While Mina nursed her sore ankle, she eyed the back of her new husband’s head. He wasn’t faring much better than she, his fair skin burned bright red from the sun. Still, he was the man and stronger. Therefore, he had to take charge of the team. Sometimes he rode to drive the team up an incline, which were few on the seemingly endless grasslands. Most often, like her, tired of the jarring from the uneven roads—if one could call the poor excuse for a cow path they traversed a road—and with only the one set of springs underneath the wooden bed doing little good, he would walk at the head of the team, guiding them by the lead pair’s yoke.
As she followed mindlessly, she saw the trail master approaching on horseback. Her eyes drifted over him as he pulled up alongside her husband for a few words. He was such a striking man, more so than ever she’d seen, not handsome in a classical, refined kind of way like many of the gentleman she’d met back in Boston. His were rugged, utterly masculine good looks that caused a little flutter in her stomach. As a married woman now, she knew her eyes shouldn’t stray, but she couldn’t resist his pull, taking what she thought were surreptitious glances at his incredibly broad shoulders. She caught glimpses of his throat and muscular chest in the V of his collar where two or three buttons were left open in consideration of the heat. At least fifty pounds heavier than Elliott, Mr. Carr also towered over him, her husband only an inch or two above her own average height. He had a lean waist and narrow hips, but the rest of him was all muscle. The way those muscles bulged and bunched beneath his clothes was hard to miss, especially when the broadcloth fabric of his shirt was tested each time he flexed his brawny arms.
Although his size and strength were impressive, his best feature by far was his eyes. A dark midnight blue, which stood out against the golden tan of his face. They could glimmer with humor as easily as they flashed with concern, and at times snap with anger. His overlong dark wavy hair peeked out beneath his wide-brimmed black Stetson and tempted her fingers to test its texture. He had a quicksilver smile, flashing easily, Mina noticed, though it wasn’t often aimed her and Elliott’s way, for they had already tried his patience on more than one occasion.
He guided his horse forward suddenly, moving in a direction that would bring him alongside Mina in a few paces. She wondered if he caught her gawking at him like a man-hungry debutante at her coming-out ball. Embarrassed, she looked away as he drew near.
“How are you faring, Mrs. Hobart?”
“I’m muddling through, sir. Thank you for asking.”
“You look a bit game.”
“Pardon?” She looked up at him in confusion, the term unfamiliar. Often his speech contained odd words and turns of phrase that seemed foreign. Western colloquialisms, she guessed.
“Game means lame,” he explained, nodding down at her feet. “You seem to be favoring that right leg.”
“Oh, yes. It’s my ankle. I stepped in a rut, but I’ll be fine.”
“Hmm, could be a sprain.” He glanced up at the sun in the sky. “In about an hour, we’ll be stopping for the noontime meal by a creek. Make sure to soak it good while we’re there. Wrapping it firmly with cloth strips will give it some support, as well.” Again, he frowned, his full lips downturned drawing her attention. “Perhaps you should rest it in the wagon until then.”
“No!” Her response came out sharper than intended. “All that bumping and bouncing around? No, thank you, my backsi—” She stopped herself short, appalled that she’d almost referred to her rear end in conversation. “I’ll be fine.”
He’d noticed her slip, the corner of his mouth kicking up on one side in amusement. Beneath her tanned skin, she knew her face blazed as hot as the sun. “Thank you for the advice, Mr. Carr. I will soak and wrap my foot as you suggested.”
His eyes twinkled as he tipped his hat and moved on. Unable to stop herself, she craned her neck and watched him go, her heart racing as it always seemed to do in his presence. It also lurched as she realized how close she’d come to humiliating herself in front of him. Facing forward, she pushed thoughts of him aside, reminding herself for the umpteenth time that she was a married woman. Telling herself to ignore the attraction, she determinedly focused on the trail ahead. Unfortunately, that put her in direct contact with Elliott’s fulminating glare as he looked back at her. She had no doubt he’d witnessed her moon-eyed perusal of their handsome leader. His lips twisted disdainfully before he too faced front.
Puzzled, Mina tried to figure out what emotion had ruled his scowling face. It should have been jealousy, seeing her chatting with another man, but it seemed more like disgust, or worse, loathing. Whatever it was, it disturbed her. His perpetual foul mood was setting the tone for this early part of the trip.
The long monotonous days melded together as the wagon train slowly moved westward. Along the way they encountered other emigrants, some in single wagons, others in long trains consisting of families and friends, or people who had banded together thinking there was safety, and better odds, in numbers. Even then, the trip was perilous, especially for easterners—greenhorns, dudes, and tenderfoots, she’d heard them called—who had no idea of where they were going and what dangers lay ahead. Elliott had been smart enough to sign on to a wagon train led by an experienced and well-compensated trail master, sometimes referred to as the wagon master or captain. He knew the trail and the terrain, as well as where to find precious, life-sustaining water in the dog days of summer, the best places to make camp, and also, how to avoid common pitfalls and hazards that many pioneers encountered along the way, costing many their lives.
The captain was also like a town sheriff, in charge of enforcing rules that all members of the train had agreed to before signing on, including rules of conduct, required care and securing of livestock, how to set up camp safely, and restrictions on drinking spirits and other errant behaviors. One stringent rule that was of particular importance was that the menfolk were responsible for the care and safety of their own family. Children were to be kept in check, not allowed to become unruly and for everyone’s safety, no one was allowed to leave the wagon train alone.
Nothing about that seemed unreasonable to Mina, so she didn’t object, except for the grueling schedule they kept. Rising before dawn, breakfast was prepared, the bedding secured, the wagons repacked and the teams hitched to the wagons. This was all done and they were well on their way as the sun tipped the horizon at their backs.
By noon, the cattle needed a break for food, water, and a cool-down necessary to endure the hottest part of the day, as did the people, so they stopped for an hour or more for lunch. The meal was usually something cold as no one wanted to unpack and repack a wagon or stand over the heat of a fire to cook.
The train didn’t stop again until the sun dipped low on the horizon. By this time they had traveled at least fifteen miles, sometimes more on a good day, and usually all of it was on foot. That didn’t mean it was time for rest. No. More work awaited them, including the women unpacking the necessary items for the evening meal, as well as clothing and bedding required for the night while the men tended the animals, completed any needed repairs on the wagons and set up a watch.
The wagons camped in a circle at night, just as the stories all told, but not for the reason they espoused. It was to keep the livestock secure and prevent them from wandering off, and if a storm blew in, with winds strong enough to topple a single wagon, they could hook together for added weight, keeping their sole means of transportation and survival from blowing away and being destroyed.
If they were lucky, they camped near a creek or a river that wasn’t brown with silt and could bathe, which left their precious water in their rain barrels for drinking and cooking.
Evening activities included lessons for the children with the adults socializing around the fire. Sometimes a man would bring out a fiddle and the children, who seemed to have an endless amount of energy, would dance, sing, or play games. Bedtime came early, because morning came even earlier and they would be up to do it all over
again. The only exception to the routine being Sunday, which was a day of rest, for worship, naturally, and a much-needed break for the livestock. Unfortunately, work didn’t take a break as there were still meals to prepare, animals to tend, and dirty, dust-covered clothing to be washed.
As one day melded into the next, Mina became more and more miserable. Not only from the harsh conditions, but from the harshness of her marriage as well. Elliott was constantly annoyed with her, having left all patience and common decency back in Independence days ago. He should have known a city girl from Boston wouldn’t be able to do half the things a pioneer woman could do, like drive a wagon with a team of four oxen. He should have asked if she’d ever cooked a thing in her life, let alone over an open fire. She hadn’t, of course, the proof being that her coffee was as thick as glue, the bacon burned to a crisp, and she had no idea what a johnnycake was and at this point had no desire to learn. So, what was without question a woman’s chore had fallen to her husband. City born and raised himself, he wasn’t much better at it. To his credit, his meals weren’t burned to a crisp and were thereby edible, though just barely. As far as her reciprocating and sharing some of his burdens, as many of the other women did, it wasn’t happening in Mina’s case. Mainly because she didn’t know how. Elliott’s minimal efforts to teach her had fallen short, turning most often into shouting matches between the pair, tipped off by his impatience and Mina’s quick temper.
So, they pressed on with Elliott leading the team day in and day out, not letting them pull out of line, as she did. Or stop the train dead as she had when they got breachy—which she learned from one of the women meant unruly—much to the dismay of the family who had the misfortune to be in line behind them.
Truly though, Elliott had no one except himself to blame for approaching her father and contracting marriage without so much as a ‘by your leave’ to her. She would have told him she had no idea how to go about being a pioneer wife. She should have felt sorry for the man, but she didn’t in the slightest, particularly when he called her names, like ninny hammer and cabbage head, questioning her intellect ceaselessly. This didn’t sit well with Mina and she returned his ire without hesitation, none of which went unnoticed by the other members of the wagon train and their leader.
Mr. Carr had been easygoing and patient when the trip had begun. That had changed with the Hobarts going hammer and tongs at each other nightly. He watched with narrowed eyes as the pair carried on and it was clear to all, including Mina and Elliott, that his tolerance was wearing thin. Because of their ineptitude, he moved them up front in the train where he could better keep an eye on them, he said. That had been an extremely unpopular decision, especially when they held up the train time and again. They soon found themselves shuffled back in the long line of wagons, until eventually, they were bringing up the rear. This soothed their traveling companions immensely as they were for the most part out of earshot. It worried Mina though, especially when she heard Mr. Carr’s warning to Elliott—keep up or be left behind.
One night, about three weeks into the trip, Mina got fed up with Elliott’s constant insults and criticisms. She was trying, really she was. And rather than succumbing to the tears of frustration that had lingered just beneath the surface ever since leaving Boston, she exploded in anger.
“Sludge! Pure and simple. You are the worst wife who ever lived, Mina Franks!”
Pushing to her feet, she spun and hurled the coffeepot beyond the circle of their campfire, into the darkness.
“It’s Mina Hobart, you horse’s hind end, and I’ll remind you that I didn’t ask for this. This was your brilliant idea. So, don’t you dare complain one more time. What in the world made you think I could cook, wash clothes in a creek on a washboard, or drive a team of oxen?”
“I believed you had a brain between your ears at the very least, not flotsam and a bunch of feathers! Besides, I needed your money to fund the trip.”
That stopped Mina mid-rant.
He laughed at her surprise. “Surely you didn’t think I proposed out of my undying love for you. Your stepmother promised to fund my trip if I’d marry you and take you off her hands. I can see why she was so anxious to see the last of you. You are hopelessly obtuse.”
Vanessa. This was her doing. She should have known. Elliott also should have known to be wary of Vanessa Franks and the bill of goods she’d sold him along with an inept bride. Caveat emptor, her father always said about his business dealings, let the buyer beware. Unfortunately, in this case, it was his daughter who got the raw end of the deal.
Elliott continued, heedless of her feelings. “The mill burned down and we were left in dire straits. As a third son, I had to do something else. So I really had little choice other than to marry and you seemed the best bet, financially. Now, I regret not borrowing the money and marrying Betsy Snow. That gal was stout as an ox and could have pulled the wagon by herself, I have no doubt.”
Mina didn’t know what to think. She’d known love wasn’t involved; nonetheless, it stung to have been essentially sold to a husband who didn’t really want her. No wonder he had barely touched her. Except for a requisite buss on the cheek when the preacher told him to, he’d never even kissed her. He acted like he’d been the one forced into this farce of a marriage, and furthermore, he was certainly no prize himself. Only a few years younger than her father, he was too old and foul-tempered. And he certainly wasn’t one to make the ladies swoon with his gallantry and good looks. She hadn’t expected much from a contracted marriage, but was it too much to ask for civility? What hurt her the most about the situation was the fact that she had went from being unloved and unwanted under one man’s roof to the same situation with another. It was heart-rending and dreadfully humiliating.
Unable to deal with it, she whirled on her heel and started walking. To where, she didn’t know. What she’d do when she got there, well, she didn’t know that either, and at this point she didn’t care. Leaving the circle of light behind her, she stomped on weary legs and aching feet off into the darkness.
With half an ear, she listened for her husband, hoping to hear him call her name and tell her to stop, to show a semblance of husbandly concern for her well-being, or for God’s sake to come after her as she went tramping off in the dark in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t and she hadn’t really expected him to; that didn’t mean it hurt any less.
* * *
Having heard the argument clearly—hard not to when whispered voices carried well on the prairie after dark, and the Hobarts were far from whispering—Weston had steered clear at first, leaving the couple to work out their differences amongst themselves. He was saddling his horse to patrol beyond the perimeter of the camp, when one of the women waylaid him to tell him that Mina Hobart had gone off on her own in the dark and her husband seemed not to care. He couldn’t let it slide.
Wasting no time, he finished up with his mount and headed over to the Hobarts’ wagon. Not surprising, Ben Jacobs, who was one wagon ahead of them on the train, had arrived ahead of him. “Go after her, man,” the older man urged.
Unconcerned, Elliott merely shrugged and muttered, “She’ll come back after she calms down.”
“It’s dangerous out there for a woman alone,” Jacobs insisted. “There are coyotes, bobcats, and all sorts of critters, not to mention the two-legged kind.”
When the man just blinked up at him, clearly unmoved, Weston snapped. He grabbed Hobart by his collar and lifted the puny man off his booted feet. “She’s your wife, you jackass. Now, saddle up and go after her, before I make you regret it.”
Elliott sputtered and coughed ineffectively in his grasp, collapsing in a heap at his feet when he suddenly released him.
“Deuced useless piss-ant pilgrim,” Weston grumbled as he stared down at the poor excuse for a man with contempt.
“I’ll go fetch the gal myself, by God,” Mr. Jacobs asserted angrily as he started toward his wagon.
“No, Ben. My horse is saddled. It’ll be faster if
I go,” he said this while mounting up. “If we delay, there’s no telling what fix she’ll be in by the time I find her. You stay here and see if you can reason with this imbecile. Start with explaining the finer points of being a husband and seeing to his responsibilities.”
“By all means,” the older man replied, also glaring with disgust at the man still coughing and carrying on in the dirt. “Although, I seriously doubt I’ll have any success.”
Throwing Jacobs a look of complete understanding, he whirled his horse and rode out on the trail of a very foolish young woman.
Chapter Three
Weston spotted Mina no more than half a mile up the trail, her white blouse gleaming like a beacon beneath the full moon. If that didn’t attract the attention of wild animals, both the four- and two-legged kind, her mumbling rant would. She didn’t hear him approach, so focused was she on denigrating her spouse. He made out something about a bumbling baboon and going from the frying pan into the fire before he reined in beside her.
She squealed and jumped back, her hand flying to her chest in obvious alarm.
“Mr. Carr,” she gasped. “You gave me a fright.”
“Ma’am.” He tipped his hat. “Nice night for a stroll.” Sarcasm was clear in his gesture and tone. Not quite the cabbage head her husband had called her, she had the grace to look chagrined.
“Can I ask what destination you had in mind?”
“Uh—”
“You’re heading the wrong way if going back is your aim. However, it you stick to the trail you’re on, alone and on foot, you should reach Oregon City in time for Christmas.”
The Trail Master's Bride Page 2
