by Tess LeSue
He nodded, smiling at her. “We were celebrating with Mr. Slater last night. And may I offer my heartfelt congratulations.” Georgiana turned her head as he tried to kiss her on the cheek, and he caught her ear. She could see Becky scowling from where she lurked by the door.
“You were celebrating last night?” She had a flash of Matt leaning drunkenly against the screen.
“Indeed we were. Wendell here was with us too.”
Georgiana couldn’t quite disguise her shock. Wendell flushed. She felt a stab of suspicion. Were they friends now? She felt a familiar old fear stir. It was the same feeling Leonard had given her. A sense that secrets were slithering beneath the surface . . . and she had no idea what they might be.
“What are you planning on doing with the land in California,” LeFoy asked curiously, “since you’re going to Oregon with Mr. Slater?”
Georgiana rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t for the life of her remember which lie was which. Matt had said something about Oregon last night, but all she’d been able to focus on was the bit about the pretend engagement . . . and his golden gaze and full lower lip . . . and his long, hard body . . . Stop. Stop there.
Of course she wasn’t actually going to Oregon with Matt Slater, but she hadn’t thought about the fact she had to pretend she was going. At least until Fort Hall. She frowned. That meant . . . what?
That she needed to be in the blue room with Matt’s party, for a start.
She excused herself, without quite answering LeFoy’s question, and gathered the children; Wendell followed behind, his arms full of discarded toys.
“But we’re going to California,” Phin complained.
“We’ll discuss it later,” Georgiana said firmly. “We’re all traveling the same trail together, so don’t fret.”
She felt a wave of nerves as she approached the blue room. Unconsciously, she found herself smoothing her skirts and checking her hairpins.
She heard him before she saw him; his honey-warm voice was unmistakable, although it sounded slightly rougher this morning. The aftereffects of drink, she supposed. He looked completely incongruous in Mrs. Tilly’s elegant tearoom. While the yellow room was set up like a drawing room, this one had tables and chairs, arranged in clusters. Most were already filled with people. Matt Slater towered over them, awkwardly holding one of Mrs. Tilly’s delicate floral teacups and answering questions about the trail. His associate Mr. Doyle stood at the sideboard, with the cashbox and ledger.
“Oh, Mrs. Smith!” Mrs. Tilly had emerged from the kitchen with her hands full of fancy cake tiers laden with freshly baked pastries and cupcakes and tarts. “I’m afraid I’m very busy right now!”
Georgiana reassured her that she wasn’t expecting her to mind the children; she was here in her capacity as an emigrant.
“You’ve joined Matt’s party?” Mrs. Tilly beamed. “Oh, that’s wonderful news.” Then her face clouded. “But you really should wait and see what your husband wants, you know. Men do like to have a say in these things.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.” Georgiana started blushing again.
Mrs. Tilly’s gaze flicked to Wendell, who still had his arms full of children’s toys. “Oh! Is this the lucky man?”
Georgiana turned redder still. Thankfully, no!
“Not me,” Wendell said gruffly. He nodded in Matt’s direction. “Him.”
Mrs. Tilly followed his gaze and smiled. She clearly thought he meant one of the two men currently talking to Matt. “How lovely,” she said vaguely. “You must introduce me later. Now, I’d best get these out before the meeting starts. Why don’t you snaffle that last table before someone else does?”
Georgiana’s nerves surged as she saw that the only table left was right next to Matt. And that the children had already started for it.
He looked up as she crossed the room. She couldn’t meet his eye but felt the weight of his gaze as it followed her. Georgiana kept her attention on the children as they took their chairs and Mrs. Tilly fetched them tea, lemonade and a plate of cakes. Wendell stood by the wall and was soon joined by Kipp, who oozed into the room, looking sullen. He didn’t acknowledge Georgiana or the children, or speak to Wendell. He looked like he was in a serious sulk. She devoted herself to keeping the children under control and trying to police their manners as they devoured the cakes. Wilby climbed under the long, lacy tablecloth with his sword and a cupcake, and she left him there, not having the courage to do battle with him in front of a room full of people.
And there were an awful lot of people. More filed in by the minute, taking up places around the walls. Blue Bonnet was here, Georgiana noticed sourly, feeling a silly bolt of jealousy. She was with a large party who came in late and had to stand in the doorway. Mrs. Tilly flapped about, trying to give them cups of tea and dragging a table into the hall so she could fill it with treats for them.
“We don’t want you missing out,” she clucked. She was pink cheeked with the exertion.
Georgiana could hear a mix of accents and languages; there were Scandinavians and Germans, Frenchmen and a couple of Russians. Behind Georgiana was a slightly ragged-looking family with thick southern accents; they had a swarm of children who sat silently under the father’s stern gaze. He was standing, with a swaddled baby in his arms, jiggling to keep it asleep. The mother was in her Sunday best and wrestling with a toddler who refused to sit still. Georgiana noticed the child was reaching for something; she followed its gaze and saw Wilby poking out from beneath the tablecloth, making faces.
“Wilby,” she hissed, “stop it.”
He gave her an angelic look.
“If you want to stay down there, you behave,” she warned. “If you make the slightest noise, or keep bothering that child, you’ll have to get up.”
He disappeared back under the tablecloth.
There was a squeal, and the next thing she knew the toddler had wrested free of his mother’s arms and dived under the tablecloth too.
“Oh!” The mother was out of her chair with alarm. “I’m so sorry, ma’am.” She was turning bright red.
“Frank!” the father growled, sounding so fierce that even Georgiana was afraid. “Get out from there!”
There was the sound of giggles from under the table. Georgiana blushed. This was one of those moments when she felt keenly her limitations as a mother.
“I don’t mind,” she said, giving the couple her own apologetic look. “It’s my fault—Wilby was clearly setting a bad example. If your son wants to stay under there with him, it’s fine with me. It might keep them out of the way.”
“Oh no.” The woman looked shocked. “I couldn’t . . .”
“They’re not doing any harm,” Georgiana insisted. “And, really, I don’t mind.” And she knew if she tried to get Wilby up from under the table, there would be screaming of an order to deafen the whole room. Then she really would be publicly humiliated as a bad mother, because once Wilby got started, nothing could stop him. This was a much easier way to handle things.
“Sarah,” the man said stiffly.
“She says she doesn’t mind,” the woman, Sarah, told her husband, giving Georgiana a deeply grateful look. Georgiana could see why. She thought she had a hard time with her children, and this woman had twice as many. Now that her lap was free of the toddler, another one climbed on as soon as she sat back down.
“If you can get yourselves settled, we’ll get started in a minute.” Matt’s voice, rising over the chatter of the crowd, sent a shiver through Georgiana.
He was a natural leader, Georgiana thought as she watched him put his china cup down and take his place at the head of the room. It was more than his stature, although that helped, as he dominated the room with his size; it was something about the way he carried himself, a confidence, a sense that if he made a decision, he would be immovable. All he had to do was stand there and people fell to attent
ion. The murmur of the crowd dropped until there was silence.
“Welcome,” he said. His gaze swept the room, and he nodded in greeting as he met people’s eyes. “If you’re here, it’s because you’re headed for Oregon. If you’re headed for California”—here his eyes darted to Georgiana, and she broke out in a prickly sweat—“you’re in the wrong place.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Sampson is through there, in the other room, and he’s headed for California. We’ll be traveling together for much of the way, but if you’re California bound, you need to be in there with him, as the provisioning is different, and you’ll need to hear about the California Trail, which you’ll be on after we break into separate parties at Fort Hall. So, if you’re in the wrong room, now’s the chance to head in there.” He waited.
A couple of young men left. Georgiana saw Wendell and Kipp exchange a glance. Wendell gave Kipp a nod, and the younger man slid out of the room, headed for the talk on the California Trail. Georgiana was relieved, as she’d felt a momentary panic at the thought of being wrongly provisioned. She needed to get to her son in California. If Kipp hadn’t gone to take note, she might have gone herself.
Although, she doubted Matt Slater would let her be under- provisioned, she realized as she listened to him instruct them on preparing for the journey. The man was a stickler for preparation.
“You’re not to buy one ounce less than I tell you to,” he said sternly, and Georgiana doubted anyone would dare to cross him, as he looked so fearsome. “Seb here has a list for each party, which includes all you’ll be needing for the journey. I expect you to buy every last thing on it.”
Sebastian Doyle came forward with a sheaf of papers, which he began handing out. Georgiana took one. It was meticulous, outlining everything from the kinds of wagons and animals to buy, down to how much salt to take. It must have taken them hours to write out all these copies.
“Let me look,” Phin whispered. The twins loomed over her shoulder, reading along with her: 150 pounds of bacon, 200 pounds of flour, 10 pounds of coffee; pins and needles; brooms and brushes; ox shoes and horseshoes . . . the list was enormous. And it was going to prove very expensive. Georgiana did some rough figures in her head. All up it was probably going to cost at least one thousand dollars. She swallowed hard. She had the money, but it wouldn’t leave much for their start in California . . .
She could hear other people murmuring too.
“You might be tempted to skimp,” Matt Slater said, reading their minds. “You might think you can make do on a bit less.” He fixed them with a hard look. “You can’t.”
“How’s all this even going to fit in our wagon?” someone said quietly.
“Ideally, your wagon should hold up to two thousand pounds. Twenty-five hundred if you can manage it. That’s something you need to stress with your wagonmakers, if you’ve already ordered your wagon.”
Georgiana bit her lip. Oh my. She’d need to go back to the wagonmaker again and ask about the volume of her wagons. At least she’d ordered two, as they had a lot of baggage and the wagonmaker had insisted that she would need the room. He’d told her she could hire people to drive them. But now, as she listened to Matt go through the specifications for wagons (the need for waterproofing for river crossings, for example), she realized that she didn’t know the first thing about wagons and was naïve to trust that the wagonmaker would do right by her.
“All of these things need to be checked and double-checked,” Matt told them. “The wainwrights are under pressure to produce a lot of wagons very quickly for you folks, and they’ll cut corners if they can. But those corners can cost you dearly on the trail.”
Oh my. She didn’t like the sound of that.
“But where do we sleep if the wagon is that full?” someone asked. It was Blue Bonnet, Georgiana saw.
“Tents,” Matt said. “They’re on the list too.”
That was something else Georgiana hadn’t considered. Tents. She had a lot of shopping to do . . .
“Tents!” Philip sounded excited. “Can Phin and I have one just for us?”
Georgiana shushed him. She didn’t want to miss a word.
After admonishing them to follow his list to the letter (increasing the amounts where needed for bigger parties), he moved on to the types of animals to buy and who the most reputable dealers were. “For a fee, Seb or I can come and help you choose and negotiate prices for the animals,” he said. Georgiana took note.
After an hour of answering questions about provisioning, Matt took a break for Mrs. Tilly to refill the teapots. During the break, Georgiana checked on the toddlers under the table, only to find they’d gone to sleep, curled around each other like puppies. That was a relief. She held the tablecloth up so the boy’s mother could see. The woman smiled gratefully. Her other little one had also fallen asleep, but the baby was fussing, so she and her husband swapped children. Georgiana watched the ease with which they interacted. It was like a dance. He took one child, she took another, and they exchanged affectionate glances as they did so. She saw how he gave her a tender look as she fussed over the baby. Georgiana’s throat felt tight. She felt envy, yes, but more than that she was gripped with longing. What must it be like to have a husband like that? One who could be a helpmate and partner, one who looked at you as though you were his own secret treasure?
Her gaze wandered to Matt.
He was unfolding a large map. A lock of hair had tumbled into his eyes, and he tossed his head to get it out of the way. He glanced over at her table and her heart clenched.
“Boys,” he called to the twins. “Come here, I have a job for you to do.”
They didn’t need asking twice. They leapt to his side. Wendell took the opportunity to sit in one of their empty seats, at Georgiana’s elbow. She gave the twins her full attention, so she wouldn’t have to speak to him.
“Hold this,” Matt instructed them. He gave them a corner each. “Hold it up high.”
They did as they were asked. Georgiana had never seen them so obedient.
Matt made a thoughtful noise. He didn’t look happy. He came over to the table and took the empty chair. “Get up on that,” he said to Philip, placing it behind him. Then he clicked his fingers at Wendell. “Bring me that one too.”
“What one?” Wendell asked, bewildered. There were no more empty chairs at the table.
“The one you’re sitting on,” Matt said shortly.
Disgruntled, Wendell did as he was told, and then, dethroned, he went back to standing against the wall.
Once the boys were up on the chairs, Matt instructed them to hold the map up so everyone could see it. Georgiana watched them bristling with pride over being trusted with such an important job.
“All right folks, not much longer now,” Matt called for attention again, and everyone settled back into their seats. The next hour was spent with Matt walking them through the steps of the trail. Georgiana’s stomach was in knots by the time he was done. The distances were daunting. As his finger traced over plains and rivers and mountain ranges, Georgiana saw the year stretching out ahead: June crossing the Platte, July passing through Fort Laramie, and there, where his finger paused at Fort Hall, was where her real trials would begin. Because after Fort Hall, she wouldn’t be following him. As his finger slid into Oregon, her gaze drifted southwest to California. She would be alone with the children, and with Wendell and Kipp. For a good couple of months in the deepest wilderness . . .
She wished she could duck into the other room at that point, to have some idea of what lay ahead of her. She would have to see the map up close after this, to see the other trail. She needed to know. Was it more or less dangerous than the trail into Oregon that Matt was describing?
Her hands shook as she took a sip of tea, and her china cup chimed against its saucer as she struggled to put it down quietly.
“And by mid to late fall, we’ll be here, in Oregon City,�
�� Matt said, jabbing his finger at the map. “And that’s where your new lives will begin.”
People had been firing questions at him throughout his talk, and there were more now, but Georgiana couldn’t take them in. She was too busy wondering what would happen to her in California. How savage would Hec Boehm be? Would he let her see Leo before she signed the deed? Was Leo safe?
Every time she thought of her son, her stomach turned sour and she grew light-headed with terror.
“Are you cold, Mama?” Susannah whispered, leaning over the table. “You’re shivering. Do you want my shawl?”
Startled, Georgiana saw how closely her daughter was watching her. She was such a quiet child. She so often got lost in the chaos when her brothers were around, but she was a perceptive child. When Georgiana forgot to guard her expression, Susannah invariably noticed. Right now her blue eyes were as round as saucers, and she was chewing at her lower lip with anxiety.
“Thank you, darling, that’s a very kind offer,” Georgiana whispered back, gesturing for Susannah to join her. She pulled the little girl into her lap and lowered her face into the curve of Susannah’s shoulder. “You’re warmer than any shawl,” she told her. She felt Susannah relax against her.
“Will they be much longer?” Susannah whispered.
“I don’t know, darling. I hope not.”
But the emigrants in the room seemed to have an endless flow of questions. Georgiana hugged her daughter tightly as she heard about scouts and Indian tribes and buffalo hunting and early winters and trading posts. The questions were inexhaustible.
Eventually, Matt cut them off. He held up both his hands and quieted the room. “There’s plenty of time to answer all of your questions,” he soothed them. “I’ll be here at Mrs. Tilly’s every afternoon between three and five, in her back drawing room, down the corridor out there. If you have questions, you can come see me any day, bar Sundays. You can also find me and Seb in the town square every day except Thursday mornings, when we run these sessions for people newly signed.”
“You mean there’s more than just us?” someone asked, shocked, looking at the overstuffed room.
