Caroline followed Jewell up the narrow porch steps of Emilie and Quaid McFarland’s home on Monday. The newlywed couple had moved into a small cottage up the street from his father’s freight company. Gingham curtains the color of sunshine hung in the front window.
Jewell had just raised her hand to knock when the door swung open.
“Welcome to my new home.” Emilie’s brown eyes sparkled with a pride that made Caroline’s heart ache.
Jewell drew her hand back to her side. “You must have been peeking out the window.”
“A little too anxious, I suppose.” Blushing, Emilie pushed a strand of dark brown hair into the loose bun at her neck. “Please, do come in.”
Just inside, Jewell sighed and removed her cape. “I’m sorry we’re the last to arrive.”
As usual, Jack had been hesitant to let Jewell leave. Caroline had stood up to him, causing a ruckus just before Mrs. Brantenberg arrived to gather the children. Their two newlywed friends were hosting a feast of celebration, and she and Jewell were sorely in need of the pick-me-up the gathering promised.
Emilie was closing the door behind them when Maren, Hattie, and Anna rushed out of the kitchen.
Maren—now Mrs. Rutherford Wainwright—reached for Jewell first, then embraced Caroline. “Thank you for coming. We’re glad you’re here.”
The others each greeted them with an embrace, reminding Caroline of her first visit to Mrs. Brantenberg’s quilting circle last year. The older widow had said hugs were a woman’s way of drawing others into her circle of friends.
Nearly an hour later, Caroline sat at a dining table with her friends. She sank her fork into one of Emilie’s applesauce brownies and happily crunched on a walnut in the sweet topping. And this delight, after eating delectable bacon popovers and a generous bowl of soup with pork ribs and potatoes. She and Jewell did their best to provide tasty foods for Jack and the children but hadn’t the funds to fix such a fine meal. Trying not to lick her lips with each succulent bite, Caroline shifted her thoughts to Anna.
Whenever Caroline became overwhelmed by her life, she would think of Anna Goben. Just turned eighteen, and already she carried a burden of grief and the task of providing for her family.
Swallowing a sip of coffee, Anna lowered her cup to its saucer. “When I was in the store last week”—Anna looked across the table at Emilie—“your father told me about a wagon caravan meeting tomorrow evening.”
“He did?”
Anna nodded. “Yes. He thinks the trip may be good for us.”
Caroline stopped chewing, her hearing perked.
Emilie raised an eyebrow. “I think PaPa would secretly like to go west. Hardly an evening goes by that he doesn’t regale me with talk of the Rengler brothers’ plans to join the train of wagons.” She looked at Anna. “Are you interested in going?”
“I talked to my grandfather about it.”
“And?” Hattie swirled her hand as if to pull more information out of her.
That’s when Caroline realized that her curiosity had scooted her to the chair’s edge.
“Grandfather told me my mother would never be able to make the trip. Wasn’t sure he could, either.”
“Charles and I will be at that meeting.” Hattie brushed the brim of her unusually petite hat. “My brother has already caught the scent of California land.”
“Rutherford plans to go to the meeting. Mother Brantenberg isn’t yet convinced, but my husband is hearing a call to adventure.”
“Most likely, Mr. Cowlishaw’s voice.” Caroline reached for her coffee cup. “The grand trek across the country is probably all you hear about with him living on the farm.”
“It’s true, although Rutherford said he and Gretchen had talked about going west ten years ago.” Maren smiled. “I’m sure that Garrett, being the leader of the caravan, has given him a push that direction.”
Anna straightened in her chair. “Robert Hughes is back in Saint Charles. He came to the house.”
“Mother and I saw him at the post office yesterday.” Hattie tilted her head in rhythm with the lilt in her voice.
Anna’s eyes narrowed as if she, too, had detected the syrup in Hattie’s tone.
“He told Mother he’s planning to make the trip.”
“Yes, I heard him tell my grandfather as much.”
“I’ve heard about appeals for teachers to go to towns in gold and silver mining country, and several for the cities in the great valley and even San Francisco itself.” Leaning toward her, Hattie whispered directly into Caroline’s face. “Seems I remember you telling us at the circle that you were once a schoolteacher.”
“I was.” Before she married.
And, now that she was single again, the profession might be her ticket to a new life. In California.
Garrett stood at the counter chatting with Johann Heinrich.
“Mr. Garrett Cowlishaw?”
Startled, he turned toward the self-assured voice. He’d seen twigs with more meat on them than was on this young man.
“Yes. I’m Garrett.”
The younger fellow brushed the broad brim on his cavalry hat. “Robert Hughes, sir.”
“The fellow who left the note for me at The Western House?”
“One and the same.” He stuck out a sun-darkened hand for a shake. “Friends call me Boney.”
Fighting the impulse to laugh at the boy’s attempt to grow a beard was a definite distraction. Calling it sparse would be a compliment.
Boney cleared his throat, his eyes narrowed.
“Uh. Good to meet ya, Boney.” Garrett slid a stack of jerky off the counter. “I planned to look for you at the boardinghouse when I finished here. Seein’ that you found me first, you want to help me carry supplies to my wagon? Afterward we can talk over a coffee.”
“Yes sir, coffee sounds good.”
God may have skimped on the young man’s build, but Boney Hughes was as strong as any oxen. That kind of strength could come in handy on the trail. When they’d finished loading the wagon, Garrett motioned for Boney to join him on the seat and drove the brick-paved road to The Western House Inn. Garrett pulled the wagon to a stop at the meeting hall and set the brake. As soon as they lowered themselves from the perch, he started the conversation. “Your note said you want a trail job.”
“Yes, sir. Drover. Scout. Cook.” Boney darted to the back of the wagon. “Whatever you need.”
“Want to go west real bad, do ya?”
“That, I do.” The young man reached into the wagon and latched on to a crock of lard.
“That stuff’s going out to Mrs. Brantenberg’s farm.”
“Oh.” He let go and backed away.
“You runnin’ from the law?”
Boney chuckled. “No.”
“A girl?”
“No sir.” The wiry fellow hooked his thumbs in his trouser pockets. “Not runnin’ from anyone, except maybe the war.”
Garrett nodded and waved him toward the brick building. “Let’s go in for that coffee.” Inside, he led Boney to his usual table near the hearth.
“You ordering off the menu, Mr. Garrett?” The crisply dressed waitress looked at the slate board on the wall.
“No thanks, Millie. Just two coffees this time.”
“Be right back with ’em then.”
When she left, Garrett returned his attention to Boney. He liked the wiry fellow.
“Went as far as Arizona Territory with the cavalry, and I have a mind to see more of it. Land as wide open as the sky. And I ain’t much for sittin’ in one place.”
“Fair enough. I’ve been with two wagon train companies that went west. Full of adventure, if you can take suffering in the hardships.”
When the steaming coffee mugs arrived, Boney took a quick gulp, then wrapped his hands around the cup. “I saw your advertisement posted in Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery.” He looked up, studying Garrett’s face.
A good trait—being able to look a man in the eye.
“You think you might have a job for me? Folks say I’m good with animals. I was a mule skinner in the cavalry.”
“Not good with people?”
Boney looked into the coffee cup. “They haven’t said the likes, but I s’pose you could judge that for yourself.”
“You’ve got an easy way about you.” Garrett took a swallow of the bitter coffee. “Plain talker, forthright. Refreshing qualities.”
“My ma didn’t cotton to puttin’ on airs.”
“Wise woman.”
“She was. She and my pa both died of the cholera. Been livin’ with my aunt and uncle in Saint Louis.”
“You’d be good to have on the journey. Consider yourself hired.” Garrett raised his coffee mug in a sort of man-to-man contract.
“I’m much obliged.” Dipping his chin, Boney lifted his cup till the two mugs clinked.
Garrett smiled. That gave him five hired hands. Folks were signing up to join the caravan. His wagon and supplies were ordered. Tomorrow night was the big town meeting, and he had the details ready for all interested. So, why did hesitation about leaving Saint Charles suddenly nag his gut?
A red-headed woman as lovely as a fine porcelain doll came to mind.