Chapter Fourteen
West of the Creek
Eleanor avoided Nathaniel for most of the next morning.
This was difficult because he was the wagon master and seemed to be everywhere.
He rode past the Whitaker wagons before departure.
Eleanor inspected the lame ox. He joined the rear division as the train began moving.
Eleanor walked beside Caroline. He stopped near the first wagon at midday.
Eleanor found an urgent need to count spoons.
“We have twelve,” Lydia said.
“I am checking.”
“You checked yesterday.”
“Spoons can disappear.”
“Only if they are trying to avoid Mr. Cooper too.”
Eleanor looked at her.
Lydia smiled sweetly. “We still have twelve.”
Lucy approached while Eleanor put the spoons away. “If you marry Mr. Cooper, will you leave us?”
Eleanor nearly dropped the chest.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Mrs. Turner said wives belong with their husbands.”
“Mrs. Turner should discuss fewer things near children.”
“I am seventeen.”
“Exactly.”
Lucy folded her arms. “Would you?”
Eleanor looked at her youngest sister's worried face. “No man I marry will separate me from my family.”
“What if he wants his own house?”
“Then we will build it near the family house.”
“What if he wants to go back to Missouri?”
“Then he will go without me.”
Lucy considered. “Does Mr. Cooper know?”
“There is no marriage to discuss.”
“But does he?”
Eleanor sighed. “Not yet.”
“You should tell him.”
“Thank you for your wisdom.”
“You are welcome.” Lucy walked away looking pleased with herself.
That afternoon, the road narrowed where a ravine cut across the prairie. The trail divided. One route descended directly and climbed the far side. The other curved along the ravine before crossing at a shallower place.
Nathaniel examined both with several drivers.
“The direct route is shorter,” he said. “The ground is firm enough for teams.”
Eleanor studied the steep bank. “Not for the wagons. A loaded rear wheel could overtake the front.”
“The longer route is soft near the bottom.”
“Then we lay brush for the teams.”
“That will take hours.”
“Repairing a shattered wagon will take longer.”
Mr. Daugherty muttered, “Here they go again.”
Nathaniel ignored him. “Show me.”
Eleanor had expected an argument. Instead, he walked both routes with her. They tested the ground, studied the angle, and watched an empty freight wagon cross the direct descent.
Its rear wheels slid several feet.
Nathaniel nodded. “The longer route.”
Eleanor looked at the soft bottom. “But we use your plan for the teams. Double them on the climb after the crossing.”
“Agreed.”
They spent two hours cutting brush and laying a firmer path. Every wagon crossed without damage.
As the final wagon climbed the far bank, Nathaniel came to stand beside Eleanor. “We work well together,” he said.
“When you are sensible.”
“And when you are not counting spoons.”
She stared at him. “Lydia told you.”
“Lydia tells everyone.”
“I may leave her at the next river.”
“She would follow.”
Eleanor smiled despite herself.
*****
NATHANIEL WAITED UNTIL evening to speak with her privately. He found Eleanor near the grazing animals, checking the lame ox's leg. The swelling had eased, and Rebecca believed he could return to his usual place within two days.
“You avoided me,” Nathaniel said.
“I was busy.”
“With spoons.”
“They are important.”
“Twelve of them.”
She stood and brushed grass from her skirt. “I was thinking.”
“That is more believable.”
They walked away from the animals.
“Lucy asked whether I would leave my sisters if I married,” Eleanor said.
Nathaniel's steps slowed. “Would you?”
“No.”
“I would not ask you to.”
“You lead trains. My family is going to Clover Creek. Those lives do not fit together.”
“I told you I have considered leaving the trail.”
“Considered is not decided.”
“No.” He looked toward the wagons. “I am deciding now.”
Eleanor searched his face. “Because of me?”
“Partly. Because I am tired of guiding people toward homes while refusing to build one of my own.”
“What would you do in Clover Creek?”
“Help build. Farm. Use my quartermaster experience to organize freight or supplies. Complain about apple trees if you insist upon planting them.”
“I do not particularly like apples.”
“Then our marriage is already more promising than my first.”
Eleanor blinked.
Nathaniel smiled. “That was a poor joke.”
“A very poor joke.”
“Abigail would have laughed.”
“Then I will try.” She gave an exaggerated laugh.
“That is worse.”
This time her real laughter came.
Nathaniel took her hands. “I am not asking to become the head of eight women who do not want one.”
“Good, because Rebecca would probably shoot you.”
“I am asking whether I may join the home you are building.”
The answer in Eleanor's heart was yes. The word frightened her too much to speak.
“I need time,” she said.
“I know.”
“My sisters still depend upon me.”
“They crossed a ravine today under Caroline's direction while you stood with me.”
Eleanor looked back. Caroline and Charlotte were discussing the next day's route with Thomas. Rebecca checked the teams. Martha organized supper. The younger girls gathered fuel.
They were not helpless.
They never had been.
“I have made them depend upon me,” she said softly.
“You kept them together after your father died. That is not the same thing.”
“It became the same thing.”
Nathaniel touched her cheek. “Then give them room to grow.”
“And what will I do?”
“Grow with them.”
Eleanor leaned into his hand. Hope was far more frightening than impossibility. Impossibility required nothing from her. Hope asked her to change.
“Give me until I can believe they will be safe without my hand on every rein,” she said.
Nathaniel nodded. “I will.”
He kissed her gently, then walked her back to camp without asking for more.
A few of the sisters heard the exchange and failed to preserve solemn faces. Eleanor surrendered her dignity long enough to laugh, then returned them all to sharing the first half of the night watch after the ravine crossing with steadier nerves.
In the days after the family council, lighter moments returned around camp in scattered pieces.
Lydia’s teasing sometimes made Eleanor forget how closely she watched people. That evening, Lydia sat beside Eleanor repairing a torn hem. “You like him more when he argues with you,” she said.
Eleanor did not look up. “Who?”
“Archibald.”
Eleanor turned sharply.
Lydia grinned. “Nathaniel.”
“That was not amusing.”
“It was a little amusing.”
Eleanor returned to her sewing. “And you are wrong.”
“No, I am not. When he agrees with everything you say, you become suspicious. When he disagrees, you become interested.”
“I become irritated.”
“For you, that is very close.”
Eleanor tried not to smile.
Lydia’s needle moved quickly. She was better at sewing than she pretended, just as she was better at reading moods than anyone gave her credit for.
“You make jokes when you are frightened,” Eleanor said.
Lydia’s hands paused.
“I do not.”
“You do.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“It is.”
Lydia sighed. “If everyone is laughing, I know they are breathing.”
The answer struck Eleanor silent.
Lydia shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable. “Besides, somebody in this family has to prevent us from becoming unbearably solemn.”
“You have taken the responsibility very seriously.”
“I learned from you.”
“I am not funny.”
“That is what makes you funny.”
Eleanor nudged her with one shoulder.
Lydia smiled and went back to sewing.
It occurred to Eleanor that someday a man might mistake Lydia’s laughter for shallowness. Whoever that man was, he would be very sorry.
Lydia could make a room laugh while noticing every person in it who wanted to cry.
“Do you ever stop talking?” Eleanor asked Lydia.
“While sleeping.”
Rebecca shook her head. “Not always.”
“I do not talk in my sleep.”
“You argued with Eleanor about a bonnet last night.”
Eleanor looked over. “Was I there?”
“No.”
Lydia frowned. “Did I win?”
“Also no.”
Nathaniel laughed.
Lydia pointed at him. “You should not. She argued with you too.”
“In your dream?”
“Yes.”
“Did I win?”
“No one wins against Eleanor.”
Eleanor smiled. “Finally, wisdom.”
Lydia said, “You both kept saying the same thing. ‘I am not ordering you.’ ‘Yes, you are.’ ‘I am asking.’ ‘You ask like an order.’”
Nathaniel looked at Eleanor.
Eleanor looked at Nathaniel.
Rebecca said, “Disturbingly accurate.”
Nathaniel sighed. “I dislike being predictable.”
“Then stop giving orders.”
“I do not give you orders.”
Seven sisters laughed.
Eleanor patted his arm. “You walked into that.”
“I am surrounded.”
“You chose our wagon.”
“I continue making questionable decisions.”
“Do you regret this one?”
His teasing softened. “Not remotely.”
Lydia groaned. “Now they are romantic.”
Rebecca said, “Give them a minute. They will argue again.”
Nathaniel looked at Eleanor. “Want to prove her right?”
“Always.”