Chapter Seven
Rolling Prairie
The wagon dropped into the rut before Caroline saw it.
One moment, the second Whitaker wagon rolled steadily over the prairie. The next, the right front wheel struck a hole hidden beneath tall grass. Wood cracked with a sound that made Eleanor's blood turn cold.
Caroline flew from the driver's seat.
“Caroline!”
Eleanor stopped the first team and ran. Caroline lay on the ground beside the wagon, her skirt tangled around her legs.
For one terrible moment, she did not move.
Eleanor dropped to her knees. “Caroline, look at me.”
Her sister opened her eyes. “I would rather not. You look frightened.”
Relief made Eleanor nearly dizzy. “Can you move?”
“I believe so.”
“Do not try.”
“You just asked if I could.”
“That did not mean you should.”
Nathaniel arrived and knelt on Caroline's other side. “Where do you hurt?”
“Everywhere Eleanor is touching me.”
Eleanor realized she had gripped Caroline's arm tightly and let go.
Martha pushed through the gathering sisters. She checked Caroline's head, arms, ribs, and legs with calm efficiency.
“Nothing feels broken,” Martha said. “She will be bruised.”
Caroline sat slowly. “I have had better mornings.”
Eleanor put her arms around her. She did not care that all of them were watching.
Caroline hugged her back. “I am all right.”
“You could have been killed.”
“But I was not.”
Nathaniel moved to inspect the wagon. Eleanor followed after Martha helped Caroline to the first wagon.
The long wooden reach connecting the front and rear portions had split. The wagon leaned at an angle, and part of the load had shifted.
“I should have seen the rut,” Eleanor said.
Nathaniel looked at the grass. “No one could see it.”
“I was leading.”
“Which did not give you the ability to look through the ground.”
“I should have—”
“Stop.” His voice was firm enough that she did.
“You are responsible for making decisions,” he said. “You are not responsible for every rock, hole, storm, illness, and foolish act between here and Oregon.”
“It feels as though I am.”
His expression softened. “I know.”
The simple words made it harder to breathe.
Rebecca crawled beneath the wagon. “We can repair it.”
Nathaniel crouched beside her. “The split runs nearly through.”
“There is straight hardwood in the tool crate. We can replace the broken length.”
“Not without taking apart half the running gear. An iron brace will hold until we reach a place where we can shape a new reach.”
Rebecca came out from beneath the wagon with dirt on her face. “A brace alone will put too much strain on the split.”
“It will hold.”
“Until it does not.”
Eleanor looked from one to the other. “We will do both.”
Rebecca frowned. “Both?”
“Use a shorter piece of the hardwood to support the split, then secure Nathaniel's brace around both. The wood takes part of the strain, and the iron keeps it from separating.”
Nathaniel studied the break. “That could work.”
“It will work,” Rebecca said, claiming the idea as family property the moment Nathaniel approved it.
The train stopped for a long noon halt. Rebecca, Nathaniel, and several men repaired the reach while the sisters unloaded the shifted goods.
Thomas Reed helped Caroline gather pages that had blown from Charlotte's inventory and Father's route notes during the accident.
“This map does not match the trail we followed yesterday,” Thomas said.
Caroline took the page from him. “Father drew it from an older guide.”
“The route moved after flooding two years ago.”
“Will there be other changes?”
“Several.”
Caroline looked interested rather than alarmed. “I would like to see your maps.”
Thomas smiled. “I would be happy to show them to you.”
Eleanor filed that exchange away for later.
Near the damaged wagon, Mr. Daugherty lifted a small upholstered chair from the load. “You women are carrying too much. Leave things like this behind.”
The chair had belonged to their mother. Eleanor had already removed its legs to make it fit.
“Put that down,” she said.
“Every pound matters.”
“It does. Which is why I will decide which pounds belong to us.”
Mr. Daugherty frowned. “Sentiment will kill an ox.”
“So will ignorance, but you continue carrying yours.”
Rebecca laughed loudly from beneath the wagon.
Nathaniel turned away, though Eleanor saw his shoulders move.
She reviewed every item herself. They left behind a cracked washstand, a box of books they had all read, two extra kettles, and a small chest Father had built.
Eleanor ran her hand over the chest's carved front. It had stood at the foot of her parents' bed for as long as she remembered.
“We can keep it,” Caroline said.
“No.” Eleanor closed the lid. “The chair is more useful.”
“The chair?”
“Mother sat in it while she taught every one of us to sew. We will need a place to sit in Clover Creek.”
Caroline nodded.
They left the chest beside the road for another traveler to take or burn. Eleanor did not look back when the repaired wagon began moving.
“The chair stays,” Eleanor said. “I had already reached that conclusion,” Nathaniel said. “You looked prepared to argue.”
*****
NATHANIEL RODE BACK after the train had traveled nearly a mile.
He told himself he wanted to inspect the road behind them. A good wagon master watched for lost items, damaged ground, and signs that another train might be catching up.
That was true.
It was also true that he wanted something from the small chest Eleanor had abandoned.
He found it where they had left it. Using a small pry bar from his saddlebag, he removed the carved front panel. It was not heavy. It could be fitted inside the wagon wall or used on a cabinet after they reached Oregon.
Nathaniel tied it behind his saddle and returned to the train.
He waited until camp that evening to give it to her.
Eleanor was checking Caroline's bruises when he approached. Caroline looked at the panel and smiled. “I believe I should help Martha,” she said.
“Martha is twenty feet away,” Eleanor pointed out.
“She may need me urgently.” Caroline left.
Nathaniel held out the panel. “The entire chest was too heavy.”
Eleanor stared at the carved wood. “You went back.”
“It was not far.”
“The train had already moved.”
“I noticed.”
She took the panel with both hands. Her fingertips followed the vines her father had carved.
“We can build it into something when we reach Clover Creek,” he said.
Her eyes lifted. “We?”
Nathaniel felt heat climb the back of his neck. “You and your sisters.”
“Of course.” The disappointment in her voice might have been his imagination. “Thank you,” Eleanor said.
Before he could answer, she rose on her toes and kissed his cheek.
It was a quick kiss. Barely a touch. Nathaniel forgot every useful word he had ever learned.
Eleanor seemed equally startled by what she had done. “That was gratitude.”
“I assumed it was not an assault.”
“Do not make too much of it.”
“I would not dream of it.”
She carried the panel toward the wagon without looking back.
Nathaniel touched his cheek.
Behind the second wagon, Rebecca whispered much too loudly, “He looks pleased.”
“He looks stunned,” Lydia answered.
Nathaniel decided wagon masters deserved larger tents and much more privacy.
*****
AUTHORITY brOUGHT ELEANOR a new appreciation for how inventive people could be when avoiding simple instructions.
By midafternoon she had used Nathaniel’s whistle so often that Lydia began answering it.
One blast.
“Slow down!” Lydia called.
Two blasts.
“Halt!”
Three quick notes.
“Someone has done something stupid!”
Eleanor lowered the whistle. “That is not what three notes mean.”
“It has been accurate every time.”
Nathaniel, riding past, heard her. “What does three mean?”
“Trouble ahead,” Eleanor said.
Lydia shrugged. “As I said.”
Nathaniel laughed.
Eleanor pointed down the line. “Go check Mrs. Turner’s children.”
“I already did.”
“Then check the cow.”
“The cow is tied.”
“Check whether it regrets its choices.”
Lydia gave Nathaniel a sympathetic look. “She becomes unreasonable with power.”
“I noticed that before the whistle.”
Eleanor lifted it threateningly.
Nathaniel rode away.
Lydia watched him go. “He is learning.”
“So are you. Go.”
That night the sisters debated sleeping arrangements with the solemnity of a military council.
“The wagon tilts,” Lucy complained.
“It does not,” Rebecca said.
“It tilts toward Eleanor.”
“That is because Eleanor has chosen the tightest spot to sleep,” Lydia said.
“I am the eldest.”
Caroline looked up. “Earlier you said being eldest prevents fatigue. Does it also squash you flat under wagons?”
“Yes.”
“Remarkable.”
Martha pointed toward the bedrolls. “Grace needs the dry side. Lucy beside her. Lydia, stop putting your feet on Charlotte.”
“My feet have nowhere else to go.”
“Try keeping them attached to your legs,” Charlotte said.
Nathaniel’s voice came from above. “Is everyone alive?”
Eight women went silent.
Eleanor peeked out from under the wagon. “Why?”
“I heard shouting.”
“We are arranging spots to sleep.”
He stared at her. “I have heard cavalry units settle for the night with less conflict.”
“We have more baggage.”
Lydia called, “And better hair.”
Nathaniel laughed.
Eleanor lowered her voice. “If you tell the company we are fighting over blankets, I will deny it.”
“I heard nothing.”
He started away, then looked back. “For what it is worth, the wagon does tilt slightly toward your side.”
Seven sisters burst into laughter before Eleanor could answer.
*****
AT THE MIDDAY HALT, Nathaniel found Eleanor arguing with Rebecca.
“I am not arguing,” Eleanor said.
Rebecca looked at Nathaniel. “She is.”
“What is the dispute?”
“She thinks I should stop checking the repaired reach,” Eleanor said.
“You should,” Rebecca said. “I already checked it.”
Eleanor folded her arms. “Things change.”
Nathaniel coughed.
She looked at him. “Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“You were about to.”
“I was breathing.”
Rebecca said, “That is what he always claims.”
Nathaniel looked wounded. “You too?”
“I learn quickly.”
Eleanor pointed at her. “Go check the oxen.”
“I already did.”
“Check them again.”
Rebecca grinned. “Things change.”
Nathaniel turned away laughing.
Eleanor stared after her. “I am surrounded by disloyalty.”
“You trained them well.”
“I did not train them to mock me.”
“No. That appears natural.”
Eleanor looked at him.
Nathaniel smiled.
“That can be corrected.”
“How?”
“I have seven sisters.”
His smile faded slightly.
Eleanor nodded. “Exactly.”
*****
brEAKFAST THE NEXT morning led to a disagreement over the last biscuit.
Lucy reached for it.
So did Lydia.
Both stopped.
“I am younger,” Lucy said.
“I am hungrier.”
“You ate two.”
“They were small.”
“They were the same size as mine.”
“That is an accusation against Martha’s baking.”
Martha looked up. “Leave me out of this.”
Lydia and Lucy each took one side of the biscuit.
Eleanor sighed. “Split it.”
“We are trying,” Lucy said.
“You are pulling.”
“That is one method of splitting.”
Nathaniel arrived at exactly the wrong moment.
Lydia looked at him. “Decide.”
He stopped. “No.”
“You are wagon master.”
“Over wagons.”
“This biscuit traveled in a wagon.”
Nathaniel looked at Eleanor. “Your family has used that argument before.”
“They refine their methods.”
Lucy held up the biscuit. “Who gets it?”
Nathaniel studied both sisters with the seriousness of a river crossing.
“Neither.”
He took the biscuit and bit it in half.
Silence.
Lydia stared at him.
Lucy stared at him.
Nathaniel chewed.
Eleanor covered her mouth.
“You ate our biscuit,” Lydia said.
“I resolved the dispute.”
“You stole it.”
“Leadership sometimes requires sacrifice.”
“Whose sacrifice?”
“Yours.”
Eleanor lost the battle and laughed.
Nathaniel handed the remaining half to Lucy.
Lydia gasped. “Favoritism.”
“You said you had already eaten two.”
“That information was confidential.”
Nathaniel looked at Eleanor. “I am beginning to understand why you count everything.”
“Do not encourage me.”
“I would not dream of it.”
Charlotte quietly made a mark in the inventory book.
Eleanor looked at her. “What was that?”
“Biscuit loss.”
Nathaniel laughed so hard he nearly choked.