My dearest William, Mother and Papa Doc,
I write exciting news. We have arrived in Oregon country! I confess there were times I did not believe we would make it here as the journey is fraught with dangers, not the least of which is making almost perpendicular, snow-and-ice-covered ascents and descents such as we experienced on our last days in the Blue Mountains. At Mr. Thatcher’s direction, the men hitched up extra teams and used block and tackle attached to trees to help the poor teams that were struggling to maintain their footing haul the wagons uphill, then slowly played out the rope to keep the wagons from sliding forward and overrunning the teams going downhill. It was harrowing and frightful, especially when there were no trees near. The men would then hitch teams to the back of the wagons, and, often, themselves grasp hold of the ropes to hold the wagons back. It was very treacherous footing and many took hard falls, including the women and children, who, of course, could not ride in the wagons because of the danger. Hannah Fletcher fell and broke her wrist. Thankfully, the break was in a fortuitous position and I was able to splint it.
I can never adequately thank you, dearest William, for the medical supplies you provided. Or for praying for me. God has heard and answered your prayers. The emigrants have asked me to stay with them and be their doctor! My dream is coming true, as you said it would. I believe the Lord will bless you and make your dream come true, as well.
We are encamped by a river at the base of the Blue Mountains on a range of small, low hills covered with a growth the farmers among us call bunchgrass. They say it will provide excellent grazing and help the weary, trail-worn animals quickly regain their strength. Beyond these hills, as far as the eye can reach, are plains and mountains. Timber, well suited for building, is in abundance on the mountains. Mr. Hargrove says many back East are desirous of moving West and a town situated to “welcome” them to Oregon country will prosper. The women simply want to have this journey end. Several of the men are exploring today in hopes of finding the most advantageous location for our town. Wherever the town is placed, its name will be Promise.
Anne does not wish to tarry until the town’s location is settled. Mr. Thatcher, too, has no desire to stay with our company. He will take Anne on to the Banning Mission. I shall miss her.
Emma stared down at the words, blinked to clear her vision. And Mr. Thatcher. She would miss Zachary Thatcher. She took a deep breath against the heaviness in her chest, wiped the nib, stoppered the inkwell and set aside the lap desk. It was time. But she had promised Anne…
She rose and climbed from the wagon, brushed the hair back from her face, shook the long skirt of her red wool gown in place and looked toward her adopted sister’s wagon. Anne was on the driver’s seat facing straight ahead, her slender frame draped in her black widow’s garb. Zachary Thatcher was hitching Comanche to the rear of the wagon. She lifted her chin, turned and started up the low rise behind her wagon. She had promised Anne she would not come and say goodbye, but she would not simply let her ride away.
The sound of mules braying and wagon wheels rumbling spurred her on. She reached the top of the rise and turned. Zachary Thatcher sat beside Anne, the reins held in his hands. Hands that had once held hers. She swiped at her tears, wrapped her arms about her torso and watched the man who held her heart drive her adopted sister away. She watched until the hills hid them from her sight, and then she turned and started back down the hill, a horrible empty ache where her heart had been.
“Look what I found, Dr. Emma!”
She started out of her thoughts, looked down at David’s pudgy hand and forced a smile. “What a lovely stone, David.”
“Yeah, it looks kinda like a heart.” His hand lifted. “You c’n have it, Dr. Emma. I’ll find another one.” He thrust it into her hand and raced off.
Emma opened her hand, looked down. A stone heart to replace the one she had lost. She lifted her gaze to David, who now squatted beside his brother, examining something on the ground in front of them. Dr. Emma. She was a doctor. Her dream had come true. It was enough. She would make it enough. She blinked, blew out a long breath and continued down the hill.
Emma pulled the desk onto her lap and unstopped the well. She had to hurry now. The men would be leaving soon. She kept her gaze from the words she had already written, dipped the pen in the ink and continued the letter.
I have learned much and, I pray, gained wisdom on this long, grueling journey. I believe I am the stronger for it. I know my faith has grown. How could it be otherwise? God has answered my prayer to be a doctor in a way I could not imagine.
A few of the men are going to ride to Fort Walla Walla and there hire Indians with canoes to take them down the Columbia River to Oregon City for needed supplies. They will carry with them my small bundle of letters to send on their way to you. I wonder often if Mr. Broadman carried my first bundle of letters safely to St. Louis. I hope that my letters have reached you and that Traveler is safe and well and waiting for you, dear William, at cousin Mary’s. Shall I confess to you the terrible selfishness I have discovered in my heart? Having made this long, punishing journey, and thus being well acquainted with the deprivations and dangers thereof, my heart still longs for you to come to Oregon country next year. I do not, for one moment, wish you or yours harm, and my best advice would be that you stay home. But, what joy it would give me to see you again!
Now I must close for the men are ready to leave. I pray one of Uncle Justin’s ships will have reached port during our long journey and there will be letters from you all waiting for me. My heart aches with loneliness for all of you. I long to receive news of you.
My dearest love always,
Your Emma
Emma addressed the letter, affixed the wax seal and placed it with the others. A length of narrow blue ribbon from the dresser tied them into a neat bundle. All was now ready for the men’s departure. She placed the lap desk back in the chest and climbed from the wagon.
Controlled chaos greeted her. Once again, the women were taking advantage of the day off from traveling to clean their wagons, their clothes and bedding. Washtubs steamed over fires strung out along the river. Furnishings, clothing and food supplies littered the area around each wagon.
Except for hers.
She glanced at her wagon and an odd sort of dissatisfaction, a sensation she had never before experienced, gripped her. The extent of her cleaning was the quilt and blankets she had hung out to air over the boxes, crates and barrels of supplies off-loaded from Anne’s wagon and stacked in the driver’s box. A woman alone did not require the prodigious amounts of supplies and possessions that cluttered and crowded the wagons of those with a family. A woman alone did not make a mess. And a woman such as she did not know how to clean, or cook, or do the wash or any of the other myriad tasks these other women, some much younger than she, did so effortlessly.
She frowned, wrapped her arms about herself and stared at the other women. She had agreed to stay and be the doctor in their town. And she was alone. She had better learn how to take care of herself. Because, other than her doctoring and shooting skills, she was useless here on the frontier.
I will observe, or I will ask. I may be a pampered woman, but I am not unintelligent, only untaught in these matters. And I will rectify that very quickly.
The words she had spoken to Zachary Thatcher the night he had pointed out her ineptitude for life on the wilderness journey brought a flush to her cheeks. They were brave, challenging, empty words. She had not tried to learn the skills she needed for survival on the journey or here in Oregon country. She had merely paid others to care for her and Anne, the same as the servants at home had done for them all their lives. No wonder Zachary Thatcher found her worthy of…of disdain.
Emma squared her shoulders and scanned the women. Zachary Thatcher was out of her life, but she still had her pride! And a need to survive. Cooking first! As soon as she gave her letters to Josiah Blake she would go to Lydia and ask her to teach her.
Zach tightened his grip on the reins of the packhorse he was leading and urged Comanche to a faster walk. He wanted to be out of these rolling hills and into the Blue Mountains before nightfall.
He topped a rise and scanned the surrounding area, searching for the wagon train as Comanche crossed the elevation. He didn’t want to come upon them accidentally. He had made a clean break and he wanted to keep it that way. His last job was done. He had escorted Anne Simms to the Banning Mission four days ago. There was no need for further involvement with the emigrants. He had his fee and his bonus money, less what he had spent on supplies for wintering in the mountains. He was free. And he intended to stay that way.
There was no sign of the wagons. He stopped Comanche, took a closer look around. Nothing. A thread of worry wormed its way into his thoughts. He had told them to keep close by the river. Of course, they could have followed the north branch. Perhaps he should ride over that way and—
No. The emigrants were no longer his concern. Not…any of them.
Zach frowned, forced the image of Emma Allen from his mind and guided Comanche on a straight path to the thick growth of pine at the base of the mountains. There was no need for caution now, and he had no time to waste. If he pushed forward every minute of daylight of every day, he could reach the valley where he wanted to build his trading post before the blizzards started.
He slowed Comanche, peered into the dusky light beneath the trees then ducked beneath a feathery branch and began to wend his way up the wall of mountain. He had it all planned. He and the horses would live in that huge cavern he had found. And he would spend the winter cutting down trees and trimming and notching logs. In the spring he would start building…
Emma poured the saleratus into the palm of her hand, dumped it onto the flour in the crockery bowl, stirred it in and added a wooden spoonful of lard. “Tonight, Lydia, my biscuits will be as light and fluffy as yours.”
“Not if you use that spoon. You work the dough over-much.”
“Is that what I am doing wrong?” Emma dropped the spoon on top of an upturned barrel serving as a “table,” lightly fingered the mixture until the lard was well distributed then added a small amount of potato water to make it all hold together.
A cloud of smoke rose from the stone-encircled fire and made her nose burn. She wiped her tearing eyes with the back of her hand, scooped up some dough and gently patted it into a circle. She would need eight of them to fill the spider she had greased with lard. “Do you expect Matthew and Charley with a load of logs for your house tonight? Or are they staying on the mountain to fell trees with the others?”
“They’ll stay the night.” Lydia carried her filled spider to the fire, grabbed the small iron rake and pulled a pile of hot coals forward. She sat the spider over half of them, and used the rest to cover the rimmed lid. When she finished she stepped back and fanned her heat-reddened face with the long skirt of her apron.
Emma lifted her gaze to the Blue Mountains, raised it to the snow-whitened pinnacles. Was he up there? Alone? Was he ill or injured or— Her finger poked a hole in the last biscuit. She pushed the edges together and put it in the spider, carried the heavy, iron frying pan to the fire and put the coals under it and on the lid to start the biscuits baking.
“Here’s more wood fer your fire, Mrs. Hargrove. Mrs. Lundquist and Ma have got all they need.” Daniel Fletcher grinned and dumped a bucket of large wood chunks on their already big pile. “Ma says Pa and Josh are choppin’ the notches out of the logs fer houses so fast she an’ Mary an’ Amy are gettin’ buried by ’em!” The young boy’s chest swelled. “Pa and Josh let me help.”
“Well we need every hand if we’re to get our homes built before winter sets in.”
The boy nodded. “Pa says it don’t take long to get the houses up when everyone helps. I got to get back to work!” He ran off.
Emma stared after him, listening to the sound of the bucket bumping against his leg as he ran, of axes biting deep into wood. Was Mr. Thatcher close enough to hear the men cutting down trees? Or was he already high in the mountains on his way to his valley? The memory of those treacherous ice-covered slopes lifted her gaze toward the sky. Please keep Mr. Thatcher safe, Almighty God. Please keep him healthy and safe. She picked up the spoon and stirred the soup simmering in the iron pot hanging over the fire. Bits of browned bacon floated among chunks of potato and diced onion and corn. The men here would be eating good, hot food tonight. What would Zachary Thatcher eat?
The fish was good. He would save what was left for his breakfast. Zach moved the pan and added another piece of broken branch to the fire. He would not be able to do that much longer. He was almost to Indian territory. He leaned back against a rock, tipped his hat low over his eyes and listened to the tethered packhorse grazing. Were the emigrants adding to their dwindling supplies by fishing? Had they settled on a site for their town yet? Had they started building their homes? Emma Allen’s home? They’d better. If winter caught them…
He frowned, watched the fire flare as the branch broke apart and fell against the hot coals. How cold did it get in Oregon country anyway? Did they have blizzards? Or ice storms? If they did, and Emma Allen was still in her wagon…
Zach surged to his feet, yanked off his hat, ran his hand through his hair and tugged his hat back on. The sun was setting, hiding its face behind the tall mountain peaks, shooting warm, red-and-gold streaks into the western sky. He should get his bedroll. He turned, faced east. The sky was a cold gray with black encroaching along the far edge. He stood and watched the sky growing darker by the minute, feeling the cold seeping into his heart and spirit.
What was he doing? Why was he riding toward that darkness? There was nothing for him there. There was no excitement, no anticipation to this journey. He had been forcing himself to go on each day. His dream of building a trading post, then roaming the mountains free and unfettered was as cold as that eastern sky. That life had no appeal for him now. Everything he wanted was back at the wagon train, wrapped up in one feisty, slender, blond-haired, brown-eyed woman. Somehow, somewhere along the way on their journey west he had fallen in love with Emma Allen.
But what was he to do about it? She was a doctor and he had withstood her every request, effectively destroying any personal regard she might have held for him. Of course, he was a soldier. And if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to win a battle…