White Nights

by Susan Edwards

  With a cry of happiness, Coralie spun around and hugged him again. “Thanks, Rook. I won’t burn it this time, I promise.”

  After Coralie released him, Rook stuck his pipe between his lips and moved back to his work area, keeping Coralie close so he could keep an eye on the bread making. Chopping up bits of meat to add to the boiling pot of beans, he refrained from watching Sofia. He was cooking his stew, no matter what.

  But as he hovered over Coralie, repressing his shudders as she spilled flour and made a gummy mess of the dough, loneliness assailed him. The love surrounding him brought home just how empty his life had become. At his age, wandering from place to place no longer appealed. He longed to put the past behind him and settle in one spot to live out the remainder of his years. He slid his gaze to the black-haired widowed woman working not more than five feet from him.

  Sofia glanced up from a frying pan of sizzling meat and lifted her eyebrow as if she read his mind and knew the unrest in his heart.

  The tantalizing scent of spices reached him and made his mouth water. He sent her a disgruntled glare, gave his attention to Coralie and started telling her one of his tales to keep his mind from wandering down forbidden paths. There was no other woman for him. He was destined to roam alone until he met his maker.

  For the women traversing the trail, their day commenced before night released its grip on the world to the light of the sun. No matter how tired or how far they traveled the day before, the women left their tents to prepare for the new day long before the sun peeped over the eastern horizon.

  Eirica, snuggled between her quilts, woke to the sounds of muffled chatter outside her tent. She wanted to open her eyes but they refused to cooperate. Surely it couldn’t be time to rise already. She felt as though she’d only just gone to bed. Between the hard, rocky ground and her heavy, cumbersome womb, sleep usually came in fitful bouts, leaving her feeling tired and achy in the mornings. What she wouldn’t give for a soft feather bed.

  She huddled deeper into the warmth surrounding her, dozing lightly. Outside, noise continued to disperse the fog shrouding her senses. Somewhere on the other side of the canvas walls, the sounds of clanking pans and the harsh whirl of a coffee grinder made her wince. Groaning, she ran her hand through her disheveled hair and rubbed her gritty eyes. Precious time was wasting. There was much to be done before the signal sounded to hit the trail.

  Slowly, she worked the stiffness from her back, shoulders and neck and thought of the decision she’d made during the long night while sleep eluded her. It troubled her greatly that she had to rely on others so much. Each person traveling west had their own load to carry—it didn’t seem fair that she added to it.

  So this day, her eighty-first of traveling, marked her first step toward independence. Anne and Lars, Jessie and Coralie, Wolf and Rook, and all the others had been there for her and her children while her ribs healed and she came to terms with what Birk’s death meant to her life. They’d all been so wonderful, but good conscience deemed it time—past time, in fact—for her to stand on her own two feet. After all, when she reached Oregon, they’d all be spread apart and she’d truly be on her own.

  Alone. On her own. Those words sent frissons of fear darting through her. Knowing if she dwelled on it, she’d take the easy way and continue as she had for the last month, she put it from her mind. Quickly, she unbraided her hair, combed her fingers through the long golden-red ripples that fell to her waist then twisted the strands into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. As much as she’d like to dally, to put off starting the new day, certain bodily functions couldn’t be ignored a moment longer. She left the tent.

  In the predawn grayness, she eyed the shadowy figures of women moving about. Some headed for the river with dinged and dented pots swaying in their hands as they walked, while others grouped together in small, silent clusters. A young woman, also pregnant, motioned for Eirica to join them.

  She joined the five women who stood in a tight circle facing outward. Each held their skirts fanned out to the sides and in the center, they shielded a woman relieving herself. When the woman stood, she smiled at Eirica and motioned that they should trade places.

  Eirica took care of her bodily needs in the same fashion and when done, she traded places with another woman, fanning her skirts out to the sides. She stayed until another woman came and took her place. This method of women providing one another some measure of privacy worked when they camped together. When her group was off alone, the men erected a canvas latrine. With only her and Coralie wearing dresses, they couldn’t shield each other very well.

  Back at her tent, she started a fire in the cold pit from the night before, then put a pot of water on to boil. This was her favorite time of day—before children and the trail made demands on her. Cradling a cup of hot tea between her palms, she used the last of her cherished moments before the sky turned gray-blue to gather her thoughts and plan her day.

  By the time she roused her children, the aromatic scent of roasting coffee beans and frying bacon mingled with wood smoke. Men left their warm cocoons of quilts and grabbed cups of coffee before driving out oxen and mules from wagon enclosures or rounding up stock left to wander and graze at will. After the animals were yoked, wagon wheels and axles had to be checked, tents taken down and wagons packed.

  Watching the bustle of activity increase around her, Eirica hurriedly washed down two dry biscuits with the remainder of her cold tea. Her children ate their meal of cold bacon and biscuits topped with butter and a thin layer of precious jam while kneeling around a wooden box that served as a table. Brushing crumbs from her apron, she sighed, longing for the day when she could fix a real breakfast again: thick slices of ham, fresh eggs and hot slices of buttery bread. And coffee. Hot, strong, sweet, with just a tad of cream.

  But making a pot of coffee just for her consumption didn’t seem worth the effort, and cooking in the morning following a sleepless night required more energy than she usually possessed. Soon, she promised herself.

  A glance over her shoulder confirmed her children were done with their meal as well. Three faces with jam smeared on their cheeks and white mustaches on their upper lips greeted her. Smiling, she washed the sticky fingers and faces. “Now, go play while Mama finishes cleaning up. Alison girl, keep an eye on your brother.”

  “Yes, Mama.” Alison grabbed hold of Ian’s hand and they ran off. Lara followed more slowly, clutching her tattered blanket.

  After wiping off the tin plates and rinsing the cups, Eirica packed the leftover bread from the evening meal and the cold meat from the antelope Wolf had provided the night before into an unbleached muslin pouch for the noon stop. After placing it and the Dutch oven with rising bread dough into the wagon where she could easily access them, she rubbed her lower back to ease the lingering stiffness.

  A sharp jab inside her prompted her to caress her swollen belly. Soon, she’d hold her babe in her arms. Impatience to have her pregnancy come to an end warred with the fear of giving birth on the trail. She sighed. It could be worse. Some women traveling had no one to assist them. Both she and Anne had each assisted in several births on the trail, fetched by frantic husbands. Thankfully, she’d have Anne and Sofia when her time came.

  Laughter from a family camped nearby drew Eirica’s attention. Like most of the emigrants making the long arduous journey, the fertile green land of Oregon had lured Lars and Anne Svensson from their struggling farm as well.

  Eirica watched Lars tease his two young daughters, Kerstin and Hanna. Both girls shrieked with delight. Witnessing the bountiful display of love caused a ball of envy to wind tight inside her. How she longed for the carefree happiness so many families took for granted. Not so much for herself, but for her children who’d never known the tender loving attention of a doting father or relaxed, fun-filled mealtimes.

  Neither had she, she realized, turning away when Lars unashamedly kissed his wife on the lips in front of their children. Mealtimes in her father’s house had always
been silent affairs, broken only by the noisy, rude eating habits of her brothers and their demands for more food. And sitting down to eat at the same table with Birk always tied her stomach in knots. Would he be displeased with the food, or would one of the children spill their milk or start fussing? It had never taken much to set him off. And if his day had gone badly, then nothing any of them did pleased him.

  Suddenly, she was thrown back in time, caught in the bruising grip of a daymare as images from her haunting past played before her eyes. She shook with remembered pain, recalling the time Birk had come in from the field and found supper not on the table. She’d just given birth to Alison days before, and caring for her newborn had caused her to fall behind in supper preparations.

  Birk had been furious and in his rage, he’d thrown the pot of boiling water at her, burning her stomach and half of her chest. A low sound from her throat brought her back to the present. It took several minutes to calm herself. Birk was dead and could no longer cause them pain.

  With her breathing steadied, she repeated her vow to see that love and laughter filled her children’s hearts. She glanced around, checking their whereabouts. Lara stood at the edge of the Svenssons’ camp. Kerstin ran over and led her to Hanna.

  Eirica smiled. Her quiet little Lara adored Anne’s two daughters and surprisingly, none of the boys scared her. The Svenssons had four strapping sons. Bjorn, fifteen, bent down and tweaked Hanna’s long blond braids, then reached for Kerstin’s, but she slapped him away. To Lara’s delight, the boy also reached over and tapped her on the nose before sauntering away, leaving three giggling girls behind him.

  The sight of her love-starved daughter saddened Eirica. Could she ever make up for what her children had lacked in their short lives? Fighting off the ever-present guilt that she hadn’t taken steps to stop Birk a long time ago, she turned in a slow circle, searching for Alison and Ian.

  Ian moved faster than a jackrabbit these days and required at least three sets of eyes to keep him out of mischief. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted him running from Alison a short distance away. She stole a few moments to watch them as well.

  Alison trapped Ian next to a wagon wheel that was taller than he was. Unwilling to lose to his elder sister, Ian dropped to his hands and knees and crawled between Alison’s spread legs, then straightened his own sturdy limbs and took off, shouting in triumph.

  Eirica chuckled as their gleeful laughter filled the morning air. She shook her head. Those two were so full of energy, just watching them left her feeling exhausted. But witnessing their carefree abandon gave her hope that over time, the memory and effects of their father’s abuse would fade into oblivion.

  Reassured her children were fine for the moment, she put out the fire, then turned her attention to the tent. She ran her hands down over her swollen middle and grimaced. Dealing with the tent was the one chore she dreaded each day. Getting down on all fours was hard enough but getting up again was another matter. With a resigned sigh, Eirica gathered the blankets and quilts and arranged them on the floor of the wagon, near the front to form a padded sitting area for her three children.

  Minutes later, the tent lay in a heap on the ground. Huffing and puffing, Eirica rolled it up. Using the wagon wheel to hold on to, she struggled to her feet. But before she could bend back down to pick up the heavy rolled canvas, two voices stopped her. She turned to see Alberik, Anne and Lars’s eldest son, and Dante, Sofia’s grandson, standing there. They eyed each other, their stances competitive.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Macauley, but I’d be happy to load your tent for you.” Red crept up Alberik’s neck. “You really shouldn’t be doing this in your, um, condition.”

  Eirica smiled gently at the eldest Svensson boy, marveling at how nicely his parents had raised him. A woman’s “condition” had never stopped her father, brothers or husband from making their demands on the women in her family. It was life as normal, before the birth and after. She liked this concern on her behalf, believed it good for the young man to help others, though she warned herself not to get used to it. “Thank you, Alberik. I’d appreciate your help.”

  She watched the nineteen-year-old heft the tent effortlessly into his arms and load it into the back of the wagon. Without asking, Dante, three years older than Alberik, took charge of her supply boxes and sacks. Both boys reached for the tailgate at the same time, neither willing to give in to the other. Eirica swallowed her laughter as they both placed her tailgate back into the slots. Alberik managed to grab the strings and draw the canvas cover closed to secure the load so nothing could bounce out of the back while traversing the rutted and rocky trail.

  Eirica plucked at her apron. “Thank you, again, Alberik, Dante.”

  Alberik blushed again. “I’d be happy to come every morning and give you a hand with anything heavy.”

  For the first time on the trip, Eirica realized that Anne’s eldest was only a few years younger than herself. She felt so much older. The last thing she wanted to do was encourage him. “I don’t want to impose or take you from your own chores.”

  He glanced up at her, giving her a shy smile. “It’s no trouble.”

  Not to be outdone, Dante shuffled his feet. “Same here.”

  Anne joined them, her eyes alight with amusement. “I can’t believe I haven’t thought of you needing help loading up in the mornings, Eirica. I feel terrible.”

  Eirica smiled. “I’ve managed just fine, Anne, though I must admit, it’s getting harder to deal with that tent.” Wanting to be fair to the two young men—each vying to be the one to help her, she had an idea. “With two of you offering to help, I wouldn’t feel as though I were taking so much of your time.” And now she wouldn’t be quite so beholden to James, either. The thought made her feel both good and guilty.

  Anne nodded, met Eirica’s eyes. “What a good idea. Alberik can help you in the mornings. I have his father and brothers to load our wagons and can do without him.”

  Dante grinned. “And I’ll take the evenings.”

  Nodding to each other, the two men left, each with shoulders thrown back and swaggering steps. Eirica had misgivings. She didn’t want to cause any trouble between them. “I hope I’m not encouraging either one of them, Anne.” Realizing belatedly how it must sound to her friend, she groaned. “I didn’t mean it like—”

  Anne put her arm across Eirica’s shoulder. “Don’t say it. I know what you meant, Eirica. Both of them are young, but—” she smiled wickedly “—a little healthy competition won’t hurt either one of them, and neither will learning some manners around a lady.”

  Eirica joined Anne in soft laughter. She admired Anne who had raised four sons who would someday make wonderful, considerate and loving husbands. Of course, they had the perfect role model in their father.

  Conscious of the time, Anne hurried back to her wagons while Eirica set off to catch and yoke her own oxen. By the time Wolf rode up to the circle on his great black horse to visually check each wagon and team of oxen, each member of his party stood ready.

  Eirica quickly herded her children to the front of their wagon. “Climb in, girls. Quickly, now.” Alison and Lara scampered onto the wagon tongue and clamored over the wooden slats into the padded area Eirica had prepared. But when she tried to lift Ian, he protested and slid out of her arms.

  “Me do it.” His little face scrunched with determination.

  “All right.” She stood behind him, ready with a helping hand. Finally, he, too, was safely inside. Alison poked her head out and glanced around. “Where’s Jessie? I want to ride with her.”

  Lara joined her sister. She took her thumb out of her mouth long enough to say, “I wanna ride with Rook. His beard tickles when he holds me.” She giggled.

  Eirica smiled gently at her daughters. A month ago, they wouldn’t have dared voice their desire to spend time with others. Birk had hated and resented any outside interference with his family.

  Her socializing and allowing her children to be around
others on the trail had infuriated Birk, who’d seen it as a deliberate attempt to thwart his control. In six years of marriage, he’d never allowed her to form friendships or attend Sunday church services, and over the years, contact with her family had also grown scarce. But even he’d realized he couldn’t knock them around with so many people about; he’d ignored all of them during the day. In the evenings, when they were more or less on their own, he’d once again rule with a heavy hand.

  But that was behind her now. She and her children were free to make and have friends. Now Eirica worried that the girls, so enamored of their new freedom, would make too many demands on the generous natures of the other adults. Adjusting Lara’s bonnet, she leaned in and kissed both girls. “It’s not polite to ask. You must wait for Rook or Jessie to offer. Go sit with Ian and play quietly. I’ll let you out to walk later.”

  “Yes, Ma,” the girls replied in unison.

  Eirica donned her own wide-brimmed sunbonnet with its long tail to protect her neck, then picked up the short whip. With the sun, weak but already beating down on her, a trickle of sweat gathered beneath her bodice. The day promised to be another scorcher.

  Taking her place beside the oxen, she grasped the reins and waited. Her hands trembled. This was it. She could do this, she reminded herself. She’d managed the oxen and wagon for a week when her husband had fallen prey to a nest of angry hornets and been too sick to walk. The venom from their stings had caused him to swell and run a fever.

  But she’d only been six months pregnant then, and the trail hadn’t been quite so crowded or rough. Doubts as to the wisdom of taking charge of her wagon slid through her mind, eating away at the confidence she’d felt in the dark hours when she’d made this decision.

  Each morning in the month since Birk’s death, someone had come to take charge of her wagon during the day. She squared her shoulders, determined to manage on her own. It was important for her to know that she could handle whatever tasks needed to be done. After all, in Oregon, she’d only have herself to rely on.