Gone West (7 page)

“What we’re doin’ ain’t so new at all. Santa Fe traders been hauling wagons out for years without trouble. They’re organized. Everybody got his own job, knows how to do it. Mountain men the same. Wouldn’t be caught with the colds and dysentery already croppin’ up, like us. We got to team up or we’ll be all wore out afor we get to Fort Laramie.”

Maggie spoke first into the silence following Sam’s speech. “Thank you for getting us out of the hole today, Sam.”

Sam looked embarrassed, but Irish more so for having driven his teams past the Stuarts without offer of help.

There was a delicate pause before Sam filled it again. “Been sittin’ here thinkin’ on a proposition.” He looked at Maggie. “Be mostly your decision, Maggie, since you’ll bear the brunt of it if you accept.” He looked at her wistfully, finally plunging ahead.

“I can handle my wagon and teams just fine, but the cooking is a fair chore at day’s end. And it gets lonesome like, too, over a single campfire. Let me sup with you and I’ll throw in more than my share of provisions, and see to your wagons and teams when they’re needing the help. I’ve a touch for the fixing of things.”

Maggie caught Johnny’s eye. It was his decision, too. He’d be sharing his family’s small period of privacy with a relative stranger. Both of them relished that brief time before turning in. On the other hand, God only knew that Johnny might be a man of dreams and words, a man of endless spirit, but pinch come to shove he could barely keep the wagon wheels greased. Luckily, they hadn’t needed much greasing yet. Then again, he’d learn how to do it if he had to. Think how he’d fixed up that waterlogged press when he’d wanted to . . . But on a trip like this sometimes there wasn’t the time for learning.

Sam saw the brief indecision and threw in his clincher. “Also I got some dry wood aboard. Might be enough to keep the stove going nights through another week of rain.”

Maggie smiled. That was an offer almost impossible to refuse. She glanced at Johnny again, searching for the assent she found in his eyes.

“What’s one more mouth to feed?”

Irish assayed the new situation quickly. His most winning grin was presented. “Would the promise of a cabinfull of crockery, your choice of glaze~delivered upon completion of kiln in the Territory~get Gwen and I a piece of this deal?”

Maggie caught Sam studying Gwen with interest at this turn of affairs. Could there possibly be some hope there?

“Don’t forget our provisions, Irish,” added Gwen. “I’ll even wash Charlotte’s nappies, and sew up a new suit of clothes for each and every one of you come journey’s end. You too, Sam.”

Sam’s thick eyebrows raised beneath his shaggy brown hair and he cut a grin of his own, revealing strong white teeth beneath his moustache. “Never had a personal seamstress afor. Think you can fit these shoulders?” He stretched his bearlike body.

“And the muscles of his brawny arms are strong as iron bands,” Maggie quoted.

They all laughed, and the pact was made. It left only Maggie to wonder how her family obligations had so quickly expanded from four to seven.

Johnny managed to pull their wagons over near a small outcrop of rock at the next day’s nooning. Maggie eyed the boulders with interest. There was just enough ledge there to get a small fire going, out of the rains. She called for Jamie who was delighted to remove himself from another morning’s confinement with the baby.

“Hunt around underneath the rocks, son. See if you can find something dry for the fire. But be careful of snakes. Please?”

He was already off, with a whoop of pleasure. Maggie entered the cabin where Charlotte was waiting, eager to be changed and fed. Maggie had dried some of the baby’s linens on ropes strung around the cabin the night before, after the new covenant had been made. She pulled them down now, and set into her next chore, cleaning and drying the grateful little one, taking the time to nuzzle her soft belly, to tweak her toes until the baby giggled with pleasure. Charlotte was at her breast when Jamie stormed into the cabin, his shirt oddly bulging.

“Ma, Ma! I only saw one snake, a little black one, and got some dry brush for Pa. He’s startin’ up the fire and needs the coffeepot. Wait’ll you see what else I found, though!”

Maggie rearranged the baby and got up. “What is it, Jamie?”

His shirt was opened for her inspection, presenting a very bedraggled ball of fur. It opened its eyes and whined heart-rendingly. Johnny stuck his head through the door as the wail increased in urgency.

“What about that coffeepot?” His eyes stopped on the damp bundle and he pulled himself in. “What have you found, son? Let me see.”

Jamie passed over the ball. Small paws covered with fawn-colored fur scrabbled feebly at Johnny. Sharp little teeth went for his wrist.

“Ouch! Fierce little critter, and hungry, too. I do believe you’ve found yourself a coyote pup!” He frowned at the eager boy. “What about its mama? Don’t you think she might miss him?”

“Nothing else in the den, Pa. It was cold and wet. And he was crying piteously like.”

Johnny carefully settled the creature atop a rag on the floor. “Show me where you found him, Jamie. And grab that coffeepot while you’re at it. We’ve got to get some dinner going before the little bit of kindling we’ve got is burnt up.”

Maggie finished feeding the baby, all the time listening to the pathetic cries from the new creature. Unable to stand its discomfort any longer, she settled Charlotte into her hammock and hauled out a slab of bacon, carefully cutting off a few tiny pieces. She presented these to the pup, who wolfed them down in short order. His immense eyes returned to hers, waiting for more.

“More? You want more? And it’s bacon you crave, too. You’ve rich tastes, little one.”

But she cut more for him, waited while it was consumed, then carefully toweled down the wet fur. When she left the wagon with bacon in a pan for her own family the brazen creature was snuggled in a comfortable ball on the floor, fast asleep.

Her men returned with arms full of brush as the bacon was beginning to sizzle. She looked up at Johnny questioningly.

He shrugged his shoulders. “The den’s been deserted. I found two other pups, farther back, both dead. Something must have happened to their bitch.”

Jamie was jiggling from one muddy foot to the other in great impatience. “May we keep him, Ma? Please? Pa said it was up to you, but I was to be completely responsible. And I will, too. It’ll give me something to do while I’m sitting with Charley. I’ll feed him. I can get some milk from the Krellers! And he can sleep with me, and~”

“I’m not sure we can afford him, Jamie. He’s already taken a powerful interest in our bacon supply. We must think about feeding us first.”

“We’ll be in buffalo country soon, Ma. I heard the men say so. There’ll be enough meat for everyone. Please, Ma!”

Jamie watched his mother weakening before his eyes. He waited no further for her answer, but raced into the cabin. In a few moments, though, he was out again, shamefaced, his hands behind his back.

“What is it, Jamie?”

Jamie held up a hunk of bacon. Fine little teethmarks had gnawed a considerable dent in one corner of the meat. Maggie glanced at her husband, who was fighting off a huge grin.

“Go ahead, Johnny. Say it.”

“It seems like we’ve found us yet another orphan. Go keep Bacon out of further trouble, Jamie.”

The rain had slowed to a soft drizzle and Johnny had taken children and pup out for air. Maggie was shoving Sam’s firewood into the stove when Gwen knocked and walked in.

“I brought the onions you showed me how to pick for our supper, Maggie, and a pot of strawberry preserves. I wasn’t sure what to do about flour and such . . .” she glanced around the crowded cabin evocatively.

“Space being what it is, we’d better work through our stock first, then borrow on yours. I was planning on more soup. And now we’ve got the preserves, we can spread it on pancakes for a sweet.”

“You certainly do know how to plan a meal!”

Maggie thought Gwen was teasing, then glanced at her face. No irony was involved. Her compliment had been in dead earnest.

“I seem to have trouble making decisions on things like meals, Maggie. I always have. I suppose I was never cut out to be a homemaker.”

“Is that why you’ve never married?”

Gwen evaded the outright question. “It is not as if I’ve never run a household. I’ve raised Irish since he was eight. Our parents were taken off by the cholera, so there was little choice. It’s the daily tediousness . . . Back home I finally worked it out to a pattern. Baked beans on Mondays, fowl on Tuesdays, fowl pie on Wednesday, mutton on Thursday, fish on Friday . . . You can’t get any of that on the trail, from the shops around the corner, as you could in Boston.” She stopped at Maggie’s barely hidden smile.

“May I give you some assistance?”

Maggie handed her a bowl. “Whip together a little pancake batter while I get the soup going.” Maggie watched as Gwen carefully placed the bowl on the tiny table and stared at it.

“About three cups of flour, Gwen. A pinch of salt, a sprinkling of sugar, a pinch of salteratus for the rising, and water to mix. I’d use milk and eggs if we had them, but we haven’t.”

“Oh.”

Amusement and awe covered Maggie’s face as Gwen began bumbling through the procedure. A woman who couldn’t cook! It came naturally to her, growing up watching her mother. She resisted the urge to shoo Gwen out and do it herself. It might be faster, but if the woman was to be any help at all she’d just have to learn. Maggie stirred her soup pot.

“It’s the food, then, that’s scared you off men?”

“No . . .” Gwen hesitated. “It’s the men. I’m used to Irish, and he’s family, so he doesn’t count. But other men . . . They used to come calling, even proposing. Not so much now anymore. At twenty-eight I guess I’m past the marriageable age. It ought to be a relief, but sometimes I wonder.”

She’d finally gotten the flour into the bowl and was hovering over it with a salt cake in her hand. “They just did not appeal to me, Maggie! So rough and forward they seemed. Is that so hard to understand? I got to thinking about living with them, day after day.”

“The closeness frightened you?”

“Yes,” Gwen finally admitted. She reached for the sugar bag. “Is there something wrong with me, Maggie?”

Maggie carefully cut around the slab of bacon, where the pup had chewed at it, throwing a clean piece into her warming water.

“More likely you were courted by the wrong men. I haven’t that much experience myself. I’ve never been courted by anyone but Johnny. I’ve never wanted anyone but Johnny. But Johnny I wanted. From the first.” She smiled in remembrance of Johnny’s wagon coming round the bend when she was ten, of Johnny himself, laughing and mischievous, asking if he could water his horse. Of Johnny unlatching the rear door of this very wagon to haul out his ancient and gloriously drunken father. The soup pot began to bubble before her eyes, pulling her memories into its whirlpool.

“When the right kind of man comes along, you’ll find it a pleasure, Gwen. It opens a woman up like a flower, it does.” She stopped and sighed, spoon in hand, still thinking about Johnny.

Gwen watched her expression wistfully. “It can still happen? Even at twenty-eight?”

“I do believe it can happen at any age, Gwen.”

“I’d surely love to look on someone the way you look on your Johnny. And have him return the same look.”

“It will happen. A woman who has the appearance you do oughtn’t to be wasted. I hear there’re all sorts of men in the Territory just crying out for good wives.” She laughed. “But they’ll want someone who can cook, Gwen. You’d better throw a little more flour into that batter. You’ve about drowned it out with water.”

Gwen colored, but did as bid.

They were all stuffed into the cabin again, finishing their soup. Maggie squeezed past the men and reached for the platter of pancakes. She’d spread preserves on them, and carefully rolled them up with a sprinkling of sugar on top. She’d known a Frenchwoman in Chicago who did them like that, calling them some kind of a foreign name. She couldn’t remember the name, but it still came down to pancakes, and they did look prettier that way.

Maggie presented the sweet with a flourish. “Gwen made the dessert.”

Sam’s eyes took on a glint of interest, and he reached for two. Maggie and Gwen both waited, Gwen with an anxious frown, as he bit into the first and began to solemnly chew. The surprise in the center startled him, and he let out a slow smile.

“Good,” he pronounced, and reached for another.

Gwen blushed.

Jamie poked his head down from the upper bunk. “How about me, Ma? They look past delicious!”

“Did you finish your soup, Jamie?”

“Sure. That is, all but a very tiny bit, and Bacon’s doing that in right now.”

Heads rose to watch Bacon almost lost in Jamie’s soup bowl, his tail wagging with enthusiasm. Feeding him was to be no problem. He’d eat anything available. Maggie laughed with the rest, and passed around the remainder of the dessert.