Chapter Four
Approaching the Kansas River
The Kansas River was running high.
That was the report brought by the two men Nathaniel had sent ahead, and it caused half the wagon train to speak at once.
Eleanor stood near the center of the gathered emigrants and listened as men argued about ferries, fords, prices, and delays. They had not yet seen the river, but several spoke as though they had personally measured every inch of it.
Nathaniel stood on an overturned crate. “We have three choices. We can wait for the water to fall, pay the ferry operator, or prepare the wagons to float.”
“How much does the ferry cost?” someone asked.
“More than it did yesterday,” Nathaniel said. “The operator knows the river is high.”
That caused another burst of complaints.
Eleanor raised her hand.
A man near her frowned. “This is a council of wagon owners.”
“I own two,” Eleanor said.
“Your father—”
“Is dead. The wagons are mine.”
The man opened his mouth again, but Nathaniel spoke first.
“Miss Whitaker has the floor.”
Eleanor looked at him. He gave her a small nod.
“Waiting will cost food and grass,” she said. “Floating the wagons risks every supply we carry. If the ferry can take the wagons safely, the price should be compared against those losses rather than against what we hoped to pay.”
“Easy to say when you have money,” the same man muttered.
Eleanor turned toward him. “It is easy to say because I can add.”
Caroline made a sound behind her that might have been a cough.
Nathaniel's face remained serious, though his eyes did not.
A tall man carrying several rolled maps stepped forward. Eleanor had noticed him during the first days but had not spoken with him.
“The river rose nearly two feet yesterday,” he said. “I measured the bank and spoke with a freight driver coming east. It may fall if the weather holds, but not quickly.”
“Thomas Reed,” Nathaniel said to the group. “Surveyor and mapmaker.”
Caroline's attention sharpened at the word mapmaker.
Eleanor noticed because she noticed everything her sisters did. Caroline would deny it if asked, so Eleanor decided to save the question for a more entertaining moment.
Thomas unrolled a rough map over the top of a barrel. “The ferry is here. There is a ford several miles upstream, but it is not safe at the present height.”
Caroline stepped closer. “How recent are your measurements?”
Thomas looked at her. “This morning.”
“And the current?”
“Strong enough to turn a wagon if the team loses its footing.”
Caroline studied the map. “Then we should not attempt the ford.”
“I agree.”
Eleanor looked away before Caroline caught her smiling.
Nathaniel decided they would travel to the ferry and negotiate as a group. It was sensible. It also meant that the operator would see twelve wagons arriving with no safe alternative.
By afternoon, they reached the river. The water was broad, brown, and fast. The ferry was little more than a flat platform guided by a cable, and Eleanor watched one wagon cross while trying not to imagine the cable breaking.
The operator named his price.
Nathaniel stared at him. “That is twice the rate you charged last week.”
“River is higher.”
“The ferry is the same.”
“Risk is greater.”
Eleanor stepped forward. “Then you will give us a written guarantee against damage.”
The operator looked at her as if a chair had spoken. “What?”
“If your price reflects the risk, you are accepting responsibility for it.”
“I am not guaranteeing anything.”
“Then the price does not reflect risk. It reflects opportunity.”
Nathaniel coughed into his fist.
The operator scowled. “Who are you?”
“A woman with two wagons and seven sisters who can wait here all day discussing your arithmetic.”
Nathaniel moved beside her. “We will pay the regular rate for the first six wagons and a reduced rate for the remaining six. You will earn more today than you usually earn in a week.”
The operator shook his head.
Eleanor folded her arms. “We can also send riders back along the road to tell the trains behind us what you are charging.”
The man's eyes narrowed.
They settled on a price that was higher than Nathaniel wanted and lower than the operator had demanded.
When they walked away, Nathaniel looked at Eleanor. “Do you enjoy making men dislike you?”
“Only dishonest men.”
“That must simplify your social life.”
“Greatly.”
He laughed, and Eleanor felt an unreasonable thrill at being the cause.
*****
THE CROSSING BEGAN the next morning, but preparations lasted through the afternoon.
Nathaniel inspected the ferry, the cable, and every wagon scheduled for the first loads. He ordered loose items tied down, and animals separated where necessary. People complained about waiting, then complained that the crossing was too dangerous to hurry.
This was normal.
The Whitakers waited near the bank. The younger sisters sat beneath the wagon awning, sewing and watching the river.
Nathaniel approached in time to hear Lucy say, “Eleanor, may I wear your earrings?”
“No.”
“Only for a moment.”
“A moment is long enough to lose one.”
“I would be careful.”
Eleanor's expression softened. She sat beside Lucy and touched one garnet. “They belonged to Mother.”
“I know.”
“Father gave them to me because I was the eldest. That did not make them more mine than yours. It made me responsible for keeping them.”
Lydia leaned closer. “Keeping them for what?”
“An emergency.”
Nathaniel stopped where he was, not wanting to interrupt.
Eleanor continued. “Father said the stones could be sold if there was no other way to keep the family safe. Until then, I wear them to remember Mother.”
“Do they make you brave?” Grace asked.
“No.” Eleanor smiled. “But sometimes they remind me that I already am.”
Nathaniel looked toward the river.
He had spent years believing courage meant carrying fear without speaking of it. Eleanor carried hers in plain sight, disguised as red stones and a straight back.
She noticed him a moment later. “Were you listening?”
“I was standing nearby.”
“That was not my question.”
“Then yes.”
Her hand moved to the earring. “You should announce yourself.”
“You should stop saying interesting things when I am nearby.”
Lydia grinned. Eleanor ignored her.
Nathaniel explained that the Whitaker wagons would cross among the first group in the morning. Eleanor asked sensible questions about the animals, the cable, and how much of the load should be removed.
“You do not trust the ferry,” she said.
“I trust wood and rope to behave like wood and rope. That means I expect both to break eventually.”
“Comforting.”
“I did not say tomorrow.”
Charlotte’s inventory system became a source of both comfort and irritation.
She had divided the supplies into categories, then subcategories, then added small symbols beside anything that required special attention.
Eleanor stared at the page. “What does the triangle mean?”
“Use sparingly.”
“The circle?”
“Replace when possible.”
“The star?”
Charlotte hesitated.
Lydia leaned over her shoulder. “Things Eleanor worries about unnecessarily.”
Eleanor looked at Charlotte.
Charlotte adjusted her spectacles. “That is not precisely what it means.”
“What does it precisely mean?”
“Items you ask about more than twice a day.”
Rebecca laughed from the other side of the wagon.
Eleanor pointed at the page. “How many stars are there?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four if we count the earrings.”
“We are not counting the earrings.”
Charlotte calmly made a tiny mark.
“Did you just add them?”
“No.”
“You did.”
Charlotte closed the book. “The inventory is a living document.”
Lydia looked impressed. “You have become dangerous.”
“I have always been dangerous. I simply prefer columns.”
Later, when Eleanor checked the flour for the third time, Charlotte did not say a word. She only opened the book and drew another star.
Eleanor pretended not to see.
Charlotte pretended not to enjoy herself.
Both failed.
That evening Nathaniel made the mistake of complimenting Eleanor.
“You handled the ferry negotiation well.”
She glanced at him. “You sound surprised.”
“I am not.”
“You paused.”
“I was breathing.”
“You do that suspiciously often before saying something about me.”
Nathaniel folded his arms. “Very well. You handled the ferry negotiation better than most men I have led west.”
“Most?”
“All.”
“That was nearly satisfactory.”
“Nearly?”
“You qualified the original statement.”
“I corrected it.”
“After prompting.”
“You are exhausting.”
Eleanor smiled. “And yet you keep coming back.”
Nathaniel looked at her for one beat too long. “So, I do.”
The humor thinned.
Eleanor suddenly became very interested in the river.
Nathaniel rescued them both by saying, “Although I may simply enjoy losing arguments.”
“You do not lose arguments.”
“I have lost several to you.”
“No. You have eventually become reasonable.”
“That is a remarkably convenient definition.”
“It saves time.”
He laughed.
Eleanor liked the sound enough that she immediately regretted causing it.
Nathaniel noticed. “You are smiling.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Do you intend to spend the entire journey reporting my face to me?”
“If it continues doing unexpected things.”
“Then I shall wear a veil.”
“That seems dangerous near oxen.”
She looked at him.
He grinned.
Eleanor decided wagon masters should be forbidden from enjoying themselves.