Chapter Thirteen
Creekside Camp
Eleanor called a family council after breakfast.
In the past, a family council had meant Eleanor explained what would happen and her sisters explained why they disliked it. That morning, she spread a blanket on the ground and asked all seven what they believed they should do.
The sisters stared at her.
“Did you strike your head again?” Rebecca asked.
“No,” Eleanor replied.
“Are you ill?” Lydia asked.
“Not yet, but I may become ill if none of you offers a useful thought.” Eleanor glared at each of her sisters in turn.
Caroline sat across from her. “You want us to decide?”
“I want us to decide.”
Caroline smiled. “That is new.”
“Do not make me regret it.”
Charlotte opened the inventory. “We can leave more furniture.”
“Not enough to save the animal,” Rebecca said. “He needs a lighter position for several days, not fifty fewer pounds.”
“We could trade him,” Grace suggested.
“No one will trade a sound ox for a lame one,” Rebecca said.
Lucy looked worried. “Will someone kill him?”
“No,” Eleanor said quickly.
“They might,” Rebecca said.
Eleanor glared at her.
“What? She asked.”
Martha folded her hands. “Could other wagons carry part of our load?”
“We cannot ask families to burden their teams for us,” Eleanor said.
Caroline raised an eyebrow. “You asked for our opinions.”
“I did.”
“Then allow Martha to finish.”
Eleanor took a breath. “Go on.”
“We could repay them with work. Sewing. Cooking. Animal care. Lessons for children. Whatever each family needs.”
Charlotte nodded. “The load could be spread among several wagons. No one team would carry much more.”
“And we would owe half the train,” Eleanor said.
“We could drink less coffee,” Martha said.
“That is not a plan. It is a threat,” Eleanor said.
“Then we reduce the bacon.”
Lydia put a hand to her heart. “Now she threatens the entire moral structure of camp.”
“The same train that owes us for food, repairs, finding children, and saving wagons,” Caroline said. “Perhaps we are already part of a community, whether you approve or not.”
Eleanor looked at her sisters.
They were waiting for her to reject the idea.
“We will ask Nathaniel,” she said.
Lydia clapped. “She accepted help twice in one week.”
“Do not become excited. It may never happen again.”
Nathaniel approved the plan. More importantly, he made Eleanor present it herself rather than speaking for her.
At first, the gathered emigrants were quiet.
Then Mrs. Turner offered to carry two sacks in exchange for Martha helping with her youngest child's cough.
Mr. Coleman offered room for tools if Rebecca would mend a damaged harness.
Mrs. Bell said she would carry one of the Whitaker trunks because Eleanor had spent nearly two weeks preventing everyone else from behaving foolishly.
“I cannot promise to stop now,” Eleanor said.
“I would not ask it,” Mrs. Bell responded.
Within an hour, the second wagon was lighter. The lame ox moved to the easiest position beside a steady partner. Rebecca led the team for a short test mile.
The animal walked without worsening the limp.
Eleanor nearly cried.
She did not, because Lydia was watching for any sign of emotion she could discuss later.
By the end of the day, the work-debt arrangement had turned the Whitaker sisters into the busiest women in camp.
Martha helped Mrs. Turner with a coughing child. Rebecca repaired two harness straps and a cracked singletree. Charlotte compared provisions with three families. Grace and Lucy watched five children under the age of eight and looked as if they had survived battle.
Lydia returned carrying a basket of wet stockings. “I have reconsidered community,” she announced.
“Already?” Eleanor asked.
“It contains too much laundry,” Lydia said.
Mrs. Bell, seated nearby, snorted. “You wanted independence? Then wash independently.”
Lydia stared at her. “I liked you better when you were criticizing Eleanor’s courtship.”
“So did Eleanor,” Mrs. Bell said.
“I heard that,” Eleanor said.
“That was the intention,” Mrs. Bell answered.
Thomas Reed helped Caroline calculate the redistributed weights. They stood over his map board with their heads close together.
“You write very small,” Caroline said.
“Paper is expensive.”
“So is eyesight.”
“Would you like to copy the figures?”
“Yes.”
Thomas blinked, apparently having expected her to refuse.
Caroline took the pencil from his hand and rewrote the columns in larger figures.
“Better,” she said.
Thomas smiled. “Much.”
Eleanor decided Caroline's next book might be entertaining.
*****
THE TRAIN TRAVELED a short day to protect the lame ox.
At camp, Eleanor found Nathaniel checking the redistributed loads. She waited until he finished with the Turner wagon.
“Thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“The solution.”
“It was Martha's solution.”
“You made the company accept it.”
“No. You earned enough goodwill that they wanted to help.”
Eleanor looked toward the circle of wagons. Her sisters were moving between families, already fulfilling their promises.
“I thought accepting help would make us less independent,” Eleanor said.
“Does it?” Nathaniel asked.
“No. It makes us busy.”
Nathaniel smiled. “Community often does.”
They walked toward the creek. The evening was cool and clear. Eleanor had become accustomed to the smell of woodsmoke in her clothes and the ache in her feet. She was less accustomed to Nathaniel's hand brushing hers as they walked.
He finally took it.
She let him.
“You spoke of Clover Creek as though you might stay in Oregon,” she said.
“I might.”
“A wagon master belongs to the trail.”
“A wagon master belongs wherever he chooses when the journey is over.”
Eleanor's pulse quickened. “And what would you choose?”
Nathaniel stopped beside the water. “I have led four trains west. Each year, I tell myself the next will be the last.”
“Why do you return?”
“Because I know how to lead people west, and I do not know what else to do.”
“You know how to build, repair, plan, farm, bargain, and order everyone around.”
“That last skill is useful.”
“Not in my house.”
His gaze held hers. “Could you imagine building a place for me in that house?”
Eleanor stopped breathing.
Nathaniel took both her hands. “Not today. Not because you need help with an ox. I am asking whether the idea is impossible.”
She thought of the large house she had imagined, her sisters filling every room, and Nathaniel beside a fire that belonged to them rather than to a temporary camp.
“No,” she whispered. “It is not impossible.”
Hope moved across his face.
Eleanor stepped closer. “But I cannot promise more.”
“Not yet.”
“You sound very certain.”
“I am a patient man.”
She thought of every argument they had shared. “No, you are not.”
Nathaniel laughed and kissed her forehead.
Eleanor rested against him for one brief moment before returning to the camp.
She had not promised him a place in Clover Creek. But for the first time, she had pictured one.
The spoon count became a family joke before supper.
Martha laid out eight tin plates and deliberately placed eleven spoons beside them.
Eleanor stopped.
Lydia stopped chewing.
Caroline looked toward heaven as though requesting strength.
“Where is the twelfth?” Eleanor asked.
Martha’s face was innocent. “I do not know.”
“You had twelve this morning.”
“Did we?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
Every sister suddenly became fascinated by supper.
“Who has it?” Eleanor asked.
No one answered.
Eleanor put both hands on her hips. “I am responsible for seven women, two wagons, four oxen, supplies for six months, and half of Nathaniel Cooper’s wagon train. I will not be defeated by a spoon.”
A laugh came from behind her. Nathaniel stood there holding the missing spoon.
“You.”
He raised it. “I found this unattended.”
“You stole it.”
“I rescued it.”
“From what?”
“An uncertain future.”
Lydia collapsed against Rebecca, laughing.
Eleanor marched toward him. “Return it.”
Nathaniel placed it in her palm. “Twelve.”
“I know how many there are.”
“So, I have heard.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Was this your idea?”
“No.”
“Lydia?”
“Also no.”
Martha began laughing.
Eleanor stared at her gentlest sister. “Martha.”
“I wanted to see whether you would notice.”
“Of course I noticed.”
“Within three seconds,” Caroline said.
Nathaniel leaned closer. “I am beginning to believe the spoons will reach Oregon even if none of us do.”
“They are useful.”
“So are you.”
The quiet words dissolved Eleanor’s irritation.
Nathaniel smiled. “Although considerably more difficult to pack.”
She elbowed him as she passed.
Behind them, Lydia asked, “Was that flirting?”
Seven spoons struck tin plates as everyone suddenly became busy.
Nathaniel became aware that Eleanor had begun touching him casually. A hand on his sleeve when she wanted his attention. A brief touch at his back when passing behind him. Fingers against his wrist when she took the whistle. None lasted more than a second. All of them ruined his concentration.
He mentioned this while they walked beside the wagons. “You keep touching me.”
Eleanor nearly stumbled. “I do not.”
“You do.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“That was the whistle.”
“At noon.”
“You had flour on your coat.”
“Yesterday.”
“You were standing in the way.”
Nathaniel smiled. “That sounds convincing.”
“It is true.”
“Then why are you blushing?”
“I am warm.”
“It is cold.”
“I have been walking.”
“So have I.”
Eleanor glared at him. “Do you have a purpose?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“To see how long you will continue explaining.”
She stopped.
Nathaniel stopped too.
“That is cruel.”
“A little.”
Eleanor looked down the trail. “Perhaps I should stop touching you.”
Nathaniel’s amusement vanished. “I did not say that.”
“No?”
“No.”
Her eyes lifted.
Their eyes held for one heartbeat.
Two.
Then Caroline’s voice floated back from the wagon.
“If the two of you stop walking much longer, we will have to put a wheel around you.”
Eleanor moved immediately.
Nathaniel followed.
Caroline called again, “You are welcome.”
Eleanor muttered, “I am selling her in Oregon.”
Nathaniel said, “Thomas Reed may object.”
Eleanor looked at him sharply.
He grinned.
“You noticed?”
“I am a wagon master. Observation is important.”
Eleanor laughed. “Now I know why I dislike you.”
“You do not.”
“No.”
That answer pleased him far too much.
One evening Mr. Avery left his fiddle packed, and the camp entertained itself by telling stories again.
The trouble began when Mrs. Bell asked everyone to name the most foolish thing they had packed.
“A silver serving tray,” Mrs. Turner admitted.
Mr. Coleman said, “Three neckties.”
Rebecca stared at him. “Why?”
“I expected occasions.”
Rebecca gestured at the prairie. “Choose one.”
The camp laughed.
Mrs. Bell pointed her walking stick at Nathaniel. “Your turn.”
“I packed sensibly.”
Eleanor made a skeptical sound.
Nathaniel looked at her. “What?”
“You brought hair pomade.”
Silence.
Then Lydia gasped.
Nathaniel stared at Eleanor. “How do you know that?”
“It fell from your saddlebag.”
Rebecca was already laughing.
Caroline said, “Hair pomade?”
Nathaniel looked around the fire. “A man may wish to look respectable.”
“On the Oregon Trail?” Eleanor asked.
“I had hopes.”
Lydia leaned forward. “Do you use it before speaking to Eleanor?”
“No.”
“After?”
“No.”
“Only on Sundays?”
Nathaniel looked at Eleanor. “Control your sister.”
“I have been attempting that for twenty years.”
Lydia said, “And failing.”
Mrs. Bell struck the ground with her stick. “The pomade wins.”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Miss Whitaker has not answered.”
Every face turned toward Eleanor.
She frowned. “Answered what?”
“The most foolish thing you packed.”
“I packed nothing foolish.”
Seven sisters spoke at once.
“The chair.”
“The second coffee pot.”
“Three ledgers.”
“Your good shoes.”
“The lace tablecloth.”
“Father’s brass candlesticks.”
“Twelve spoons.”
Eleanor stared at them.
Nathaniel leaned back, delighted.
“The spoons are useful.”
“Of course,” he said.
“You are enjoying this.”
“More than dancing.”
Mrs. Bell pointed at Eleanor’s bare ears. “What about the earrings?”
The laughter softened.
Eleanor still missed the feel of them on her ears..
“No,” she said. “Those were never foolish.”
Nathaniel’s expression warmed.
Then Lydia said, “But the lace tablecloth absolutely was.”
The camp laughed again.
Eleanor threw a pinecone at her.
Lydia ducked.
It struck Nathaniel.
He looked down at it.
Eleanor covered her mouth.
Nathaniel picked up the pinecone. “Was that deliberate?”
“No.”
“You are smiling.”
“I am not.”
The entire camp shouted, “You are!”
Eleanor laughed so hard she could not defend herself.