Chapter Eight #2
Eleanor glanced at him. “Do you disagree?”
“I am unwilling to take a theological position on Mrs. Bell’s walking stick.”
“That may be the wisest thing you have said.”
“I have said many wise things.”
“Name three.”
Nathaniel opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Lydia whispered, “This may take until we reach Oregon.”
Nathaniel pointed at her. “I was including you among my examples.”
“That is not wisdom. That is surrender.”
The emigrants gathered in a broad semicircle near the largest fire. Crates, buckets, wagon tongues, folded blankets, and the ground itself became pews. Children were washed as thoroughly as trail conditions allowed, which meant several had clean faces and dirty ears.
Grace sat with Lucy and two Turner children. Martha brought a blanket for Mrs. Lawson. Charlotte carried a small Bible their mother had carefully printed each of their names in. Rebecca arrived last after checking the teams.
Eleanor looked at her. “You are late.”
“One of my followers objected to worship.”
Nathaniel turned. “The ox?”
“He attempted to eat Mr. Coleman’s shirt.”
“Perhaps he objected to the shirt.”
Rebecca considered. “That is possible.”
Mr. Daugherty began before the discussion could become doctrinal.
He read a Psalm about refuge and strength, then spoke briefly about journeys. Not only journeys across land, he said, but the quieter journeys people made when a life they understood became something new.
Eleanor did not look at Nathaniel. She became intensely aware that he sat beside her.
Mr. Daugherty asked whether anyone wished to choose a hymn.
Mrs. Bell immediately said, “Something everyone knows.”
Lydia whispered, “That eliminates anything Grace learned at school.”
Grace nudged her.
They settled on “Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”
The singing began unevenly.
Then it became worse.
Mr. Coleman sang loudly and was approximately near the melody. Mrs. Turner had a beautiful voice but kept stopping to hush her youngest child. Mr. Daugherty sang every verse half a line ahead, apparently determined to reach heaven before everyone else.
Nathaniel sang quietly.
Eleanor turned toward him.
He stopped. “What?” he whispered.
“You can sing.”
“I did not claim otherwise.”
“You did not mention it.”
“Was I required to include musical qualifications when we met?”
“You listed your wagon experience.”
“It seemed more relevant.”
Lydia leaned across Eleanor. “Can you sing louder?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what will happen.”
“What?”
“You will discuss it.”
Lydia smiled. “Correct.”
The next verse began. Nathaniel sang anyway.
His voice was low and warm, not polished but steady. Eleanor found herself listening more to him than to the hymn.
Caroline noticed.
Of course, Caroline noticed.
She leaned toward Eleanor during the final line. “You missed a word.”
“I did not.”
“You stopped singing.”
“I was breathing.”
Nathaniel made a strangled sound. Eleanor looked at him.
His eyes were bright with laughter.
“Do not,” she whispered.
“I said nothing.”
“Your face.”
“Again?”
“Always.”
When the hymn ended, Mr. Daugherty invited prayer requests.
For several minutes the requests were serious: a child’s lingering cough, safe water, a mother back in Ohio, a brother serving at a military post, good weather for the crossing ahead.
Then Samuel Turner raised his hand.
Mr. Daugherty smiled. “Yes, Samuel?”
“Can we pray there are frogs in Oregon?”
His mother closed her eyes.
Mr. Daugherty remained solemn with visible effort. “We may certainly thank God for frogs.”
Samuel looked satisfied.
Lydia whispered, “That is not what he asked.”
Eleanor elbowed her.
Mr. Daugherty prayed for the train, for those they had left behind, for the country ahead, and—after the smallest pause—for the many wonders of creation they might encounter along the way.
Samuel whispered, “Frogs.”
His mother whispered, “Samuel.”
Nathaniel bowed his head farther, shoulders shaking.
Eleanor bit the inside of her cheek.
After the prayer, no one seemed ready to return immediately to the wagons.
A man named Mr. Avery brought out a fiddle.
The mood changed at once.
Children gathered around him.
Mrs. Turner clapped. “Play something cheerful.”
Mr. Daugherty smiled. “Worship has concluded. What you do with your feet afterward is between you and your conscience.”
Mrs. Bell raised her stick. “My conscience enjoys dancing.”
Lydia jumped to her feet. “I knew I liked her.”
Eleanor caught Lydia’s skirt. “Do not knock anyone into the fire.”
“That happened once.”
“When?”
“I was nine.”
“You set Father’s trouser cuff on fire.”
“He moved very quickly.”
Rebecca laughed. “Best dancing he ever did.”
Mr. Avery lifted the fiddle and began a lively reel.
The open space between the wagons became a dance floor almost immediately.
Children went first, hopping more than dancing. Married couples followed. Mr. and Mrs. Turner managed three turns before their youngest attached himself to his father’s leg.
Grace clapped in time.
Lucy grabbed her hand. “Come on.”
“I do not know the steps.”
“Neither does Samuel.”
Samuel was spinning alone in a circle.
Grace stood. “That is not reassuring.”
Lucy dragged her into the dance anyway.
Martha refused until Mrs. Bell threatened to strike her ankle with the walking stick.
“You would not,” Martha said.
Mrs. Bell lifted it.
Martha danced.
Eleanor laughed until her ribs hurt.
Nathaniel appeared beside her. “You should be careful.”
“I am sitting.”
“You are laughing.”
“I was unaware that was prohibited.”
“Your ribs.”
“They are improving.”
“Convenient.”
She looked at him. “Are you going to dance?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I am protecting the dignity of the wagon train.”
Eleanor looked toward the dancing.
Rebecca had somehow convinced Mr. Coleman to attempt a turn. Lydia was dancing with a boy near her age and giving him instructions. Grace and Lucy had abandoned steps entirely and were laughing with the Turner children.
“I believe the dignity is already lost.”
“Then I am protecting my own.”
“You cannot dance.”
Nathaniel looked offended. “I can dance.”
“Prove it.”
“No.”
“Then you cannot.”
“That is poor logic.”
“It is excellent logic.”
Nathaniel folded his arms.
Eleanor smiled sweetly.
He recognized the expression. “You are provoking me.”
“Is it working?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps I should stop.”
“You will not.”
“No.”
Nathaniel held out his left hand.
Eleanor stared at it.
“What?”
“You wanted proof.”
Her heart gave one ridiculous leap.
“My ribs.”