THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy

by Susan Page Davis

  “Ah, of course.” Elise studied his face but couldn’t read his expression through his bushy beard. “Mr. Pottle, if I may be so bold, how much are these mules?”

  “A hunnerd dollars each, ma’am, and that’s a bargain.”

  “A hundred?” Elise stared at him, outraged.

  “Perhaps we should buy the oxen instead,” Anne murmured.

  “Oxen? Oh no, you ladies don’t want oxen,” Pottle said.

  “Why not?” Elise asked, hiking her chin up a half inch. She suspected that Mr. Pottle didn’t deal in oxen and didn’t want to lose the sale of his high-priced Missouri mules.

  “These mules are much better for your purposes,” he said.

  “Morning, Pottle. Ladies.”

  Elise whirled at the sound of the lazy voice. Eb Bentley touched his hat brim as he emerged from the back door of the livery stable.

  “Mr. Bentley!” For some reason she couldn’t fathom, Elise felt both chagrin and relief at his appearance.

  “Eb,” said Mr. Pottle with a nod.

  “Buying some livestock, are you?” Eb asked in Elise and Anne’s general direction.

  “Yes, they are,” Pottle said, “and if you don’t mind, we’re in the middle of a transaction.”

  “Mr. Bentley.” Anne reached for his arm and gazed up at him with her huge brown eyes. “Sir, was I mistaken, or did Mr. Whistler tell me a good mule would cost us around seventy-five dollars?”

  Elise schooled her features not to show her feelings. Anne would do much better not to get too close to the rough-and-ready scout. On the other hand, perhaps she should take a lesson from Anne. In this situation, Eb Bentley might take their side, and right about now, she and Anne could use an ally.

  “I believe he said something along those lines, miss.” Eb’s color heightened as he looked down at the beautiful young woman.

  “That’s what I thought.” Anne turned her sweet smile on Pottle. “Could you show us some of those seventy-five-dollar mules, please, Mr. Pottle?”

  The owner’s face clouded.

  Elise mustered her courage and stepped closer to Eb. “Mr. Bentley, I know that Mr. Whistler said horses aren’t as hardy as mules, but Miss Stone and I would both feel more at home with horses, I’m sure. Even those big draft horses—they’re quite gentle, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Eb said, “but they’d eat you out of house and home. There’s no guarantee of good grazing along the way, and horses have to eat often. You’d need to carry a wagon full of feed just for them. It’s not practical.”

  Elise sighed. “Then mules it is, I guess.” She turned back to Pottle. “I believe you said we need eight?”

  “Eight mules?” Eb asked. “Four will pull a regular wagon just fine. You might want to get a couple of spares though, and have the drovers bring them along with the other loose livestock.”

  Elise arched her eyebrows at Mr. Pottle. “Is that right?”

  “Oh, well, I thought you was pulling a Conestoga wagon, miss. It’s an honest mistake.”

  Scowling, Eb stepped toward the livery owner. “You use these ladies right, Pottle. You’re not the only horse-and-mule trader in town. If you can’t find them a team of six good, strong mules for four hundred dollars, I’ll take them over to Parley Rider’s place.”

  “Four—that’s way too cheap.” Pottle glowered at him. “I have to make a living, you know, Bentley.”

  “I’m sure Rider can make that deal for my friends. And if you’ve got a set of harness, add another hundred, but if you try to cheat these ladies, you’ll have to answer to me.” Eb looked toward the mules milling in the nearest corral. “Those look sound from here. Do I need to climb in through the fence and check their teeth?”

  “No,” Pottle nearly snarled.

  “Good. Because Rob Whistler and I have sent you a lot of trade lately. You treat our people right if you expect it to continue.” He turned and said to Anne, “Have you bought your wagon yet, ma’am?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  He nodded. “Well, there’s a woman over at a boardinghouse on Mill Street who has one for sale. She was going to go with us, but her husband died suddenly. She’s already sold her ox team, but I told her to hold the wagon for an hour in case you wanted it.”

  “That’s kind of you,” Anne said.

  He shrugged. “Make sure you don’t pay more than seventy-five dollars for it. That’s a fair price for a good, sturdy wagon with a watertight bed and bows to hold the canvas. And make sure you buy an extra canvas cover at the store. I don’t think she has but one.”

  “We surely will,” Anne said.

  It dawned on Elise that he was not only ignoring her—he knew that Anne was the one holding the purse strings. Even though Elise had done most of the negotiating throughout their trip and tried to protect Lady Anne from having to deal with coarse tradesmen, Eb had somehow discerned that Anne would pay for their wagon and team. She wasn’t sure whether to be apprehensive or to respect his acumen.

  He lifted his hat and included her in his parting words. “Good day, ladies.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Bentley,” Anne said with a smile.

  “We’ll see you in a day or two,” Elise added.

  “Looks that way.” Eb glanced at the mules once more. “Pottle, don’t give them that one with the notched ear. He’s favoring his off hind foot.” He strode away through the barn.

  Elise stared after him, watching his tall, straight form as he moved through the shadowy stable and out into the sunlit street beyond.

  “What are you thinking?” Anne asked softly.

  “I’m wondering what he came here for.”

  “To tell us about the wagon?”

  Elise frowned. “How did he know where to find us?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. But let’s finish our business with Mr. Pottle and get over to the widow’s boardinghouse.”

  They walked together to the corral fence. Mr. Pottle was inside with the mules.

  “All right, ladies, I’ve picked out six of the best for you. If you want the harness and collars with them, that’ll be five hundred dollars cash.”

  “Is the harness in good repair?” Elise asked.

  He hesitated. “Sure it is.”

  “Perhaps we should purchase a new set at the emporium,” Anne said.

  “No, no, I’ll make sure it’s ready for the trail.” Pottle scratched his chin through his beard and waited for her verdict.

  “All right then.” Anne turned away and removed her chain-link purse from her skirt pocket and counted out the odd-looking American bills. With what they’d paid the emporium’s owner, their bankroll looked very small.

  “Are we doing all right?” Elise murmured.

  “I believe so.”

  Five minutes later they left, with an understanding that they would be back for their new team and harness later. As they walked toward Mill Street, Anne said, “Seventy-five dollars seems like a huge price for a wagon. What is that in pounds?”

  Elise quickly figured the price. “Mr. Bentley said it’s fair.”

  “But you don’t trust him.”

  Elise ruefully shook her head. “Isn’t it funny how things change? Compared to Mr. Pottle, I’d trust Mr. Bentley with my life. But next to your father? No. I’d take one Stone man for ten Eb Bentleys any day of the week.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Thomas followed the two women as they left the livery stable. He’d had to scramble for cover in the shadowy barn when the man from the wagon train came through and helped the women with their dealing, but he was pretty sure the scout hadn’t seen him. He tailed the women out to the street and waited until they were out of sight of the establishment. He caught up to them on the sidewalk.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” he said when he was within a couple of steps of their swaying skirts.

  The two women spun around in a flurry of colliding crinolines.

  “Yes, sir?” asked the older one, looking down her nose just a bit.
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  Thomas supposed he looked a bit shopworn to the meticulously gowned and coiffed ladies. He straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat.

  “I ran into that fella from the wagon train a few minutes ago, and he said you were looking for someone to drive your team when you take to the trail.”

  “Do you mean Mr. Bentley?” the woman asked.

  “Sure. He told me that if I was to ask, you might hire me. See, I want to go to Oregon, but I don’t have the money for my own rig. I’m a hard worker. If you was to take me along and stake me for my grub, I could hitch up for you every day and drive if you need me to, and I could help you load and unload things and haul water—things like that.”

  The two women looked at each other.

  “What is your name, sir?” asked the younger one. She was a regular stunner.

  “Thomas G. Costigan, at your service.” He doffed his hat and gave a little bow.

  “I am Miss Finster,” said the older one, “and this is Miss Stone. We are on our way to see about a wagon now. Could you begin work today?”

  “Oh yes, ma’am, I surely could.”

  “And where would you sleep?” she asked.

  “Oh, I’d bed down with the herdsmen, I suppose. Most wagon trains have a herd of extra animals—milk cows and extra horses and mules and oxen—and they have men to herd them along behind the wagons. I could spread my bedroll with them.”

  The woman still seemed undecided.

  “Excuse us a moment, won’t you?” Miss Finster asked.

  “Of course.”

  The two women stepped to one side and conferred in low tones. Thomas caught only a few words—“recommended,” “proper,” and something that might have been “scruffy.”

  Miss Finster turned back toward him after a few minutes. “Mr. Costigan, we have agreed to give you a trial. We hope to have a wagon to collect and load today. If you do well with that job, we’ll hire you. In any case, we’ll pay you for your time.”

  Thomas smiled and ducked his head. “Why, thank you, ma’am. That sounds fair and reasonable.”

  “And where shall we find you if we buy the wagon?” Miss Finster asked.

  “How about at the livery, ma’am? You’ll have to fetch your team.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Our team?”

  “Uh…well…I assumed…uh…you said you were on your way to buy a wagon. I assumed you’d get mules…or, uh, oxen…from the…uh…unless the wagon owner is selling you his team, too.”

  She appraised him coolly for a long moment. “At Pottle’s livery stable, then. In three hours.”

  “Very good, ma’am.” He touched his forelock and backed away, bowing and trying not to fall off the edge of the boardwalk. He’d almost botched that interview—which would have ruined his entire plan.

  The ladies walked away. He ducked into a doorway and watched surreptitiously. Sure enough, Miss Finster looked back at the edge of the block. He pulled back before she saw him and counted to ten. When he peered out again, they were gone. He ran down the boardwalk and halted at the corner. He looked ahead, then left, then right. There they were. Those huge skirts were hard to miss. Men were dodging into the rutted street to keep out of their way.

  Thomas turned and made a beeline for the nearest saloon. They were headed for the place the scout had mentioned. He needed to get word to Peterson and make sure the man wanted him to do this. So long as the ladies hired him, he’d be set for the next few months, but he’d ask Peterson for advance pay and have a free trip west. Thanks to the wagon master, who was a bit of a stickler, things looked pretty good on that front. Just to be sure the women had no complaints, he would limit himself to one drink and make sure he turned up a few minutes early at the livery. Thomas G. Costigan believed in covering all contingencies.

  Elise and Anne located a ROOMS TO LET sign in the yard of a substantial wood-frame house. A woman of about fifty opened the door and showed them to a small but clean parlor. When she’d left them, Anne sat down on a threadbare settee, and Elise took a straight chair by the window.

  A few minutes later, a thin young woman entered, holding a wailing bundle on her shoulder. A toddler clutched a handful of her skirt and, when she stopped walking, wrapped his little arms around her legs. The woman’s dress was a nondescript cotton that hung limp on her frame. Her hair and her tanned skin were almost the same color as the dress. The only splash of color was the small pieced quilt she held close about the crying baby.

  “You’re here about the wagon?” she asked.

  “Yes.” Elise stood and spoke loudly over the baby’s cries. “I’m Miss Finster.”

  The young woman nodded. “Sallie Deaver. Eb Bentley said you folks need a wagon.”

  “That’s right. We’re joining the wagon train.”

  Sallie patted the baby and shook her head. “We was, too, but Ronny up and got himself killed yesterday.”

  Anne came and stood beside Elise. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Deaver.”

  Sallie shrugged. “I’m going back to my folks in Connecticut. I sold the team already.”

  “Yes, it’s just the wagon we’re interested in,” Elise said.

  “You can have it for a hunnert. I advise you to be careful packing it. Ronny fell off and busted his neck.”

  “I see.” Elise shot a quick glance at Anne, who was frowning at her. It was a ladylike frown, but still an indicator of her displeasure. Elise drew in a deep breath. “Well, Mr. Bentley told us it was worth seventy-five dollars. I assumed you’d sell it for that.”

  “I need money to get home.”

  “I’m sure you do….” Elise glanced at Anne, who gave the tiniest of shrugs. If she didn’t close the deal quickly, Elise was afraid her tenderhearted mistress would give away money they would need on the journey. “Seventy-five is all we have laid aside for this purchase, Mrs. Deaver. If that’s not agreeable to you, I’m sorry we’ve bothered you.”

  Elise turned to her chair, where she’d laid off her cloak.

  “Don’t be so hasty, now.” The baby gave a belch, and Sallie stopped patting him. “I’ll take eighty-five.”

  Elise smiled, but not too congenially. “I’m sure we can buy a new one for less than that.”

  Sallie’s mouth drooped. “You ladies have got them fancy clothes. I’m sure you can afford a few extra bucks. Me, I’ve got this dress and one other to my name, and this is the best one.”

  Elise eyed her thoughtfully. “Would you excuse us just a moment? I’d like to speak to Miss Stone privately.”

  Anne followed her into the hall, and Elise shut the door. “My lady, she might take a dress instead of the extra money. I’d offer one of my own, but she’s so thin, I doubt mine would fit her.”

  Anne’s face lit up. “Why didn’t I think of that? I’ve got trunks full of dresses!”

  “Yes. One of your morning dresses, perhaps. A simple style.”

  “There’s that sprigged muslin that I only wear at Stoneford when we’ve no company.”

  “Perfect. I’ll make the offer.”

  They returned to the parlor. Sallie was sitting on the settee with the baby in her arms and the toddler curled up beside her.

  “Mrs. Deaver, you’re right that we have been blessed with more clothing than you. Would you take seventy-five dollars and one good day dress for the wagon?”

  Sallie eyes widened. “I might. Something pretty?”

  “Oh yes. It’s one that suits Miss Stone admirably, and it has a lot of wear left in it.”

  “And gloves?” Sallie asked, gazing pointedly at Elise’s delicate crocheted pair. “I want to look proper when I go to Connecticut.”

  “Certainly.” Elise didn’t bother to check with Anne. She had a dozen pairs in her own trunk, and Anne had two or three times as many.

  Sallie stood. “All right then. Do you have the money on you?”

  “Yes,” Elise said. “We’ll bring the dress and gloves later today, when we come with our mule team to get the wagon.”

  �
��Fine by me.”

  Anne opened her purse and counted out the money. “I wish you well, Mrs. Deaver.”

  They left the boardinghouse and walked toward the hotel.

  “Are you all right?” Elise asked.

  “I’m fine,” Anne said. “I’m glad things are working out for the journey. I feel sure God will bless us and we’ll find Uncle David.”

  “I pray you are right.”

  Though their steps dragged, Elise wouldn’t ask for a hackney unless Anne showed great fatigue. Anne had obtained her complete allowance for the remainder of the year from Mr. Conrad, and that would have to last them. Elise carried a portion pinned into her corset cover, and her mistress did the same, with enough to carry out today’s transactions in her reticule. Elise kept reminding herself that they must keep back enough for a return trip, either by wagon or by ship. She refused to think about how long the overland trip would take. At least their transportation to Oregon was paid for, along with the supplies they would need along the way.

  They stopped to dine at a rough eatery on the way. The plain food filled them up, but Elise wondered how Lady Anne would do when forced to eat their trail rations for months.

  Back in the cramped hotel room, Anne lay down on the bed. Elise removed her outer skirt and her top petticoat, with its stiff whalebone hoop in the hem, and sat down to write to her sister in Germany:

  Dear Gretl,

  I am about to set out on an adventure unlike anything I’ve ever done. My mistress and I have traveled from New York, where I last wrote to you, and come westward. We stopped in the city of St. Louis for a week, but now have come even farther, to a smaller, wilder town called Independence. Lady Anne and I have come to a momentous decision: we will push on to the Pacific in search of her uncle.

  I know this is shocking. The two of us would never under ordinary circumstances consider throwing aside the comforts and security of polite society. My mistress, however, is determined to locate her uncle, inform him of her father’s passing, and persuade him to claim his title and estate in England.

  But alas! David Stone is reported to have gone to Oregon Territory. Because communication is so fractured here in America, she has no recourse but to go in search of him. Letters have not reached him, and we’ve not found a trustworthy way to get him word, so we shall carry it ourselves.