Oregon Trail Boxed Set Page 3

  “And now, let us bow our heads and recite the Lord’s Prayer.” Jeb’s deep, comforting voice rumbled over them.

  Emma barely heard the words of the other mourners, as anxiety cut through her grief. What would become of her with Peter gone? Here she was headed to a place she didn’t want to go to begin with, and the husband who had insisted on it was about to be lowered into the ground. She inhaled a shuddering breath. Returning to Indiana was the only solution. She would tell Ezra as soon as possible that she would leave the group and head home.

  As soon as Jeb finished the prayer, he nodded at Abigail, who turned to Emma and took her arm. They walked her away from the sound of shovels of dirt being dumped on Peter’s lifeless body. Emma shivered, the sound so final, so lonely. He would be left here, miles from his home, with only the crude cross someone had fastened for company.

  “I think a cup of tea would be good.” Sarah gently took Emma’s other arm. “Let’s go to my wagon and I’ll make some.” Emma nodded and walked with her, feeling like a sleepwalker guided back to bed.

  The slow walk toughened her resolve. She pushed aside the panic at the thought of retracing their three week trip alone. Maybe Ezra would allow one of the scouts to accompany her. Yes. She would insist he provide a guide. It wasn’t her fault he had so little control over his horses that one had killed her husband.

  Once they reached Sarah’s wagon, Emma settled on a log as her friend and Abigail prepared the tea. After a while Elizabeth Preston joined them, speaking in a low voice to the other women. Stephen toddled over to his mother and hung onto her skirts. With the perception of the young, he sensed something was wrong with the adults, and needed comfort. Despite the efforts of the women to keep Emma occupied with trivial chatter so she didn’t hear clumps of earth filling the grave, she continued to shiver as each shovelful covered Peter’s body.

  Shortly before noon, Jeb and Ezra joined the group of women around the campfire. Both men removed their hats and glanced briefly at Emma. Ezra cleared his throat and twirled his hat in his hands. His normally pale face flushed a deep red, the ruddiness rising from beneath his plaid wool shirt to his hairline.

  Emma had just opened her mouth to make her request for a scout when Ezra spoke.

  “Miz Thorpe.” He ran one meaty finger around the inside of his collar. “You know how sorry we all are for your loss.”

  Emma closed her mouth, and stared at her fingers in her lap, pleating the white cotton of her apron.

  “I know this is a bad time for you, Miz Thorpe, and I apologize if I seem uncaring, but since we’ll be continuing on our journey tomorrow, there is something I need to ask.”

  Emma acknowledged Ezra with a nod, but continued to keep her eyes downcast.

  “Ma’am, as you know when Mr. Thorpe was, ah, injured.” Ezra’s voice stumbled.

  Emma raised her head, tears standing at the edge of her eyelids, threatening to spill over. “He was killed, Mr. Franklin. Not injured. Killed. By one of your horses.” Abigail’s warm hand covered Emma’s cold one.

  “Ah, yes, Miz Thorpe, I do know that, and very sorry I am, but what I wanted to ask you is, well, since y’all are the only one in your wagon now…well it just seems right Christian-like for you to…what I mean to say is..” His voice faded, as he moved his mouth, and no sound came out. He turned to Jeb, his eyes pleading.

  “Ezra is doing a bad job of asking for something, Emma.” Jeb sat and took her other hand. “He would like to know if you will take the other man who was injured in the accident into your wagon, and nurse him since yours is the only wagon with room.” Jeb tilted his brow, looking at her uncertainly.

  Emma’s head shot up, and she regarded Ezra, her eyes wide, heat from the anger in her belly rushing to her face. She took a deep breath to calm her racing heart, and spoke in a calm, but deadly voice. “Ezra, surely you understand I can no longer continue on this journey? With Peter gone, I plan to return to my parent’s home in Indiana.”

  Jeb rubbed his chin with index finger and thumb. “We know with Peter gone you probably feel the only alternative is to return to Indiana, but Emma, there is no way you can do that.”

  “What do you mean?" Emma jumped up and almost knocked Jeb off the log. “Don’t any of you understand?” She glared at the group, hands fisted at her side. “I never wanted this to begin with. Now Peter’s gone, and I’m going home.” At the last part of her outburst, she covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Sarah hurried to her side, and gently guided her head onto her strong shoulder. She patted her back, and murmured softly, rocking her as she would one of her children.

  After a few minutes, Jeb took Emma by the shoulders, and eased her away from Sarah. He led her back to the log, and she sat, sniffling in her handkerchief.

  “Emma, please listen. There is no way you can return to Indiana, at least not now. You can’t just take your wagon and start for home. We’re in the middle of nowhere. You have to continue on to at least a place where you can make arrangements to go back with another wagon train or an escort.”

  He searched Ezra’s face. “Ezra, how far do you reckon we need to go for Emma to be able to travel back?”

  Ezra rested his hands on his hips. “To Oregon country if I want to be honest.” He sighed and added, “Miz Thorpe, you would need to travel back with another wagon train headed east. A woman by herself trying to make it back to Indiana is looking for big trouble. That’s why your husband came to me, since I know the trail, and I’ve done it before. I’m not comfortable telling you something that you most likely don’t want to hear, but I can’t in good conscience let you leave us until we reach Oregon country.” He mumbled the last part, shook his head, and glared at Jeb. “Hell, you talk to her.” Yanking on his hat, and nodding to the ladies, Ezra stomped away leaving Jeb to continue the discussion. Emma had a strong urge to cover her ears with her hands and hum like she did when she was a small child.

  “Don’t bother, Jeb,” Emma said, her voice rising “I’m going home and that’s that.”

  “We all know you’re hurtin’ and for that we feel very sorry.” He darted a glance at his wife. “But you can’t travel by yourself from here back to Indiana. Be reasonable, it’s just not possible. If Ezra has to tie you up in your wagon, then I’m afraid he’ll do just that. He took on the responsibility for your safety when your husband contracted with him.” He faced the women. “Please talk to her, she needs to understand the dangers she would face.” Jeb squeezed Emma’s shoulder and left the group.

  Emma stared after Jeb’s receding back, her eyes narrowed. Once he disappeared behind a wagon, she turned to the women. “I’m going back to Indiana. I want to leave this god forsaken place and go home.” She stomped her foot, arms crossed over her chest. “They can’t make me stay.”

  Sarah sighed and put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Promise me you’ll give this some time to consider. Just think it over for a day or two.”

  “Fine.” Emma said. “But nothing is going to change my mind.”

  * * *

  Ezra had announced a day of rest for the travelers since the funeral for Peter had eaten up a good portion of the morning. Emma used the time to brood. Once or twice Sarah stopped by to check on her, but Emma assured her she was fine. Anger had taken over her grief.

  After a cold supper of beans and hard bread from the night before, she visited a nearby creek and washed her hands and face, and cleaned her teeth. Not wishing company this night, she bypassed Sarah’s campfire, and returned to her wagon. She slipped on her cotton nightgown, and brushed and braided her hair. With a deep sigh, she pulled out the bedroll and, changing her mind, dragged it into the wagon, and arranged a sleep space. It was tight, but more secure with Peter no longer there with her.

  Darkness had enveloped the wagon train, all the campfires now extinguished, the scent of their woodsy smoke still lingering in the air. The hum of conversations had died out, leaving Emma alone and tossing and turning in the wagon. The floor of the wagon wa
s warmer, but no softer than the ground. Hours passed, but her racing thoughts kept sleep dancing out of reach.

  She couldn’t believe Ezra expected her to not only continue with the wagon train, but to actually take that arrogant Mr. Davis in her wagon and nurse him back to health. Guilt pricked her since she had no reason to believe the man was arrogant, since the few times she’d passed him by, he always treated her with respect. But thinking that made her feel better about refusing to help. Indeed most definitely unchristian like, she wished he had died instead of Peter. She quickly uttered a quick prayer at the thought.

  Emma rolled from one side to the other and yanked the blanket up to her shoulders. That she couldn’t just abandon the wagon train right here and now had slowly sunk in since her conversation with Ezra and Jeb earlier in the day. As much as she ached for her parent’s comfort and her home, Emma knew in her heart there was no way she could find her way back alone. And since she’d refused to help Mr. Davis, it didn’t seem likely Ezra would give her a guide to accompany her.

  “Damn this wagon train, and Ezra, and Mr. Davis and everyone else,” she groused as she thumped her pillow. She flushed at the use of a cuss word, then flipped to her back, hands laced over her stomach. Her gaze roamed the inside of the wagon, and settled on the canvas stretched across the top. The way things stood, she had no choice but to continue on, and most likely take Mr. Davis along with her as well.

  “The Christian-like thing to do, indeed.” She turned over once more and tried desperately to relax her body enough to get some sleep before the sun came up over the horizon. Tomorrow would be another horrible day in an endless string of them.

  * * *

  “Miz Thorpe. Miz Thorpe?” Emma shadowed her eyes with her hand as she stuck her head out the back of the wagon and regarded Ezra standing no more than two feet from her. His stance assured her of his determination, and that he hadn’t changed his mind since yesterday.

  She sighed, and flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry to wake you, Miz Thorpe, but I came to re-arrange your wagon so we can make room for Davis.”

  He sure didn’t waste any time. “Fine, Ezra, just fine,” she snapped. “Just give me a few minutes to dress.”

  Emma backed into the wagon, and quickly pulled off her nightgown and slipped into a petticoat and dress. “Can’t even give a body time to dress and make herself presentable,” she grumbled as she rolled black cotton stockings on and laced up her boots.

  Her eyes felt gritty, and her mouth like old cotton. She ignored Ezra as she marched past him on the way to the creek. He immediately began pulling things out of her wagon to re-arrange them. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered to her right now. All she wanted to do was get to Oregon so she could turn right around and go back to Indiana.

  “I made enough room for Davis, ma’am,” Ezra said as she returned. “Me and a couple of the others will bring him over shortly.” Emma nodded and began her morning duties. She started a fire like she saw Peter do and fixed coffee and bacon for herself. Tears came to her eyes once more, as a sense of loss enveloped her. She missed Peter’s chatter and good morning mood. They’d only shared breakfast for five months, but her heart ached knowing they never would again, and he was gone from her life forever.

  Once more guilt washed over her as she recalled the harsh words she’d hurled at him before he went off to die under the hoofs of a panicked animal. Emma leaned her head back and stared at the cloudy sky. “Peter, you know I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m scared. More scared now that you’re gone. I love you.” She brought her shaky fingers up to her lips and swallowed useless tears.

  A man’s shout yanked her from her thoughts. She stood and took a deep breath, clearing away the remnants of her breakfast.

  “Be careful, men. Don’t hit the side of that wagon. Boy, pay attention!” Ezra and two other men headed in her direction, dragging a travois behind them. The still form of Mr. Davis rested there, either asleep or unconscious. Turning her back on them, she washed the dishes from breakfast, slamming pots, clanking metal utensils. With that done, she kicked out the fire, and stomped over to the bushes to take care of her necessities.

  Ezra squinted against the sun and met her in front of her wagon as she returned. The empty travois sat outside her wagon, where she assumed Mr. Davis was now settled.

  “Miz Thorpe,” he began “I have Davis’s saddlebags here. I’d like to put them in the wagon with him, but I wanted you to know about it.”

  Emma drew herself up, her chin in the air as she viewed the worn brown leather bags with distaste. “If those saddlebags contain any spirits, I’m telling you right now I’m dumping it out before we leave today. I will not have drinking going on in my wagon.”

  Ezra’s lips twitched. “Ma’am, from what I’ve seen, Davis is not a drinking man, but you’re free to look for yourself.”

  “And so I will.” Emma nodded at Ezra and turned back to her work. It was time to load the things she had used for breakfast. After gathering everything up, she tossed it in the back of the wagon at the sound of Ezra’s retreating footsteps.

  She stopped and watched her unwelcome guest lying in the wagon, his eyes still closed. He needed a shave and his clothes were none too clean. She wrinkled her nose, and shifted her gaze. That wasn’t her problem. She’d agreed to nurse him, but nothing else.

  Emma cautiously slid the saddlebags toward her and pushed open the flap with one finger. She viewed some clothes, a knife, and a jar of some type of ointment. After moving them aside, she turned up gloves, a banged up canteen, some jerky, a shaving razor, a little bit of money, a cup, some eating utensils, and a jacket. No bottles of spirits.

  “Find what y’all are looking for?” The raspy voice caused her to jump.

  Emma dropped the saddlebag with a thud. The most beautiful crystal blue eyes she’d ever seen stared back at her. They glowed with either anger or humor, not knowing the man well enough to be sure. She straightened her shoulders. “My goodness, Mr. Davis, you scared me half to death. I thought you were asleep.” Annoyance flooded her at the sound of her breathless voice. She had every right to examine what her wagon carried.

  “Cooper,” the tired voice responded.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Cooper. My name is Mr. Cooper.” His voice was low and deep. From pain, or anger?

  “Then why do they call you Davis?”

  “Because my name is Davis. Davis Cooper. I hate to bother you, ma’am, but can I have a drink of water?” He dropped his head back onto the pallet and closed his eyes. That little bit of effort apparently wearing him out.

  Emma scooped water out of the barrel with his cup and returned to the back of the wagon. She climbed in, spilling some of the water on her and her patient. She put the cup to his lips, but there was no way he could drink it unless she lifted his head.

  Hating that she had to touch him, she gingerly put her hand under his head and raised him. Not opening his eyes, he drank greedily of the water and turned his head when he finished. Within minutes his deep breathing suggested the man now slept, so Emma returned his belongings to the saddlebags.

  The sound of scouts riding alongside the string of wagons, yelling, and slapping their hats to get the animals moving forward warned her she still had a lot of work to do. She tied her bonnet under her chin, left the wagon, and approached the oxen that one of the men who had carried Davis over had hitched to her wagon. She grabbed the heavy rope and pulled, grunting.

  Sweat trickled down Emma’s face, running into her eyes, burning them. Every muscle in her body ached from constantly yanking on the rope to keep the dumb animals moving forward. The front and back of her dress was soaked through, her teeth coated with road dust. She fought tears, and finally gave up and let them come. They ran down her face, mingling with the sweat.

  Over the course of the morning she’d checked on Davis several times, but he remained asleep. Right around noon a bugle called a halt to the wagons to stop fo
r the noon meal. Emma dropped to her backside right where they stopped. She pulled her bonnet off, and fanned herself.

  In the long line ahead of her, men filled pans with water for the animals, while the women pulled out the makings of a meal from the wagon. Children too young to walk alongside their mothers ran in circles, laughing and shouting, finally free from the restriction of the wagon.

  She really should get something to eat, but too weary to move, she remained where she’d fallen. A shadow fell over her as one of the scouts pulled back on his horse’s reins and slid to the ground alongside her.

  “Ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat. “My name’s Joshua Williams, and Ezra sent me to help with the animals.” He nodded and moved past Emma, then began examining the oxen. With every muscle screaming at her, she climbed to her feet and staggered to the back of the wagon.

  4

  Emma rattled around in the wagon, too tired to think about a meal, but knowing if she didn’t eat, she’d never make it through the afternoon. She glanced at Davis to see him quietly staring at her. Startled, Emma put her hand to her stomach to quiet the butterflies that seemed to have taken up residence there.

  “Oh, Mr. Cooper, I thought you were still asleep.” Once again her voice sounded breathless to her ears.

  “Well, did you?” Davis studied her with a slight grin and a twinkle in those strange blue eyes.

  “Did I what?”

  One bow arched as he regarded her intently. “Find what you were looking for?”

  “Mr. Cooper.” She raised her chin up. “I was merely making sure there was nothing in your saddlebags that might endanger our trip.” Heat rose from her stomach, burning her face. She quickly looked down, her stiff fingers fumbling with two tin cups.

  “Well, ma’am, since my gun is here beside me, what could be in my saddle bags that would endanger our trip?” His voice hitched like he swallowed laughter.