Chapter Seventeen
Rain-Softened Trail
The wagons moved again beneath a clear sky.
Eleanor managed the rear division again, with Nathaniel’s whistle hanging around her neck while he rode ahead to test the softened ground.
By midday, they reached a long descent.
“Keep the teams slow,” Nathaniel called. “No wagon begins until the one ahead reaches the bottom.”
Eleanor repeated the order down the line. When Mr. Daugherty made it clear he didn’t want to take orders from a woman, she said, “We can discuss my skirts, or we can keep your wagon upright.”
“You presume a great deal of authority,” Mr. Daugherty said.
“Only enough to keep twelve wagons from piling together. I find that number persuasive.”
Nathaniel's horse stepped onto the slope.
The animal's front hoof slid.
Everything happened at once. The horse went down. Nathaniel pitched over its shoulder and struck the ground hard enough that Eleanor heard the impact from several yards away.
“Nathaniel!”
She ran.
He lay on his side below the horse, eyes closed. The animal scrambled up and moved away, favoring one leg.
Eleanor dropped beside him. “Nathaniel, look at me.”
He did not move.
Martha arrived with Caroline and Rebecca close behind. “Do not lift him yet.”
“He is not waking.”
“Give me room.”
Martha checked his breathing and felt carefully along his neck and skull. Nathaniel groaned.
Eleanor nearly cried from relief.
His eyes opened. “What happened?”
“You fell.”
“I gathered that.” He tried to rise and gasped when his right shoulder moved.
“Stay still,” Martha ordered.
Nathaniel blinked at her. “You sound like your sister.”
“I am nicer.”
Eleanor would have laughed if she had not been so frightened.
Martha found no sign of a broken neck or back, but Nathaniel’s right shoulder was badly wrenched and likely torn, and his thoughts remained slow from the blow to his head. They carried him to the first Whitaker wagon.
Rebecca returned leading his horse. The animal had scraped one knee and strained the leg that had slipped, but she found no heat, swelling, or break. She removed the saddle and tethered him near the Whitaker teams, where he could rest for several days before carrying a rider again.
The train waited.
Mr. Daugherty approached while Martha settled Nathaniel against the bedding. “Who is leading?”
Eleanor stepped down from the wagon. “I am.”
Several men exchanged glances.
“You oversee the rear,” Mr. Daugherty said. “That is not the same as leading the train.”
Caroline took a folded page from Nathaniel's saddlebag. “His emergency roster names Eleanor as deputy.”
Mr. Daugherty looked at it. “A woman cannot—”
“A woman can read the roster,” Eleanor said. “Can you?”
He flushed.
Eleanor looked at the drivers gathered around her. “The road is wet. The wagon master is injured. We can spend the afternoon deciding whether I wear trousers, or we can get every wagon safely down this slope.”
Mrs. Bell struck the ground with her walking stick. “I vote for the slope.”
No formal vote followed.
Eleanor inspected the descent with Rebecca and two experienced drivers. She ordered brush and rope laid along the slickest section, then sent each wagon down separately with men bracing the rear wheels.
Mr. Daugherty received responsibility for the ropes.
If he objected to taking orders from her, he could do so while pulling.
Every wagon reached the bottom.
They traveled only three more miles before Eleanor chose a dry rise for camp. It was shorter than Nathaniel might have planned, but the teams were tired and the road ahead uncertain.
She could almost hear Father's schedule protesting from inside her pouch.
For once, she did not care.
*****
NATHANIEL WOKE IN THE Whitaker wagon and immediately tried to sit.
Pain tore through his shoulder.
Eleanor pressed one hand against his chest. “Do not move.”
“Where are we?”
“Camped on a rise three miles beyond the descent.”
“Only three?”
“The road was poor.”
“We need more distance.”
“We need our wagon master able to remember falling from a horse.”
Nathaniel frowned. The fall existed in broken pieces: the horse sliding, sky where ground should have been, Eleanor's voice.
“The company?”
“All twelve wagons are in camp. No damage. No injuries.”
Relief moved through him. “Who led?”
“I did.”
He looked at her face. She was tired, mud-streaked, and more beautiful than any woman had a right to be after ordering twelve wagons through a difficult descent.
“Of course you did.”
Eleanor's expression softened.
Nathaniel tried to stand again.
She pushed him back. “No.”
“I need to inspect the camp.”
“I have inspected it.”
“The animals?”
“Rebecca and Mr. Hall checked them.”
“The road ahead?”
“Thomas and two riders scouted it.”
“Eleanor—”
“You once told me a leader who could not breathe could not lead. A leader who cannot remember falling from his horse is equally useless.”
“Useless?”
“At present.”
He stared at her.
She folded her arms. “Would you like me to tie you into the wagon? You said you had done it to men before.”
Nathaniel lay back. “You enjoy this.”
“A little.”
He watched through the open canvas while she gave instructions, the sling holding his right arm tight enough to remind him not to move it. People came to her with reports. She listened, decided, and sent them away with clear work.
She did not imitate him. Eleanor consulted more people than he did. She explained every decision. Yet no one mistook consultation for weakness.
Even Mr. Daugherty followed her orders.
Nathaniel had believed leadership required one person to carry the final weight alone.
Eleanor had turned the weight into something shared without letting it become uncertain.
When darkness fell, she sat beside him and changed the cloth around his shoulder.
“Seeing you fall frightened me,” she said.
“I am sorry.”
“I do not want an apology. I want you to understand.”
“I do.”
“Every future I have refused to imagine suddenly felt as though it could disappear.”
Nathaniel took her hand with his uninjured one. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“Marry me.”
The words rose before judgment could stop them, shaped by fear, love, and the sight of Eleanor standing beside him after leading the train.
Eleanor's eyes widened.
Nathaniel closed his. “That was not how I meant to ask.”
“How did you mean to ask?”
“Without a head injury.”
She laughed softly.
“Do not answer now,” he said. “I will ask again when fear is not speaking for either of us.”
“You believe I might say no?”
He opened his eyes. “I believe you deserve to say yes because you choose me, not because I fell from a horse.”
Eleanor bent and kissed him gently. “Then ask me later.”
“Is that encouraging?”
“Very.”
Nathaniel smiled and let her order him to sleep.
That evening Eleanor discovered that an injured wagon master was easier to manage when given a task.
She brought Nathaniel Father’s route pages, Thomas Reed’s newer notes, and Charlotte’s mileage record.
“You are assigning me work,” he said.
“I am preserving Martha’s sanity. She says if you try to inspect another wheel, she will sit on you.”
Nathaniel looked toward Martha, who was kneading biscuit dough.
“She would not.”
Martha did not look up. “I would.”
Nathaniel opened the route pages.
Eleanor sat beside him. “Thomas believes tomorrow’s ground is firmer to the south.”
“He is right.”
“You have not seen his map.”
“I saw the country before I fell.”
“Then why study the map?”
“Because I enjoy being right with documentation.”
Eleanor laughed. “You and Father would have been unbearable together.”
“Would he have liked me?”
“No.”
Nathaniel looked wounded.
“He disliked anyone who argued with him.”
“Then why would he dislike me?”
She stared at him.
Nathaniel smiled.
They compared distances for nearly an hour. Because his right shoulder remained strapped, Eleanor wrote the notes.
“Eight miles,” he said.
“Thomas says ten.”
“Thomas is young.”
“He is thirty-one.”
“Very young.”
“You are thirty-six.”
“Exactly. Ancient.”
She laughed again.
Nathaniel watched her. “There. Again.”
“What?”
“Laughing.”
“I did that before I met you.”
“Not this often.”
Eleanor looked down at the page. “After Father died, happiness felt disloyal. As if laughing meant I had stopped missing him.”
Nathaniel took her hand. “Grief makes strange rules.”
“You know that.”
“Yes.”
They sat quietly until Lydia’s voice came from the darkness.
“Are you kissing?”
“No,” Eleanor called.
“Why not?”
Nathaniel laughed hard enough to wince.
Martha pointed a floury hand at him. “If you injure that shoulder again, I truly will sit on you.”
Lydia whispered, “Worth it.”
Eleanor looked at Nathaniel. “This is the family you wish to join.”
“I have been warned.”
“You may reconsider.”
“Never.”
She kissed him anyway.
Being in charge while Nathaniel recovered changed the balance between them in ways Eleanor found unexpectedly entertaining.
He was forced to ask her questions.
She enjoyed this enormously.
“What mileage are you planning tomorrow?” he asked.
“Eight to ten.”
“Depending on?”
“Ground, animals, weather, and whether Mr. Daugherty discovers another grievance.”
Nathaniel nodded. “Reasonable.”
Eleanor smiled.
“What?”
“You asked me.”
“Yes.”
“And accepted my answer.”
“Yes.”
“This is a very satisfying injury.”
Nathaniel stared at her.
She laughed.
“I nearly broke my shoulder.”
“And yet good has come from it.”
“Remind me of this when I recover.”
“I will.”
“You are becoming arrogant.”
“I learned from a wagon master.”
“That is slander.”
“Documentation exists.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “What about the descent?”
“Caroline and Rebecca will take the Whitaker wagons. Mr. Hall will check the rear ropes. Thomas will scout the turn.”
“And you?”
“Lead.”
Nathaniel looked at her for a long moment.
The humor disappeared.
“Yes,” he said.
One word.
No qualification.
No caution.
Eleanor felt it more deeply than praise.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Not trying to improve the plan.”
“I could.”
“I know.”
“I have three suggestions.”
She stared.
Nathaniel grinned.
Eleanor threw a rolled blanket at him.
He caught it awkwardly with his left hand and immediately regretted the jolt through his injured shoulder.
She rushed forward. “Your shoulder?”
“Fine.”
“You winced.”
“I was surprised.”
“You are a terrible liar.”
“You married me in your mind five minutes ago, and now you are insulting me.”
Eleanor froze.
Nathaniel’s smile widened.
“I did not.”
“You did.”
“How would you know?”
“You made the face.”
“What face?”
“The one you make when imagining something you intend to deny.”
Eleanor narrowed her eyes.
Nathaniel leaned back against the wagon bedding, pleased with himself.
She picked up another blanket.
He raised his good hand. “I surrender.”
“That may be the wisest thing you have done.”
“I am learning marriage already.”
She threw the blanket anyway.
Nathaniel discovered another disadvantage to becoming part of the Whitaker family.
They borrowed things. His knife disappeared. Then his spare cup. Then one of his pencils.
Finally, he walked to the Whitaker fire.
“I would like my possessions returned.”
Eight women looked at him.
Eleanor said, “Which possessions?”
“My knife.”
Rebecca held it up. “Repairing harness.”
“My cup.”
Martha pointed toward Grace. “She needed one for Mrs. Turner’s child.”
“My pencil.”
Caroline looked toward Thomas.
Thomas slowly produced it.
Nathaniel stared at him. “You too?”
Thomas cleared his throat. “Caroline asked.”
Nathaniel looked at Caroline.
She smiled.
He turned to Eleanor. “Do I own anything anymore?”
“Your horse.”
Rebecca said, “Temporarily.”
Nathaniel looked alarmed.
“I am joking,” Rebecca said.
He waited.
“Mostly.”
Nathaniel sat beside Eleanor. “I have made a terrible mistake.”
“You are not married yet.”
“There is still time?”
“Certainly.”
He looked around at her sisters.
Lydia smiled sweetly.
Martha offered him food.
Grace returned his cup.
Rebecca was still holding his knife.
Caroline and Thomas had apparently forgotten the pencil entirely.
Nathaniel sighed. “No. Too late.”
Eleanor smiled. “Good answer.”
“Was that a test?”
“Everything is a test.”
“I suspected.”
She leaned closer. “You are doing reasonably well.”
“Reasonably?”
“Do not become arrogant.”
Nathaniel took the biscuit Martha offered him. “I am staying for the food.”
Eleanor nodded. “That is how Martha traps people.”
Martha looked up. “I heard that.”
“We know,” Eleanor and Nathaniel said together.
They looked at each other.
Lydia groaned. “Now they even talk together.”
Rebecca said, “It may be contagious.”
“Stand back,” Caroline advised.
Nathaniel bit into his biscuit. “I am definitely staying.”