Tainted Dreams

by Christi Corbett

  The air again went silent, and she focused on scrubbing and rinsing the fabric sack in the creek. Again. Once she'd finished she headed back to her house, fabric slung over her shoulder. Again. Except this time she wasn't riding Nina so the return trip took three times as long.

  The first raindrop hit when she was half a mile away from her house. By the time she climbed over the boards of her porch, a steady rain poured. Thankfully she'd left the door open.

  "Well, it looks like fixing the oilskin is the next project," she muttered when she discovered a puddle by the window. After spreading the straw tick over the bedstead to dry, she checked her tack job on the window covering.

  Intact.

  Looking up, she sighed to see a drop of water fall from the ceiling. Then another, and another. The leak was small, but if left untended, the puddle would eventually reach and rot the nearby bags of flour and sugar.

  After positioning a scrub bucket on the floor to catch the rain, Kate grabbed her new hammer, filled her pocket with a handful of nails, and headed outside to the pile of boards she'd pulled off the porch yesterday. She selected three of the strongest ones, then upended the rain barrel and used it to climb onto the roof.

  A year ago, if someone had told Kate that one day she'd be crawling across a rotten roof in the middle of a rainstorm to attempt a haphazard patch job, she would have laughed until she cried.

  Now, she just wanted to cry.

  She lined the three boards over where she thought the leak was, nailed them in place, then went back inside and watched the spot above the bucket for two minutes.

  Success!

  While she was thrilled with what she'd accomplished, she also knew much more work was ahead, starting with chopping enough wood to build a fire and drive the chill from her house and clothes. Food wouldn't hurt, either.

  Filthy and soaking wet, Kate headed back outside. During her initial exploration of the barn, she'd seen abandoned tools sitting on a small wooden workbench. She hadn't given them much thought since they were rusted, but since she hadn't been able to procure an ax and splitting wedge from the mercantile, the tools were worth revisiting.

  The idea proved worthwhile. Kate emerged from the barn minutes later with a hatchet in hand and hurried through the rain toward a fallen tree halfway up the hill behind her house. After taking several chops at the trunk, she inspected her work and found she'd barely gouged the bark. The blade needed sharpening.

  Her wood-gathering skills had been long perfected from her months on the trail, so she settled for filling the crook of one arm with branches, all over two feet long but none bigger around than the circumference of her index finger. With her free hand, she took hold of the end of a larger, longer branch, and dragged it alongside her as she walked down the hill.

  This time, the rumbling noise she heard was her own stomach.

  Inside again, she expertly snapped the thinnest branches short and arranged them in the fireplace. Though the outer part of the wood was wet, the tree had apparently been down for years, leaving inside the bark reasonably dry. Soon she had a small, yet strong fire.

  Eager to cook her first meal in her new house, she moved two steps to the right and entered the kitchen, where she promptly remembered the box from her time on the trail still sat in her hotel room. While she had all the supplies to put together a full meal, she had no utensils, pots, pans, or plates.

  Kate warmed her hands until the fire dwindled down to coals, then rode back to the hotel, hunching her shoulders against the rain.

  Chapter Forty-One

  A Splendid Discovery

  Wednesday, November 22, 1843

  Jake tossed his saw aside, jogged backward several feet, then stopped and watched as another tree crashed to the ground with a satisfying thud that made the ground shudder.

  His fifth felled tree of the day.

  He'd woken early and headed directly to the town's restaurant, leaving an hour later with a belly full of steak, three eggs, four pieces of toast slathered with strawberry preserves, a cold glass of milk, and a slice of fresh apple pie to top it all off. The perfect meal to fuel his determination to work until dark.

  The rain didn't bother him since he had an oilskin slicker and a fire blazing in the dugout stove. He'd developed a nice rhythm over the course of the day—down a tree, fetch his ax and chop a few branches into firewood, then head into his dugout to warm up and drink coffee. The following week, after he'd chopped off all the branches from each tree, he'd put his horses to work dragging the logs to his planned building spot near the solitary oak tree at the southwestern corner of his claim.

  For now, Plug was grazing in the flat valley below and Nickel was locked up tight in the livery. As were all Kate's horses, except for Nina.

  He'd checked with Mark, who was clueless on the subject—stunning, since he knew what was happening with almost every other person in town. All the boy knew was the past two days Kate had left town at sunrise on horseback, rotating between Nina and Old Dan, and typically she didn't come back until after sunset.

  That night when he returned to the hotel, he planned to ask the woman he was certain would be well-informed as to Kate's whereabouts—Clara.

  A gust of wind whipped through the trees and made the bottom edge of Jake's slicker flap wildly against his legs. A stinging burst of rain soon followed. Deciding it was the perfect time to take a break, Jake picked up his saw and headed to his dugout.

  Inside he had all the makings of a ladder—his augur, two logs that were both eight feet long and the circumference of his forearm, and a sturdy branch about an inch thick. If he worked until dusk he'd have a good start on finishing the ladder long before it was needed.

  After he'd built up the fire until the room was so warm he could work comfortably without his coat, Jake rolled up his sleeves, knelt beside the logs, and began boring out the first hole that would hold the cross steps. An hour and sixteen matching holes later, his arms burned from exhaustion, but he was proud of what he'd accomplished. A peek out the door confirmed darkness loomed, so he banked his coals and rode back to the livery.

  He breathed a sigh of relief to see Nina safe in her stall. He breathed another sigh of relief when he remembered Theo would be gone until Sunday, so he didn't have to worry about running into him during his upcoming attempt to pry information from Clara. Jake hung his slicker on a hook in Plug's stall to drip dry, then walked directly to the hotel's kitchen. Sighting Clara standing at the stove, her back to the door, he pulled off his hat.

  "Ma'am?" he asked.

  She whirled, spoon in hand. "Oh, hello."

  He hesitated, not wanting to disturb her, but desperate for information about Kate.

  "Don't just stand there," she scolded. "Come in, sit down, and tell me what you want."

  Knowing better than to argue with a determined woman in her own kitchen, he obeyed. “Have you seen Kate?” he asked.

  "Have I seen Kate?" Her eyebrows shot up as she repeated his question. "Of course I've seen Kate. She came in here a few hours ago dripping wet, half-starved, and yammering on about how she'd fixed her leaky roof."

  "Dripping wet?" Jake frowned. "Why wasn't she wearing her oilskin? She had it on the trail."

  "That girl is so excited about finally finding her claim she's forgotten her common sense." Clara slammed a cutting board onto the center island, dumped a pile of carrots next to it, and started chopping. "Do you know what she ate on Monday?"

  Jake shrugged. Judging by Clara's irritated tone and the demolished carrots it wasn't anything good.

  "An apple! That's it, an apple." Clara waved her knife in the air. "Yesterday she bought herself a mess of supplies at the mercantile, but today when I asked her why she hadn't cooked herself anything, she said she'd forgotten to chop wood and bring out any pans." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Right then I fixed her up a hot bath and a hot meal. Then I told her starting tomorrow I'd be packing her a basket of food to take with her every day until she can get a handle on th
ings."

  Jake grinned. Kate had thankfully met her match in this woman.

  "What about you?" Clara put her hands to her hips and gave him a stern look. "Did you eat anything today?"

  "Yes," he said, patting his stomach. "I had a good breakfast over at the restaurant."

  Her lips twitched as if holding back a smile. "Theodore's gone until Sunday, so there's no need to keep missing my meals."

  Jake sheepishly glanced around the kitchen. "Anything lying around I could have now?"

  "Of course." Clara dished up a mound of stew, set two pieces of cornbread on the edge, and handed the plate to him with a sympathetic look. "A man the size of you won't get far on just one meal a day."

  "Thank you," Jake said, then bowed his head in prayer.

  Clara waited until he'd taken his first bite to continue. "Now, back to Kate. She's floundering, yet she's too stubborn to admit it. She's going to work herself to exhaustion." She cocked her head and studied him, leaving Jake to wonder at the mischievous glint in her eyes. "You should check on her. See how she's doing."

  "I agree," he sputtered, talking through the food in his mouth. Clara's expression instantly changed to one of obvious distress and he winced in shame. His mother had taught him manners; he'd better use them. After swallowing what was left in his mouth, he wiped his lips and continued. "I'd be happy to check on her. Where's her claim?"

  "I don't know exactly, but she did mention she enjoyed her first meal—the apple—beneath a lone oak tree that sits next to the creek running across her land. She said the tree marked the corner of her claim."

  Jake's jaw went slack as the glorious realization hit—their claims shared the same landmark. He and Kate were neighbors!

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Overwhelming Advice

  Thursday, November 23, 1843

  Kate spent the day working her claim. During the morning hours she'd cleaned the barn, readied the stalls for her horses, and made plans for the future. The list was both endless, and just the beginning of what it would take to survive and thrive.

  Fence off a paddock so her horses could run free. Till up the garden soil so she would be ready to plant in the spring. Buy seeds. Repair the fence surrounding the garden to keep out rabbits, squirrels, and all the other critters plotting to abscond with her food. Build a chicken coop so she could have eggs and meat. Buy chickens. Fence off an area to keep a pig. Buy a pig. Learn how to butcher a pig. Buy a cow for milk, butter, and cheese. Learn how to milk a cow, make butter, and make cheese.

  And of course, chop wood. She'd found what she believed to be a sharpening stone in the barn, but after hacking away at the fallen tree she wasn't sure if the stone had made the hatchet blade sharper or duller.

  Either way, she'd worked from the afternoon into the evening and managed to chop about four days' worth of wood, so she was happy. For now. Once she had an ax, she'd make real progress on creating a substantial woodpile. In the meantime the stone box to the right of the hearth was overflowing, and the rest she'd stacked on the strongest section of the porch, figuring it was a good idea to keep it within easy reach.

  She'd forgotten her oilskin slicker the previous day, and had paid the price in the form of wet clothes and a chill that had settled deep in her bones and taken hours to leave, even after a steaming bath. This time she'd remembered to bring it along, but the day had been unseasonably warm.

  She'd taken full advantage of the weather and spread out her straw tick on the grass near the house. By the time the sun sank below the hillside behind her house, it was bone dry. The next day she planned to sew the holes she'd discovered during washing and then stuff it with hay from the loft in the barn.

  After laying the tick over the end of her bedstead, Kate grabbed Clara's wicker basket off the table, pulled her door shut, and whistled for Old Dan. He'd spent his day grazing the flatlands of her claim.

  She rode into the livery and right by Mark, the caretaker. He was friendly enough and certainly good at caring for horses, but was also too inquisitive. She figured the less anyone knew about her the better, so she'd become adept at giving evasive answers to his nosy questions about where she'd been each day.

  The ease of opening the door to the hotel made Kate again vow to figure out a way to repair her own door. Her arms and floor were bearing the burden of the worn-out hinges.

  She trudged into the kitchen and found Clara standing at the center table, kneading bread dough.

  "Welcome back!" she said, sighting Kate. "I'm a day late in saying this, but congratulations on your special day."

  "What's so special about yesterday?" Kate asked, taking a seat on what had become her favorite stool.

  "You arrived two weeks ago yesterday, so it's an anniversary of sorts."

  Kate sighed. Had it only been two weeks since she'd stood on the hillside above Oregon City and blissfully listened as Jake whispered tender words in her ear? Felt his lips against hers in a thrilling kiss that hinted of a lifetime of slow caresses and passionate love?

  The only thing she'd thought about more were the words he'd spoken to her only four days ago. The words she'd repeated to herself so many times they'd become burned into her mind, her heart, her soul.

  You're not the woman I thought you were, Kate.

  One day she'd venture along the borders of her claim and see if she could figure out where he'd settled. One day she'd do the neighborly thing and exchange friendly words and baked goods while discussing the weather, the water, and a litany of other mundane issues landowners battled in their daily quest for survival.

  First she'd have to discover how to face him without dissolving into anger, or tears.

  "You've been busy, so it probably seems like much longer." Clara gave the bread dough a final thump, dropped it into a metal bowl, covered it with a towel, and set it aside. "Especially given all that's happened since you got here."

  "There's an understatement," Kate replied, placing Clara's open-topped basket on the edge of the table. "Thank you again for going to the trouble of putting together such a wonderful, filling selection of food. It was such a relief today to not have to stop working mid-project and cook. You're very thoughtful."

  "I'm more worried than thoughtful. Are you certain you're up to living alone?"

  As if she had another choice. "I'll be fine," Kate replied, then changed the subject. "How are William and Margaret?"

  "Theodore hired a team of fifteen men to build them a fancy house and a barn. Given how he offered a bonus if they finished before the deadline, I think they'll be moving out to their claim early next week."

  She turned out another mound of dough onto a floured section of the table, punched the center, and began kneading with practiced ease. She then separated the dough into three equal sections, formed them into loaves, and set them into greased pans. After slashing the top of each loaf four times with a knife, she placed them in the oven.

  "That ought to be enough for tonight's dinner, and a little extra for you to take along tomorrow." She rubbed her hands together, sending clumps of sticky flour flying. "Do you know how to bake bread?"

  "I know how to make biscuits, pancakes, and cornbread," Kate replied. "Plus, I'm learning a lot by watching you."

  "Good. Do you have your daily, weekly, and seasonal chore lists?"

  Kate stared at her in weary confusion.

  "I've found if I keep a strict schedule I don't get overwhelmed. Monday I do the washing, Tuesday the ironing, Wednesday is for gardening, Thursday is baking, Friday is catching up on everything I've fallen behind on, and Saturday is more baking. Sunday, I rest."

  Kate grimaced. With such a busy week, no wonder she allotted time for rest!

  Clara continued. "Of course, there are the daily chores—sweeping, mopping, dusting, washing dishes, getting water, caring for animals, chopping wood, and keeping a fire going. Don't forget the seasonal chores; they'll depend on your land and whether you plan on raising crops or cattle, but you'll want to at least plant a gard
en, ride your fence line and check for breaks, make soap and candles, do your butchering as needed, and if you get sheep, you'll need to shear them and card the wool into yarn."

  Kate slumped forward, resting her elbows on the table and her forehead in her hands. She hadn't considered, nor knew how to accomplish, even a quarter of what Clara just mentioned.

  "Of course, you can set up your routine however you like," Clara amended, probably upon seeing the despair Kate couldn't hide. "Don't worry, dear. Anything meant to be learned won't be learned in a single day. With time and practice you'll do fine. Of course, it's always easier to share the workload with someone else, especially someone you love."

  In the days before her mother's death, Kate had listened attentively as her mother had spoken countless words of wisdom in a desperate attempt to instill precious lifelong knowledge within her thirteen-year-old only daughter. Clara's offhanded comment reminded Kate of something her own mother had said only hours before her death.

  There is nothing better in this world than to share your life with the man you love, and who loves you in return.

  Clara pursed her lips and waggled her finger at Kate. "Don't forget, it's important to take a day of rest."

  Kate nodded.

  "Speaking of forgetting," Clara said, untying her apron and tossing it onto the table, "I almost forgot to give you some things."

  She walked out the room and returned minutes later, lugging a burlap sack at her side.

  "Here are kitchen items you'll surely need—a jar of sourdough starter, a sack of potatoes and carrots, a mixing bowl, a spatula, and a loaf pan for bread. There's linens, too. A feather pillow, sheets, a braided rag rug to put by your bed so your first step of the morning isn't such a cold shock, and a heavy quilt, because winters are damp and cold out here. There are also two dishcloths, a tablecloth, and a few yards of fabric I thought might be perfect as curtains."