Chapter 61: Malheur

 

Jenny felt a lump in her throat as she climbed into the wagon Monday. Mac had spent the early morning wandering the camp and talking to other men. She prepared breakfast and packed their belongings by herself. Mac paused just long enough to eat with her and to yoke the oxen. After breakfast he saddled Valiente and rode off, saying barely a word. She didn’t know if he was angry or preoccupied.

They had camped on a small creek beneath dry bluffs on the west side of the Snake River valley. The creek trickled out of a ravine between two cliffs into the broad valley. Soon they would climb through more hills—if not today, then tomorrow.

Mac returned to their wagon. “Stay close to the Tullers today,” he said. “I need to talk with the scouts about getting to the Malheur. Can you drive?”

Jenny nodded. She had no choice. Mac wasn’t hers any longer. He never had been. He assumed his new authority easily. Already his voice sounded more commanding.

The morning was pleasant, not yet hot. A slight breeze scented with sage blew from the hills. Poulette, tied behind the wagon, nickered. Jenny longed to ride the mare to the banks of the Snake. The river looked placid in the distance, no longer a cauldron of spray and cataracts like at Shoshone Falls.

Esther walked over carrying Jonah. “May we join you?”

Jenny halted the oxen and took the baby while Esther climbed up. “How’s your papa?” Jenny asked as she cracked her whip to get the oxen moving.

Esther shrugged. “He ain’t said much. He’s driving today. Zeke and Joel went off with Mac. Daniel, too.”

“What’s Daniel say about all this?” It was rude to ask, but Jenny was curious.

“He ain’t said a word. Just nods at his pa. Mr. Abercrombie’s bellyaching. Says we’re doomed.”

“Doomed?” Jenny was surprised at the harsh word. “Mac will get us through.”

“I’m just repeating what Mr. Abercrombie said.” Esther bounced Jonah on her lap.

The young women chatted through the morning. When Mac stopped the wagons at noon, Esther rushed off. “Got to get dinner going.”

Jenny wandered over to the Tuller wagon to avoid being alone. “Why don’t you eat with us?” Mrs. Tuller asked. “Got enough for Captain McDougall when he’s ready, too.”

Captain McDougall—it sounded strange. But it suited him, Jenny decided, watching Mac move about camp talking with the platoon leaders. Joel rode over to Mac, and the two men talked and gestured. Mac pulled out a piece of paper, probably the Frémont map.

Jenny helped Mrs. Tuller prepare the meal. Mac stopped by. “Joel found a path to the Malheur,” he said. “Should reach it by evening.”

All afternoon Jenny drove the wagon again. Her back knotted and her bones ached by the time Mac stopped the company for the night. He came to their wagon and lifted her off the bench before she could climb down.

“Thank you,” she said, clutching his arm to keep her balance.

“Can you set up camp?” he asked. “I need to talk to the men about the Malheur crossing.” He touched her shoulder. “I’ll be back when I can.”

Jenny arched her back, hands on her hips, and looked around. The Malheur River was small, burbling, with bright green grass along the banks. Beyond the river to the north were more buttes and barren hills—more of what they had traveled for so long.

Mac appeared when supper was ready. He ate quickly, then stood. “Have to go.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Argument over the route. Some want to go to Grande Ronde, others to follow the Malheur.”

“What’s Captain Pershing say?” Jenny asked.

Mac frowned. “He’s not the captain.”

“I’m sorry,” Jenny stammered. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just habit. What’s he say?”

“Wants to go to Grande Ronde. Like the Hudson’s Bay man said.”

“Is it Mr. Abercrombie who wants the Malheur?”

“Of course,” Mac said. “Contrary as always.”

“What do you think we should do?”

“Damned if I know.” He slammed his hat on his head and strode away.

Jenny cleaned the dishes, then sat by the fire. She could go listen to the men, but she’d find out soon enough what they decided. The setting sun glowed brighter than the campfire as she wrote:

 

Monday, August 30th—Camped beside the Malheur. The name means misfortune. I pray Mac can hold our company together.

Jenny didn’t hear Mac get in the tent beside her that night, and he must have had guard duty, because he wasn’t there when she went to the latrine. The next morning his bedroll was folded neatly, and he was already gone. She made breakfast and ate it, leaving a plate of food out for Mac. Then she washed the dishes and packed the wagon.

Mac rushed into camp as the sun peeked above the eastern hills. “Get ready to cross the river,” he said.

“Don’t you want breakfast?”

He shook his head. “Ate a bite with the Dempseys.”

“I wish you’d tell me whether to fix you anything.”

Mac shrugged as if throwing away food didn’t matter.

“We don’t have much food left. Shouldn’t waste anything.” She worried about their provisions, even if Mac didn’t.

“We’ll probably stop at Whitman’s place. We’ll get by until then.”

“So we’re crossing the Malheur?” she asked.

Mac nodded. “Abercrombie backed down. Enough men heard the talk at Fort Boise. About the Malheur valley being too dry. But he’s grumbling. We’ll have more trouble.”

Jenny hoisted herself onto the wagon bench.

“I’ll have Zeke or Joel help you today,” he said. “This crossing won’t be bad, but I don’t want you to worry.”

The Malheur wasn’t deep, so Jenny wasn’t worried. Not about the crossing. What troubled her was whether she could count on Mac, now that he had the whole company to care for. She could stick close to the Tullers, but she wanted Mac, too.

She should be happy Mac was captain. He was a good and brave man who deserved a chance to lead. Captain Pershing—she couldn’t stop thinking of Esther’s father as the captain—had let them all down by drinking.

At least Mr. Abercrombie wasn’t captain. Jenny didn’t think the blustery braggart would deliberately hurt anyone, but he reminded her too much of Sheriff Johnson—a big man with a loud voice. It was a good thing Daniel wasn’t like his father, or Esther would be in for a hard time.

Zeke swung up beside Jenny. “Morning, Miz Jenny,” he said, tipping his hat at her. “Let’s get this wagon across.” Zeke urged the team into line.

“How’s your family?” Jenny asked, not wanting to sit in silence waiting for their turn.

“Doing fine.”

“Is the captain all right?”

“You mean Pa?”

Jenny nodded, blushing. She’d made the mistake again. “I’m going to call him Captain Pershing all the way to Oregon, I’m afraid. He’ll always be the captain to me.”

Zeke smiled. “He’d like to know you think kindly of him.”

“Your papa’s a good man. He has troubles like the rest of us, but a good man.”

Zeke’s smile widened. “Yes, he is. I’ll tell him you said so.” He snapped a whip to get the oxen moving and pulled into the water.