Chapter Fifteen
Wooded Prairie
Lucy was missing.
Grace discovered it when the train prepared to leave the noon halt.
“I thought she was with Lydia,” Grace said.
“I thought she was with you,” Lydia answered.
Eleanor looked inside both wagons, beneath them, and around every nearby tree. “Lucy!”
No answer came.
Nathaniel halted the train before Eleanor reached him. “When was she last seen?”
“At the fire,” Martha said. “She carried her plate to the creek.”
“How long ago?”
“Twenty minutes. Perhaps thirty.”
Eleanor's heart pounded. The land here was broken by small creeks, wooded draws, and tall grass. Lucy could be anywhere.
“She would not simply wander away,” Caroline said.
“Then someone took her,” Eleanor said.
“We do not know that.” Nathaniel's voice was calm. “We search the camp first.”
“We have searched.”
“Not for tracks.”
He divided the area into sections and sent people in pairs. Eleanor started toward the trail behind them.
Nathaniel caught her arm. “You remain here.”
“No.”
“Searchers need one place to report. You know Lucy's habits and belongings better than anyone.”
“She is my sister.”
“Which is why you are the person most likely to run past a clue.”
Eleanor pulled free. “Do not ask me to stand here while others look for her.”
“I am asking you to lead the search.”
The words stopped her.
“From here,” he continued. “Not every leader must be the person walking into danger.”
Eleanor wanted to argue. She also knew he was right.
“Find her,” she said.
“We will.”
Caroline searched the first wagon again and found a folded scrap of paper beneath Lucy's blanket.
Eleanor opened it with shaking hands.
I went back for Anna's doll. She has cried all day. I will return before the wagons leave.
Eleanor read it twice. “The Turner girl's doll was left at the last camp.”
“That is miles behind us,” Rebecca said.
“Lucy went alone.”
“I should have watched her,” Eleanor said.
“You cannot watch seven people every minute,” Nathaniel said.
“I promised I would.”
Nathaniel took the note. “Rebecca, come with me. You know her footprints.”
“I am going too,” Eleanor said.
“The sky is darkening. If the storm reaches camp, someone must keep everyone here and ready to shelter.”
“Nathaniel—”
He put both hands on her shoulders. “Trust me.”
Eleanor looked into his eyes.
“Bring her back,” she whispered.
“I will.”
He and Rebecca left on horseback.
The waiting was worse than any action Eleanor had ever taken.
Clouds covered the sun. Wind moved through the trees. Eleanor ordered wagon canvases secured and animals brought close. She sent searchers to check the creek banks but kept everyone within calling distance as thunder sounded to the west.
Caroline remained beside her. “She will be all right.”
“You cannot know that.”
“Neither can you know the worst thing you imagine.”
“I taught her this.”
“Taught her what?”
“That love is something proved by sacrifice. I gave away Mother's earrings. I work until I collapse. I tell all of you I would give anything to keep you safe.”
“That does not mean Lucy should walk miles alone for a doll.”
“She is seventeen. She learned from what I did, not what I meant.”
Rain began.
Eleanor stood at the edge of camp until her dress was soaked. Every few moments, she thought she heard hoofbeats.
At last, Rebecca rode through the rain.
“We found her!”
Eleanor ran.
Nathaniel followed on his horse with Lucy seated in front of him. She clutched a small doll beneath a blanket Martha had sent with the searchers.
He dismounted and lifted Lucy down.
Eleanor pulled her sister into her arms. “What were you thinking?”
Lucy began to cry. “Anna missed her doll.”
“You could have been lost.”
“I knew the trail.”
“The trail is not a hallway in our house!”
Lucy flinched.
Eleanor forced herself to lower her voice. “I was afraid.”
“I am sorry.”
“I love you more than any doll, any wagon, any land, or anything else we carry. Do you understand?”
Lucy nodded against her shoulder.
Eleanor held her until the fear inside her began to loosen.
*****
THE STORM PASSED QUICKLY, leaving the camp wet and cold.
Lucy received extra work for a week and strict instructions never to leave the wagon circle without telling two sisters. Eleanor also apologized.
“For what?” Lucy asked.
“For letting you think love is proved by risking yourself alone.”
Lucy looked confused. “You did not teach me that.”
“I think I did.”
“You taught me that family matters.”
“You matter too.”
Lucy hugged her. “So do you.”
Eleanor found Nathaniel after dark. He was checking the horses near the edge of camp.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Rebecca found the trail.”
“You brought her back.”
“You kept the entire camp safe during the storm.”
Eleanor sighed. “Must you always return every compliment?”
“It keeps them balanced.”
She stepped closer. “I was wrong about something.”
“Only one thing?”
“Do not ruin the moment.”
Nathaniel smiled. “Go on.”
“I believed loving my sisters meant carrying everything for them. I thought if I put the weight down, something terrible would happen.”
“Something terrible nearly happened because Lucy copied you.”
“Yes.” Eleanor swallowed. “You were right. The same lesson applies to the earrings. My injury. All of it.”
Nathaniel waited.
“I love you,” she said.
His expression changed so completely that she almost looked away. “Eleanor.”
“I do not yet know what that means for Oregon or marriage or any of the rest. But I love you.”
Nathaniel took her face between his hands. “I love you too.” He kissed her.
The kiss held relief, promise, and all the fear they had carried through the day. Eleanor put her arms around his waist and let herself depend upon him for one whole moment.
When they parted, Nathaniel rested his forehead against hers. “I will not demand an answer before you are ready.”
“You are remarkably patient for an impatient man.”
“It is difficult.”
“I am sure.”
“How long do you think it will take?”
Eleanor laughed. “There’s the impatient man.”
He kissed her again.
From somewhere near the wagons, Lydia shouted, “We cannot hear what you are saying!”
Eleanor turned. “Good!”
Nathaniel laughed and drew her close again.
For the first time since Father died, Eleanor did not feel solely responsible for everything she loved.
The rain-bound day became an exercise in finding useful work for people who were tired of being wet.
Grace taught three younger children a clapping game beneath the Turner awning. Charlotte reorganized the food records. Rebecca inspected every harness buckle twice. Martha baked biscuits in a covered pan because she claimed damp weather required bread.
Lydia organized a contest.
Eleanor discovered this when she heard cheering.
“What is happening?”
Lucy looked guilty.
“That is never a reassuring expression.”
“We are guessing how many times Mr. Daugherty will complain before supper.”
Eleanor stared at her.
Grace held up a scrap of paper covered in marks. “I guessed seventeen.”
“He is already at fourteen,” Lucy said.
“Who is keeping count?”
Mrs. Bell raised her hand.
Eleanor looked toward the older woman. “You are participating?”
“I have three cents on twenty-one.”
Nathaniel came up behind Eleanor. “What is the prize?”
“Do not encourage them.”
“I need to know whether I should enter.”
“You are the wagon master.”
“Which gives me superior access to Mr. Daugherty.”
“That is cheating,” Lydia said.
Nathaniel considered. “Then I will abstain.”
A shout came from across camp. “This mud is going to ruin every wheel!”
Mrs. Bell calmly made another mark.
“Fifteen,” she said.
Eleanor pressed her lips together.
Nathaniel leaned close. “You want to laugh.”
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“I am responsible for discipline.”
“Then discipline them after you laugh.”
She lasted three seconds.
The sound escaped, and soon half the awning was laughing with her.
Mr. Daugherty looked over suspiciously.
“What is so funny?”
“Nothing,” Eleanor called.
He frowned at the sky. “This rain is ridiculous.”
Mrs. Bell made another mark.
“Sixteen.”
Mr. Daugherty walked away muttering.
Nathaniel wiped his eyes. “I may have underestimated the danger posed by your family.”
“You definitely did.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Yes.”
“Too late.”
The words were playful, but his gaze held hers.
Eleanor felt the now-familiar warmth move through her. Too late. She suspected it was too late for either of them to turn back.
Grace had been quiet since Lucy’s disappearance.
Eleanor found her later that morning sitting with Anna Turner, carefully sewing the doll’s torn dress.
“You do not have to repair that,” Eleanor said.
Grace kept her eyes on the tiny seam. “I know.”
“Lucy was wrong to go back for it.”
“I know that too.”
“Then why?”
Grace tied off the thread. “Because Anna still loves it.”
Eleanor sat beside her.
Grace was eighteen, only a year older than Lucy, but the sisters often treated them as a pair—the two youngest, the girls who carried water, minded children, and were sent away from danger.
Eleanor wondered how often that had made Grace invisible.
“You handled the children well during the fire,” Eleanor said.
Grace looked surprised. “I only took Lucy to the creek.”
“You kept four other children with you when their mothers went to the wagons.”
“They were frightened.”
“So were you.”
Grace smoothed the doll’s dress. “Being frightened does not mean you cannot do something.”
Eleanor smiled. “No. It does not.”
Anna ran over and hugged the doll when Grace returned it.
“It is prettier!” the child declared.
Grace laughed.
A young mother nearby asked whether Grace might help teach her daughter to sew once they were on the trail again.
Grace glanced automatically toward Eleanor.
Eleanor deliberately said nothing.
After a moment, Grace answered for herself. “Yes. I would like that.”
Something small and important shifted.
Later, Eleanor told Caroline what had happened.
Caroline smiled. “You managed not to answer for her?”
“It was difficult.”
“Did you become faint?”
“Nearly.”
“Should I fetch Martha?”
Eleanor elbowed her.
Across camp, Grace sat with two girls and a scrap of cloth, patient and absorbed.
Eleanor had spent so long thinking of Grace as someone to protect that she had almost missed the woman quietly becoming herself.
The rain-bound camp gave Eleanor and Nathaniel too much opportunity to sit near one another.
The sisters noticed. Of course they noticed.
Lydia began moving objects.
First, she placed Eleanor’s stool beside Nathaniel’s.
Then she arranged their coffee cups together.
Then she somehow moved Eleanor’s shawl onto Nathaniel’s shoulder.
Eleanor picked it up. “Lydia.”
Her sister looked innocent.
“Stop arranging us.”
“I am arranging camp.”
“You moved my shawl.”
“It looked cold.”
“Nathaniel?”
He lifted one hand. “I am not involved.”
“You are wearing it.”
“I was told it looked cold.”
Lydia bit her lip.
Eleanor pointed toward the other wagon. “Go.”
Lydia went.
Nathaniel handed Eleanor the shawl. “She is persistent.”
“She is a menace.”
“She likes you happy.”
Eleanor looked at him.
“That does not make her less of a menace.”
“No.”
Nathaniel smiled. “But it makes her a loving one.”
Eleanor wrapped the shawl around herself.
“I suppose.”
A moment passed.
Then Nathaniel quietly moved his stool closer.
Eleanor looked at him.
“What?”
“You moved.”
“It looked cold over there.”
She stared.
Nathaniel kept a perfectly straight face.
Eleanor laughed so suddenly that Mrs. Bell turned from the neighboring fire.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing,” Eleanor answered.
Mrs. Bell shook her head. “Men are most dangerous when women start laughing at nothing.”
Nathaniel looked at Eleanor. “Should I be worried?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She bumped her shoulder against his.
This time neither pretended it was accidental.
Rain also revealed which members of the wagon train had leaks in their canvas.
It revealed this loudly.
Mr. Daugherty appeared at the Whitaker fire with water dripping from his hat.
“My wagon leaks.”
Mrs. Bell looked at the sky. “So does the entire world.”
“It is coming through the seam.”
Rebecca said, “Did you wax it before leaving Independence?”
Daugherty hesitated.
“That means no,” Eleanor said.
“I intended to.”
Nathaniel looked at him. “Before or after Oregon?”
Mr. Daugherty frowned.
Lydia whispered, “He is getting funnier.”
Eleanor whispered back, “I know. It is concerning.”
Nathaniel heard both of them. “I am standing here.”
“That has never prevented Lydia from discussing anyone,” Eleanor said.
“Or you,” Lydia added.
Rebecca collected wax and a small brush. “I will help with the seam.”
Daugherty brightened.
“For one labor credit.”
His face fell.
Eleanor smiled proudly. “She is learning commerce.”
Nathaniel said, “From you?”
“Obviously.”
Rebecca shook her head. “I learned to charge difficult customers from Father.”
Mrs. Bell tapped her stick. “Charge him two.”
Mr. Daugherty looked around the fire. “Does anyone here like me?”
Martha handed him a biscuit.
He looked at it.
“There,” she said. “One person.”
Lydia whispered, “Martha does not count. Martha likes everyone.”
Martha looked at her. “Not everyone.”
The entire fire went silent.
Mr. Daugherty slowly lowered the biscuit.
Martha smiled.
Eleanor stared at her sister.
Nathaniel whispered, “I remain afraid of the correct Whitaker.”
“So do I,” Eleanor whispered back.