She smiled faintly. “Better than you expected?”
“Yes, I’ll admit it.”
She picked up the bowl, tipped it, and brushed a few worms off the net onto the ground. “I believe it’s done us both good.”
“I expect you’re right.” Eb cleared his throat. “We’ve sent four men with a wagon to haul some water tonight. They’ll bring it in barrels, and everyone can go and get a bucketful.”
“What about the livestock?”
“The drovers took them to a spot on the river about half a mile from here. But the water’s pretty muddy, and Rob and I thought it would be better to bring some from a creek a couple of miles away for drinking.”
“That’s very kind of you gentlemen,” Miss Finster said.
“Just trying to keep everyone healthy.”
Eb touched his hat brim and turned away. Miss Stone was now putting a large, flaky buffalo chip on her fire. She stepped back and wiped her hands on her apron.
“Evening, Mr. Bentley.”
“Miss Stone.”
He nodded and walked on. Yes, they’d come a long way.
Outside Fort Kearny, the wagon train formed a wider circle than nights on the trail. The drovers moved the herd of livestock a distance away, where new grass was available. Since Whistler’s train was one of the first to go through that spring, the emigrants were able to graze their animals within a mile of the fort without having to fight for the right to forage. They’d stay two days to bake, wash, and visit the fort. For the men, it would be a reprieve. For the women, it meant more work than usual, but they didn’t mind. They’d anticipated this stop for weeks.
Wood was at a premium, as the fort’s detachment and settlers and Indians in the vicinity had long since stripped the area of easily available fuel. On the morning after their arrival, Rob and Eb consulted with the men heading each family, reporting to them the advice of the fort’s commanding officer. They drew lots for a detail of six men to cut wood in the hills a few miles away, and Rob sent them off with an empty wagon. Clean water was available from the well at the fort.
The women soon put their camps to rights and prepared to descend on the trading post. Eb and two of the Harkness boys were assigned to patrol the camp while the others were gone, so that nothing would be pilfered by the Indians that congregated to stare at the newcomers.
Elise and Anne were as eager to visit the post as the other women.
“I hope we can learn something about Uncle David here,” Anne said as they dressed their hair in the tent, out of view of the curious.
“I hope so, too, but we have to keep in mind that this fort was built since your Uncle David came this way. Still, there’s a chance one of the officers posted here met him in his travels.” Elise coiled Anne’s dark hair and pinned it firmly at the back of her head.
“What shall we wear?” Anne asked. “Should we get out better dresses than we’ve been wearing every day?”
“That would make us stand out. Do we want that?”
“Hmm. Perhaps not. The Indians are already quite bold. Rebecca said they wanted to touch her little Dorothy’s hair.” Anne shivered. “I hoped to shop for a new hat, but Mr. Whistler says the trader won’t likely have anything like that. Staples and goods to trade to the Indians, that’s what he said to expect.”
“My dear, why do you need a new hat?” Surely Anne didn’t want to replace the mourning bonnet she’d dismantled for the netting.
“The other women seem to take offense at our hats from the Bond Street milliner. Perhaps a straw hat or a poke bonnet would make them more accepting of us.”
“Not a poke bonnet!” Elise moved around to where she could see Anne’s face. “You wouldn’t, my lady!”
“Hush, now,” Anne whispered. “These tent walls are thin.”
Elise nodded, ashamed of her lapse. Weeks had passed since she’d addressed Anne as her mistress.
“Pardon me. But really—one of those awful bonnets that hide the face?”
“But that’s the idea—to hide it from the sun and this ceaseless wind. I fear my cheeks are chapping, despite my parasol and the lotion we brought, and my lips peel even if I use the emollient salve twenty times a day.”
“I know,” Elise said. “It’s distressing, but I believe our remedies are better than what anyone else we’re traveling with can offer.”
“Perhaps the trader has something.”
Thomas crouched behind the wagon wheel, listening. He could hear the women’s conversation plainly. “My lady,” indeed. He wasn’t sure what to make of that exchange. Was the girl, Anne, some sort of upper crust? Both the women were high class, but now that he thought of it, Miss Finster seemed always to defer to Miss Stone. He’d thought it was because Miss Stone wasn’t as strong as the older woman. But she was stouter now than when they’d left Independence. Walking all day beside the wagon train for more than a month had forced her to find a little stamina.
Once the ladies headed out for the fort, they’d be gone for hours. That was what he’d been waiting for—the time Peterson had told him to watch for. He’d been patient. With any luck, he’d have something to put in the report he’d send back East from the fort tomorrow. Troopers would take the mail out. Couldn’t ask for better delivery service than that.
“Do you want your gray shawl?” Miss Finster said. “I’ll fetch it for you when I get my reticule from the wagon.”
Thomas dodged back and stood. Time to make himself scarce. If Miss Finster saw him, she’d order him to do some chores while they were gone. When he was sure they’d left, he’d come back. At least he hadn’t been picked for the firewood detail. He’d have to watch out for Bentley and the Harkness boys, though. They’d be on guard. That was well and good—you needed a guard around Fort Kearny, especially since the Indian village seemed extra large this spring. Some of those braves had no conscience when it came to other folks’ belongings.
He ambled off toward the barracks. The fort had a small garrison, but there was bound to be a card game later. He could line up some amusement for tonight and then come back to carry out his plan.
Elise hurried back to the encampment. She’d left Anne at the trading post with Rebecca Harkness, Lavinia, and Abby. Elise was determined to get some laundry done today, and Anne would be in good hands. The trader’s prices had shocked her so much that Elise doubted she’d buy anything.
In an empty sugar sack, she carried her prize—two cans of beef stew. Anne didn’t know of her purchase—she’d save it until they’d been out on the trail again for several days. When they were tired to death of bacon and the oysters were nearly gone, then she would open the first can of stew.
Now—where was Thomas? He’d disappeared this morning before she could ask him to fetch enough water to fill her big kettle and the washtub. She was determined to get this washing done, even if she had to haul the water herself—but that would be her last resort. Perhaps the promise of clean clothing for himself would be enough to motivate Thomas to haul the water.
As she came around Mr. Leonard’s wagon and faced the small tent, she stopped short. The tent flap was loose. She and Anne had fastened it securely when they’d left camp an hour ago. She tiptoed forward and lifted the edge of the flap. Peering into the dim corners, she tried to determine if anything was missing or out of place. Their bedrolls and baggage inside looked undisturbed.
A rustling sound came from behind her. She turned toward the wagon. Had one of the Indians sneaked inside? Eb and Rob had warned all the travelers about the Indians—thieving savages, according to Thomas. The wagon master had set a guard. Still, with fifty wagons to watch, those men couldn’t see everything at once.
The rustle came again, followed by a muffled thump. Elise shivered. Should she go for one of the guards or investigate herself? If she went for help, the thief might escape with his plunder. She looked around and saw Eb strolling just inside the perimeter of the loose wagon circle a hundred yards away. If she screamed, he would hear her. She dec
ided to confront the intruder herself and get a good look at him.
She walked stealthily to the back of the wagon. The canvas flap was down, but it hung loose at one edge. Her hand trembled as she reached for it. Was she insane to do this? Whoever was in there might be armed.
She looked about for anything with which she could defend herself. The wooden paddle with which she stirred laundry leaned against the side of the wagon. She hefted it and rested it on one shoulder. Now, if she could just fling the canvas back and grip the paddle before the thief leaped on her.
The flap drew aside before she could touch it, and she found herself face-to-face with Thomas. He was stooped over, his head only inches above hers. He stared into her eyes for a moment. She wondered if he would simply let the curtain fall and hope she would go away.
Elise choked back the laughter that threatened. This situation was not amusing.
“Thomas.”
“Miss Finster.”
“You frightened me.”
“Oh? I’m sorry.”
“I thought an Indian was rifling our supplies.”
He smiled and straightened a little. “Not at all, ma’am.”
They stood gazing at each other for a long moment. Thomas’s smile gradually faded and became more of an appraisal.
“What are you doing?” she asked at last.
“Well, I thought you’d want to do some wash today, ma’am. I was going to get things ready for you.”
“The washtub is already out.”
“Oh. Is it?”
“It is. There’s nothing else in the wagon for you to get.”
His eyes narrowed to slits. “My stuff is in here. Surely I have a right to get something out of my own pack.”
“That’s not what you said you were doing.”
Thomas raised his chin. Footsteps claimed Elise’s attention. Eb Bentley was nearly to their wagon. Should she tell him about the incident? Better to consult Anne first.
“I shall require a great deal of water for my washing.”
“Oh yes, ma’am.” Thomas climbed down from the wagon.
“Good morning, Miss Finster.”
Elise managed a smile for Eb. “Mr. Bentley.”
“Been to the fort?” he asked.
“Yes, but I’m about to begin my wash day.”
“Very industrious of you.” He eyed Thomas. “Costigan.”
Thomas nodded to him and went to the side of the wagon where their buckets hung. “I’ll bring all the water you need, Miss Finster.” He walked off toward the well.
“Everything all right?” Eb asked quietly, after Thomas was out of earshot.
“I’m not certain. He gives me pause.”
“Aha.” Eb pressed his lips together and watched Thomas’s retreating figure. “Don’t hesitate to tell me or Rob if there’s a problem.”
“Thank you. He was rummaging about in the wagon, and I surprised him. It could be nothing, but I’ll speak to Anne later. If she feels unsafe, we’ll come to you.”
“Do that.”
Eb shouldered his rifle and strolled toward the next wagon.
CHAPTER 16
We certainly can’t trust him,” Anne said as they gathered in the last of the clean clothes that evening. “I can’t see that anything is missing from the baggage though.”
“Nor I.” Elise quickened her steps as an Indian woman moved stealthily toward the farthest of their clothing. “Here! Leave that alone, you!” She ran and snatched the linen towel from the grass and walked back toward Anne, picking up Thomas’s spare shirt and one of Anne’s woolen petticoats as she went.
“Is that all of it?” Anne asked.
“I think so. Some of the woolens are still damp, but we’ll lose them if we don’t take them in now.” Elise had stood guard over the laundry most of the afternoon. With only a short clothesline rigged between their wagon and Mr. Leonard’s, she’d had to resort to laying out the rest of the items on the grass to dry. Within an hour, Indian women and children were hedging about the camp. A squeal from Lavinia had alerted the rest to beware of pilfering. Eb and several other men made continuous rounds, but they couldn’t cover the whole perimeter of the camp at once.
“You look exhausted,” Anne said, “and Mr. Whistler wants to move on tomorrow.”
“I thought we were taking another day to rest.”
“Apparently not. He says we should take advantage of the fine weather.”
Elise let out a deep sigh.
“There’ll be dancing tonight in the fort,” Anne said.
“I’m too tired to dance.”
“So am I.”
“Wilbur Harkness will be disappointed, not to mention every other single man in our company and a fort full of soldiers.”
Anne smiled. “They’ll survive. But what shall we do about Thomas?”
“I’m certain he went through our bags.”
“So am I.”
“Let me think about it,” Elise said. “He behaved very well for the rest of the day and hauled plenty of water. I even gave a bucket to Mrs. Libby.”
They stopped beside their wagon, where they used the tailboard and an upended crate as work surfaces. “Let’s fold these clothes and get supper started. I’ve had a pot of dry beans simmering all day.” On most days they didn’t keep a fire going long enough to cook beans, so this would be a change of diet.
“Here comes Mr. Bentley,” Anne said.
The paint horse cantered toward them. Elise no longer felt apprehensive or annoyed at the sight of Eb Bentley. When had that happened?
He pulled up next to them in a small puff of dust and tugged at his hat brim. “Ladies.”
“Oh,” Anne gasped. “What is that?”
Elise noticed then that Eb had an animal carcass slung behind his saddle.
“I shot a pronghorn while I was scouting the back trail to see how far behind us the next train is. Would you ladies like a piece of venison after I butcher it?”
“That would be very nice,” Elise said. Anne was still eyeing the dead animal with distaste. She would change her mind when she took her first bite, Elise was sure.
“I’ll bring it by a little later.”
“Thank you. And how far back is the next caravan?” Elise asked.
“If they push hard, they’ll be here tomorrow night—they’re camping where we were two nights ago.” Eb touched his hat brim and trotted off.
“So that’s why Mr. Whistler wants to pull out in the morning,” Elise said. “He suspected another train was close behind us.”
“Oh well. I suppose we’re better off to stay ahead. The fresh meat will be a nice change,” Anne said doubtfully. “As grateful as I am for the canned oysters, I admit I’m a bit tired of them.”
Elise smiled, imagining how happy Anne would be next week when she produced her tinned stew. The oysters and bacon, along with cornbread and biscuits, had been their staple foods for more than a month. They’d rationed out the dried fruit and rice, but their few root vegetables, eggs, and canned soups were now gone.
“I was able to get two tins of peaches at the fort,” Anne said, her head tilted down.
Elise arched her eyebrows. “I thought we agreed that prices were too high.”
“I know, but when I heard the word peaches, I was suddenly ravenous. If I’d known Mr. Bentley would give us some of his game, I’d have held back.”
“Why don’t we save the peaches for when you get that feeling again and just enjoy the venison tonight?”
“That’s reasonable. Spread out our treats.” Anne chuckled. “Odd, isn’t it? Three months ago we’d hardly consider tinned peaches a delicacy.”
“It was very nice of Mr. Bentley to offer us part of his meat,” Elise said. “It looked to be quite a small animal. There wouldn’t be enough for everyone.”
“He’s sweet on you,” Anne said. “One of many heartsick men on this wagon train.”
“Oh stop.”
While Anne put away their clean clothes, Eli
se set about preparing a double batch of biscuits so they’d have plenty for the next day. She’d just put the lid on the dutch oven when Eb returned with a sizable chunk of meat in a sack.
“I reckon you can roast it or stew it, whichever you please,” he said.
“Thank you very much, Mr. Bentley.” Anne expressed her gratitude but stood back and let Elise accept the gift.
“Oh, and I…” Eb shifted on his feet and scrunched up his face for a moment. “I saw this at the trading post and thought you might be able to use it.”
From the crook of his arm he produced a flour sifter and held it out to Elise.
“Oh! How wonderful!” She laughed aloud and reached for it. Her gaze met Eb’s, and suddenly she felt self-conscious. “I’m sure that trader charged you a pretty penny. Let me—”
“It’s a gift,” he said quickly.
Elise hesitated, uncertain what the social standard was for presents from frontier scouts. The venison she had no problem with—many of the wagon train families shared small portions of supplies with each other. But the sifter fell into a different category—Eb had spent money for it.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “Perhaps I can salvage Miss Stone’s veil.” She glanced about, but Anne had disappeared.
“Would you ladies be going to the dancing tonight?” Eb asked.
“Oh, well…we thought not, since we’re rolling out at dawn.”
He nodded. “I’m not much of a dancer myself.”
“Mr. Bentley…”
“Yes’m?”
It was on the tip of her tongue to invite Eb to eat supper with them, but what was she thinking? She’d never in her life been that bold with a man. Now, if David Stone stood before her, it might be different.
And how would Eb take it if she invited him? And what would their neighbors in the other forty-nine wagons think? They had at least four months of trail before them. She’d hate for Eb to think she liked him in that way and have to spend the entire summer correcting the notion.
“I wondered if you and Mr. Whistler could use a dozen biscuits. Thomas finds them quite palatable now.”
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 17
