Chapter 83: Return to the Homestead

 

Mac embarked with Maria, Valiente, and the nanny goat onto yet another boat, this time the sidewheeler Columbia bound from Astoria to Oregon City. He’d stored his belongings in a warehouse in Astoria, other than food for the journey and what he needed for Maria. These items he stashed in Valiente’s saddlebags. He would deal with his possessions later. First he had to see Jenny.

“Trip’ll take two days,” the captain told Mac. “Depending on the wind. We ride up the Columbia all day and put in at Portland tonight. Tomorrow we head up the Willamette.”

Mac fretted at the slow churning of the steamship’s wheel, but it was faster and easier than riding Valiente the hundred miles to Oregon City with Maria in a sling across his chest and the goat tethered behind.

The Columbia had no galley or cook, but he had goat’s milk, porridge, and applesauce for Maria, as well as provisions for himself and feed for the animals. He could make do for two days.

Several women eyed Mac and Maria while he stood on deck holding the infant. One older woman with a buxom daughter came over to him. “Is that baby your child, sir?” she asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“And where’s her mother?”

“She died.”

“What a pity,” the woman said. “You must feel the want of your wife, sir. Carin’ for your daughter on your own.”

“I’m hoping to remedy the situation,” Mac said, without thinking. “I’m on my way to ask a woman to marry me.”

“Heavens,” the woman said. As she bustled her daughter off, Mac heard her mutter, “His first wife can’t have been dead more’n six months.”

“Well, Ma,” the daughter said. “You were fixin’ to hitch him to me.”

Mac smiled. He hoped Jenny would be so amenable to marriage.

October 18, 1850. We reached Portland this evening, and will arrive in Oregon City tomorrow. Caring for Maria fully occupies my time on the steamboat. She fusses when I don’t let her crawl, but she could be trampled or fall overboard. This morning she almost rolled underneath a mule tied nearby.

 

On the afternoon of the second day, a Saturday, the Columbia docked in Oregon City. Maria looked rather disheveled, her clothing wrinkled and damp and her face dirty. Mac wanted to clean her up before they rode to the claim, but his hands shook, worrying about what Jenny would say when he returned. And with a baby—if she hadn’t received his letter, she would know nothing of Maria’s existence.

Mac had fought thieves and Indians with courage. He’d navigated politics in Monterey with confidence. But thoughts of his coming reunion with Jenny made his palms sweat.

As they disembarked, Mac hoped he wouldn’t run into people he knew. He wanted to see Jenny before he talked to anyone else. Whether he and Maria would stay depended on Jenny.

He was committed to raising Maria, and he was ready to settle down. If Jenny didn’t want him, he’d have to decide between Boston and California. What kind of life would a Mexican-Indian child have in Boston? California would be better.

But he didn’t want Boston or California. He wanted a life with Jenny.

Mac carried Maria and steered Valiente and the goat off the steamship. After tying the goat’s lead rope to the saddle horn, he mounted Valiente. They headed through town and up the bluff east of Oregon City. The town had grown in three years. It wasn’t as big as San Francisco, but the streets bustled with commerce and everyday life.

He remembered standing on the bluff with Jenny when they first approached Oregon City in 1847. Jenny had looked up at him that day, smiling her thanks that he’d led her and William safely to their destination. It had felt like arriving home when they gazed out over the town.

Oregon had become Jenny’s home. Now he wanted it to be his.

Mac steered Valiente on the route they’d taken in March 1848, when he left Jenny. In truth, he knew now, he’d run away from his feelings for her, from the life they could have had. He hadn’t been ready to admit he loved her.

Now all he wanted was to build a life with her.

The trail to the cabin was both too long and too short. Too long to wait to see Jenny. Too short to convince himself all would be well.

The land around him was as beautiful as he remembered—forested, fertile where cleared, October leaves brilliant in the setting sun. A cool breeze sifted Mac’s hair, and he hugged Maria against his chest. They could have a good life here.

As sunset darkened into twilight, Mac stopped Valiente within sight of the cabin. Maria wriggled and fussed in the sling, protesting her long confinement.

The small house looked neat, the barnyard clean, a fenced paddock of grass beside the barn. It looked like a comfortable farm in the States, except the clearing was surrounded with the tall pines and alders of Oregon. Jenny had cared for the land well.

Valiente neighed and pranced, as if recognizing he was home at last.

Another horse whinnied in response. Poulette?

A woman came to the barn door. She dropped her apron full of eggs. “Mac!” she screamed and ran toward him.

Jenny.