Chapter 27: Wedding Plans

 

Tuesday, June 29th—Weather warm. Water scarce, except in small creeks. Esther wants me to ask her mother if she and Daniel can marry soon.

 

Jenny sighed as she wrote. Mrs. Pershing treated her more kindly, after Mrs. Tuller told everyone Jenny saved Mac from cholera. But Jenny didn’t want to get between Mrs. Pershing and Esther.

Mrs. Pershing waddled over, wheezing as she sat down on a rock nearby. “Gracious, this mountain air is thin. Can’t catch my breath to walk, and the wagon bruises my bones. I’ll be glad when this baby finally comes. You’ve still got what, a couple months?”

Jenny nodded. “September. Early, I think.”

Mrs. Pershing’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Jenny. “Esther wants to marry the Abercrombie boy soon. You put that idea in her head?”

“No, ma’am.”

“She has some romantic notion life’ll be better after she’s married. You tell her that?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“Daniel’s a nice man, Mrs. Pershing.”

“You reckon they oughta marry now?”

“It’s not for me to say, ma’am.”

Mrs. Pershing sighed and stared out into the hills. “Soon as she’s married, she’s going to find herself like us. Swelling up with a baby. No idea what’s in store for the child.” She turned back to Jenny. “You want that for her?”

“Like I said, ma’am, it isn’t mine to say.”

“Captain’s weakening. She always could wheedle him into anything. So I’m the one standing in her way.” Mrs. Pershing sighed again. “I just want what’s best for her. Don’t know if Daniel’s the one for her.”

“You’ll never persuade her otherwise. At least not unless there’s another man she thinks better suited.”

Mrs. Pershing squinted at Jenny. “That’s the truth. She’ll always want some man around.” The older woman took a deep breath. “Captain says Oregon men are rough. I suppose Daniel’s better than some she might find.” Mrs. Pershing heaved herself to her feet and walked away, shaking her head.

The thin air blocked little of the summer sun, and Jenny made sure her sunbonnet was tied as the wagons set out the next day. She rode Poulette, Mac beside her on Valiente.

Esther ran over to Jenny. Her blond curls bounced free of the sunbonnet hanging down her back. “Rachel’s minding the little ones. May I ride with you?”

Jenny lifted an eyebrow at Mac.

“Go whisper your secrets,” he said. “I’ll watch the wagon.”

Esther scrambled up behind Jenny. “Ride away a bit. I want to talk.”

When Poulette had trotted a short distance, Esther clutched Jenny’s arm. “Thank you for speaking with Ma.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Jenny said, slowing the mare to a walk.

“Well, she’s agreed. Next preacher we see, I’m getting married.”

Jenny couldn’t help smiling. “I wish you and Daniel every happiness, Esther.”

Esther chattered all morning about her wedding dress, now finished from the fabric purchased at Fort Laramie, and bedding and dishes her mother could spare.

“Which family will you ride with?” Jenny asked. “Yours or the Abercrombies?”

That silenced Esther. “Oh, it don’t matter,” she said after a moment. “We’ll work it out.”

“Your mother might need you, with a new baby.”

“I doubt we find a preacher before her time comes. I can help her.”

They camped that evening at what Captain Pershing called Saleratus Lake. The white substance lay in chunks as large as teacups on the ground, and Jenny gathered it for use along the trail.

Word quickly spread through camp that Esther and Daniel would be married as soon as they found a preacher. “What do you think?” Jenny asked Mac.

Mac continued brushing the dust out of Valiente’s coat. “They’re a pair of damn fools.”

“You don’t think they should get married?”

“We’ll have trouble enough making it to Oregon. Marriage only brings more trouble.”

“Don’t you want to get married some day?”

“Not until I’m good and ready. And not here.”

“I probably won’t ever marry.” She couldn’t imagine letting a man touch her. Not after being violated. Mac must still mourn Bridget, she concluded as she found her journal and wrote:

 

Wednesday, June 30th—Independence Rock tomorrow! Over two months on the trail and still not halfway to Oregon.

Jenny sensed excitement among her companions the next morning as they approached Independence Rock. By midmorning she saw the landmark on the horizon—it looked like an upside down bowl, or an egg half buried in the sand. A massive, treeless boulder rising alone in the middle of the desert.

“Why is it called Independence Rock?” she asked Mac.

“Some group celebrated Independence Day here several years ago. Now folks say if you get here by Independence Day, you’ll beat the snows to Oregon.”

Jenny could hardly remember snow, she was so hot. By afternoon the sun blazed with no mercy, and the dry wind blew. Dogs panted and tried to hide under wagons. Horses shook their heads and flicked their tails at flies that swarmed and buzzed endlessly.

Independence Rock loomed as they neared it, the only break in the flat horizon for miles around. They arrived around noon to find several other wagon companies already camped at its base.

The Pershing group made camp on the bank of the Sweetwater, just south of the rock. “We’ll stay here a couple of days,” Captain Pershing told them. “To hunt and rest.”

Jenny unpacked as much as she could, leaving the heavy barrels for Mac. She wanted to sweep the dirt out of the wagon and launder their clothes. She raised her face to the sunshine, smiling at the prospect of two days without traveling.

Mac was away until supper. When he returned, he said he’d climbed to the top of the rock. “A wondrous view,” he said. “You can see the Sweetwater almost to South Pass. And Devil’s Gate to the west.”

“That’s nice.” Jenny gripped her back as she stood from cooking. She ached after unpacking the wagon.

“I’ll take you up tomorrow,” Mac said. “If I get back from hunting in time.”

“I have to wash clothes.”

“It’s windy at the top. Might have to weight you down,” Mac said, grinning.

“Mmm.” She didn’t relish getting blown around, not even for a pretty view.

“There are dozens of names painted on the rock. Dating back to 1824. I aim to paint mine on it, too.”

She didn’t understand why he prattled on about a rock, when there was work to be done in camp. “That’s nice.”

“Shall I paint your name with mine?”

Anger flashed through her head. “And what name would you paint, Mac?” she asked. “Jenny Calhoun or Jenny McDougall?” What was she to him anyway?

Mac bit his lip, but did not respond.

Jenny shoved a tin plate of food in front of him. He ate.

After supper she washed the dishes with water she’d carried from the river. Mac left her. “Need to check on the team,” he said over his shoulder.

She didn’t see him again before she went to bed.