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It started to rain. Cold spring rains caused the wheels to sink into the ruts before them on the road. It also turned the compacted dirt into mud that sucked at the wheels. Riding along on the path between the ruts and along the sides of the road only increased the width of the road, and they weren’t the only ones doing that. People seemed to be coming from all over with their wagons overloaded, white canvas holding everything they held dear inside the wagons as they plodded along towards Independence. Some started traveling together since they were headed in the same direction, but Erin far preferred the comfort and peace of her own family. Jeb had no problem making acquaintances, riding off on the mare or stallion, depending on which he was riding that day. It annoyed Erin no end as he was not only using their horses but also spreading tales. Already, she had caught a few people looking at her oddly, but not because she looked like a man and they might think her a woman. No, it was because of the story of what happened in St. Charles. Jeb’s spin on events made them sound worse than they were, and Erin was embarrassed.
“We don’t talk about that,” Erin corrected Theo angrily when she caught him bragging about her.
“But Jeb said–” he began to defend himself.
“I don’t care what Jeb said. You do as I say. I don’t want you spreading tales about that incident,” she retreated into very clear, precise, and proper speech as she admonished the child.
“But–” he began again.
“No, Theo. I don’t want you spreading tales. No more. You hear me?”
Hanging his head, the boy nodded. Erin felt bad, but she didn’t want it discussed. “I can’t hear you?” she asked, to make her point but hating that she had to do this to the boy. Still, she couldn’t have him disobeying her if she was to keep the children in line.
“Yes, Pa,” he agreed, sounding crushed.
Molly and Erin discussed it later and hoped they could be soon rid of Jebediah Mackenzie. He was not a good influence on the children at all. His tales were getting longer and longer. They were obvious fabrications, and his voracious appetite was cutting into their supplies at an alarming rate. He was far too expensive a friend to have. Still, he had given them some good advice, and for that, Erin was grateful. Fortunately, with the new people around, and him being so friendly, he had been invited to share other meals with the newcomers, and they were glad to let him. Erin angrily retrieved her mare when he decided to sleep with some widow woman he met on their way. He didn’t own the horse, and she felt he was taking advantage of their generosity.
“I tell you, it’s The Great American Desert,” one of the newcomers, a Mrs. Bozeman declared.
“Now, that is pure rubbish,” Jeb contested. “I done see that there desert, and it hain’t no desert. It just don’ have as much water as ya’ll need, which is why they tole ya to bring barrels.” He went on to correct their assumptions, which were based on newspaper accounts that had spread the false rumors. Original reports from the 1805 expeditions of Lieutenant Zebulon Pike and the 1819 travels of Major Stephen Long described the Great Plains as unfit for human habitation and then, as The Great American Desert. People, thinking of a desert as a sandy wasteland didn’t realize the descriptions were mainly based on the lack of timber and surface water. “Yer gotta look for it,” Jeb explained to his captivated audience. He was in his element, and when he slipped in a few white lies here and there to make himself look good, they had no idea.
Erin, under the guise of keeping her family away from others because some were coughing and she worried about the possibility of their children catching something, heard some of his fabricated stories and shook her head. She didn’t know the whole truth, but she was certain Jebediah Mackenzie didn’t either.
“What’s this? My children aren’t good enough to play with yours?” Mrs. Allen asked Molly, standing there belligerently, her hands on her hips as she confronted the younger woman.
“Why, I never said that,” Molly began, astonished to be addressed so.
“I said I didn’t want the children playing together until yours got over their fever,” Erin said as she came up behind the two women, who were facing off behind their wagon. She put the extra rope in her hands into the back of the wagon. “I heard yellow fever and malaria are starting early this year, and I’d like whatever your children have to pass, so our children don’t get it. I’m sorry if you heard wrong,” she apologized, trying to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand.
“You think my children have yellow fever or malaria?” the woman demanded, aghast.
“No, ma’am. But a couple of travelers said it’s bad down where the Missouri and Mississippi come together,” she explained herself. “I don’t think we have to worry about it until the mosquitos and other bugs come out.” It was far too cold for that yet, so the likelihood of any of the settlers having such diseases was far-fetched. Still, unless they knew what was wrong with the Allen children, she wanted hers to stay away.
“Well, I think someone could have explained that to me instead of hurting poor Susie’s feelings,” she declared.
“I’m sure the children were just repeating what we told them,” Erin explained in a voice that apologized.
“Well, I heard Oregon is the land of milk and honey. It’s got fertile lands and a disease-free climate,” she sniffed, showing off her superior knowledge of where they were going.
“So, you’re going to Oregon and not California?” Erin asked, trying to distract the woman a little.
“We have time to decide either way before we turn off,” she sniffed. “My husband wants to think about it a while. Those virgin forests and all that unclaimed land...we’re not farmers like you folks, and he thinks he can get a job cutting wood.”
Erin was a little insulted by what the woman had said, but her face revealed nothing. “Well, I’m glad we cleared that misunderstanding up,” she smiled sweetly. It wouldn’t do to offend someone who might be their neighbor in the wagon train for a couple months.
Another of their new neighbors heading for Independence introduced himself as a preacher man. “You know the name Aaron means ‘mountain of strength’?” he asked upon learning their Christian names.
“I’m aware of that, but mine is spelled E-r-i-n,” she corrected him gently.
“Well, it’s a good biblical name, but I don’t know about the names of your children. You should change them to good Christian names,” he told them authoritatively, instantly annoying all of them.
“Well, they came with these names, and we like them, so we are going to keep them,” Molly put in delicately, trying to soften the preacher’s words.
They both agreed to avoid that preacher in the future. “I never did like a preacher that was always telling everyone what to do,” Erin admitted as they whispered their conversation later. They had set up the tent next to the wagon. It was too hard to get in and out of the wagon quickly if they were needed. All the children were in the wagon on the two mattresses, curled up under their blankets. The pad that Molly had filled with grasses wasn’t nearly as soft as the mattress but at least they had their privacy. Erin had taken to getting up twice in the night to check on their animals, the horse hobbles, and the dogs, who guarded their stock so zealously. Already, there had been altercations between the Tervurens and other dogs that people had brought along. King had defended their territory and caused injury to the other, smaller dogs.
“He isn’t the worst of the lot,” Molly whispered back. “Still, some of these are good people, and I look forward to getting to know them if they are on the same train as us.”
There were good people heading west, people just like the Herriot family, hard-working and honest. But they wouldn’t all make it. There were enough bad people to make the journey interesting, but when you came right down to it, the good folks prevailed. Erin had proven that. Her reputation preceded her, mostly thanks to Jeb and his talking of matters that didn’t concern him. A few people came to meet Erin Herriot and size him up.
“He ain’t nothin’ but a tall drink of water,” was the consensus. Still, others gave him a wide berth, not wanting trouble with someone such as Jeb told them about.
“We don’t want trouble,” the wagon master warned Erin upon meeting him and his family outside of town. He had come up to investigate that they had the provisions required to make the journey. “You got help with them animals?” he asked, looking at the cattle and sheep with disdain.
“I got my children and my dogs, and my wife will be driving our wagon.”
“That ain’t enough,” he asserted, having heard of the incident in St. Charles.
“It’s been enough from Ohio, and my wife’s been driving since we set out. We’ve driven through snowstorms, sleet, and rain. We aim to get to Oregon, and if not with your wagon train, we’ll find another. I’d sure like to go with yours though; you are who we wrote to.” Erin wasn’t about to back down now. They’d traveled too far and too long to let this man bully them out of their dream.
Pat Wallace eyed the farmer once more. The sheep, the cattle, and the poultry was all too much. Still, they could eat it all if they had to. He was certain they’d be slow with all that stock, but a wagon train was by its very nature slow. He’d gleaned the truth of Jeb’s lies and ascertained that this man would get the job done. A man was judged by how much he could do out here. He might be slight and not much to look at, but he had a farmer’s hands, his shoulders were filled out by hard work, and if his reputation was anything to go by, he’d do what needed to be done. He nodded once. “We’re heading out in a week or so. Just waiting on a few more families and everyone that needs to get their final supplies and animals. If I were you, I’d put a guard on yours until we get the temporary corral built,” he nodded towards the horses and oxen Both sets were prime animals and not overly spent if they had come all the way from Ohio in the late of winter. The man must take care of his animals. It was then he noticed the Tervurens staring at him intently. He didn’t like the way they measured him with their knowing eyes. “We’re gathering out on the trail about half a mile,” he told Erin. “You can get your horses shod...” he began but Erin held up a hand.
“I got my own anvil. I’ll do my own shoeing,” she told him.
“You a blacksmith?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m a farmer. My brother did the smithing, but with him dead I had to do my own. I’ll make sure my horses are all shod for the trip,” she promised.
“You’ll be asked by others,” he warned her.
“Then they’ll have to pay for my time,” she answered back, a slight grin of anticipation on her face at the thought. They had been cutting it close on the money and having a source of income pleased her.
For the first time, Pat Wallace smiled, agreeing with the farmer. He could see the wagon was well set up. He spotted the pups playing with the children and was surprised at the number of children. Glancing at the farmer’s wife, he was equally surprised at the youth of the woman. There was no way she had birthed that many children. He speculated, glancing back and forth for a moment.
“Molly, I’d like you to meet Mr. Pat Wallace,” Erin called to introduce the man. “This is my wife,” she said proudly, never growing tired of saying that. “Molly Herriot,” she announced unnecessarily.
“Mr. Wallace,” Molly said, nodding to the man politely.
“Missus Herriot,” he returned, glancing between the couple. He saw where Herriot had put his arm proprietarily around the woman and how she glanced up lovingly, and it annoyed him. She had sultry good looks, and the farmer was lean, tall, and homely. Aesthetically, that pretty a woman belonged with a handsome man, not that...he stopped his thoughts. “I’ll see you both later,” he announced as he touched his finger to his hat and turned his horse away. He looked back once more and said, “Pay your fee when you are out at the camp, and we’ll sign your papers for the trip.” He paused a second for Erin to nod in acknowledgement before turning away and riding on.
“A bit abrupt, isn’t he?” Molly murmured as she turned back to the children.
“I imagine he has a lot on his broad shoulders,” Erin answered.
They stopped in Independence to check for mail, not to add to their supplies. They found the letter from the State of Ohio giving them full custody of the five Harris children and noting their legal change of name to Herriot. Molly was thrilled. Erin smiled when she saw the letter and in celebration they bought the children some store-bought candy.
“You must be rich to indulge your children so,” a disapproving Mrs. Gregoire stated when she saw the Herriot children eating their treats out at the camp. The camp had been steadily growing as people congregated for the wagon trains. Rumor had it that a train was coming in from St. Louis and due to arrive in the next couple of days.
“We’re celebrating some good news we got,” Molly returned, ignoring the angry woman. She wasn’t going to apologize for treating their children. She knew the woman’s own children were jealous, but that was too bad.
Erin was rigging a sling to bring the anvil out the end of the tall wagon, using the horses and a pulley system to maneuver the heavy iron. She’d found a log to use as a base and hand sawed it until it was square and could handle the weight of the anvil. “Careful there. Easy,” she warned the fascinated children back as she eased it into place. “Go gather sticks and other wood. I’m going to need a hot fire and plenty of fuel. Not you, Timmy,” she cautioned as Molly grabbed the charging two-year-old, always a handful. She watched as Tabitha took Theresa’s four-year-old hand to keep track of her and Theodore took Tommy with him. They’d stay together to gather the necessary wood. “I’m going to have to use some of our iron,” Erin confided after a few days of fitting horseshoes, the ring of the anvil beating out over the camp. It wasn’t as bad as Independence where there were smithies all over, at least fifty beating out their sharp tattoos and charging a fortune to get the animals ready for the long trip. When some realized there was a smithy in their own camp and they needn’t head into Independence, they began to request Erin’s services.
“It will lighten the load,” Molly consoled, pleased at the idea. Already, the wagon seemed to be sinking deeper into the earth out here, and they weren’t even out on the prairie yet. The plains of Illinois were long gone, but someone had mentioned that out west The Great American Desert was similar, not as fertile as those plains. She worried that their horses and oxen wouldn’t be able to keep up. She knew the ground was warming and had been frozen as they went through Illinois, but still, she was concerned as she watched the cold, spring rains heading their way.
“I’m going to trade for another yoke or two. At worst, we can train a couple of the cattle to pull,” Erin mentioned as she worked, sweating under the tent she had rigged despite the cold rain that was misting down. At least it wasn’t a hard rain that would impede their progress when they got going. Already, the cattle and horses and sheep were eagerly cropping at the greening grass that was no longer hidden beneath ice and snow. She’d rigged up one of the tarps to give her a space to work her anvil, shoeing their own horses quickly. The stallion gave her the most trouble. She’d nearly gotten kicked but managed to tie him down in a Scotch hobble: taking a long, soft, cotton rope, she tied up his rear leg. Then, looping it around his neck, she double wrapped it around his hind foot. It immobilized him, so he couldn’t kick, and she was able to get him properly shod and his hooves trimmed like her other horses. The heavy tools of a farrier needed sharpening, and she sat by their campfire at night long after her smithing work was done. It was there she was approached by other settlers, who didn’t want to go back to Independence to have their own animals shod. By charging the same prices as those in town, Erin was accumulating a little stash.
“You the smith?” the surly voice came out of the dark. King started to growl, letting the stranger know he wasn’t welcome at their campsite.
“Easy, King,” Erin cautioned as she paused sharpening the last of her tools. “I’m not a smith, but I can do some smithing for you. Why don’t you come on into the firelight and set down?” she offered.
Both the man who came in and Erin were surprised. It was the man from the store who had glared at her for not being willing to even discuss the sale of any of her horses or cattle. The recognition was immediate on both their faces.
“It’s you, is it?” the man sneered, obviously still annoyed.
“Yep, it’s me,” Erin answered, unsure how to take that. She continued to sharpen the last tool and slowly put it down, wondering what more the man would say.
“You still ain’t willing to talk about selling your horses?”
“I need my horses. I’m going to homestead, and I’ll need to break the ground,” she tried explaining patiently. Sometimes, when someone wasn’t a farmer, they simply didn’t understand the amount of work that went into it. Erin knew that the virgin ground was going to be tough and she’d have need of her horses and the oxen, not just for the trip but afterwards.
“You got more than enough. Horses are becoming scarce out here.”
Erin nodded in agreement. “That’s why I brought my own.”
“You got cattle. You could use them to pull your wagon.”
“They ain’t–” she stopped herself, glancing at Molly, who was looking on in alarm at the way the man was addressing Erin. He sounded angry, belligerent, and used to getting his own way. “They aren’t broken to the yoke or to pulling a wagon.”
“You could teach ‘em.”
Erin nodded in agreement with the point the man was making. In fact, she had just that day come across a discarded and broken yoke that she was going to fix the following day for their own use. If worse came to worst, she’d hitch up Billy or one of his cows to help pull the wagon in these deep, prairie grasses. She wasn’t, however, going to let the man know she’d already thought of that, or he would think she was taking advantage of his idea. “That might be something I would do down the line, but right now, those cattle are my seed for future stock and they aren’t broke to the yoke.” She knew she was getting defensive when she found herself repeating her own words.
The man was unreasonably angry. He got back up to leave the fire. Looking back at her, he pointed and said, “Someday you may have a need of help from your neighbors. You can bet I won’t forget how unhelpful you were.” So saying, he left their little circle.
Molly looked on in surprise at the altercation and then continued writing in her daily journal, shaking her head at the foibles of men.
“Did you say that Jeb could take the mare?” Molly came to ask her late one day as she worked carefully on a team of one of their neighbors.
“No, I shorely didn’t,” she said around a nail she had in her mouth. She removed it to put it in the shoe she had just fit to the horse’s hoof, the end of it coming out the side where she snipped it with the back of her hammer. Lowering the hoof for a moment, she stood up slowly, her aching back straightening as though she were an old man. She rubbed the tenderness for a moment. “We have to tell him he can’t just take our stock.”
Molly nodded in agreement, looking beyond the smithy Erin had set up next to their wagon to check on the children. The ducks and geese were on the other side of their wagon, the cages Erin had made on the ground, so the birds could peck and eat the grasses, searching for bugs despite the earliness of the year. She heard a chicken clucking, announcing she had laid an egg as though she were the first to ever accomplish such a feat. The children knew not to play around the poultry cages. The dogs were both laying down, watching their children and poultry. The horses were with the cattle in a corral with other settlers’ stock. The sheep were in their own fold, built by Erin to temporarily hold them. The pigs were sleeping under the wagon, content to be immobile for a while and getting up now and then to lazily check if their bucket had any food in it, then rooting around in the grass if it didn’t. “How are we going to tell him to stop?”
“I’ll simply tell him. I certainly don’t want to cause a ruckus, but we can’t keep feeding him. He’s taking advantage of us.”
The decision was taken from them when Jeb returned the mare and announced he had been hired as a scout on one of the other wagon trains. He thanked them for their hospitality and went on his way, still carrying the blanket they had given him.
“Ah, well. I probably couldn’t have gotten the stink out of that blanket when I washed it,” Molly stated, glad to see the last of the man.
Erin grinned, glad she hadn’t had to confront the man. Still, she was glad he was gone too. His tales about what they had yet to travel through had been scary, and she hadn’t wanted the children to have nightmares.
Erin worked steadily that week as people made their last-minute preparations. A few more wagons came in, and apparently, that was what Pat Wallace was waiting for. He began to circulate among those in his train and tell them to be ready in two days.
Erin had checked and rechecked their wagon, looking for loose springs. The wheels were checked thoroughly because a loose wheel could cause a delay, and a broken wheel could spell disaster. She checked the chug-a-lug. The bands around it were tight and it swung well, producing the butter that Molly skimmed off late every day. The cows were still producing, and Erin was considering getting rid of a calf or two. They’d be a bother on the trail. A farmer came and made them a good offer. As they had many offers for their horses and cattle, and even their sheep for food, the offer couldn’t have come at a better time. She sold him all three of the milk calves and even the two that were born to their cattle.
“But Ma, they were so cute,” Theresa cried when she realized the farmer was taking the calves.
“Theresa, they just wouldn’t make it on the trip, and we can’t put them in the slings anymore. They’re too big, and you don’t want them to die, do you?” Molly tried to reason with the four-year-old. Tommy was just beyond her, trying manfully not to cry, but she could see it was a near thing.
“Noooo,” she sobbed, her fist rubbing her eye.
Molly didn’t tell any of the children that most likely one or two of those calves was meant for butchering for the rennet that would make the cheese they loved so much. She was still pleased with how that was holding out in the casks where they had stored it. Jeb hadn’t found it. And she’d managed to hide the jerky too, something he adored.
As Erin packed and repacked their things, making it secure for the 2200-mile journey they were about to embark on, she was surprised to realize they probably had more things than they started out with. Between the children, the sheep, and the additional supplies, she now had the clothes they had intended on selling, and a spinning loom waiting to be put together at the end of the trip, which was taking up room in the large wagon. With the two sets of oxen, two sets of farm horses, and the possibility of using some of her cattle, she was sure they could pull the enormous weight of the wagon. Maneuvering the anvil back into its spot at the back of the wagon, she nearly dropped it, realizing that would have been fatal. Next, she debated on the sawn log she had used as a base for the anvil and decided to leave it. They’d use it in the fire that night. Sweating from her exertions, she started to worry about the trip. They’d already come a long way and now, she was contemplating an even longer trip through mountain passes and over some very dangerous ground. It wasn’t only Jeb who had warned them of hostile Indians, wild animals, and the length of the trip. Everyone had been warned and knew how treacherous a trip it could be. Few, if any, entered in it lightly.
Molly wouldn’t tell Erin, but the thought that they were only partially through their incredibly long journey was tiring to her. She didn’t want to upset her, but she wanted to be in a home, not traveling with these strangers, whose eternal questions weighed on her. She was certain at some point, they were going to be found out. She feared that someone would discover Erin’s secret, or the children she had come to love would either be taken away or hurt on this long journey. The worry was piling up, and she was afraid to add to Erin’s responsibilities any more than she already had with the impulsive purchase of the sheep.
She thought about the pups Erin had traded and how the farmer had determined which ones to take. They’d put all the pups down near four sheep, who had looked curiously at the small dogs. Three of the six pups had immediately started moving towards the sheep, almost as though they were herding them. One had been a little more cautious, watching and thinking about what she was doing. Finally, the little girl pup had headed towards the sheep, determinedly, not in the least intimidated by their size. Two of the pups had fled, causing hilarity when the curious sheep chased them. The farmer had chosen the four that went after the sheep. Molly smiled in remembrance, often feeling like that fourth pup, with her own little herd of sheep as she gazed at the children, her children now. The State of Ohio had granted their petition to adopt all the children and they were theirs. Erin and Molly Herriot were the proud parents of the five Harris children, hereafter to be known as the Herriot children. She was proud of that and proud of the children. All of them except Tabitha were proud to officially be Herriots.
The thought of driving the wagon another 2200 miles just exhausted her. She knew it wasn’t any easier on Erin who had ridden most of the way on horseback, dealing with the young stallion that she hadn’t as much time as she liked to train the way she wanted. He was better than when they purchased him, but some of the finer things Erin liked to train in their animals, like responding to her whistle, were lacking. Still, she had ridden him enough that he was broke to the saddle. He was just so young that he still acted up, causing problems when they least needed it.
Having the two teams of horses before the slower and methodical oxen was harder driving than even Molly had anticipated. Her arms ached every single day as she got used to the additional work involved in driving the longer train of animals that were pulling their heavy wagon. She worried constantly about the children, who Erin had insisted must get out and walk for part of the day to ease the weight in the wagon. She’d worried about that on the trip out to Independence, but now, with the threat of Indians being more prevalent and her unable to see the children walking along, she was concerned constantly. She knew Erin would be behind them, herding the cattle and sheep with the dogs and able to see the children, but she couldn’t watch them. She was grateful that Timmy was too small for much of that walking. In the wagon, he was constantly into things. Fortunately, he took naps, played with the cats and kittens, and kept busy looking at her picture books. Still, he was only two years old and her worry over him was enormous. Then there was Theresa, only four and determined to keep up with her six-year-old brother, Tommy. Both were too small to walk all the way to Oregon. Already, Theo and Tabitha had proven enormously helpful on the trip out from Ohio. How would the younger children cope?
“What is wrong with you?” Erin asked one night before they were to set out on their long journey. She had noticed Molly’s agitation. She had observed how quiet she was becoming despite the new people they were meeting. At first, she thought it was because their natural inquisitiveness about their new neighbors was cause for concern, especially if they found Erin was not the man she was portraying, but she soon realized that something else was weighing on Molly’s mind.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” she hedged, not wishing to burden Erin with her thoughts and fears.
“Molly, I’ve known you my entire life. Please don’t shut me out now,” she pleaded in a voice she never used in public. Only Molly knew this side of her and only in private. Even the children rarely saw the easy affection between the two women. However, the affection they had witnessed was tempered as they thought of Erin as a man.
Molly had to concede that Erin was right. She had known her their entire lives, since grade school and on into adulthood. They’d been friends and become more than friends. They were on this journey, together. They’d made the decisions that had brought them here, together. The children were theirs, together. She should share, and yet, she didn’t want to upset Erin. Her hesitancy was apparent.
“Are you worried? Excited? Scared?” she practically pleaded for information.
Molly couldn’t keep anything from her best friend, her companion, her lover, especially the worries she was feeling. It was so rare they were completely alone, even with the addition of the tent. There was always a child climbing out of the wagon and joining them. It made for hurried lovemaking, which was frequently interrupted. They were both frustrated about the lack of privacy. Only when it was necessary for Erin to have a lookout to make her bowel movements or stream were they completely alone, and even then, it had been a chancy thing. “I think a little of all that and more,” she admitted. She turned, so she was facing Erin in the dark. She couldn’t make out her features in the bed they shared but spoke to her, knowing exactly where she was by feel. “Are we making the right decisions? Is it fair to take these children, our children, out there?”
“We talked all that out back in Ohio,” she pointed out, feeling the same fears Molly was feeling. “We didn’t plan on so many children, but God provided, and he’ll continue to provide.”
“Do you truly believe that?” she asked, feeling cynical about what Erin had just said. Usually it was the other way around, Erin being the cynical one about God and religion.
“I do. I don’t know why God made me as I am. I never have,” she indicated her body and the evidence of her womanhood. “But I do know that he wouldn’t have made our plans begin to come true if’n we weren’t on the right path.”
“Oh, Erin. I’m so glad to be here with you and the children. They’re ours, Erin, all ours,” she clasped Erin to her tightly, her young body wriggling against the taller woman, arousing her. She began to kiss her passionately.
“Molly,” Erin murmured huskily, beginning to caress the curves she knew so well through the nightgown her wife was wearing. She was just raising the nightgown to feel the skin under it, when they heard it.
“Ma?” a voice whispered, at least the whisperer thought it was a whisper.
Molly pulled back from where her own lips were buried in Erin’s neck. Listening carefully to the echoes of the voice, she identified it. “Yes, Theresa. What do you need?” she called.
“Can I sleep with you? Tommy kicked me, and I think Timmy wet the bed.”
Sighing, Molly put her forehead against Erin’s. “You hold that thought,” she managed as she quickly reached for her shawl and slipped on her shoes without stockings.
“Want me to help?” Erin offered half-heartedly. She didn’t really want to help. She was tired from all the work they had been doing and the last-minute preparations, but she wanted to do her fair share. She’d been willing to give up her sleep to make love to Molly.
“No, you get some sleep. I’ll handle this,” she answered as she untied the strings holding the tent fastenings closed. Erin could immediately feel the coolness of the night when the flap was pushed aside. Their body heat had warmed the small space and she burrowed under the blankets, wishing they’d had a chance to finish making love.
Molly was pleased to find that Theresa was wrong about Timmy, who slept on peacefully. But the cold and damp had given the little girl shivers, especially once she got outside the covers. Tommy slept on, unaware that he had kicked his little sister. She glanced in the dark and could make out the shadows of Tabitha and Theodore, back to back on the other mattress, burrowed under their blankets, sound asleep.
“Can I sleep with you and Pa?” the little girl asked.
“No, Theresa. Your pa needs his sleep. He works hard in the day and can’t have you waking him,” she warned as she wrapped a blanket around the little girl and put her back to bed. She must have climbed down in the dead of night like a monkey, or how Molly imagined a monkey climbed, for she had never seen one and did not know. “Now, you snuggle up there and get warm. Think about getting warm, and in a few minutes, it will be daylight, okay?”
The little girl nodded solemnly. Molly was sure it was just insecurity making the child check up on her parents after all these weeks traveling together. She needed to know that Molly and Erin weren’t going anywhere without them. The trauma of her birth parents dying must still be weighing on the little girl. She sat there a moment, wondering what the house she and Erin would build in Oregon would look like. How would they fit all these children in it? She caressed Theresa’s hair, the heat of her hand soothing the child, the warmth of the blanket lulling her to sleep. Molly made sure she was soundly asleep and completely covered before climbing from the wagon bed. The mattresses seemed to be inordinately high in the wagon, but that was due to the supplies packed in the wagon bed. She supposed they would have to start using the second tent for the children soon. She shivered as she got down on the ground, the cold of the spring night chilling her. She plodded the few feet to their tent, hearing one of the dog’s tails thumping on the ground, letting her know that he or she was awake and guarding. Smiling to herself, she slipped into the tent and peered into the darkness to make out Erin’s form. She could already tell by her breathing that she was asleep. Slipping off her shoes, she tied the tent flaps closed. She quickly slipped under the blanket, pleased when Erin shared her warmth and cuddled close despite the coolness of her body.