Chapter Eighteen
Nathaniel Recovering
Nathaniel was not a pleasant patient.
By the morning after his fall, he had attempted to leave the wagon three times. Martha threatened to bind him. Eleanor threatened to let Martha.
“The company needs a wagon master,” he said.
“It has one,” Eleanor answered. “She is attempting to eat breakfast.”
“You are enjoying the title.”
“I am enjoying your irritation.”
He leaned back against the bedding. “Cruel woman.”
“Rest.”
Eleanor led the train for a second day. Nathaniel advised when she asked and was silent when she did not, though the silence occasionally looked painful.
The road climbed gradually through rolling country. Near midday, a wagon wheel began making a metallic knock.
Eleanor halted the line before the sound worsened.
Rebecca examined the wheel. “The iron tire is loosening.”
“Can we repair it here?”
“We can heat and reset it, but the road is too narrow for every wagon to wait in place.”
Eleanor studied the grade. “Move the damaged wagon into the level clearing. Stagger the others along the rise with space between them. No team stands directly behind another wagon.”
Mr. Daugherty started to object, then looked at the slope and closed his mouth.
“Did you wish to say something?” Eleanor asked.
“No.”
“A pity. You have been so helpful.”
Mrs. Bell laughed from her wagon.
The repair took two hours. Eleanor used the time for grazing, a cold meal, and checks on every wheel in the train.
When the iron tire was secure, they continued without incident.
At camp, the man who had first challenged Eleanor came to her fire.
“You kept the wagons from crowding the grade,” he said.
“That was the intention.”
“I would have rushed the repair.”
“Then we would have reached camp sooner.”
He looked surprised.
“With more broken wheels,” Eleanor added.
He smiled reluctantly. “You did well.”
“Thank you.”
After he left, Lydia stared at her. “You did not make him apologize.”
“He said I did well.”
“That is not an apology.”
“It is close enough for a man who has spent his life believing women do not know where wheels belong.”
Nathaniel laughed from inside the wagon.
“You are supposed to be sleeping,” Eleanor called.
“I was until Lydia began demanding justice.”
“Someone must,” Lydia said.
*****
NATHANIEL’S THOUGHTS were clear by the second evening, though his shoulder remained strapped close to his body and Martha had forbidden him to ride until he could lift his arm without whitening around the mouth.
He walked with Eleanor after supper, moving slowly enough to satisfy Martha, carefully enough not to jar the shoulder, and quickly enough to preserve some dignity.
Caroline and Rebecca had full charge of the Whitaker wagons. Eleanor had not checked behind them once.
“Your sisters managed without you,” he said.
“Do not sound so pleased.”
“You wanted proof.”
“I wanted reassurance. Proof is much harder to argue with.”
They stopped where the prairie opened beyond camp. The sky was streaked with gold and rose.
“If we marry,” Eleanor said, “we need to discuss practical things.”
Nathaniel kept his face calm with effort. “If?”
“You have not asked properly.”
“You told me to ask later.”
“This is still later.”
“Not late enough.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Practical things.”
“Very well.”
“My sisters will live together when we reach Clover Creek.”
“Agreed.”
“No husband will force one of them to leave the family's land.”
“Agreed.”
“Lucy and Grace are young. They will require guidance.”
“They will require several locked doors and perhaps a watchman.”
Eleanor laughed. “Nathaniel.”
“I agree that we share responsibility while respecting that they are your sisters, not my soldiers.”
“Good. I will retain a voice in decisions concerning the land.”
“Half the voice.”
“More if you are wrong.”
“Naturally.”
She smiled. “What would you bring?”
“Savings. Two horses. Tools. Experience building storehouses, arranging freight, and keeping records. Enough knowledge of farming to complain with authority.”
“You have planned this.”
“Since the night watch when you described the house.”
Eleanor's eyes softened. “You truly want Clover Creek?”
“I want you. Clover Creek is where you are building a life. I would rather join that life than ask you to abandon it.”
She looked away, but he saw the tears.
Nathaniel touched her chin with his left hand and turned her back. “What frightens you now?”
“That I will become smaller inside a marriage.”
“You?”
“It happens to women.”
“I have spent three weeks trying to convince you to share authority. I have no intention of making you surrender it after the wedding.”
“What if I argue before breakfast?”
“I expect to love you most honestly during those arguments.”
Eleanor laughed through her tears. “That was almost romantic.”
“I was trying very hard.”
She moved closer and rested her hands on his chest, careful of the injured shoulder. “I am ready for you to ask.”
Nathaniel's heart beat faster.
“Not yet,” he said.
Her mouth fell open. “You have spent days being impatient.”
“And now I want to do it properly.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
Nathaniel kissed her before she could continue.
Eleanor kissed him back, then whispered against his mouth, “You are very annoying.”
“You will have years to tell me.”
By the evening of April twentieth, Nathaniel’s recovery had created a new problem: he was well enough to be bored and not well enough to do anything about it.
On the evening of April twentieth, Eleanor found him attempting to sharpen a knife one-handed.
She took the whetstone away.
“I was using that.”
“Badly.”
“I have sharpened knives since before you learned to read.”
“With your right hand.”
“My left hand is trainable.”
“Your left hand nearly removed your thumb.”
“It did not.”
“Because I arrived.”
Nathaniel looked toward the wagons. “Does marriage to you include constant supervision?”
“There is still no marriage.”
“Potential marriage.”
“Potential supervision.”
He smiled. “I look forward to it.”
Eleanor sat beside him and took the knife. “What needs doing?”
“Everything.”
“Specifically.”
“The west wheel on the Coleman wagon squeaks.”
“Rebecca checked it.”
“Mr. Hall’s near ox is favoring the left side.”
“Rebecca checked that too.”
“The firewood stack is too close to the—”
“Moved an hour ago.”
Nathaniel frowned.
Eleanor handed him the sharpened knife. “We are all functioning without you.”
“I noticed.”
“It is unpleasant, is it not?”
“Extremely.”
She smiled. “Now you understand how I felt when Charlotte tied the wagon canvas shut.”
“I apologized for that.”
“You praised her knot.”
“It was an excellent knot.”
Eleanor leaned against his uninjured shoulder.
For a while they watched the camp. Caroline and Thomas were bent over a map. Martha and Grace prepared supper. Rebecca argued cheerfully with Mr. Coleman about his harness. Lydia was teaching Lucy a card game Mrs. Bell claimed was morally questionable but continued to watch.
Nathaniel exhaled. “I thought being needed was the same as belonging.”
Eleanor turned toward him.
“If the train can manage without me, part of me wonders what I am for.”
She understood the confession immediately.
“I asked myself the same question.”
“What answer did you find?”
“That perhaps people loving me is enough.”
Nathaniel was quiet.
Eleanor nudged him. “You look unconvinced.”
“I am considering the possibility.”
“Do not strain yourself.”
He laughed.
She took his left hand. “You are not valuable because twelve wagons would fall apart without you.”
“Some of them might.”
“Nathaniel.”
“Sorry.”
“You are valuable because you are you.”
“That sounds suspiciously sentimental.”
“I can take it back.”
He tightened his hand around hers. “Do not.”
Eleanor smiled.
A moment later Lydia called, “Supper!”
Nathaniel started to rise.
Eleanor stopped him. “Wait.”
“What?”
She kissed him.
When she drew back, he looked startled.
“What was that for?”
“Nothing needed fixing.”
His expression softened.
“Good,” he said. “Do it again.”
By the next morning, Nathaniel could walk steadily enough around camp that Eleanor stopped hovering.
Mostly.
He noticed every time she forgot.
At breakfast he reached for the coffee pot.
Eleanor reached first.
“I can pour coffee.”
“I know.”
“You took the pot.”
“It was closer to me.”
“It was beside my hand.”
“You have an injured shoulder.”
“My left hand works.”
“So does mine.”
Nathaniel looked at Caroline.
Caroline lifted her cup. “Do not involve me.”
He looked at Rebecca.
“No.”
Martha.
“Absolutely not.”
Lydia smiled. “I will help.”
Eleanor and Nathaniel both said, “No.”
Lydia looked delighted.
Nathaniel turned back to Eleanor. “You are hovering.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“I am sitting.”
“You can hover while seated.”
“That is physically impossible.”
“I have seen you do it.”
Eleanor poured his coffee.
Nathaniel accepted the cup.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome.”
He took one drink.
“Too strong?”
“No.”
“Too weak?”
“No.”
“Too cold?”
Nathaniel stared at her.
Eleanor realized what she was doing.
Lydia whispered, “Hovering.”
Eleanor pointed toward the firewood.
Lydia went willingly.
Nathaniel smiled over his cup. “I find this side of you very charming.”
“What side?”
“The one pretending not to fuss.”
“I do not fuss.”
“Of course not.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
“I value my life.”
Eleanor laughed.
Nathaniel reached across the small space between them and took her hand.
“You may fuss a little.”
“I may?”
“Within reason.”
She squeezed his fingers. “That seems dangerously close to permission.”
“I trust you to abuse it.”
“Finally, you are learning.”
“You are favoring that leg,” Eleanor said.
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“My shoulder is injured.”
“That does not explain your leg.”
Nathaniel looked down. “My boot is rubbing.”
“Sit.”
He smiled.
“What?”
“I enjoy hearing you give orders after weeks of objecting to mine.”
“That is different.”
“How?”
“Mine are sensible.”
Nathaniel laughed and sat.
Eleanor crouched. “You have a blister.”
“I am aware.”
“Why did you not say something?”
“Because I am a grown man.”
“That has never stopped you from complaining about coffee.”
“Coffee is important.”
“Your foot is not?”
“Less important than coffee.”
She reached for the medical box.
Nathaniel watched. “You are fussing.”
“I am preventing infection.”
“Fussing medically.”
“Would you prefer Martha?”
“No.”
“Then be quiet.”
He obeyed.
Eleanor looked up suspiciously. “That was too easy.”
“I am experimenting.”
“With obedience?”
“Yes.”
“How does it feel?”
“Unnatural.”
She laughed.
Nathaniel touched her cheek. “Worth it.”
Rebecca passed behind them. “If you kiss him while holding the salve, do not get it in his hair.”
Eleanor turned.
Rebecca kept walking.
Nathaniel whispered, “Useful advice.”
“Do not.”
He laughed anyway.