Chapter Six
West of the Kansas River
Eleanor woke the next morning with her hand pressed against her left earring.
For one terrible moment, she thought she had dreamed that Nathaniel had found it. Then her fingers touched the fine wire he had wrapped around the clasp, and relief moved through her all over again.
She opened her eyes.
Seven sisters were crowded around her.
“What?” Eleanor asked.
“You are smiling,” Lydia said.
“I was asleep.”
“You were smiling in your sleep,” Lucy said. “Caroline said we should not wake you, but Rebecca said we would learn more if we did.”
Rebecca looked offended. “I said no such thing.”
“You said her expression might become interesting.”
“That is entirely different.”
Eleanor sat up, striking her head on the bottom of the wagon. “All of you get out from under this wagon.”
Her sisters laughed as they obeyed.
Caroline remained behind. “He found the earring.”
“Yes.”
“And repaired it.”
“The clasp was bent.”
“And put it in your ear.”
Eleanor pushed back her hair. “Were you awake?”
“The wagon canvas is not a wall.”
“Pretend it is.”
Caroline smiled. “Do you like him?”
“He is the wagon master. Liking him is not required.”
“That was not my question.”
“Go help Martha.”
Caroline climbed out, still smiling.
Eleanor dressed quickly. The camp had been awake for some time. Bedding, clothes, and food sacks were spread across ropes and wagon tops to dry. The ferry accident had soaked more supplies than anyone had first realized.
The train would remain in camp until midday. Nathaniel had announced the delay after examining every damaged wagon. Eleanor disliked losing miles, but she had learned enough in five days not to argue with wet flour.
Charlotte sat near the second wagon with the inventory book. “We lost part of one flour sack and two pounds of sugar.”
“The sugar?” Martha asked from the fire.
“Water came through the corner of the chest.”
Martha closed her eyes briefly. Anyone who did not know her might have thought she was praying. Eleanor knew she was mourning the sugar.
“We still have enough,” Eleanor said.
Charlotte nodded. “Several families do not.”
Eleanor looked toward the other wagons. Children stood near fires waiting for breakfasts that seemed much smaller than the previous day's.
“How much can we spare?”
“Eleanor,” Caroline said, “we have six months ahead.”
“I know.”
Charlotte consulted the book. “If we share fifty pounds of flour and some bacon, we will still have more than Father's minimum.”
“Then do it.”
Caroline sighed. “You did not ask what I thought.”
“I know what you think. You think I should be careful.”
“I think you should remember there are eight of us.”
Eleanor touched her earring. “I remember every minute.”
Caroline's face softened. “I know.”
They divided what they could spare. Other families did the same after Nathaniel called a meeting and proposed pooling the damaged food. Eleanor kept the record while Nathaniel measured portions.
“Mrs. Turner's family lost nearly everything in the wagon,” Nathaniel said quietly.
“We will give them more.”
“If we make an exception, others may complain.”
“Then do not call it an exception. Her husband will help Rebecca repair the second wagon's brake in exchange.”
Nathaniel looked at her. “You have an answer for everything.”
“No. I simply prefer finding one before other people decide there is none.”
He smiled. “That sounds like having an answer for everything.”
Working beside him felt easier than it should have. Nathaniel listened when she spoke. When he disagreed, he explained why. More surprisingly, he sometimes changed his mind.
Eleanor had known men who believed changing their mind was a kind of death. Mr. Cooper seemed to survive it nicely, though she suspected it caused him occasional internal injury.
“How are your ribs?” he asked.
She kept her eyes on the figures. “They are still attached.”
“That was not my question.”
“They are bruised.”
“Martha should bind them.”
“Martha has.”
“And you should not lift anything heavy.”
“You are beginning to sound like an elderly aunt.”
“Did your elderly aunts often order you about?”
“They tried.”
Nathaniel laughed. Eleanor liked the sound. She liked it far too much.
*****
NATHANIEL FOUND THE trader shortly before noon.
The man had arrived from the west with coffee, flour, lamp oil, dried apples, and a collection of goods he claimed emigrants could not survive without. Most of those goods had survived perfectly well without the emigrants.
Nathaniel watched Eleanor examine a sack of flour. She asked the price and made a face.
“It was less in Independence,” she said.
“Independence is behind you,” the trader replied.
“I am aware of its location.”
The man's gaze moved to her earrings. “Those are fine stones.”
Eleanor straightened. “They are not for sale.”
“Everything is for sale somewhere between Missouri and Oregon.”
“Not those.”
She turned away, but Nathaniel saw her look back once.
Later, he found her alone near the riverbank. She had one hand on the leather pouch holding her father's plan.
“You asked what he would pay,” Nathaniel said.
Eleanor did not pretend ignorance. “I asked because I needed to know.”
“You have enough supplies.”
“Today.”
“He would not give you half their value.”
“Then I would not sell them to him.”
Nathaniel looked at the garnets. “Your mother's earrings should not be the first thing sacrificed every time the trail becomes difficult.”
“They would not be the first. I have already sacrificed my home, my furniture, my father's grave, and every expectation I had for my life.”
He had not expected the sharp words. Eleanor seemed startled by them herself.
“I am sorry,” Nathaniel said.
“Do not be. You did not take those things.”
“Neither did the trail. Not all of them.”
She looked toward the river. “Father gave me the earrings because he trusted me to know when memory mattered less than a living sister.”
“And do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Trust yourself to know.”
Eleanor was quiet.
Nathaniel understood the answer. He sat on a fallen log. After a moment, she sat beside him.
“I sold Abigail's piano after she died,” he said.
Eleanor turned toward him.
“I could not listen to it,” he continued. “She played every evening. Not well, but with great enthusiasm.”
Eleanor smiled slightly.
“When she was gone, the silence seemed worse with the piano in the room. I sold it to the first man who made an offer.” Nathaniel picked up a small stone and turned it between his fingers. “A year later, I wanted it back. Not because I could play it, but because she had loved it.”
“Did you find it?”
“No.”
“I am sorry.”
“So am I.” He looked at her. “Do not let grief convince you that everything you love is expendable.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled, though no tears fell. “I will not sell them to protect my pride.”
“That is all I ask.”
“You ask a great deal for a wagon master.”
“It is an important position.”
She laughed softly.
They walked back to camp together. Their shoulders brushed once, then again. Neither moved farther apart.
Nathaniel knew Caroline Whitaker saw them. She was standing near the first wagon with her arms folded and a thoughtful expression.
He suspected that gaining Eleanor’s affection might be easier than surviving the opinions of all seven sisters.
That was not a comforting thought.
*****
THE MORNING AFTER THE ferry crossing, Eleanor discovered that being injured did not exempt her from family commentary.
Martha handed her a cup of coffee and pointed toward an overturned crate. “Sit.”
“I am sitting.”
“You are standing.”
“I was about to sit.”
“You have been about to sit for ten minutes.”
Eleanor lowered herself carefully.
Lydia watched. “Mr. Cooper told you to rest.”
“Mr. Cooper says many things.”
“He says them especially often to you.”
Rebecca looked up from the harness she was mending. “Because she especially often ignores them.”
“I do not ignore him.”
Seven sisters stared at her.
Eleanor drank her coffee. “Not always.”
Caroline sat beside her. “Your ribs?”
“Sore.”
“Your head?”
“Fine.”
“Your earring?”
Eleanor’s hand rose automatically to the repaired clasp.
Lydia grinned. “Very fine.”
“Do any of you have work?”
“We are working,” Charlotte said.
“You are watching me.”
“That is work now.”
Nathaniel arrived carrying a small sack of dried apples he had bought from the trader.
Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “What is that?”
“Food.”
“I recognize food.”
“That is encouraging.”
Lydia stood. “I suddenly remember urgent work somewhere else.”
All seven sisters vanished with suspicious speed.
Nathaniel watched them go. “Did I frighten them?”
“No. They are attempting subtlety.”
“They are poor at it.”
“Very.”
He held out the sack. “Dried apples. Martha says you should eat something.”
“Martha has fed me twice.”
“She says you gave half of it to Lucy.”
“Lucy was hungry.”
“So are you.”
Eleanor accepted an apple slice. “Are you always this interfering?”
“No. Sometimes I sleep.”
She bit the apple to keep from smiling.
Nathaniel sat on the ground opposite her. “I have been thinking about the other day.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“You entered the river after I told you not to.”
“You fell into it after I suggested that was unwise.”
“I did not fall deliberately.”
“Neither did I.”
“You ran.”
“To the rope attached to you.”
His jaw tightened. “I was afraid for you.”
Eleanor’s answer softened. “I know.”
“I do not want fear to turn me into a man who mistakes orders for care.”
She studied him. “That is a very specific thought.”
“I have had a long morning.”
“So have I.”
Nathaniel nodded toward the apple. “Eat.”
“You almost managed an entire conversation without giving an order.”
“I was close.”
“Perhaps tomorrow.”
“Do not become optimistic.”
Eleanor laughed.
From behind the wagon, Lydia whispered, “They are getting along.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Nathaniel called, “I can hear you.”
There was a short silence.
Then Lydia answered, “We know.”
Eleanor tried to avoid him.
She succeeded for eleven minutes.
He found her checking the wagon brake.
“You are avoiding me.”
“I am inspecting the brake.”
“You inspected it this morning.”
“It may have changed.”
“In three hours?”
“Things happen.”
Nathaniel leaned against the wheel. “Such as women kissing wagon masters?”
Eleanor nearly struck her head on the wagon frame. “You kissed me! Besides, it was gratitude.”
“So, you said.”
“It remains true.”
“I have not challenged it.”
“You sound amused.”
“I am trying not to appear terrified.”
She straightened. “Terrified?”
“Seven sisters saw you kiss me.”
“Only three.”
“Three admitted seeing it.”
Eleanor considered that.
Nathaniel nodded. “Exactly.”
She tried not to laugh.
He lowered his voice. “For what it is worth, I liked your gratitude.”
Her face warmed. “That was unnecessary.”
“Honest.”
“You should practice restraint,” she said
“You should stop kissing me unexpectedly.”
“You kissed me! I merely forgot to push you away.”
“A dangerous precedent.”
Eleanor stepped closer before good sense intervened. “Are you complaining?”
Nathaniel’s expression changed. “No.”
The answer was quiet.
For a moment neither moved.
Then Lydia’s voice came from behind the wagon.
“I knew avoiding him would fail.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
Nathaniel looked toward the sky as though asking for patience.
Lydia added, “You lasted longer than Rebecca guessed.”
Eleanor spun around. “You were wagering?”
“Not money.”
“That does not improve it.”
Nathaniel asked, “What was the wager?”
Eleanor pointed at him. “Do not.”
He raised both hands.
Lydia grinned. “Martha’s last honey biscuit.”
Nathaniel looked genuinely offended. “That is serious.”
Eleanor walked away before she committed violence.
The sisters had also developed a method for deciding whose turn it was to fetch water.
It involved Eleanor asking.
Then everyone becoming suddenly busy.
“Charlotte?”
“I am updating the inventory.”
“Rebecca?”
“Checking the harness.”
“Martha?”
“Cooking.”
“Lydia?”
“I have a condition.”
Eleanor stared. “What condition?”
“I dislike carrying water.”
“That is not a condition.”
“It affects me daily.”
Grace laughed.
Eleanor turned toward her.
Grace immediately looked down. “I can go.”
“No. You went this morning.”
Lucy edged backward.
Eleanor pointed. “Lucy.”
“I was going to volunteer.”
“You were going to disappear behind the wagon.”
“That too.”
Nathaniel walked past carrying two full buckets.
Every sister watched him.
He stopped. “What?”
Lydia said, “We have found our solution.”
Eleanor shook her head. “He is the wagon master.”
Nathaniel looked at the buckets. “At present I appear to be the water master.”
Lydia nodded. “Promotion.”
“I do not believe that is a promotion.”
“It is in our family.”
Nathaniel handed one bucket to Lucy.
She sighed.
He handed the other to Lydia.
Lydia looked betrayed. “I thought you liked us.”
“I do.”
“Then why?”
Nathaniel smiled. “Leadership.”
Eleanor laughed.
Lydia trudged toward the wagon. “I liked him better before he learned from Eleanor.”
Nathaniel looked at Eleanor. “Was that a compliment?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I will take it anyway.”