team and fix a broken axle and protect and provide for my family just like a man, but at the same time I still have to play the little woman?”

Clara chuckled as she dropped another potato in the water. “I reckon it’s a fine line, Lizzie. A fine line that only a strong, wise woman can walk. You’ll figure it out.”

I
t was Ruth’s idea to make sugar cookies. “We can give one to every person in our unit,” she explained to Elizabeth and Clara. “When they come to see Grandpa after dinner tonight, we’ll surprise them with cookies.” But she was a little concerned when Grandpa informed her that 37 people were in their unit.

“That’s a lot of cookies.” She looked at the bowl of dough she was stirring. “The recipe said this makes three dozen. How many is that, Grandma?”

Clara paused from slicing carrots. “That’s a JT question.”

“I’ll help you.” Elizabeth poured a handful of beans on the table. “You know that a dozen is twelve. Now just make three piles of twelve and count them.”

Ruth did as told. “Thirty-six!”

“So it’s almost enough dough?”

Ruth scooted one more bean over. “There. Thirty-seven.”

“So you just make a few of the cookies a tiny bit smaller,” Clara told her. “And you should have enough dough.”

“The real trick will be getting them to bake right in our funny little oven,” Elizabeth said. “First let’s see if I can bake some cornbread without scorching it.”

Thanks to some good coals and Ruth’s diligent watching, the cookies turned out pretty good. “Maybe we’ll put you in charge of the baking from now on,” Elizabeth teased as she helped Ruth remove the hot baking sheets from the oven.

“Hello, Dawsons and Martins,” called a woman’s voice.

“Welcome, Flanders!” Asa got up to greet them, shaking Bert’s hand.

“I made cookies,” Ruth called out with excitement. “One for each.”

Tillie came over to see. “Your ma lets you cook on the fire?”

Ruth nodded with a flushed face.

“With supervision,” Elizabeth clarified.

“We don’t let Tillie near the fire,” Mahala, the oldest girl, told Elizabeth. “Too dangerous.”

“Ruth really made those?” Hannah asked.

“She did,” Clara told them. “Ruth helps us with all the cooking.”

Tillie’s lower lip stuck out. “Ruth is lucky.”

Hannah laughed. “You think doing kitchen chores is lucky?”

“We’ll start you on peeling potatoes if you promise not to cut yourself,” Mahala told her.

Ruth counted out seven cookies on a plate and took them to Bert. “Here you go, Mr. Flanders,” she said proudly. “One for each member of your family.”

He thanked her, sharing the cookies with his brood. Then he chatted with Asa for a while, both of them smoking their pipes congenially.

“I’m glad you were able to join our party,” Elizabeth told Flo. “Have you decided where you’re going to settle yet?”

Flo just laughed. “I don’t know for sure. Maybe we’ll go all the way to the Pacific Ocean with you folks.”

“If we don’t run out of supplies first,” Mahala said in a slightly bitter tone.

“Oh, Mahala.” Flo frowned. “Always expecting the worst. Ever since she turned eighteen she’s been acting like an old woman. I swear it won’t be long till her hair turns gray.”

“That’s ’cause Mahala keeps worrying that she’ll be an old maid,” Hannah teased.

“A pretty girl like her?” Elizabeth smiled at Mahala. “I don’t think so.”

“She’s too picky,” Hannah said. Then she flitted over to where Matthew and JT were making music.

“From what I hear, there are more than enough men to go around in the West,” Flo said quietly to Elizabeth. “I s’pect she’ll find herself a man out there.”

“There seem to be plenty of young fellows on this wagon train too.” Elizabeth tried not to think about her encounter with the young man earlier.

“I think Mahala’s already got her eye on someone,” Flo confided to Elizabeth, nodding over to where Mahala was wandering toward the music makers. “She mentioned to me how your brother was both good-looking and smart.”

“Oh?” Elizabeth tried not to look surprised. The idea of Mahala and Matthew had never occurred to her. “How old did you say Mahala is?”

“She turned eighteen last fall.”

Elizabeth simply nodded. Certainly old enough to be considered marriageable.

“Have you met the Mullers yet?” Flo asked quietly.

“I don’t believe so.”

“That Gertrude…” Flo looked around to be sure no one was listening, but most of the children had drifted over to the music.

“Gertrude?” Elizabeth suddenly remembered the outspoken woman from their first day here. Her name was Gertrude.

“Gertrude is the wife,” Flo said. “And, take it from me, she is one piece of work. And truly, I am a woman who can get along with most anyone. But that Gertrude…” She shook her head. “She’s as prickly as a porcupine. And less manners than a polecat.”

“I…uh…I think perhaps I did meet her.” Elizabeth sighed. “She’s in our unit?”

“She most certainly is. We parked our wagon by theirs the first day we got here, so we’ve been
neighbors.
And that Gertrude, well, she just picked us apart right from the get-go. First she tells me our team is no good, and then she swears our wagon won’t make it over the plains in one piece. I just wish she’d mind her own business and let us be.” She shook her head. “And those boys of hers are perfect hoodlums.” She lowered her voice. “Well now, speak of the devil.”

Elizabeth looked up to see Gertrude and the rest of her family coming into camp. Unsure of what to do, Elizabeth decided to just wait for her father to take the lead.

“Welcome,” he hailed as he went to meet them, introducing himself to the husband, a pale, mousy man about half the size of his wife.

“I’m Henry Muller,” he quietly said, “and this here is my bride, Gertrude.”

Flo and Elizabeth exchanged amused glances.

“I go by Gertie.” She shook Asa’s hand. “And these are our children. Otis here is the oldest, just turned seventeen. That’s Horace, he’s fifteen. And Albert, the quiet one, he’s twelve. And that there is MaryLou, the baby.”

“I’m not a baby,” the yellow-haired girl declared. “I’m ten years old.”

Ruth, bless her heart, carried another plate of cookies, this time for the Mullers. “These are for you,” she told Gertie. “One for each member of your family.”

Gertie tilted her head to one side. “Didn’t I meet you already?”

Ruth nodded politely. “You met me and Grandma and Mama that first day when we got here.”

Now Elizabeth knew it was her turn to be hospitable. “Welcome to our camp.” She smiled at Gertie as she linked her arm in her father’s. “As you know, Asa is your councilman, but he’s also my father.”

Gertie seemed to be at a loss for words as Asa introduced the Mullers to the rest of his family. Then another group entered the camp, and soon Asa was distracted by a young couple—very young. But they seemed sweet.

“I’m Paddy McIntire,” the young man said with a strong Irish accent. “And this is my wife, Fiona. We’ve only been in this fine country a few months. But we’re on the way to the West for land.” He sighed. “Aye, land…won’t it be grand?” He nodded over to where the music was playing. “I’ve got me a fiddle,” he told Asa. “And a drum as well. Fiona and I love music.”

“I hope you’ll join us for some sing-alongs,” Asa told him.

“Aye, t’would be a pleasure. And won’t we have a grand time of it too?”

A family named Schneider arrived. The parents spoke broken English with strong German accents, but the school-aged children, Anna and Jonas, spoke good English and had perfect manners. Jonas was the same age as Jamie and, after politely thanking Ruth for the cookie, went directly to where the music was being played.

The next two families were from Boston, but with so many people now crowding the campground, Elizabeth didn’t manage to catch all their names. However, between the two families there seemed to be six or more adolescent children and three wagons. And it appeared the families were old friends. It also appeared that the Bostonians were rather wealthy and, although she didn’t like to pass judgment, they had a slightly superior air about them, as if they felt above the other emigrants.

“I heard that one man’s a lawyer and the other’s a merchant of some sort,” Flo told Elizabeth.

“It figures they’d wind up in our group,” Gertie said in her usual disgruntled way. “More greenhorns here than you can shake a stick at.”

Elizabeth noticed an older couple on the fringes, and eager to escape Gertie, she made her way over to welcome them. Quiet and polite, they introduced themselves as Horace and Jane Taylor. “We are missionaries,” Jane explained to Elizabeth in a somber tone. “Our mission is to go to the West to save the heathen Indians.”

“Oh…” Elizabeth didn’t know how to respond. “Is it just you and your husband, or do you have family traveling with you?”

Jane shook her head. “It’s only Horace and myself. The Good Lord chose to keep us childless. I suppose that is so we could be of help to others.”

The campground grew lively and loud with animated discussions, children roughhousing, Flax barking occasionally, and music. Everyone seemed to be having such a good time that Elizabeth wondered how late their guests would want to stay. Surely they’d be concerned for children’s bedtimes.

“Mama?” Ruth held up a plate of cookies. “There are still four cookies left. Did I count them wrong?”

“Have you given one to everybody?”

She nodded. “And our family each had one after dinner.”

“Why don’t we ask Grandpa if a wagon is still missing?”