“How is he a threat?” Abigail Catledge asked. “We have outvoted him at every turn. He must follow us or go it alone.”
“Yes,” Kerrie said, “and he becomes angrier each time he is thwarted. I fear someday he will forget himself and strike someone other than his own family. I don’t trust him, and I don’t like him.”
“But what of Ellen?” Abigail asked. “What of the children?”
Again there was a long silence. I was so riveted by the conversation that I didn’t notice the firewood beginning to escape my grip. When the branches fell, they dropped to the ground with a clatter. I closed my eyes, wishing I were invisible.
“Ellen?” I heard Abigail’s kindly voice ask. “Is that you?”
No, I devotedly wished I could say. It is not me. But in speaking, I would, of course, reveal myself.
It was too late. I felt someone take my arm, and I was led into the firelight. I opened my eyes. Becky was at my side. Everyone was looking at me, even the children, and I was so mortified that I could not speak.
“You heard us?” Bart asked.
“Of course she heard us,” Abigail retorted. “We should never have been speaking thus in the first place. If you can’t say something to someone’s face, you shouldn’t say it at all.”
“I’d say it’s decided,” Gus said. “We stay with Mrs. Meredith, with Jed and Edwin, and with the girls. There will be no more such talk.”
No one contradicted him. A few hundred feet away, I saw the familiar outline of our wagon, so like a hundred other wagons and yet different—damaged where a branch had fallen on it and bent one of the staves, and on the back, the outline of the extra barrel with its distinctive lid. There were small, quick shadows in the firelight: the girls playing some game; the slower, larger shadows of the boys; and biggest of all, unmoving in the firelight, as if he was listening, the outline of my husband.
“The main group is leaving tomorrow,” Gus said. “But the forward movement will not reach us until the next day. What do you say we go on one last hunting trip, Parsons? Lord knows, after seeing that grizzly, I’m never going into the woods alone again.”
“I’ll join you,” Bart said. “Gladly.”
As they began to discuss their plans, I stood up, hoping to slip away without anyone noticing. I saw sad smiles on Abigail and Karrie’s faces, but it was the servant girl, Mary Perkins, who came over to me and kissed me softly on the cheek.
I was astonished at her familiarity, and yet it was strangely comforting. When was the last time I felt a kindly kiss? I wondered.
She accompanied me without a word to my campsite, but left me before entering the circle of light. Jonathan glanced up at me curiously, but didn’t say anything.
July 17, 1845
The men have gone hunting. Jonathan saw their preparations and joined them. The other women are solicitous toward me, and no one has brought up the events of last night. I’d almost rather they didn’t treat me with such kindness, for it makes me feel as if I am an invalid. Becky stayed near our wagon all day, talking to the boys, playing with the girls, and every once in a while casting a worried glance my way.
July 18, 1845
Last night, the men returned with a couple of braces of rabbits. We fixed a stew. We will be leaving at first light, the last of the wagons once again. As the men passed the whiskey jug around, they got louder, especially Jonathan, who brought up the detour to Fort Bridger again.
“We can replenish our supplies there,” he insisted. “You don’t have to make a decision on California until we are there.”
“No, Jonathan,” Gus said. “We are close to our goal. I will not waver now.”
“Nor I,” Bart said.
Jonathan looked ready to push the issue, and I saw the other wives exchanging glances.
“Enough, Jonathan,” I said. I barely believed it was my own voice, for was firm and steady.
He looked around as if he couldn’t figure out where the voice had come from. Then his eyes flashed, and I knew that he was filling with rage. He rose, seeming to expand like the grizzly bear, raising his fists.
“Don’t you touch her!” Becky Catledge was suddenly standing between my husband and me. She was in a defiant stance, hands on her hips and her chin jutted out as if daring him to strike her, a slight fourteen-year-old girl half my husband’s size.
“Becky Martha Catledge, you get over here right now,” her mother said sternly.
“No, Mama, I will not,” Becky retorted. “Why won’t any of you do anything? Why do you let him get away with this?”
“Becky,” I said. Everyone fell silent at the sound of my soft voice. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself. Please…go to your mother.”
Becky stared at me, then glared at my husband, who was standing there with his mouth open, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. Becky gave him a last warning glance and then went and sat by her mother.
I stared into the fire as if nothing unusual had happened. I heard rather than saw my husband leave.
That night, I lay under my blankets, waiting for Jonathan to return. I was at peace. Whatever happened, I would accept. He might beat me, but I would never be silent about his bullying again.
He came to the wagon late and crawled in beside me, stinking of whiskey. He turned his back to me and went to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
Portland, Oregon Territory, August 1851
Dearest Frank,
I received your letter at the hotel, which was a wonderful surprise. The mail routes seem to be getting more reliable all the time! I have found that everywhere I go on the Pacific Coast, communication and transportation are becoming faster. Soon we will be as cultured as the East Coast, and certainly more settled than the Midwest. Strange to travel so far over such wild territory and find civilization once again on the farthest side.
I was greatly surprised at your news that Feather visited the ranch. The last time I saw her, she was very reticent about where she was living and what she was up to. But she seemed happy, so I did not question her closely. You hint that she has news? Do you not trust the mail? I will be home soon, I hope; however, I believe I may have to travel into Eastern Oregon—back into the wilds. I will continue to write to you, but if you do not hear from me for a few weeks, it is because I could find no place from which to mail my messages.
Your loving wife,
Virginia
As the carriage pulled up in front of the Hoskins mansion, the door opened from the inside. Terrance Drake was sitting there, waiting. He handed Virginia an envelope as soon as she got in.
“Mr. Drake, I’m sure we don’t require your company,” Virginia said. “We can find our way back to the hotel.”
“Read the note, miss,” he said tersely.
The stationery was thick and pink, and it felt so luxurious to the touch that Virginia wanted to run her fingers across it. It gave off a faint smell of perfume, the same scent she’d smelled on Mary.
Dear Virginia,
I’m writing this with Mr. Hoskins in the next room, so I must be quick. I have told Mr. Drake most of what I know, which he is to communicate to you upon your bidding. I believe Mr. Drake to be loyal to me, and his men loyal to him, so I think we are safe. However, in the end, it is my husband who pays Mr. Drake, so I can’t be completely certain. Everything depends on it, however. There is no choice. Mr. Hoskins will not soon let me out of his sight again. These circumstances have nothing to do with the matter at hand, I assure you. It is something that is happening between my husband and me.
As I started to tell you, dear Becky Catledge has apparently vanished, and I fear for her safety. In the ensuing years since I sent my letter, Jonathan Meredith has become a rich and powerful man. He will tell you that he has become prosperous through hard work, but I, of course, have my suspicions.
I wish I had more proof to give you, Virginia, but I have only the bare facts: the disappearance of the two Parsons children, followed by the de
aths of the two Meredith daughters, as well as Ellen. All of them can be explained by natural circumstances, but the addition of gold to the matter has made old doubts resurface. I do hope you can get to the bottom of this. The children deserve justice, and I hope—I know—that if anyone can give it to them, it is you, Virginia.
I hear my husband approach. In case I don’t see you again, I will say farewell. I have always been grateful that I met you, Virginia.
Respectfully,
Mary
Virginia looked up at Terrance Drake, who was watching her. She handed the letter to Angus, who immediately started reading it.
“It appears that I am to trust you, Mr. Drake,” Virginia said.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
“Can I trust you, Mr. Drake? Or will you tell Mr. Hoskins what has happened here today?”
“I will, of course, tell my employer anything he wishes to know…should he ask,” Drake said.
“Then perhaps we had best be going,” Angus said, handing Virginia back the letter, “and he can ask after we’re finished with our business.”
“I think that might be for the best,” Drake said. He slapped the top of the cab, and the carriage started moving.
“Very well, Mr. Drake,” Virginia said once they were underway. “Please tell me what Mary wished me to know.”
Drake looked over at Angus and then back at Virginia. “I am supposed to tell you and no one else,” he said.
“Mr. Porter is as trusted by me as you are trusted by Mrs. Hoskins.”
He gave her a thin smile. “I hope Angus is as grateful as I am for that trust,” he said.
Virginia didn’t say anything, but she couldn’t help but wonder what the true relationship was between this man and Mary. He was a big, handsome fellow, certainly, and he had a certain brusque sympathy that Mary probably craved. Mr. Hoskins was outwardly friendly, but there was coldness beneath his exterior that he couldn’t hide, and Virginia had glimpsed his true nature.
“Get on with it, man,” Angus growled.
“Very well,” Drake said, his smile dropping away. “I was tasked by Mary…by Mrs. Hoskins to find the Catledges. She was worried about them. It took me a long time, for they have changed their names. But finally, my man Sims found them in Vale, a small town in the High Desert. Mr. Augustus Catledge, who now goes by the name of Augustus Smith, owns a small feed shop there.
“By the time we found them, unfortunately, Becky was gone. It was Becky whom Mrs. Hoskins was worried about. Becky has apparently been a rather unmanageable girl since arriving in Oregon. By all accounts, she has an uncontrollable temper, sees danger everywhere, and has been making what seemed to others to be wild accusations.
“But I suspect her suspicions are justified,” Drake concluded. “If you have read Ellen Meredith’s journals, you know of what I speak.” He waited for Virginia to respond.
“You’ve read the journals?” Virginia asked.
He nodded. “It was I who arranged for Madame Morrissey to hold them, and for Rosie to keep a watch.”
“I have not yet read them all,” Virginia said. “But I think I have an inkling of what they contain. Please go on, Mr. Drake.”
“It appears that when Sims found him, Mr. Catledge was ready to leave his business in the care of his wife and go in search of his daughter. When I informed Mrs. Hoskins of this, she requested that I join Catledge in his efforts.
“I have sent a message to Catledge to wait for me. I was almost ready to depart when I received word that you had visited Madame Morrissey’s establishment. Mrs. Hoskins has requested that I ask if you’d like to accompany me. I have concurred, for I have heard of you, Miss Reed. I have heard stories that were hard to believe until I met you. You seem to know your way around the wilderness. So, on behalf of Mrs. Hoskins, would you like to join me in my quest?”
“Quest?” Angus said. “What quest? For the girl?”
“Yes, Mr. Porter, for the girl…and more,” Drake said. For the first time since Virginia had met him, Drake looked excited. It occurred to her that if they found the Lost Blue Bucket Mine, his fortune would be made, and he would finally have a chance to be Mary’s social equal.
Virginia turned to Angus, who looked confused. “How fast can you read, Angus?” she asked.
“I have no way of comparing, Miss Reed,” he said. “But I believe that I read at a sufficient speed for what needs knowing.”
“Good,” Virginia said. “You and I will both read Ellen Meredith’s journals as quickly as possible. By the time we reach Vale, I think we shall both have our answers. But I have already read enough to know that if we find the route of that lost wagon train, we will find gold as well.”
“Gold?” he said.
“Yes, Angus,” Virginia said. “Gold. If the stories are true, enough gold for you to return to England and buy a peerage. But that is not the real reason I am embarking on this journey. If we are successful, we will find the truth about the fate of the lost children, and God willing, give their spirits peace.”
Chapter Fourteen
Diary of Ellen Meredith
The Oregon Trail, August 1, 1845
Since we began this journey, the children of all three families in our little group have played together under the watch of the stowaway girl, Mary Perkins—all except for Jed, who made it clear that he thinks he is too old and mature for that, and who spends most of his time in the company of his stepfather.
Indeed, it might be said that it was the children’s friendship that brought our small band together. We all saw the benefit of shared responsibility for them.
But though I did not see it at first, there is a divide among the children. Edwin and Becky are often together, while the rest of the children follow young Cager, who is the most adventurous of them. Mary has had her hands full trying to keep up with them, much less control them. None of us are overly worried, however. We know they won’t stray far, and that all of them need to learn to handle themselves in the wild.
Although Mary is a mere wisp of a girl, and not much older than the others, she takes her babysitting duties very seriously. I think perhaps she never had a childhood of her own, and that she has been taking care of herself for most of her life. But as diligent as she is, she is slowed by the youngest of her charges. Nan and Mattie are too slow for the older children, especially Cager, who ranges far and wide, with his sister Allie always by his side and the younger children keeping up as much as their short little legs will allow.
As the months have passed, Becky has begun to spend more time with the women, helping with the cooking and mending. She is fourteen years old, and it is high time for her to act like an adult.
Edwin, meanwhile, has also grown tired of the children’s games. He sits in the back of our wagon, reading one of his books, for hours at a time.
Perhaps I should have seen the trouble that would develop between my two sons, but I was blind to it for far too long. Edwin has always worshiped Jed, doing whatever his older brother does. I never expected that to change. But when Jed distanced himself, Edwin gravitated to Becky’s equally strong personality.
This morning, Jonathan rode ahead to confer with some of the leaders of the wagon train. We are but a few days from the Blue Mountains, and once over this last pass, we will be in sight of the mighty Columbia River. I was driving the wagon, which I have learned to do over the last few months.
The day was warm, and I was nearly dozing. In truth, the horses would have followed the beaten path with or without my direction.
Shouting roused me, and I slowed the horses. Mary ran up, her eyes wide. One look at her expression and I knew there was trouble.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I can’t find Mattie or Nan,” Mary said. “Or Cager and Allie.”
“What do you mean, you can’t find them?”
“I don’t know where they went!” Mary wailed. “I tripped and scraped my knee, and I was tending to it. When I looked up, the children were go
ne.”
I sprang down off the wagon and ran to the back. It didn’t make any sense to me. The landscape was flat and wide in every direction. Where could they have gone?
There…just on the horizon, there was a small mound of rocks. It was the only place they could be.
I threw open the wagon’s canvas flap. Edwin look down at me, blinking, his book still open in his lap. “What’s wrong, Mama? Why did we stop?”
“Go find Jed!” I shouted. “Mattie and Nan are missing!”
Edwin leaped out of the wagon and went running toward the Catledge wagon, which was a few hundred feet ahead of us.
I felt dread and a sudden surge of guilt, for I have been paying little attention to my youngest children. Dear Mattie and Nan, who never cause me worry, who are always just there; old enough not to be babied, but young enough to follow orders, except when Cager and Allie lead them in astray. But even then, it is mostly just innocent shenanigans. Until that moment, I’d been more worried about Edwin and Jed.
Edwin reached the Catledge wagon, shouting. Gus stopped and jumped to the ground. “What’s wrong?” he demanded.
As Edwin began to explain, the back flap of the Catledge wagon opened and Jed and Becky emerged. They were both red-faced, and they wouldn’t look at Edwin or at each other. Edwin stood there blankly. He couldn’t seem to summon any words.
“Out with it, Edwin!” Jed shouted.
“Nan and Mattie have gone missing,” Edwin finally sputtered.
The Catledge horse, Old Bitty, was tied to the back of the wagon. Jed jumped up on her, bareback. He reached down to Becky, and she leaped up behind him. They rode quickly back to our wagon.
“I think they are over there!” I shouted, motioning to the rock outcropping on the horizon. Just as I pointed to it, I saw a small figure climb on top of the rocks, waving its arms. Though it was only a blur, it looked like Mattie. It seemed to me that I could hear her screaming, though at that distance, it was probably only my imagination.
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