White Nights (2 page)

Eirica did likewise. Moving to the back of her wagon, she pulled off the tailgate and struggled to move her wooden box of cooking utensils.

“’Ere, lass, let me lift that down for ya.”

Eirica turned to Rook, the cook for the men hired to drive west the wagon master’s cattle. “Thanks, Rook,” she said, stepping back, hiding her smile when he continued to frown at Sofia’s retreating back. Why those two didn’t get along puzzled her. They both seemed so friendly and at ease with everyone else.

Rook muttered something beneath his breath then lifted her box down. “Point out what else ya needs.”

She pointed to a large sack and another box. He lifted those from the back of the wagon as well. Wiping his hands down the front of his buckskin breeches, he studied her, his bright blue eyes intent as he pulled at his bushy white beard. “You’s frettin’ again, lass. Ain’t good for you or that babe you’s carryin’.”

Rook’s fatherly concern touched her. As with Sofia, she felt as though she could talk to Rook and he’d understand. With sudden insight, she realized these two special people had taken the place of her parents. Rook was much more a father than her own had ever been. The feeling warmed her, allowed her to open up to him.

“I try not to think of tomorrow or of what it will bring, but I just can’t help it.” Despite the heat of the afternoon, she shivered.

Rook pulled her into his burly arms and hugged her awkwardly. His deep rumbling voice drifted over the top of her head. “Now, lass, ya has ta trust yerself. Ya come from good, hearty Scottish stock, like me, and we Scots is survivors.” He put her from him and gave her a stern look. “’Sides, we’s yer family now and not a one of us is gonna allow anythin’ to happen to ya or them young’uns of yers. So no more frettin’.”

Touched by his concern and the emotion he tried to hide beneath a gruff exterior, Eirica hugged him back. “You’re a wonderful man, Rook. I wish you’d been my father,” she said impulsively.

Rook turned beet-red. With shaking hands, he pulled three small wooden objects from his shirt pocket and awkwardly handed them to Eirica. “’Ere. For them young’uns.”

In her palm lay three carved puppies, each in a different position. Sleeping, sitting and standing, all had incredibly realistic features. She would add these to the other wooden carvings he’d made for the children. “Rook, these are lovely. The children will love them.” Her second hug embarrassed him even more. “You’re spoiling them, you know.”

Rook stepped back, blinking rapidly. He stuck his pipe between his lips, then shoved it back into his shirt pocket, his movements jerky. Finally, he stilled and met her teary gaze with determination and love. “Hell, lass. The lot of ya deserves ta be spoilt and I might as well be the one ta do it.”

Without another word, Rook walked away, his short, stocky legs carrying him to his wagons and the long trench fires that sent waves of heat rolling along the ground. A moment later, his loud voice boomed over the area when he shouted for two of the hired hands to “git out of the stores.”

Amused to see grown men scurrying away rather than face Rook’s displeasure, Eirica shook her head. No one dared to argue with or disobey Rook. The crusty old trapper ruled all within his domain with an iron fist. Yet beneath his rough demeanor lay a heart of gold and a sharp mind filled with the wisdom of his years. And as he’d so gently reminded her, she truly wasn’t alone. A second good had come of this trip. For the first time since marrying at the age of sixteen, she had friends—lots of them—something Birk had never allowed.

But then, Birk Macauley had never loved her. She’d been nothing more than a slave to see to his every whim and a convenient vessel to slake his needs. For six long years, she’d worked his farm, borne him children he neither loved nor wanted, and endured his jealous nature, childish tantrums and violent rages.

She shuddered, fighting nightmarish memories of protecting her young children by drawing her husband’s fury from them to herself. Placing one hand on her chest, in the hollow between her full breasts, she spread her fingers upward, feeling smooth, raised scars hidden from sight beneath her bodice.

Her other hand absently rubbed her healing ribs, some of which had been broken, others badly bruised during Birk’s last beating. She’d shielded her son’s small body from her husband’s rage with her own body. That had been a month ago—the day before Birk died.

She dropped her hands to her side. Scars. Pain. She wanted to shout with the joy of knowing he’d never take his fists to any of them again. If starting over was the price she had to pay for that freedom, she’d gladly do it. A gentle roll from within her womb brought a sigh to her lips. Her baby was safe, as were her other children. “No one will raise a hand to you in anger,” she vowed, easing the tight flesh with her fingers.

She thought again of Mr. Thurston and the others who were turning back, disheartened by the loss of loved ones, lame oxen or dangerously low supplies. If she joined them, she could just as easily start over back east, maybe find a job as a seamstress or schoolmarm. Eirica paced, walking in a tight circle, careful to keep her skirts out of the fire. Three young boys ran past, shouting with youthful abandon, but she paid them little heed.

Closing her eyes, she searched her soul for the right answer, feeling the pressure of knowing that only she could make this decision. It occurred to Eirica that most who turned back had one thing in common: they’d lost hope, lost their dreams. She straightened her spine. A few short months ago, there had been no hope for her. Now she had a future. There were choices, maybe even dreams.

For the first time in her life, she was in control of her destiny. She’d be a fool not to grasp her chance for a better life with both hands. With nothing waiting for them behind her, somehow, she must find the courage and strength to make it to Oregon. Nothing mattered now except giving her babies a brighter future.

As if sensing her mother’s troubled thoughts, three-year-old Lara crawled out from beneath the wagon and ran to her on matchstick legs, wearing only a simple, worn chemise and no shoes. Eirica picked her up and spun in a slow circle, hugging her daughter tightly. She smoothed the child’s wispy strawberry-blond curls from her face. “Mama loves you, Lara girl.”

With solemn eyes the same shade of blue as her mother’s, Lara wrapped her arms around her mother’s neck and whispered, “I wuv you, too, Mama.”

From the corner of her eye, Eirica noted the coals in the fire glowed white-hot. She lowered Lara to the ground, picked up a Dutch oven containing the bread dough she’d mixed that morning, and set it among the burning embers glowing in the fire pit. With two forks, she covered the lid with coals—for even baking—then stood back, pleased her “light” bread, made with saleratus instead of yeast, had risen nicely during the warm day. It would be wonderfully tasty served with warm milk from the milch cow they’d purchased in Westport, the place they’d spent the winter preparing for this trip.

Lara followed her mother to the back of the wagon, her hand fisted tightly around Eirica’s skirts, her blanket held in the other. “Where’s Ali?” She stuck her thumb into her mouth and stared at her mother, worry clouding her baby-blue eyes.

Eirica pointed toward Independence Rock. “Your sister went to see the names on the rock with Mr. Jones and his sister, sweetheart. She’ll be back soon. Now go watch over your brother while Mama finishes supper.” For the moment, Ian seemed content to dig in the sandy soil with a spoon, but his attention never stayed on any task long.

Lara walked back slowly, sat on the ground beside Ian and stared at the rock where her sister had gone. Eirica’s heart twisted. This child was a worrier by nature and Eirica couldn’t blame her for fretting whenever her big sister was out of sight. Alison’s harrowing experience of being kidnapped three weeks earlier wasn’t something Eirica would soon forget.

Eirica still had nightmares borne of those long days and even longer nights when she hadn’t known if she would ever see or hug her firstborn again. She closed her eyes, grateful for the happy ending to that episode. With a sigh, she tossed a slab of bacon into a frying pan and set it over the coals. With any luck, the second half of the trail would be downright dull. Between the kidnapping, Birk’s drowning, storms, difficult crossings and stampedes, she’d had enough excitement to last a lifetime.

A tug to her skirts drew her gaze downward. Ian yawned and lifted his little arms up to her. “Is my boy ready for bed?” She smiled and picked him up, loving the feel of his soft, cuddly body next to hers. With a sleepy sigh, he slumped against her. Eirica ran her hand up and down his back. Contentment washed over her as Ian imitated his sister and stuck his thumb in his mouth. With a heart measurably lighter, Eirica hummed softly and swayed side to side in front of the fire.

Lifting her gaze to a sapphire-blue sky marbled with wisps of white clouds just turning gold and pink from the sun’s descent, Eirica forced herself to relax and put the past behind her, to enjoy the beauty of the approaching sunset and the feel of her son snuggled close. For the first time in her life, she had a future of her own making. She’d been given a second chance for a better life and she planned to reach out and take it.

“All I want is to reach Oregon, find a piece of land to call my own and settle down to raise my children in peace.” Over and over, she repeated those words, trying to draw courage from them.

High atop Independence Rock, James Jones surveyed the land spread out before him with his sister, Jessie, on one side of him and four-year-old Alison Macauley on the other, her small hand tucked securely into his own. From the crowd around them, whispered words of awe mingled with shouts of jubilation.

James sucked in a deep breath and whistled, unable to contain himself in the face of the incredible view and the history surrounding him. “Whoo-ee, great sand and sagebrush! Look at all the wagons down there, Ali girl.” He pointed at the white-topped wagons dotting the area as far as the eye could see. Oxen, mules and horses foraged for food while men, women and children moved with purpose, reminding him of ants scurrying back to their ant hills.

Alison stepped forward, closer to the edge and leaned over. “Where’s Ma’s wagon, James?”

James tightened his hold and pulled the little girl back to his side. As an extra precaution, he rested his free hand on her shoulder. “Not so close to the edge, Ali. It’s a long way down and if anything happens to you, your ma will skin me alive.”

Giggling, Alison glanced up at him, adoration shining in her eyes. “I won’t fall, James. You’re holding my hand tight.”

Still nervous, James backed up a step for good measure and squatted, encircling her with his arms as he pointed. “Your ma’s wagon is way out there.”

“Everything looks so tiny.” Alison leaned into him, her wide eyes taking in the expansive scene. James savored the bond between him and this child. If he had his way, he’d soon be a part of her life—he just had to convince the girl’s mother to give him a chance. After several silent minutes, the youngster pulled away from him and dropped to her knees. She crawled over the rock behind him, using her fingers to trace the names etched into the rock upon which they stood. Relieved that Alison was safely away from the edge, James turned sideways so he could divide his attention between the child and the view.

Jessie’s exclamations echoed his own awe. “Look how the Sweetwater River twists and turns before tumbling through Devil’s Gate.”

From his lofty perch, James studied the Oregon Trail as it followed the winding river. The trail detoured around the deep chasm because wagons wouldn’t fit between the two high ridges. To the west rocks and boulders, some of incredible size, littered the land as far as the eye could see. The prospect of negotiating those zigs and zags and rocks left him breathless with anticipation. No sooner did they meet one challenge the land threw at them, than there was another. And if the terrain snaking westward was any indication of things to come, he had the feeling the trip was about to get rougher.

Some said Ash Hollow, that hidden paradise of green grass, pink roses and abundant water that they’d passed through a month ago, was the entrance to hell, and Devil’s Gate the exit, but staring at the rough trail ahead, it looked as though they were about to enter something far worse.

“How can there be so many different and wonderful sights?” Jessie breathed. “I never imagined a world so different from our home. Look at those towering rocks. I didn’t think anything could beat Chimney Rock for being spectacular, but I was wrong.”

James stared down into eyes that not only mirrored his own sense of wonderment, but were also the same deep shade of green as his. Right now, they sparkled with enthusiasm, echoed the underlying excitement running through his own blood. He rolled his eyes. Trust Jessie not to have the good sense to fear what lay ahead.

Never mind that he, too, felt his blood race in anticipation. He loved the constant change, the need to be on his toes. After living a quiet life on a small farm, he knew he’d never forget this trip. Just thinking about the swollen river crossings, steep hills requiring them to lower wagons by rope, and all manner of weather made his blood pump. He ruffled his sister’s medium-length black hair.

“You scamp. You’ve said the same thing of all the landmarks we’ve seen since leaving Westport.”

Jessie giggled and spun around, her face animated, her arms outstretched as if embracing all she saw. “Oh, James, this has been so exciting, such an adventure. I’ll never forget it.”

He pulled her to him for a quick hug. Dressed in a blue flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up past her elbow, woolen trousers that concealed her womanly curves and scuffed boots, she seemed the same old Jess. “Neither will I. And you, my lucky sister, get to travel all this once more when you and Wolf return to his home in the Nebraska Territory come spring.” He sobered. “Life won’t be the same without you, Jess.”

She dropped her arms and stared at him with tears in her eyes. “Oh, James,” she whispered before turning around so he couldn’t see her face.

James shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the sky above them. He’d seen the tears in her eyes, felt the pain in her heart. How could he not? His own eyes burned and his heart protested the inevitable separation. This time next year, she’d be gone and he might never see her again.

He took a deep breath, righting the emotion curling through him. The Jones siblings were close, always there for one another. Nothing and no one had ever come between them, not even the wagon master and his no-single-women-allowed rule. Jessie being Jessie, she’d simply refused to be separated from her brothers. He fought back a chuckle. None were as resourceful as his little sister, though she wasn’t so little anymore.

Watching her and Alison studying the inscriptions, pride filled him. At seventeen, Jessica Naomi Jones was a grown woman newly married—a fact he still had a hard time believing. Who would have guessed his little tomboy sister would fall in love and marry before they reached Oregon? Just the mention of some would-be suitor coming to call had sent her running several months before.

But she’d fallen in love with the wagon master, White Wolf. James’s lips twitched when he thought of the shotgun wedding he’d insisted on when he’d found out the pair were lovers. Jessie had been furious, but James had no regrets. It was a brother’s responsibility to make sure no man took advantage of his sister and if James had to do it all over again, he would.

He paced, not seeing the view or even the other emigrants moving around him as he struggled with the pain of change. He listened to Jessie reading Alison the names and dates of emigrants who’d gone before them and sighed with a mixture of regret and longing. His siblings no longer needed him, and that realization made him feel much older than twenty-five.

For so long, his whole life had revolved around them. At sixteen, he’d buried his parents and stepped into their shoes, becoming both mother and father to two brothers and his sister. Now that his responsibility was complete, his future loomed, bleak and endless, like the horizon stretched out beyond forever.

Akin to the excess furniture and food littering the trail, he felt cast off, no longer needed or wanted. It wasn’t the truth. In his heart, he knew his brothers and sister loved him as much now as they had when they’d depended upon him to provide for them, but they were ready to branch out and start their own families.

Yep, life went on and with each of his siblings seeking their own futures, it was well past time for him to do the same. Both Jordan and Jessie had married in the last three months, and if he had his way, he’d join them in wedded bliss.

Alison jumped up, breaking him out of his musings. “James,” she squealed, her voice high with excitement. “Look! Right here, there’s no marks on the rock. I want my name here.”

Grateful for the distraction, James hunched down beside the red-haired girl who promised to one day become as beautiful a woman as her mother. Just thinking about Eirica filled him with warmth and purpose. After years of avoiding simpering, giggling girls who’d set their sights on him, he’d finally found the woman he wanted to marry.

Alison tugged on his arm, her wide eyes filled with doubt, some of the sparkle dimming when he just knelt there, silent. “Maybe this isn’t such a good spot.” Her voice wobbled with uncertainty.

He hastened to reassure the little girl. “This is the best spot on this whole darn rock, sweet pea.”

It bothered him that she always expected disapproval, but considering what a bastard that Birk Macauley had been, James wasn’t surprised. The child tried so hard to please and wanted—no, needed—so much reassurance, his heart ached. He ran a finger down her freckle-covered nose then set to work, carving her name as deep and as big as he could in the small area she’d chosen. While he worked, he vowed to see that both mother and daughter would only have cause to smile and laugh from now on.

Finished, he stood, noting the waning of the afternoon sun. “Time to head back, you two. I need to return to the herd and relieve Wolf.” With Jessie on one side of the little girl and James on the other, they descended the rock and wound their way through the throng of wagons and tents taking up most of the available ground close to the landmark. The farther out, the more space they found—and dried grass among clumps of sagebrush.

Shading his eyes against the lowering sun, he searched out the dark blur of cattle moving lazily in the distance and noted their position. Lack of grass along the trail drove the herd out several miles in search of more bountiful supply. At least they no longer had to worry about the poisonous alkali ponds. Water was once again fresh and abundant. Satisfied that things were fine, he relaxed. He’d check on Eirica before heading back out.

When they arrived at the circled wagons, Jessie stifled a yawn. “Should’ve taken a nap instead of sightseeing. Guess I’d best give Rook a hand with supper or you boys won’t be eating tonight.”

James grabbed her by the arm before she took off. “Please, don’t let Coralie bake the bread.”

Jessie laughed, her eyes lit with mischievous delight. “Now, James, our dear sister-in-law has to learn to cook sometime. Just think of the abuse poor Jordan’s stomach endures when she cooks for him.”

Shuddering, James scowled. “Coralie is
his
wife. Let her experiment on him, not me. Remember the last time Rook let her bake the bread? It was gooey in the center and burnt black on the outside and we were stuck with just beans and pork for supper.”

“And you boys were so nice, telling her how good it was.”

James scowled. “The dog wouldn’t even eat it.”

“No promises.” Jessie punched him in the arm, then sprinted off toward the supply wagons, the ribbon holding her shoulder-length hair away from her face slipping. The sight of that one touch of femininity still caught James by surprise. He’d never known Jessie to have any use for hair ribbons, preferring a length of leather when her hair had been long.

Change. So many things had changed since leaving their farm.

“Evening, James,” a soft husky voice greeted him.

Shaking off the melancholy mood, he nodded at Catarina, Sofia De Santis’s granddaughter. He quickly continued on his way before the girl waylaid him. Each time he came into the camp, she found an excuse to speak to him. Though she was nice enough, she didn’t interest him in the least. He had eyes only for Eirica.

He sniffed the air, his stomach rumbling in response to the scent of fresh bread and other savory smells. Passing close to Rook’s fires, he grimaced. Bacon and beans. His appetite fled. He was heartily sick of the trail staple. A man needed variety, and Rook’s meals tended to be monotonous and plain. Fresh meat would be a welcome change, but game was in short supply.

Glancing down at Alison who skipped contentedly beside him, he winked. “Let’s go see what your ma’s cooking. Maybe it’ll be better than Rook’s beans.”

“Prob’ly not. All we get is beans and bacon, too.” She made a face equal to his own and the two snickered. James ruffled her red curls and held out his hand.

With Alison’s fingers wrapped around his, James threaded her way around camps, wagons and people going about their evening chores with a preoccupation that bespoke of drudgery. Whistling tunelessly, he spotted Eirica and quickened his pace.

She stood, her profile to him as she rocked Ian in her arms. But as he neared her, he slowed his steps, telling himself he didn’t want to startle her with his sudden appearance. She was still skittish around him and he didn’t want to risk having her drop the boy. And, in truth, James wanted a moment to watch her, to feast his tired eyes upon her beauty without making her uncomfortable.

It also gave him a chance to catch his breath, slow his heart and plan what he wanted to say. Maybe then, when he spoke to her, he wouldn’t sound like some great big lubber who’d never been around women.

He drew courage from the fact that back in Westport, the ladies had found him attractive—as did several single women on the trail. When the emigrants gathered for an impromptu potluck and night of music and dancing, he never lacked partners. But this was different. He’d never actively courted a woman before. He had never wanted more than the entertainment of the moment. Working his struggling farm and raising his siblings had taken all his time and energy.

But now, the closer he got to Eirica, the tighter the neck of his faded blue shirt seemed. He removed the bandana he kept tied there so he didn’t have to breathe the dust from the cattle and unbuttoned the top two buttons. After running his finger around the inside of the collar, he checked to make sure his hands were reasonably clean. There wasn’t much he could do about the dust coating his clothing. When he realized what he was doing, he stuffed the square of material in the back pocket of his well-worn denims. Damn, facing a herd of stampeding cattle seemed easier than exposing his heart and soul to the woman who’d captured both.

His gaze slid over her profile. Her haunting beauty stole his breath. The glow of the sunset brought her hair to life and heaven’s goodness shone in her ethereal features. She was an angel, sweet and gentle—vulnerable—made more so by the swell of her rounded belly where her unborn babe nestled. The miracle of that new life made him sigh.

He longed to put his hands on her and feel the movements that could sometimes be seen from beneath the apron she wore over the long skirt of her dress. An unexpected memory of his parents sitting on the wide porch swing in the evenings slid through his mind. Their zest for life had filled their home with love and laughter. James remembered hearing shouts of laughter one night from the porch and having gone to investigate. He’d found his pa sitting with his big hand spread over his wife’s swollen belly, exclaiming with delight every time the baby—his sister, Jessie—had moved.