“We had better be getting back to the wagons,” she told Danny. She smiled, bundling him back to her left arm. The baby cooed and smiled, reaching up and grasping at some of her long, red hair. Marybeth headed back down the stairs, being careful not to slip with the baby. Her high-button shoes were already getting worn and she realized with disappointment that she would probably have to start wearing her only other pair soon, wondering if they would take her all the way to Oregon. As far away as Bill Stone said Oregon was, she wondered if she would have to walk all the way. She could not imagine it, but the men had already talked about buying oxen, which were much sturdier than horse or mule for such a trip; still they talked about keeping the wagons light, which meant carrying passengers as little as possible.
“Oxen have to be driven by walking alongside them with a whip,” Bill Stone had told them. “You don’t use reins.”
“Well, if we have to walk the whole way with the oxen, then the women will do the same. No favoritism in this family,” Mac had put in. “Besides, MacKinder women are strong.”
They have to be, Marybeth thought, her heart heavy. A weak woman would never survive one year with a MacKinder man. She often wondered just how long her own strength would hold out.
As she rounded another landing a man and woman were climbing the stairs, talking softly, laughing together. The man had his arm around the woman’s waist, and the way they looked at each other brought an ache to Marybeth’s heart. The woman acted as though she enjoyed being near him. Marybeth thought about Ella’s warning that all men turn out the same eventually, that when a woman loses her beauty or after the man has got used to her, he looks at her only as someone to cook his meals and keep house for him. But the couple she watched now were surely in their late forties, perhaps early fifties, and the man looked at her so lovingly, that the woman’s face glowed.
“Hello,” the woman spoke up, catching Marybeth’s eyes.
Marybeth reddened deeply, embarrassed at being caught staring. “How do you do,” she answered.
“Oh, a baby! Let me see it. My own children are all grown.”
Marybeth came closer, feeling nervous and foolish, but always happy to show off her son. She pulled the blanket away from Danny’s face.
“What a fine baby! Is it a boy or a girl?” the woman asked.
“It’s a boy. His name is Danny, after his father.”
“Oh, such an accent,” the man spoke up. “You’re from Ireland, I can tell.” He looked at her as though she were some kind of alien being from another world.
Marybeth nodded. “That I am,” she answered, holding her chin up.
“Well, the boy’s father must be very proud. That’s a healthy-looking, handsome lad,” the woman said, showing only kindness.
Marybeth smiled appreciatively. “Thank you. But…the boy’s father is dead.”
The woman frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s quite all right. You didn’t know.” She looked at the man. “My name is Marybeth MacKinder. I am going to Oregon with my husband’s family. Are you two going west?”
His wife smiled and replied, “No, our family is here in St. Louis. We just come here to hand out information to other travelers and see if there is anything we can do for them. I’m Susan Rogers, and this is my husband Henry. Is there anything we can do for you or your family, Mrs. MacKinder?”
“Oh, no, I don’t believe there is,” Marybeth answered, wanting to scream out that she was afraid, that she needed a kind woman like Susan Rogers to talk to, needed help in getting away from the MacKinder family. But she saw the lingering prejudice in Mr. Rogers’ eyes and knew there would be no help. “I must be getting back to the wagons. It’s nice to have met you.”
“And you, too, child. God bless you on your journey,” Mrs. Rogers answered. “It won’t be easy, but we’re told Oregon is beautiful. We’ll pray for you and your family.”
Marybeth touched the crucifix she wore around her neck. “Thank you.” She turned and walked down to the next landing, feeling suddenly more lonely than ever. If only Mac or John would look at her with the kindness she had seen in Henry Rogers’ eyes when he looked at his wife, or if Ella would speak to her as softly and sweetly as Susan Rogers had…
She reached the ground floor and ducked back as the MacKinder men walked past her. She waited a moment, then walked around the corner, smack into a man who bumped her so hard she stumbled slightly. She felt a hand quickly grab her and a strong arm came around her to protect her and the baby from pitching forward. She hung on to Danny as the stranger helped her get her footing.
“I’m awful sorry, ma’am.” The words were spoken in a strange drawl Marybeth had never heard before, and the voice was deep. Her own cheeks turned crimson. She looked up into the face of a young man who looked hardly older than she. He removed his hat, and his sandy hair tumbled in a cascade of waves that danced in every direction and hung down past his collar. His wide-set, dark eyes were warm and apologetic. “You all right?” he asked her.
Marybeth stepped back, blinking, momentarily confused. “I…I’m just fine. It is I who should be sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
He grinned, a bright, warm smile that almost startled her. He was perhaps six feet tall and broad-shouldered. She half expected to be berated for being so clumsy. She waited for the kind of shouting a MacKinder man would have embarrassed her with, but this man’s voice remained calm and gentle as his eyes moved over her in a way that gave her a pleasant shiver. She felt suddenly awkward, embarrassed that she had left her slat bonnet behind and was bare-headed. “What kind of accent is that, ma’am?”
She felt her cheeks reddening again. “I…I’m Irish, and proud of it, I might add.”
He gave her the same scrutinizing look that Henry Rogers had. “You might.” He broke into another warm smile then. “That’s a real pretty accent.” His eyes fell to Danny. “I hope your baby is all right.”
She patted Danny’s bottom. “No damage, I’m sure.”
The young man stepped a little closer and peeked at the child. “A boy?”
“Yes.” Marybeth noticed John coming back toward the entrance to the courthouse then. “I must be going! I’m sorry I stumbled into you.”
He grinned again, putting on his hat. “Well, I’m not.” By the time he got the words out Marybeth was already out the door.
Joshua Rivers watched as a big, dark-haired man came up to the pretty red-haired woman he had just met. The man started yelling at her, obviously angry about something. Josh guessed the man was her husband; he grabbed the young woman’s arm and half dragged her away. Although the young woman was a stranger to him, Josh felt a little surge of anger at the sight. He could see no reason for the harsh treatment.
He adjusted his hat and watched until the two of them were out of sight. He had heard about the Irish; gossip, mostly. He was not one to put much store in other peoples’ opinions. He preferred to make up his own mind about everything; and he had learned the hard way how wrong it was to judge any man or woman by race, color, or creed. His own prejudice against the man his own sister loved had nearly cost the woman her life.
He reminded himself that was a long time ago, back in Texas. He missed home, but the past was past. He sighed and walked into the courthouse. His sister, Rachael, had told him about this place, and he wanted to see St. Louis for himself before he headed west.
He walked on legs slightly bowed from riding horses since he was old enough to walk. He looked up at the dome of the courthouse and breathed deeply, shaking his head at the wondrous structure. St. Louis was everything Rachael had told him it was, and he was half tempted to just stay here. He had been to a theater and to huge supply stores he never dreamed existed. There were schools here, one where Rachael herself had taught for a time. Some of the streets were bricked, and warehouses lined the shore of the Mississippi for what seemed a mile. Riverboats docked there by the hundreds. Just yesterday Josh had watched the brightly painted boats with
their huge paddle wheels load up with emigrants headed up the Missouri to Independence.
From there they would head for Oregon, and that was where he was going. St. Louis was an interesting place, but Joshua Rivers was used to wide open spaces, and tragedies in his life had given him reason to start a new life in a new land. In just two days he would head home for a last good-bye to his sister and her family and be on his way.
He wondered if the red-haired woman from Ireland had settled in St. Louis, or if perhaps she, too, was an emigrant headed west. He shrugged, realizing it made little difference. Not only was she married and had a child, but she was Irish and probably Catholic, two things he knew little about. It wasn’t that he’d look down on her for it. Some folks even said the Irish worked harder than most. But for himself, he’d had enough problems in life without getting involved with a foreigner. He’d likely never see her again anyway. Still, for some reason it bothered him that he hadn’t even introduced himself or asked her name.
Chapter Three
Cows bellowed, chickens squawked inside their cages, and oxen snorted. Marybeth stared in wonder at the menagerie that boarded the riverboat. She clung to Danny, watching with pity as black slaves jumped at orders from white men who directed them to lift boxes and other supplies that looked far too heavy for their bony, underfed bodies. She had heard about the use of slaves in the South, but until now she had not witnessed its practice. She watched one old black man hurry to obey an order, and she thought wryly how the slave reminded her of the way Ella jumped to Mac’s orders.
The boat rocked as another passed it in the river. Considering the number of boats that sat at the docks, and many more that paddled up and down the river, Marybeth decided it was amazing that there were not a considerable number of accidents along the St. Louis riverfront. She held Danny protectively as several wagons were pushed on board, stored on the lowest deck with the animals. Most of the emigrants, including the MacKinders, would also stay on the lower deck, sleeping in their own wagons, unable to afford the comfortable cabins of the upper decks. But at least they could walk the main deck and watch the activity.
John and Mac shared a drink with a man dressed in a fringed shirt and pants that John had told Marybeth were made from deerskin. Marybeth listened to talk of snakes and deserts and poison water, and she shivered. The man in deerskin was some kind of scout; he had been west and could tell others what to expect. As far as Marybeth was concerned, there couldn’t possibly be anything but terror and danger ahead.
“Ah, but Oregon—she’s every bit as beautiful as people tell you,” the man said then. “Greener than anything in the east, crowned with snow-capped mountains, her valleys rich with soil made for growing anything you want.”
“Sounds good to me,” Mac said with a hefty laugh.
It did sound pretty. But no matter how pretty it was, the fact remained they had to travel nearly two thousand more miles to get there; two thousand miles through snakes and desert, she was sure.
She continued watching more people board, some with animals and wagons, headed for the mysterious west; others with only a little baggage, perhaps just going to visit a relative. Two or three men in very fancy suits and ruffled shirts also boarded. Marybeth jumped when the ship’s steam whistle blew twice, and little Danny began to cry. Marybeth rocked him in her arms and tried to soothe him, but when the whistle blew a third time Danny cried harder. Before she realized what was happening, John marched up to her and whisked the child out of her arms, holding him up high and laughing.
“And what are you crying about, boy?” he said in his booming voice. “A MacKinder shouldn’t be afraid of a little whistle.”
Marybeth watched in anger, irritated that he had taken the child from her arms without warning. Danny only cried harder, and Marybeth reached up for him. “Give him to me,” she said.
John looked down at her, holding Danny so high that she couldn’t reach him. “The boy has got to learn not to cry,” he told her.
“The noise frightened him. He’s only a baby, John. Now give him to me.”
“I don’t want a MacKinder to be crying.”
“He’s not your child, so don’t worry about it. And if you’d learn to lower your own voice, it would help calm him. Isn’t there anyone in the MacKinder family who knows how to speak softly?”
A gleam of anger filled John’s eyes as he lowered Danny but held the baby away from Marybeth. “The boy is a MacKinder! He’s my brother’s son, and that makes him as much my son. You remember that, Marybeth.” He shoved the baby into her arms. “And I’ll thank you not to tell me how loud I can speak. A man’s got to raise his voice if he’s to be obeyed. Now you teach that boy not to be afraid of every little thing! Don’t you be making a sissy of him.”
John returned to Mac and the scout, who had walked farther away to join Bill Stone and two more bearded, buckskin-clad men. Marybeth held Danny close, patting his bottom until he quieted. She knew she would have to join Ella below soon, but she wanted to stay on the main deck as long as possible, enjoying the sights and sounds and excitement of all the movement as people boarded, so many that Marybeth was certain the riverboat couldn’t possibly get up enough steam to make the paddle turn against so much weight.
Danny began sucking on his fist. Marybeth watched a few stragglers hurry on board. It was then she caught sight of him, the man she had run into at the courthouse. She remembered his red checkered shirt, and the shoulder-length hair that popped out carelessly from under his wide-brimmed hat. He had a cloth bag slung over his shoulders, and he led a buckskin horse up the plank and onto the boat.
Marybeth thought it strange that her heart pounded so hard at seeing him, and wondered why she was so excited that he had got on the same boat. She chided herself for being attracted to a complete stranger, yet she found herself suddenly reasoning that it was time to go below, secretly hoping she would see the man again. She shifted Danny in her arms and headed for the stairway to the lower deck.
Everything below was bedlam. Marybeth traced her way among animals and people, stepping over cow and horse dung, searching for the MacKinder wagon. A small child had opened a cage of chickens, letting them fly out. The squawking and mooing created turmoil as the chickens proceded to land on the backs of cows, startling them.
“Grab those chickens!” a man shouted. A woman walked up to the child and scolded him, and a chicken flapped past Marybeth, startling her as its wing brushed her face. She ducked and turned, putting a blanket over Danny’s face to shield him from possible chicken claws. Several men scrambled to gather up the flighty birds, and Marybeth tried to get out of the way.
“Hello, there,” she heard close by. She turned to see the young man from the courthouse. He held a chicken under his arm. “We meet again.”
Marybeth felt her cheeks going hot at his wide, warm smile. “Yes. I was looking for our wagon.”
“Things could get dangerous down here.” The chicken he held began struggling and squawking, digging its claws into the young man’s side. “Ouch!” He worked his hand down to grab the chicken around its legs, while he hung on to his horse and backpack with his other hand. He pulled the chicken away, holding it upside down by the legs while it clucked and flapped its wings. “You Jezebel!” he scolded. “I’m just trying to keep you from being stepped on or snatched up for a meal, and this is what you do to me.”
Marybeth could not help smiling.
“Over here!” he called out then. “Come get this old hen before I pull off her feathers and roast her. I haven’t eaten all day!”
An older man came running up, taking the hen from him. “Thanks, mister. That boy of mine is always getting into mischief.”
“I think I remember my own father saying that about me,” the young man answered, handing the chicken to its owner. He laughed, a wonderful, gentle laugh, Marybeth thought; not the loud, roaring laughter of a MacKinder—the kind that made people jump and babies cry. He looked at her then, pushing his hat back from his
handsome face. “I’m sorry that I didn’t introduce myself back there at the courthouse, ma’am. Name’s Joshua Rivers. May I ask yours?”
“Marybeth MacKinder,” she answered. Just those two words made his heart flutter, the music in her voice, the beautiful smile she gave him. Her eyes reminded him of fresh spring grass, her hair the color of the red rocks of Texas. It almost angered him that she attracted him so—a foreign woman with a husband and a baby!
“Well, Mrs. MacKinder, it’s nice to see you again so soon. Kind of a crazy coincidence, isn’t it? Me, I always felt certain things have meaning—like running into you again—like there’s some reason, you know?”
Marybeth was amazed at how relaxed he seemed to be, how easily he talked to her, as though he had known her for a long time. There was a sweet, homey quality about the man that made a person like him almost immediately.
“I…I think I know what you mean, Mr. Rivers. However, I cannot imagine what the reason could be.” She wanted to smile for him, wanted him to think she was pretty, wanted to stand there and talk with him forever. The realization of those thoughts startled her. She saw Ella headed toward her then, and she didn’t care to have the wrath of John and Mac visited upon her for talking to a stranger. Surely that was bad enough, let alone the fact that she was supposed to still be in mourning. “I have to go now. Good luck on your journey, Mr. Rivers, wherever you are going.”
“Wait a minute!” he cried. But she had turned and left quickly, not looking back. Josh watched her approach an older woman, then walk with her toward a wagon. The woman took the baby from Marybeth, and Josh guessed she was either a mother or mother-in-law. He realized that both times a family member had approached, Marybeth MacKinder had skittered away like a scared rabbit. He wondered what kind of family would cause her to be afraid to talk to others.
The Bride Series (Omnibus Edition) Page 75
