Eleanor’s Earrings (Clover Creek Camp #1)

Chapter One

Independence, Missouri

Eleanor Whitaker had checked the contents of both wagons so many times that she could recite every item from memory.

She knew exactly where the flour was stored, how many pounds of bacon they had, which crate held the medicines, and where Rebecca had tucked the spare harness buckles after deciding Eleanor's arrangement made no sense.

Eleanor had chosen not to argue about the buckles. It was far too early in the morning for such a thing.

It was also far too early to travel two thousand miles with seven younger sisters, but that had not stopped the sun from threatening to rise.

“If you stare at that list any harder, the ink is going to run away,” Caroline said from behind her.

Eleanor turned. Her sister stood beside the first wagon with her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders. At twenty-seven, Caroline was only two years younger than Eleanor, which meant she had spent most of her life believing she was entitled to express opinions about everything Eleanor did.

She usually was, but Eleanor saw no reason to encourage her.

“The ink will remain where Father put it,” Eleanor said. “It has managed for nearly a year.”

Caroline's expression softened at the mention of their father. “The list will still be there after we leave.”

“That is the general purpose of a list.”

“You know what I mean.”

Eleanor did know. She folded the pages along the creases their father had made and slipped them into the leather pouch she wore beneath her cloak.

He had planned every part of this journey.

He had bought the wagons, chosen the oxen, ordered tools and provisions, and written directions so thorough that Eleanor sometimes expected to find instructions for when each sister ought to sneeze.

Then he had died before he could take them west.

Eleanor would get them to Clover Creek without him. She had promised, and Eleanor Whitaker kept promises.

An old acquaintance of her father’s, Dr. Malcolm Bentley, had written to him about the west and about Clover Creek in particular. So, her father’s focus had gone from somewhere in the west to Clover Creek, Oregon Territory.

“Wake the others,” she said. “We need to be ready when the train forms.”

“They are awake.” Caroline glanced toward the boardinghouse. “Whether they are useful is another question.”

The door opened before Eleanor could answer.

Charlotte came out first with an inventory book tucked under one arm.

Rebecca followed, carrying two buckets and wearing the look of a woman already annoyed with the entire Oregon Trail.

Martha had one hand around Grace's arm and the other around Lucy's.

Lydia brought up the rear with her bonnet hanging down her back.

Eleanor frowned at her. “Put your bonnet on.”

“The sun is not up.”

“It intends to come up.”

“Did it tell you?” Lydia asked.

Rebecca snorted.

Eleanor pointed at Lydia's bonnet. “On your head.”

Lydia obeyed, though she muttered something about tyranny. Eleanor pretended not to hear. If keeping Lydia from arriving in Oregon with a face burned brown made Eleanor a tyrant, she would accept the title.

They began their practiced duties. Rebecca and Caroline checked the teams. Martha made certain the water barrels were full.

Charlotte compared the inventory against the last purchases they had made in Independence.

Grace and Lucy rolled the bedding they had used the previous night, while Lydia carried items from the boardinghouse and complained that no human being should be required to lift anything before breakfast unless breakfast had personally offended them.

Eleanor took a small wooden box from the pocket of her cloak and opened it carefully.

Her mother's garnet earrings rested against faded blue velvet.

The stones were not large enough to draw stares, but they were a deep, rich red that caught the light whenever she moved.

Her father had given them to her mother during the first year of their marriage.

After Mother's death, he had put them away until Eleanor's twenty-fifth birthday.

“Your mother wore these whenever she needed a bit of courage,” he had told her.

Eleanor had not understood why courage required earrings. She understood now.

She fastened them beneath her bonnet.

The left clasp did not close as firmly as the right.

Eleanor pinched it tighter with her thumbnail and tested it twice before letting the earring fall into place.

The small weakness bothered her, but replacing a clasp in Independence would mean delaying duties that already filled every minute.

She resolved to watch it carefully on the trail.

“You are wearing them,” Caroline said.

“I can see that nothing escapes you this morning.”

“You only wear them when you are frightened.”

Eleanor closed the box more sharply than necessary. “I wear them on important occasions.”

“Which frighten you.”

“Go check the second team.”

Caroline smiled. “Aye, Captain.”

Eleanor watched her go. She did not want to be captain. She wanted Father standing beside the lead wagon, laughing about the distance ahead and assuring them that all would be well.

Since wanting would not bring him back, she tucked the empty box into the wagon and returned to work.

*****

NATHANIEL COOPER HAD seen emigrants arrive in Independence with feather beds, parlor chairs, clocks, china, and enough framed pictures to build a third wagon from the wood.

He had seen men purchase oxen without knowing which end needed the yoke.

He had once watched a woman attempt to pack a cage containing six chickens beside a crate of lamp oil.

He had thought himself prepared for anything.

Then eight unmarried women had appeared with two of the best-packed wagons in his train.

Nathaniel stood near the lead wagon and watched the eldest sister direct the others. Eleanor Whitaker was tall, dark-haired, and composed. She did not raise her voice. She did not need to. Her sisters moved when she spoke, even when the younger ones rolled their eyes first.

He had reviewed their supplies the previous afternoon. They were prepared better than half the families under his care. That did not mean he liked the idea of eight women traveling without a grown man among them.

It would add complications. The Oregon Trail already provided plenty without anyone bringing extra from home.

He walked toward Eleanor. “Miss Whitaker.”

She looked at him. Her gray eyes were cool. “Mr. Cooper.”

He had introduced himself twice, yet she always said his name as though reminding herself who would be responsible if anything went wrong.

“We will form the train shortly. I want your wagons in the middle until I know how your drivers handle the teams.”

“My drivers handle them very well.”

“I did not say they did not.”

“You implied it.”

Nathaniel took a breath. “Miss Whitaker, I am not questioning your preparations. I am responsible for twelve wagons. Until I have seen every driver on the road, the least experienced will travel where help can reach them quickly.”

“I began driving teams when I was twelve.”

“And your sisters?”

“Caroline has driven nearly as long. Rebecca is excellent with animals. Charlotte can drive if she must. Martha, Lydia, Grace, and Lucy have all practiced.”

“That still leaves four women who have practiced rather than traveled.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do all the men in your train have years of experience?”

“No.”

“Are you warning each of them that they might be moved because they lack a woman to care for them?”

He almost smiled. Almost. “No, ma'am. I warn them for entirely different reasons.”

The corner of her mouth moved, but the expression vanished before he was certain it had been there.

“Your wagons will begin in the middle,” he continued. “If I decide they can safely move elsewhere, we will discuss it.”

“Discuss it?”

“I have learned that ordering you will waste time.”

“You have learned quickly.”

A shout rose near the second Whitaker wagon. One of their lead oxen lurched sideways as a boy ran behind it, waving a stick. The animal broke free of a poorly secured line and started toward the crowded street.

Nathaniel moved, but Eleanor was faster.

“Rebecca!” she called.

Rebecca caught the trailing rope and wrapped it around a hitching post. Eleanor stepped in front of the ox, speaking to it in a low voice while Caroline cleared two children from its path. The animal tossed its head, pulled once against the rope, and stopped.

The entire thing took less time than it would have taken Nathaniel to reach them.

Eleanor turned to the frightened boy. “Do not wave sticks behind animals unless you want to spend your morning being chased by one.”

The boy nodded and fled.

Nathaniel inspected the rope. “This was tied incorrectly.”

“It was tied correctly when I left it,” Rebecca said. “Someone loosened it.”

Eleanor looked at Nathaniel. “We do know which end needs the yoke.”

He couldn’t stop the smile this time. “I see that.”

For the first time, she smiled back.

It changed her entire face, and Nathaniel wished she had continued scowling. A scowling woman was much less likely to become a complication.

The wagon train began moving shortly after sunrise. Wheels creaked. Oxen strained against yokes. Children called to one another until their mothers ordered them to walk quietly. Independence was busy with emigrants, merchants, animals, and men offering advice for a price.

Nathaniel rode along the line, checking the spacing. When he reached the Whitaker wagons, Eleanor was driving the first team, while Caroline handled the second wagon behind her. The other sisters walked along the road or rode as space allowed.

Eleanor kept her eyes ahead.

“You can look back,” he said.

“I have no reason to.”

“Most people do when they leave home.”

“Our home is behind us whether I look at it or not.”

Her voice had changed. It was still controlled, but he heard the sorrow beneath it.

“That is true,” he said. “It is also no sin to grieve it.”

She looked at him then. One garnet earring flashed beneath her bonnet. “Do you consider yourself responsible for our souls as well as our wagons, Mr. Cooper?”

“No, ma'am. I have enough trouble with the wagons.”

She laughed softly.

Nathaniel rode ahead before he could decide that he wanted to hear the sound again.

They made only a few miles before the first halt. That was expected. The opening day of any wagon journey was less about distance than discovering what had been tied badly, packed foolishly, or forgotten entirely.

Nathaniel found the Whitaker wagons beside a stand of trees. Eleanor was attempting to pull a heavy crate from the rear of the second wagon.

“What is in there?” he asked.

“Tools.”

“All of them?”

“Most of them.”

“The wagon is too heavy in the rear.”

She stopped pulling. “My father designed the load.”

“Your father designed it while the wagon was standing on level ground.” Nathaniel pointed toward the road ahead. “On a grade, that weight will pull against the rear axle and make the team work harder. Move half the tools forward and place flour sacks over the axle.”

Eleanor looked toward the road, then at the wagon. He could almost see pride and sense fighting behind her eyes.

Sense won.

“Caroline,” she called, “we need to move the flour.”

Nathaniel dismounted. “I will take the crate.”

“We can manage it.”

“I am sure you can.” He caught one end. “That does not mean you should.”

Eleanor hesitated before taking the other end. Together they carried it forward.

“If you move that chest again, I shall put you inside it,” Eleanor said.

“Only if you leave air holes,” Caroline said.

“I make no promises.”

The crate was heavy. Eleanor did not complain. Nathaniel did not expect she ever did when it mattered.

By the time the sun disappeared, the train had settled into its first camp. Fires dotted the ground, and the smell of coffee, bacon, and woodsmoke filled the air. Nathaniel made his rounds, checking wheels, animals, and tempers.

When he reached the Whitakers, Eleanor was sitting on an overturned bucket with her father's list in her lap.

“We traveled fewer miles than he planned,” she said before Nathaniel could speak.

“Every train does on the first day.”

“He believed we could reach the first planned campsite.”

“Your father was not leading twelve wagons filled with people who packed badly.”

That earned him another brief smile.

He looked at the list. “Plans are useful. They keep a man from wandering without purpose.”

“But?”

“But a plan written at a desk cannot know the depth of tomorrow's mud.”

Eleanor folded the pages. “I suppose not.”

“We will get west, Miss Whitaker.”

“All the way to Oregon?”

“That is generally where the Oregon Trail goes.”

She looked offended for half a second, then laughed.

Nathaniel walked away feeling much too pleased with himself.

“Eleanor,” Lucy said, “how long before we are officially on the Oregon Trail?”

“We are on it.”

“But we can still see Independence.”

“That does not make the road less official.”

Lydia shaded her eyes. “Lucy wants a ceremony.”

Rebecca said, “We could make Nathaniel cut a ribbon.”

Eleanor frowned. “Mr. Cooper has work.”

Nathaniel rode close enough to hear. “What am I cutting?”

“Nothing,” Eleanor said.

Lydia said, “You are supposed to welcome us to the Oregon Trail.”

Nathaniel lifted his hat. “Ladies, welcome to the Oregon Trail. Please refrain from losing yourselves, your livestock, your wheels, or your tempers.”

Eleanor said, “He has already asked too much.” She shook her head.

“Especially the last one,” Nathaniel agreed.

She smiled despite herself.

Lydia sighed. “A beautiful ceremony.”