But he wasn’t in charge, and that was his choice. Eb didn’t like being in charge because the wagon master had to deal with all the complaints and the people who broke the rules. The scout got to ride ahead and get away from the grumblers all day if he had a mind to. In order to hold that position, he had to let Rob be in charge.
CHAPTER 7
Elise opened one eye. Indirect sunlight seeped through the thin muslin curtain at the window and filled the room. She sat up cautiously so as not to fall off the edge of the narrow bed. All night she’d kept as far over as she could, trying to avoid touching her mistress.
Lady Anne rolled over with a little moan and opened her lovely brown eyes. “Is it morning?”
“Yes, my dear. I’m afraid you haven’t slept well, and I apologize.”
“For what?”
Elise grimaced. “For having to share a bed with you, and such a small one at that.”
Lady Anne sat up and shoved the blanket aside. “It’s not your fault.”
“This room isn’t fit for a lady of consequence.”
Her mistress chuckled. “I’m afraid any ‘consequence’ I once had is gone, Elise. And I chose to come to this wild place, remember? I intend to show you and those—those frontiersmen that I’m made of as stern stuff as the American women.”
“Frontiersmen? Oh, you mean Mr. Whistler and Mr. Bentley.”
“Yes, those two. They seem to think we’re made of glass. That Eb Bentley has taken a notion that we can’t either one of us cook or drive a wagon or do anything else useful.”
“Well…” Elise swallowed hard. “I must admit that cooking is not my strongest talent. I can make tea and scones and boil an egg. That’s about it.”
“It’s more than I can do.” Lady Anne blinked at her. “Do you think he’s right? Are we useless?”
“Not at all. Because we can learn. When we go to the general store today, I shall ask if they have a cookery book. One that tells you how to make meals over an open fire.” She rubbed her sore arms and forbore to mention her newly acquired driving skills.
“That’s a good idea.” Lady Anne scooted to the edge of the bed and swung her legs down. “Oh Elise, we’ve got to fit our trunks in.”
“Never fear, my dear. We shall have our fripperies and enough foodstuffs to get us across the continent. I’m not sure about chickens though. Mr. Bentley might have a point there.”
“Nonsense,” Anne said. “We just need to find a man who can butcher and drive mules. Surely that’s not too much to ask.”
“Perhaps you’re right. But we need to find someone today. We’ve only four days to prepare, and one of those is the Lord’s Day.”
The hotel served a sketchy breakfast of pancakes, sausage, and coffee. Elise choked down half a sausage patty and left the rest on her plate, instead filling her stomach with the bland pancakes. Lady Anne delicately spooned applesauce over her pancake, something she would never have done in the breakfast room at Stoneford, and poured a generous dollop of milk into her mug of coffee. Elise only hoped they could find better fare somewhere else at lunchtime.
They headed for the livery stable first, but Elise wondered if Mr. Pottle was the man they ought to buy from. Mr. Whistler had said there were other places in town. It might be worth their while to seek them out.
“I believe we should continue to keep my connections quiet,” Anne said as they walked.
“You mean—”
“I mean that I shall continue to be plain ‘Miss Stone.’ It’s served us well so far, and we don’t want to appear pretentious. If the tradesmen knew my father was an earl, they would probably ask more for everything.”
“I agree with you there.”
“And on the wagon train,” Lady Anne persisted. “This man we’re about to hire, for instance. He mustn’t know.”
“Agreed.” Elise wrinkled her nose. “It’s bad enough that Eb Bentley thinks we’re helpless. But if everyone on the wagon train thinks we are rich and helpless, that will be even worse.”
“Yes. The other emigrants will be our neighbors for the next few months. We need to be friendly and make sure they see us doing our share of the chores. And you must always call me Anne, as you have been, never using my title.”
Though Elise had played down their relationship since they boarded the ship in England, she didn’t approve of familiarity between a domestic and her mistress.
“It’s difficult sometimes to remember.”
“We must,” Anne said. “Imagine how they’d sneer at us if they thought we—that is I—was putting on airs. There is no aristocracy here, and I’m sure Americans disdain anyone who claims to be above them in any way.”
“But you’re not like that,” Elise protested. “You’re the kindest, most compassionate girl I know. Woman, that is. I’m proud of the way you’ve grown up, my lady.”
“Thank you, but you must never say those words again, so long as we are in America. I am no longer your lady, and you are not my maid. You are my friend and a bit of a mentor/chaperone, I think. And I am very fond of you. That is no pretense.”
“And I of you,” Elise said. “I shall do my best not to betray the secret of your birth.”
Lady Anne presented such a charming picture of an English lady, one born to the manor and reared in luxury, though not always conscious of it. Could anyone possibly think she was anything else?
“Perhaps we should go into the emporium on the way to the livery and speak for our supplies.”
“I thought I would go by myself this afternoon while you rest,” Elise said. “I’m sure it will be tedious, my—my dear.” Lady Anne had never bargained with a tradesman in her life, and Elise would feel freer to dicker without her elegantly gowned mistress standing beside her.
“I think we should stay together. This town has such a ragtag bunch of people, I worry when you go out alone. Men wearing guns, and people flying out of saloons on every corner.”
Anne had a point. There was a measure of safety in numbers, and they had no time to waste. If they spoke for their equipment now, it would perhaps save a trip later in the day. “All right.”
Ingram’s general store was smaller and less organized than the one they’d patronized in St. Louis. Sacks of provisions were stacked nearly to the ceiling. Boots and iron kettles lay in jumbled heaps. Every square inch of wall and rafter was hung with harness, tools, and cooking implements.
Elise took out the list of supplies they needed and approached a man who stood on a ladder placing canned goods on a high shelf.
“Excuse me, sir. I’m told you sell lots of supplies for emigrants.”
“That’s right.” He looked down at her. His jaw dropped as he stared for a moment. He came down the two steps to the floor and brushed his hands on the front of his apron. “You can’t mean you ladies are joining one of the wagon trains?”
“Yes, we are.” Elise raised her chin. “Why not, sir?”
“Well, it’s just…you’re just so…so…You don’t look like most of the women heading west, that’s all.”
Elise glared at him. “What business is that of yours?”
Anne cleared her throat. “We have a list.”
Her soft-spoken words reminded Elise that efficiency was more important than respect at the moment. She lowered her lashes. “Yes, and your establishment was recommended to us by the wagon master, Mr. Whistler.”
The man eyed her for a moment then nodded. “Rob Whistler sends folks my way. He’s an honest man. I guess if anyone can get you to Oregon, he can.” He ignored the list Elise held out and turned to the counter. “Here’s my usual outfit for a wagon. For each extra person, I’ll add on these extra supplies.” He pointed as he spoke to a notice tacked to the front edge of the counter.
“I’m sure that’s fine,” Anne said, looking uncertainly at Elise.
Elise hesitated. “We have yet to procure our team and wagon, but we won’t need anything besides the basics.”
“I’ll set everything out on
the back porch. You can pick it up there, and if there’s anything you don’t want, you can tell me then and I’ll deduct it.”
His plan sounded reasonable, and Elise nodded. “Fine. And we’re thinking of taking a few laying hens.”
“I haven’t got any of those, ma’am. I can pack some eggs in a bucket of lard for you. They’ll keep fresh a long time.”
“Well…” Elise knew Anne had hoped for fresh fowl along the way. “I suppose that’s the best we can do on short notice. We’ve no time to track down a farmer who can sell us chickens.”
Thomas Costigan ducked inside the general store and peered around. The two Englishwomen were talking to the storekeeper. He gravitated toward the stove, though the day was fairly warm. An elderly man with a flowing white beard sat near it with a checkerboard set up on top of a nail keg.
“Hey there, young feller. Feel like a game?”
“Sure.” Thomas sat down opposite him and cocked one ear toward the two ladies.
“All right, provisions for two adults,” the storekeeper said to the English ladies.
“No, three,” said Miss Finster. “We’ll be hiring someone to tend our livestock for us.”
The younger woman—Miss Stone—spoke up. “You don’t know anyone, do you, sir? A healthy, honest man who’d like to work his way west?”
It was all Thomas could do not to turn and gape at them. They were heading farther west? Those two prim and proper ladies?
“Your turn,” the old man said.
Thomas shoved a checker forward with his index finger.
“Lots of folks want to go west,” the storekeeper said. “You might ask at the saloons. They tend to hang about there, waiting for someone to come in and ask.”
“We will not be entering a saloon,” Miss Finster said firmly.
“Oh, well then, you might check the porch posts outside. Some folks post notices out front here, or in front of the saloons, or at the post office.”
“The post office. We’ll try there.” Miss Finster sounded as though she was drowning and lunging for a piece of flotsam. “When will our order to be ready?”
“Well now, that depends.” The storekeeper scratched his head and eyed their list. “You said you want triple everything on food?”
The two women looked at each other.
“I doubt we’ll need that much bacon,” Miss Stone said.
“Is there anything we can substitute for bacon?” asked Miss Finster.
“You have to understand, ma’am, the things the wagon masters recommend are things that won’t spoil quickly.”
“Well, yes. There is that. But my friend is not fond of bacon. We’d like a little more variety, if possible.”
“I could give you some dried beef. And how about some dried peas? They’re not on the list.”
Miss Finster said something Thomas couldn’t catch, but the storekeeper responded with, “Canned food? Well, yes, we’ve got oysters and some soup. I’ve had peaches and a few vegetables before, but they’re expensive compared to dried foods, and of course, they weigh more. Some folks are leery of them.”
“May we see what you have?”
During the next ten minutes, the ladies examined various wares and discussed the safety, reliability, and price of tinned foods. Thomas kept the checker game moving and listened with half an ear. At last, Miss Finster said, “We’ll take all of those you have.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The storekeeper’s tone revealed his pleasure in the transaction. Thomas wondered how long those tinned oysters had sat on his shelf.
“And more tea than it says here. Double, if you please. Instead of the coffee.”
“Our hired man might like coffee better,” Miss Stone said.
Miss Finster nodded. “You’re right. I suppose we’ll need both. Now about the tea. Do you have good quality black tea from India? What we had at our hotel this morning was abominable.”
Thomas chuckled.
The old man sitting opposite him smiled. “Those ladies are a bit finicky, wouldn’t you say?”
“Just a tad.” Thomas made his next move.
By the time the ladies had worked their way down the entire list, questioning the quality, price, and need for every item, several more customers were waiting in line behind them. Some didn’t trouble to conceal their impatience. Finally the storekeeper excused himself, went through a doorway, and returned a minute later with a woman whom Thomas supposed was his wife. He went back to total up the English ladies’ order and sent the woman to deal with the other patrons.
At last Miss Stone and Miss Finster left the general store.
Thomas stood and handed the old man a nickel. “Looks like you’re winning this round, and I need to get going. Buy yourself a bun or something.”
“Thanks, young fella.”
The women were still visible down the street, and Thomas ambled after them. They turned at the corner. He followed at a leisurely pace. He had a feeling he knew where they were headed.
Sure enough, they wended their way to the livery stable where they’d rented their rig the day before. Thomas leaned against the side of a barbershop half a block away and crossed his arms. The nebulous plan that had begun forming in his mind was beginning to crystallize. If it worked, he’d have to get word to Peterson.
CHAPTER 8
The big barn door of the livery stable stood open, and two men worked inside. The bearded owner leaned on a paddock fence outside, talking to another man. He looked up as they approached and swept off his hat.
“Good morning, ladies.”
“Good morning, Mr. Pottle,” Elise said.
“Do you need a rig again today?”
“No, thank you, sir. We’re here to purchase.”
“Oh?” Pottle straightened and eyed her thoughtfully. “And what are you purchasing, ma’am?”
“A team of stout mules, please.”
He let out a guffaw and tried too late to swallow it. “Pardon me, ma’am, but you wish to buy a span of mules?”
“However many it takes to pull a wagon over the plains to Oregon.”
Pottle stared at her.
“Well, I never,” said his companion.
“Let me get this straight.” Pottle stepped toward her, frowning. “You ladies intend to take the Oregon Trail.”
“Indeed we do, sir.”
“Well now.” Pottle shook his head.
“Oxen,” said the other man. “That’s what you want. Easy keepers, and if things go wrong, you can eat ’em.”
“Oh, hush, Newt. Don’t go scaring the ladies. H’ain’t nothing going to go wrong for them. I expect they’ll have a nice trip.”
“In a pig’s eye,” his friend said. “My cousin went on a wagon train two years ago. The Injuns ran off their herd of milk cows, and they lost one of their kids crossing the Platte.”
“Would you hush?” Pottle glared at him.
“Sure. I’ll talk to you later, Ralph,” the other man said. “Sounds like you’ve got some business to do.” As he walked away, he said, “Wait till the boys hear this.”
Elise gritted her teeth, suspecting that she and Lady Anne were about to become the subject of conversation in the nearest saloon.
“If you please, Mr. Pottle, we’ve been advised that mules will do us nicely. Since we have more experience with horses than cattle, we thought mules might be best. We intend to hire a driver, but we realize we may need to handle the animals in an emergency ourselves.”
“Makes sense to me.” Pottle walked over to the open barn door and called, “Benjy, bring those mules up from the lower pen. I’ve got a wagon train customer here.”
He turned and smiled at Elise. “Now, these here are Missouri mules, ma’am. They’re strong and they’re tough. Tougher than most. They’ll take you across the plains slicker’n greased lightning.”
“How many mules do we need?” Elise asked.
“I’m thinking eight, ma’am.”
“So many?”
“Well, you
could haul your wagon with less, but if they get tired out, or if you need replacements…and of course, you could always sell one or two to someone less fortunate than yourselves, if ‘n theirs give out and they didn’t bring any extry.”
“I’m not sure we need so many,” Elise said.
“Suit yourself. Come on through the barn, if you will, and have a look at ’em. Oh, watch your step there.”
Elise hopped to one side and avoided a pile of fresh manure, but Lady Anne was not so fortunate. She stepped squarely in it and stopped, holding up her skirt and staring down at the mess surrounding her calfskin shoe. Her face turned a garish green.
“Quick, my—Anne! Come over here, my dear.” Elise grabbed her mistress’s wrist and all but yanked her to one side. “Now wipe your shoe on that straw.” Glaring at the liveryman, she snapped, “What’s the matter with you? Get a rag and clean off my lady’s shoe.”
“Oh, a little of that won’t hurt her none,” Pottle said. “If ‘n you ladies are serious about crossing the plains, you’d better get over lettin’ a little horse manure frazzle you. Now these mules are the best you’ll find in Independence….”
Elise stared after him but didn’t follow. “Are you all right?”
Anne’s face was still pale, but she diligently rubbed her foot in the straw, trying to scrape off the manure. “He’s right, you know. I’ve got to toughen up, like those mules of his, if I want to make it to Oregon.”
“Well, you don’t have to do it all in five minutes.” Elise pulled out her handkerchief and knelt in the straw.
“Oh, don’t,” Anne cried. “You’ll ruin it. I’ll have my shoes cleaned tonight at the hotel. I can stand it until then.”
Elise gave in and stood, but privately she doubted their spartan hotel offered niceties like shining shoes.
They caught up with Pottle outside the back door. The mules his hired men were herding into the small corral from a larger pasture looked enormous.
“They can pull all day,” Pottle said with evident pride. “You give them a little grain when you stop for nooning of course.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 8
