Baby on the Oregon Trail

by Lynna Banning

  “Mister?” Ruthie gazed up at Lee with a question in her sky-colored gaze. “How come nobody likes you?”

  Son of a gun. Even a child sensed the resentment against him. It wasn’t just the Borland family; everyone in the entire emigrant train had avoided him since the day he joined them at Fort Kearney. The thick hatred in the air because of his Confederate service followed him everywhere, and now, after killing Mathias Borland for stealing his horse, the heavy fog of dislike felt suffocating.

  He knelt down to Ruthie’s level. “There’s lots of reasons they don’t like me, I guess. For one, I’m a Southerner. A Confederate.”

  “What’s a ’Federate? Is it bad?”

  Lee exhaled and thought how best to answer her. “A Confederate is someone who thought it was worth a fight to keep their way of life. I’m from Virginia, and that’s a Confederate state. Or it was, anyway.”

  “Did you fight?”

  “Yes, I did.” He’d fought alongside Bobby Lee, not because he thought slavery was right, but because he loved the South and his heritage. General Lee had felt the same.

  “Did you win?”

  “Nobody wins in a war, Ruthie. It’s a bloody, senseless way to solve a disagreement. The North won. That’s your side. But soldiers I commanded probably killed some of their kin, and that’s why nobody on this train likes me much.”

  “Did you ask ’em to kill those people?”

  Lee shut his eyes briefly. “Yes, I did. That’s what soldiers do, and I was a soldier. Was your daddy a soldier?”

  “Nope. Papa didn’t like fighting. He was a...” Her voice faltered. “A...”

  “A Quaker, maybe?”

  “Nope. Tess says he didn’t want to go off to war an’ leave us.”

  Lee sensed there was more to it than that. There was something odd about this family, and he sensed it was more than just the loss of their father. The girls resented Jenna, that much was clear. Maybe because she was going to bear a child? Or maybe because Jenna had replaced the girls’ real mother.

  What little he’d seen of Mathias Borland made him wonder why Jenna had married the man. What was she, twenty-three? Twenty-four? She was too pretty not to have had other offers, plenty of them. Why would she choose a blustering loudmouth like Borland? Unless she was pregnant and he had been her only option.

  Ruthie held up a dark bottle of something. “Would you put this on my face? It’s stuff Jenna made to help my sunburn.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather wait for Jenna? Or maybe get one of your sisters to do it?”

  “Nope. Mary Grace pinches, and Tess pulls my hair.”

  Lee accepted the bottle and peered at the hand-lettered label. Aloe ointment. He uncorked it, took a sniff and wrinkled his nose. “Smells like turpentine.” He tipped it over and let the thick liquid ooze out onto his forefinger.

  “What’s turp’tine?”

  “Smelly stuff. Turpentine is what they use to clean things that are oily.”

  Ruthie tipped her face back and closed her eyes. “I’m ready for the bad smell, mister. Do it now.”

  He had to laugh. His sister, Serena, had gotten sunburned once. Hattie had doctored her with baking soda, and that night she had sneaked into his room and asked him to wash it off because it smelled funny.

  He tilted Ruthie’s chin up with one finger and smeared a thin film of the ointment over her nose and cheeks.

  “What’s your real name, mister?”

  “My name is Robert E. Lee Carver. Why don’t you call me Lee? It’s shorter than ‘mister.’”

  Being named after General Lee was probably one more reason why people on the train disliked him. Long before he became a general, Bobby Lee had been a close friend of his father’s.

  He recorked the medicine bottle and stood up. “Show me where Jenna keeps this and I’ll put it away.”

  “In the med’cine box. Inside the wagon.”

  Lee frowned. “Then you’d better do it. Your sisters don’t like me being anywhere near your wagon.”

  “What’s your horse’s name? Is it a boy horse or a girl horse?”

  “His name is Devil. He’s a boy horse. They’re called stallions.”

  “He’s real pretty.”

  He watched the girl clamber up into the wagon and disappear through the bonnet, then started off to check on Sue and Sunflower grazing in the roped-off infield.

  The instant he was out of sight, Ruthie emerged, climbed down onto the ground and headed straight for the big black horse tied up at the corner of the wagon.

  * * *

  “Why, Jenna,” Emma Lincoln exclaimed. “How are you doing?” She gestured at the fire pit behind her, where a blue speckleware coffeepot steamed. “Do sit and have some coffee with us.”

  “No, thank you, Emma. That is kind of you, but I have come to speak with Sam.”

  The large, graying man rose from his seat by the campfire and came toward her. “How’s your driver working out?”

  “I—Well, that’s just it, Sam. I came to ask you—”

  “I bet I can guess. The girls don’t like him.”

  “Well, no, they don’t. Except for Ruthie, and she loves everyone. But—”

  “And you don’t like him.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Is he rude? Or mean to the girls or you?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Talk too much? Spit tobacco juice? Smoke too many cigarettes? Drink spirits?”

  “N-no. It’s that he—”

  “Shot your husband.”

  Jenna nodded. “It is difficult to be around him. The girls hate him, and I...well, I don’t hate him, exactly. But, well, he did kill Mathias.”

  Sam Lincoln pressed her down onto his vacated seat and squatted in front of her. “You’re right, he did kill Mathias. Mathias was stealing his horse. Now, let me say something on Carver’s behalf.”

  Jenna twisted her head away. She didn’t want to hear anything Sam had to say; she just wanted Lee Carver off her wagon and as far away from her as he could get.

  “Carver’s a good man. Stepped right up and asked to make it right with you and yours by driving your wagon on to Oregon. He didn’t have to do that. Nobody holds Carver to account for shooting Mathias. It’s the risk any horse thief takes.”

  “But I can’t abide...”

  “You don’t have to like him, Jenna. Fact is, nobody on this train likes him much. He’s a Virginian and a Johnny Reb, a Confederate major.”

  Jenna stared into the fire. “He’s the only Confederate soldier on the train. And that horse of his! Did you know he hand-feeds the animal? With oats that I could use to make mush.”

  “That horse is pure Arabian, worth about a thousand dollars. Carver plans to breed horses for the army. The Union army,” he added. “Ever since the surrender, Carver’s been with our army, fighting the Sioux.”

  “Oh.”

  Sam laid a gentle hand on her hunched shoulder. “Anything else botherin’ you?”

  “Sam, is there no one else who would volunteer to drive our wagon?”

  Sam shook his head. “I trust Lee Carver. Might be a Reb, but like I say, he’s a good man. There’s some on this train that aren’t so good. Some I wouldn’t trust around you and three young girls. You take my meaning?”

  Jenna nodded. Once again she felt helpless, caught at the mercy of a man she didn’t know but had to accept.

  “You have any trouble, Jenna, you come to me, agreed?”

  She bit her lip. Emma stood near the fire, pouring coffee into a ceramic mug. The older woman looked inquiringly at her. It did smell rich and enticing, but Jenna shook her head. She had duties back at her own camp.

  Jenna knew that Lee Carver had been a Confederate soldier, as Emma had said. Well, she didn
’t admire him for that. The South favored slavery, and her father had died opposing it. Besides, she just plain didn’t like the man.

  She should have asked Sam how far they were from Oregon, how long she would have to put up with Lee Carver. Months, probably. Oh, Mathias, I wish...

  No, she acknowledged, she did not wish him back. Not even with the baby coming. The man she had married in such desperate haste back in Roseville had turned out to be no bargain. But now she was stuck traveling in that tiny, cramped wagon with all their earthly goods crammed in among sacks of flour and sides of bacon with the man who...

  She folded her hands over the slight swell of her belly and stared at the thick grass under her feet. It was difficult before; it would be intolerable with Mr. Carver. Perhaps...

  She raised her head and rounded the corner of the wagon just in time to see Ruthie bounce up beside that huge black stallion and reach out to pat its side. Then she stepped backward, toward the animal’s hind legs.

  With a gasp Jenna started forward, and in that same instant she heard a shout.

  “Ruthie!” Out of nowhere Lee Carver appeared, running hard. He snatched the girl up into his arms and barreled straight into Jenna, who was racing from the opposite direction.

  Chapter Four

  Lee managed to keep his body underneath Ruthie as he fell, but he knocked Jenna sideways and felt his elbow connect with her cheek. He lay still, catching his breath, while Ruthie clung to his chest, her small head just under his chin.

  “Ruthie?” he rasped. “Ruthie, are you all right?”

  Her head moved in a nod, and her small voice answered. “I wanted to pet the horse.”

  Jenna picked herself up off the ground and flew at him, batting his hands away from Ruthie. “You fool!” she screamed. “She might have been killed!”

  A red mark bloomed on her cheek where his elbow had clipped her. He sat up slowly, feeling a muscle pull in his shoulder. “It’s my fault,” he shouted. “I’m sorry. I’m thankful Devil didn’t kick her.”

  “That horse is dangerous! I don’t want it anywhere near our wagon.”

  Lee got to his knees before realizing he must have hit his head on the wagon wheel when he went down. He was so dizzy he felt like vomiting. He rocked back onto his heels and put his head between his knees while Jenna paced around him like a stalking cougar.

  “Get rid of that animal,” she ordered. “Now. Tonight.”

  He shook his head to clear it and she gave a little screech. “Did you hear me? I said—”

  “I heard you. Stop yelling for a minute and listen.”

  “Listen! What can you possibly say that will...” Her voice was unsteady. Oh, hell, she was going to cry. He tensed, waiting for the tears.

  But she surprised him. She spent the next five minutes calling him names and maligning his horse, and he let her get it all out of her system. But no tears. She was tougher than she looked.

  When she began to run down, he got to his feet and stuck his face in front of hers. “You finished?”

  She stared at him in mutinous silence. She had eyes that were an odd shade of green, like moss. And her mouth, when she shut it, looked soft and as rosy as ripe raspberries. He hadn’t been this close to a pretty woman in over a year, and funny things were happening in his belly.

  “That horse,” he said quietly, “stays where I can see him, and that means he goes where I go. He stays tied up to the wagon until we get to Oregon.”

  “I won’t allow it.”

  “If you want me to drive your wagon, you don’t have a choice. I’ll talk to your daughters about staying safe around him.”

  She glared at him. Ruthie sidled toward him, and then he became aware of two wide-eyed faces peeking out from the back of the wagon.

  “Come on down, you two,” he ordered. “I need to talk to you.” While they climbed down, he knelt before Ruthie.

  “Honey, listen. A horse doesn’t understand little girls. When you get close to his hind legs, he thinks you’re going to hurt him and he’ll kick you.”

  Ruthie nodded, but she wouldn’t look at him. Tess and Mary Grace moved to stand on either side of their sister. He noted that they gave Jenna a wide berth.

  “Now,” he continued with a glance to include the older girls, “if you want to pet a horse, you first look him in the eye and talk to him. Keep your voice low and don’t make any sudden moves. Then you can lay your hand on his neck. But you don’t do any of this unless I’m around.”

  “What do you say to him?” Ruthie whispered.

  Tess gave an unladylike snort. “You say ‘how do you do,’ I suppose. The whole idea is preposterous.”

  “No, it’s not ’posterous,” Ruthie protested. “I want to know.”

  Tess sniffed. “That just shows how stupid you are.”

  “She’s not stupid,” Mary Grace interjected. “She’s...well, she’s not stupid.”

  “Huh! That’s all you know.”

  “Girls!” Jenna snapped out the word in a tone Lee had never heard her use. “Hush up and listen to Mr. Carver. Since he insists on keeping that animal, you should know how to act around it.” Then she shot him a look that would ignite kindling.

  Lee stood up. “That includes you, Mrs. Borland. Don’t startle the horse by shouting or screaming when you’re near him.”

  She propped both hands on her hips. “I plan never to be near him, Mr. Carver. I dislike horses. And I dislike—” She snapped her jaw shut. “But since I seem to be stuck with your services, I will do as you say.”

  Her voice was pure frost. He’d guess Sam Lincoln had refused to replace him, and for the first time since he joined the emigrant train he felt a small amount of acceptance. By Sam maybe, but not by Mary Grace or Tess.

  And not by Jenna. Jenna was the only one he really cared about, besides Ruthie. Strange, that the little girl accepted him with an almost adult understanding; she didn’t care that he was a Virginian or a Confederate soldier.

  “Mrs. Borland, would you have any coffee?”

  She twitched her skirt. “Of course. I don’t drink it at night as it keeps me awake.”

  “Mind if I brew some up?” He ran two fingers over a lump swelling above one temple. “I have the beginnings of a headache.”

  She whirled away to the wagon, rummaged around for a moment, then emerged with a small canvas bag of coffee beans and a small wooden coffee mill. “Tess, poke up the fire and fetch the coffeepot, please. I’ll go for water.” She snatched up one of the buckets and marched off toward the creek.

  While she was gone, Lee ground a handful of coffee beans, and Tess unceremoniously clunked the coffeepot onto the fire. He saw Jenna stagger across the field with the heavy bucket and went to lift it out of her hand. Her grudging “thank you” came out cold as an ice chip.

  Lee drew in a long breath. Looked like he was in an enemy camp with just one ally, a little girl less than three feet tall. Well, hell, he’d lived through Gettysburg and Appomattox, and he’d lived through the grinding emptiness of his life after Laurie died; he guessed he’d live through this.

  Suddenly everyone disappeared into the wagon, even Ruthie. He brewed up his own coffee and sat alone by the fire gulping it down as hot as he could stand it. Anything to remind him that he was alive, even if he wasn’t liked or wanted.

  The soft murmur of a woman’s voice drifted from the wagon. From the measured cadence of the sounds, he guessed Jenna was reading aloud. Poetry, maybe. That must be why Tess knew a word like preposterous. Jenna was obviously well-lettered, and apparently she was educating the girls.

  After a time her voice stopped, and she climbed out of the wagon and moved into the firelight. She ignored the coffeepot and perched on a wooden crate across the fire pit from him.

  “I heard you reading to the girls,” he said
. “Poetry?”

  “Yes. Idylls of the King.”

  “I admire your sharing your knowledge, even though they resent you.”

  “I don’t want them to grow up ignorant, Mr. Carver. They will also know how to cook and sew and keep house. An ignorant girl in a wild new country like Oregon is asking for trouble.”

  “Forgive me, Mrs. Borland, but an ignorant girl anywhere is asking for trouble.” He watched her back stiffen and waited a good ten heartbeats before he opened his mouth again.

  “On another subject,” he began, “is it all right with you if I spread out my bedroll under your wagon?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “I sleep with my rifle next to me. Thought you’d like to know you’ll be protected at night.”

  “Yes, I appreciate that.”

  “You sleep inside the wagon?”

  She waited so long to answer he thought maybe she hadn’t heard; then he realized where she’d been sleeping up until last night.

  “There is not enough room inside for me,” she said at last. “I have been sleeping under the wagon.”

  That stopped his breath. He’d bet a month’s pay she didn’t know what to do now. He could make it easy for her, volunteer to sleep outside, next to his horse. But something inside rebelled at that. Maybe it wasn’t the gentlemanly thing to do, but he wanted to sleep near her. Couldn’t say exactly why except that she was damn pretty and she had a nice voice. When she wasn’t yelling at him, that was.

  Anyway, she was so mad at him she probably wouldn’t speak three words to him.

  “Suits me,” he said quietly. He noticed she wouldn’t look at him.

  * * *

  The situation was awkward. Embarrassing. Never in a month of Sundays would Jenna have imagined lying next to a man who was not her husband. Her mother would have apoplexy if she knew.

  She decided to sleep in her dress and petticoat, even though with Mathias she had stripped to her chemise and drawers. She arranged her pallet opposite to what she thought his would be, putting her head where she supposed his feet would be.