The Trail Master's Bride (4 page)

“No, sir.” Embarrassed that she had acted like the girl he had called her earlier, she didn’t elaborate.

Further conversation ended as he pulled up alongside their wagon where Elliott and Mr. Jacobs were waiting. He didn’t dismount; instead, he eased her down with one strong arm, bending low in the saddle to steady her until she found her footing.

“Let’s try to keep the marital drama to a minimum, from here on out.” His eyes were on Elliott as he spoke. “It’s not fair to disturb the other folks with your private affairs.”

Her husband didn’t give a verbal response, though the way he pushed away from the side of the wagon where he’d been leaning, and by the fierce glare he sent Mina’s way, it was easy to see he’d gotten Mr. Carr’s point.

Their wagon master obviously wanted more of an agreement. “Mr. Hobart, it isn’t unheard of to put troublemakers off a train for the good of the rest of the group. Please, keep that in mind.” He then nodded to Jacobs and tipped his hat to Mina with a short, but polite, “Ma’am,” and rode off into the night.

Mr. Jacobs also bid them goodnight, which left her alone with her disgruntled husband.

“Did you hear?” he demanded, though he did so in a hushed voice. “If we get thrown off this train, it will be because of your foolishness. I suggest you grow up good and fast, Mina Franks.”

“It’s Hobart,” she hissed back. “For some reason you keep forgetting that, husband. And, if we get thrown off this train, it’s because you are an intolerant dolt who won’t take the time to show me what needs to be done.” She took a step forward. “I rue the day I said ‘I do’ to you, Elliott. I’d have fared much better at home with my indifferent father and his witch of a bride.”

“Fine. Once we arrive in Oregon, we’ll part ways.”

Shocked that he’d called her bluff, Mina stepped back. “What?”

“We’ll find an attorney and get a divorce. That should make both of us happy.”

“But what will I do?”

“Frankly, I don’t care.”

“It was the inheritance from my grandmother that made this possible, bought the wagon, the oxen, paid the fees, and purchased the land. You can’t just take everything and leave me penniless.”

“When you said, ‘I do’ on that dreaded day, it all became mine under the law.”

“So you’d leave me destitute? You wouldn’t.”

“Push me further, Mrs. Hobart,” this came out with a sneer, “and you’ll find out for yourself, won’t you?”

“I’ll fight you. Besides, a divorce is hardly necessary when I can get an annulment. It will be like we never said vows and everything will revert to me.”

“Women can’t own property, you fool. It would revert to your father and you’d be back under his control once again.”

“Better him than you!” Mina shot back.

“Keep your voice down,” Elliott hissed, glancing around. Seeing they were alone, he glared at her for a long moment then surprised her by being reasonable. “Let’s make a deal. Neither of us wants this sham of a marriage. Once we arrive in Oregon City, I’ll make a settlement on you including funds for travel to wherever you want to go. We’ll be rid of each other for good.”

She didn’t think it was fair that he would reap in anyway what he didn’t sow, in the form of a single penny from her inheritance, but she’d argue about that when the time came. With little choice, as always, other than being stuck with a man who detested her (the feeling quite mutual, as it were), she nodded her agreement.

“Good. Until then, try to be civil, and act like a wife and a helpmate, for Christ’s sake.” He stalked off, disappearing into the shadows beyond the circle of campfires. She looked after him, her mouth agape with outrage. For him to accuse her of being uncivil was like the pot calling the kettle black. All the same, arguing with the unreasonable man did no good. At a loss, she started toward the wagon, hating that she was dependent on the likes of Elliott Hobart for her future, for her very existence.

A noise behind her had her spinning. Much to her dismay, she saw Mr. Jacobs standing beside his wagon, no more than twenty feet away, smoking his pipe. His wife was at his side. From the looks on their faces—his concerned, hers sympathetic—they had heard every word. Her chest burned with embarrassment as she felt heat rise to her cheeks. Airing dirty laundry had become a common occurrence for her and her husband. She vowed, no more. She also determined not to allow Elliott to bait her anger again. Somehow, she had to make the best of this tenable situation so that when she arrived at the end of the trail, she would be free of him.

Then what?
a voice in her head asked. Mina didn’t have an answer, but she had fifteen hundred miles to figure it out.

* * *

Her vows and determination didn’t hold up a week before her anger erupted again. Elliott, despite touting civility, seemed to enjoy needling her, picking at her flaws and harping on her ineptitude at every turn. She’d taken all she could one evening when she had inadvertently burned the stew. It wasn’t inedible; only what was at the bottom of the pot was scorched. He wouldn’t let up, however, and Mina had all she could take. In a fit of pique, she dumped the entire kettle of stew in the fire, said a few very unladylike words, and stormed off—again. She didn’t go as far this time, only to a line of trees in the distance planning to cool her temper and collect herself.

She’d been allowed no more than five minutes of solitude before an exasperated Weston Carr had once again come to fetch her back. On foot this time, there was no thrilling ride while held in his arms, no teasing, no conversation, no soothing touches like before, only an iron-hard hand on her arm, as good as dragging her back to camp. She protested, digging in her heels. At a point halfway between the trees and the wagons, he halted and turned to her. Only then did he speak his first words.

“Man or woman, Mrs. Hobart, to me a promise given is a promise kept. I don’t appreciate being lied to and having to come after you every time you get a bee in your bonnet and run off. If I have to do so again, you will not like the consequences. Are we clear?”

Mina swallowed, not liking the angry and very resolute expression on his face. She also didn’t like the thought of what his consequences might be. Swallowing hard, she nodded.

He began walking again, pulling her along silently, his long fingers wrapped around her wrist in an unbreakable grip until he deposited her at her husband’s side. “Take your wife in hand, Mr. Hobart. Or for her own sake and that of every man, woman, and child on this the train, I’ll see to it for you.”

Mina had stared after him slack-jawed with indignation, not missing his meaning, now fully understanding what his concept of consequences were. Elliott hadn’t missed it either and much to her surprise, did something she’d never seen before—he burst into laughter.

“Now there’s an excellent idea,” was his broken response, the words interspersed with great guffaws and howls as he bent over, holding his belly, horse-laughing at her expense. Mina wasn’t the slightest bit amused; quite the opposite, in fact. Her humiliation had risen to new heights, especially considering some of the other families had come out to bear witness to the spectacle. In a huff, and cursing all men to perdition with every breath, she stomped to the wagon and climbed in, pulling the flap closed behind her. Only then did she succumb to silent tears over what her life had become.

Chapter Four

Swaying on her feet, she watched as another shovel full of dirt filled the shallow grave. The sound of the dry earth mixed with stones and rock as it landed jarred her to the bone, her exceedingly tired bones. Exhaustion filled her very soul. If not for kind Mr. Jacobs standing by her side, his hand on her back in support, she would have fallen in a heap beside her husband’s open grave. Tears prickled behind her eyelids, not because she loved or even cared for Elliott Hobart. Certainly, there was no love lost between the two of them, not by a long shot. Rather, it was because his death seemed senseless, as were the deaths of the other twenty-one members of the wagon train—men, women, and several of the precious children—almost half of them, who had also succumbed to the deadly illness that had devastated their group.

A little over a month ago, a relatively short measure of time, which to Mina seemed like an eternity now, they had been an eager bunch, anxiously anticipating the journey to their new homes and the beginning of their new lives. Excited to face the challenges of a cross-country trek, to see sights they had only imagined, and experience new adventures they hadn’t thought possible. With the help of a seasoned captain and experienced trail guide, they had been better prepared than most, planning for the inherent risks involved in a two-thousand-mile overland trip: broken equipment, injured livestock, drought, depleted supplies, threats from outlaws and Indians alike. Never did they expect to be attacked by a deadly enemy they had no defense against—smallpox.

Tracked to a family hailing from Philadelphia, where an outbreak had occurred in near epidemic proportions, one after another of them had fallen ill, spreading from wagon to wagon. With each subsequent outbreak, the infected wagons had been isolated in a measure to contain the spread of the disease. Now only four wagons were untouched by the illness. These were camped across the river waiting to move on. One family, more daring than the rest, went on ahead, preferring to risk traveling on their own than contracting the illness.

Mina had been appalled, looking on helplessly as people died. Coming from an eastern city, she was one of only a handful of the adults on the train who had been vaccinated. Even fewer of the children had been inoculated. Poor, uneducated, or untrusting of the controversial vaccine, for whatever reason, so many died needlessly when there was a simple preventative and had been for years.

Mina looked around at the men who had seen fit to dig Elliott’s grave—one of so many in the past few days—and she wondered what she would do next. She didn’t mean in the next few hours, days, or weeks; she meant long term. Imminently, following the burial, to stop the cycle and further dissemination of the disease, all of Elliott’s blankets and clothing would be burned. She’d watched it happen to the others, nearly entire contents of wagons burned to the ground to diminish the threat. Only items that could be thoroughly scrubbed with the harsh lye soap were retained: metal, glass, and the wooden wagon, mostly. After, she would remain with the afflicted, isolated until it was clear no others would fall ill; only then would they be allowed to rejoin the group.

The devastation had brought the wagon train to a grinding halt. Mr. Carr told them that most often, although it sounded cruel, families afflicted by disease were left behind while the train moved forward. The importance of keeping on schedule and being through the mountains before the first snows of early fall was crucial to everyone’s survival. In this case, because it had touched nearly every wagon on the train, he didn’t risk moving forward the few miles left to their next stop at Fort Kearney, which was the first of the few trading posts along the way. He feared bringing smallpox with them and spreading it further. So they waited, watching helplessly as loved ones sickened and passed on.

Thankfully, no new victims had fallen ill in the last five days and hope had flared amongst the grief-stricken that the worst had passed.

Clanging metal drew Mina’s attention downward. The men were finished, their shovel heads banging together as they tamped down the dry earth. Others moved forward then and began stacking rocks over the grave to keep it from being desecrated by animals later.

“I’ll get the fire started,” murmured the captain, as he walked away with his shovel.

Mina didn’t respond. What was the point when fate had left her no other choice? With dry eyes, she proceeded to the large pile of her and Elliott’s belongings that would be set to blaze. It was nearly everything she owned. Some mementoes from her childhood, when her dear mama had been alive and she and her sister Ruth had been happy.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

As the torch touched on the soiled blankets and ignited, Mina swallowed hard against her tears. The fire spread quickly—first to Elliott’s clothing, and then, as the flames licked higher, to some of her own she’d worn while caring for him. When the linens caught fire, the threads becoming black and shrinking in on themselves, her chest felt heavy. They had been a part of her hope chest, left to her by her mama as well as the delicate lace shawl her grandmother had hand tatted; now, nothing more than smoldering gray ash.

Stoically, she bit her lip, knowing these were just things, yet they were nearly all she had left. When the fire spread to the wedding ring quilt that her mother had spent hours stitching by hand, a tear escaped and her hand fluttered up to her throat out of habit. Her breath caught, finding it bare. Panicked, she searched her memories. She had stored her choker in the tin box with her other keepsakes. Her eyes snapped to the blaze with dread. Others had helped her empty the wagon. Scanning the base of the fire, through red-hot flames and cinders she caught a glimpse of the familiar box with the blue label; the heat had already begun to bubble the painted finish on the outside.

“No!” Mina cried as she lunged forward only to be driven back by a wave of intense heat. Glancing around, she saw one of the shovels lying on the ground. Without thought to anything except retrieving her treasure, she pressed close to dig the tin box out of the fire.

Hard hands on her waist pulled her back. “What in blue blazes has come over you, girl,” the gruff voice cursed, “you’ll be burnt to a crisp.”

“My mother’s cameo,” she cried, struggling against his hold. Her head flew back, her eyes imploring. “Please. The tin box, it wasn’t supposed to be burned.”

Weston cursed beneath his breath and twisted. Mina’s feet left the ground as she was bodily moved out of the way. He pulled the shovel from her grip and quickly scooped the now flaming and melting mess of painted tin out of the fire. Pitching it onto a bare patch of ground away from the blaze, he topped it with a shovel full of dirt to extinguish the flames.