Under Mr. Henry’s watchful eye, Callie read the contract. The rules seemed fair and necessary. Callie knew order on the trail and in the camp had to be strictly regulated. There were too many dangers, too many accidents just waiting to happen to the unawares. The enormity of what she was undertaking filled her and her voice shook as she asked Mr. Henry a question, then handed him the required money for the passages.
“Should I sign my name on both of these, Mr. Henry?”
“Lord no, missy. You put your fiancé’s name on one contract, and Mr. Monroe’s name on the other. I’ll put my ‘X’ under both names and that’ll be good enough for the captain.”
Callie did as she was told. She put Jacob Monroe on one contract, and C. Collins on the other. She passed the papers to Mr. Henry who scrawled his ‘X’ right under both names. She had done it!
“Mr. Henry, I don’t know how to thank you. You have made me very happy.”
“Well, now, missy, ain’t often I get to be champion for such a pretty little thing. ‘Twas my pleasure. We’ll be seeing each other every now’n agin on the trail. I don’t make it into camp too often, but it’ll be good knowing you’re in one of the wagons gettin’ to that feller of yours.”
“Mr. Henry, do you like doughnuts?”
“Damn, uh, beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, darn, rights I do. Ain’t had me a doughnut but once and I licked my fingers till they was white getting all that sugar off’n them. Makes my mouth go to waterin thinking of it.”
“Well, you look me up when you ride into camp and I’ll fry you up a whole batch of sugared doughnuts, just for yourself.”
“Missy, that’ll give ole Henry something to think about. All to myself, huh? All to myself.”
Chapter 8
Callie sat cross-legged on the bed, paper and pencil in hand. The dawn streaked across the sky leaving behind petal soft, pink-edged clouds. She had been up for hours thinking, planning, and writing down what supplies she would need. The paper was a scribbled mess as she added then scratched out anything that might be unnecessary, or too heavy. Two thousand pounds. A wagon can carry two thousand pounds but sixteen is better, she kept repeating to herself. Her knowledge was expanding as she listened and asked.
“I need one hundred fifty pounds of flour, ten pounds of tea, fifty pounds of salt, fifty pounds of sugar, one hundred pounds of coffee, one hundred pounds of dried fruit and dried beans, ten pounds of cornmeal, twenty-five pounds of dried beef, five pounds of salt pork, five pounds assorted spices, and three hundred fifty pounds for a barrel of water.” She licked the tip of her pencil, writing rapidly as she calculated and thought. “Except, I need more than most if I’m going to have supplies for my bakery.” She frowned as she added up the pounds.
“Drat,” she muttered. “I have to add in bedding, cooking utensils, lanterns, candles, dishes, butter churn, wooden bucket, extra leather, material, and so much more.” Once more, doubts filled her.
She tried again. “I need a rifle and shells, and maybe a pistol. Yes, I’d better be prepared for anything. And medicine. I’ll need some herbs and medical supplies. Oh, I’ll need a Dutch oven. What does it weigh? Well, there’s no use in sitting here wondering. I’m going to the—”
A frantic pounding on her door startled her. She jumped from the bed, throwing her paper and pencil down. She had her hand on the knob when she heard her name called.
“Callie, Callie. Open the door. Callie, please, you’ve got to be there. Open the door.” The voice was muffled but loud. There was no mistaking who it was. Caleb.
Callie threw open the door, causing Caleb to tumble into the room, arm raised, ready to pound again.
“Callie,” he said breathlessly, his face red, his chest heaving. “Thank goodness you’re here. I was afraid you’d be out and if I didn’t find you, I didn’t know what I was going to do. You’ve got to come. You’ve—”
“Caleb, slow down. I can only understand half what you’re saying. Take a deep breath. No, take several.” Callie paused, giving the young man a stern, yet puzzled look. “Now, start at the beginning. What’s wrong?”
“They’re leaving,” Caleb said.
“Who’s leaving?”
“My parents. Pa says there ain’t no use in us staying any longer. He can’t come up with the money for the supplies and the contract. He says we’re heading back to Ma’s folk’s place and maybe we’ll try again next year. But we won’t, Callie. We won’t. Ma’s trying to hide it, but she’s about to cry. You’ve got to come and make Pa see you need our help and I’m earning real money.”
“I’ll just grab my bonnet and we’ll go. Don’t worry, Caleb. We got the oxen, the wagon, and my contract. I’ve got something else to sweeten the pot. Surely we can talk some sense into your Pa.” Callie spoke confidently, but she wasn’t so sure. Would Mr. Monroe understand or would he let pride get in his way?
Caleb had run on ahead and, by the time she got there, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe stood in front of the dying embers of their cook fire. Mrs. Monroe smiled when she saw Callie, but there was no smile on Mr. Monroe’s face. Caleb shifted from one foot to another, a panicky look on his face.
“Ain’t no reason for you to be hurrying so, Miss Collins. I tole Caleb that nothing you can say is going to convince me to be a part of your scheme. We can’t come up with the funds. We accept our defeat. You best oughta do that, too.”
“Mr. Monroe,” Callie pleaded. “Please give me a few minutes of your time. I think that if you listen, you’ll see that we can come to some terms.”
“Jacob.” Phyllis laid her hand on the man’s arm. “Please. What harm can it do? We’re at bottom’s end now.” She turned to Callie and spoke without giving him a chance to answer. “We just finished breakfast. Would you like a biscuit and some bacon? We have extra.”
“No, thank you, Mrs. Monroe. But I would love a cup of that coffee.” Callie gave her best smile.
Caleb spoke up. “I’ll get it, Ma.” His face was pale as he handed her the cup.
Mrs. Monroe motioned to several stumps around the fire. “Let’s at least sit down and be neighborly, Jacob.” She pulled at her husband’s arm as Caleb handed a cup of coffee to his pa.
Callie took a sip of her coffee, stalling while she searched for the right words. They had to flow off her tongue like honey because she’d not get another chance. She glanced at Caleb’s worried face, nodded, and said, “Mr. Monroe, I’ve several things to tell you and if you’d just be patient and let me have my say, I’d appreciate it.” Callie was pleased to hear her voice was firm.
There was a slight intake of breath from Mrs. Monroe, but Mr. Monroe just nodded.
“I realize you are concerned about my safety on such a perilous journey,” Callie started. “But what I don’t think you realize is that I’m going with or without your help. However”—She held up her hand to stop him from speaking—“I won’t be so foolish as to not admit I would be much better off with Caleb’s assistance. I do not plan on being a burden on you, Mr. Monroe, and I do not expect you to be in two places at once. In the case of an emergency, I would expect your place to be with your family and your wagon. Caleb will be expected to work alongside of me, but there is no reason we can’t share him when needed. I have already hired Caleb and owe him for a day’s work.”
“Son?” Mr. Monroe interrupted, looking at Caleb.
“Don’t blame Caleb,” Callie rushed on. “If you decide to not help me, I’ll pay Caleb and look for someone else.” She felt sick to her stomach. She hoped Mr. Monroe could not tell how badly she wanted Caleb’s help and how important their aid would be to her success.
She took a deep breath of air, pleasantly laced with wood smoke, and continued, the coffee forgotten in her hand. “Yesterday, I purchased four oxen and a covered wagon complete with an extra axle.” Callie reached into her pocket and pulled out a pa
per she had hastily stuffed there.
“And, I purchased this.” She handed the paper to Mr. Monroe. “I also purchased a similar contract for myself. All that remains for me is lying in supplies and I’ve started on that.” She paused, biting her bottom lip, as Mr. Monroe opened and slowly read the paper.
He handed it to his wife, then turned back to Callie. “You had no right.”
“No, I didn’t. But I thought you would accept the contract as payment for your services, as necessary, on the trail. I, uh, I do have one additional request.” Callie swallowed.
“Only one?” Mr. Monroe’s mouth curled.
“I don’t want to cook for myself. What I mean is it would be foolish to have to go through the work of cooking meals for one person. I don’t eat much, and I thought if I bought some of your supplies, Mrs. Monroe would put in a little extra for me. That way I’d get a good meal plus I’ll have more room for the supplies I need.” She closed her mouth. She’d done all she could. If Mr. Monroe weren’t willing after hearing her out, then she’d accept this loss and move on.
Silence grew and Callie waited never taking her eyes off the man’s face.
He ambled to the edge of the clearing and stood sentry stiff, staring out to the distant mountains.
Callie glanced at Phyllis and saw the glint of tears in her eyes as she watched her husband’s struggle. Callie swallowed hard. What had she done? Had she put too much pressure on this proud man?
After long moments filled with silence, he returned to the watching group. His steps were heavy, as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. He stopped in front of Phyllis and shared a gentle look of understanding.
Finally he spoke. “Miss Collins, I don’t take handouts. I regret that you are aware of our financial plight, but—” He paused. “—my wife says it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good.” Saying that, he reached over and put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Phyllis and I would be willing to be of assistance to you on the Oregon Trail. And Caleb will continue to work for you. Now as to feeding you, that’s up to my wife.”
“Callie,” Phyllis said, “I can’t imagine you eating much, but I’d consider it fair trade to cook for you. You won’t have to buy much extra, I expect.” The woman’s eyes twinkled and relief filled her face.
Callie couldn’t believe her ears. She’d done it. She’d crossed the last barrier to her journey.
“Mrs. Monroe, would you consider accompanying me to the general store to place our orders for supplies?” Callie asked, fighting to hold back tears of happiness. “And, Caleb, here’s what I owe you for yesterday. As soon as I get the supplies ordered, you and I will get the oxen and the wagon. I believe we ought to join up with the train today as it’s my understanding the captain wants to move out in the next few days.”
“Caleb and I will get the oxen and the wagon, Mr. Monroe said. “We’ll meet you and Phyllis back here and then take both wagons to the train. Together,” he added with a smile.
“Thank you,” Callie said. “Thank you.” She couldn’t stop grinning. Happiness bubbled inside of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Caleb draw his mother to the side and press his earnings into her hand.
Mr. Monroe was right. And as far as she was concerned, that ill wind could just keep on blowing until it blew them to Oregon City, or thereabouts.
Chapter 9
Callie filled with pride, and goose bumps appeared on her arms when she saw her very own wagon and oxen standing under a tree, next to the Monroe’s wagon. She was seated on a wide buckboard seat beside the driver from the general store. Grinning from ear-to-ear, she glanced back at Mrs. Monroe, sitting in yet another buckboard, both filled with supplies.
Callie jumped down and, with a sense of proprietorship, directed the driver to where he could unload the provisions. She untied the drawstrings at the back of the wagon and threw the folds back. The smell of warm canvass and waterproofing filled her nostrils, and she stood still in the middle of the covered wagon and inhaled the unique perfume. Caleb was right. She could almost stand upright.
Sunlight pressed against the covered sides turning them to a yellow glow. It was warm inside, and she quickly untied the front drawstring letting the slight breeze do a slow waltz from one end and out the other. If she wanted to, she could roll up the sides for even more air.
For the next hour, she directed the men where to place the supplies. There was a small platform on the backside of the wagon big enough to hold the water barrel. It had been set there and strapped into place. Under the wagon, between the two back wheels sat a bucket of grease.
Callie knew this was for greasing the wheels so they’d turn smoothly. The hooks hanging from the inside wooden hoops were just what were needed for hanging dresses, boots, bonnet, coat, guns, pans, and whatever else there was room for. She’d decided against bringing a churn, and had instead bought another, smaller oak bucket. Callie had heard it said that cream could be put in the bucket and hung from the wagon. Then, during the day, the jarring of the wagon would “churn” the cream into butter. It sounded a bit farfetched, but it was worth a try. She didn’t have a milk cow, but the Monroes did.
She was so busy inventorying and placing the supplies, she almost forgot to leave space for the pallet for her bed. She made a room for herself, its walls kegs and barrels of flour, sugar, and all the other supplies. She knelt on the quilts. Small but cozy. She would have her trunk brought over from the hotel and tonight would sleep in this, her new home. As soon as the supplies were loaded and the Monroes were ready, both wagons would head for the encampment.
There was the one hurdle to overcome: presenting the captain with her contract. But there should be no objection. After all, it was bought and paid for.
By late afternoon, they made it to the fringe of the encampment. The Monroe family had taken the lead. The oxen had pulled together slowly and steadily. Callie enjoyed walking beside them and Caleb, taking his role very seriously, occasionally tapped the outside ox with a long, leather-tipped whip.
The camp was alive with noise. Wagons were parked in a semblance of order. Children ran in and around the wagons, chasing each other; the boys whooping and the girls, their bonnets flying and skirts hiked, followed close behind. Mothers called, babies cried, and men-folk stood in groups, talking and gesturing. The air was pungent with the earthy smells of manure, wood smoke, and cooking.
Callie’s day had started early and had been filled with one problem after another. She felt as if she’d spent the day smiling, talking, convincing, and listening. Like rain-starved land, she’d soaked up all the advice from anyone who thought they had something to contribute. A few had been over the trail, at least to one of the several forts, and others had letters from loved ones telling of the journey. Callie listened and if she thought the advice worthy, she acted on it. She stored up the best advice smiled, and put the rest out of her mind. She’d bought the clothes advised, and in one case, followed her own good sense. At the end, she had kept the weight of her wagon to the sixteen hundred pounds, taking no furniture and hoping that, when she reached her destination, she would be able to furnish her business and sleeping area without paying too dear a price. That was a problem for another day. Her Aunt Bertha had always warned against borrowing trouble, and that was advice Callie would try to heed.
She left Caleb with the wagon and, together with Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, went to find the captain. He would assign them their place in the train and let them know when he planned to pull out.
Mr. Monroe asked directions and was pointed to a group of men standing under a large shade tree. He’d been told they’d find the captain there. As they neared the group, a forceful voice stood out. The man was standing center front, his back to them. It was obvious from his authoritative stance, and the quiet respect the others gave him, that this was the captain of the train.
The man was tall, slim, wide-shouldered, and narrow-hipped. There wasn’t an ounce of fat on him. His clothes weren’t new, but were clean. His felt hat was pushed back and Callie could see dark hair long enough to curl down his neck. He tapped his leg in unconscious rhythm.
The remains of the afternoon sun filtered through the widespread leaves of the old tree, casting their shadows on the packed ground. Everything stood out sharp and clear. Her eyes went back to the man. Even without seeing his face, she sensed his commanding presence.
Eyes turned toward the newcomers as they approached. A few nodded in greeting. Feeling out of place, Callie took a deep breath and forced a smile. She squared her shoulders. It wouldn’t do to let them sense her disquiet.
The man turned, and a sensation of shock ran through Callie.
“You.” The word was forced between clenched teeth. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud.
Blue eyes pierced her. A scowl marred his handsome face. His fingers ceased their tapping and curled into a fist. And at the same time, he uttered one loud, scathing word. “You.”
Mr. Monroe turned to Callie. “You know this man?”
“You might say we’ve bumped into each other.” Callie felt herself flush with remembered embarrassment from being picked up, scolded, then set aside in front of the general store. The arrogant, egotistical man who had knocked her over, pounded the life out of her, yelled at her to breathe, then had had the audacity to tell her to stay at home in her kitchen. A menace. He had called her a menace.
Unconquerable Callie Page 5
