Katie and the Mustang, Book 3 (12 page)

It didn't mean anything, I told myself, trying not to cry. And I knew it was true. One returned letter didn't mean anything at all. I had written several letters, and just because one person in Oregon City hadn't known my uncle Jack, that didn't mean he wasn't there. I looked around the shop. Mrs. Kyler had left.

I walked outside and stood near the fort trader's door and pulled in one deep breath after another, looking for her. I was sure Uncle Jack would answer me. He was my mother's only brother, and she had been his only sister.

He had written my mother twice, and he would write me. It was too bad his answer hadn't gotten to Iowa while I was still there, but it didn't matter. I knew what it would say. Uncle Jack would tell me to come west to Oregon, that I could live with him and his wife and their children, that I would be welcome. Of course. Of course he would say that. What else would he say?

I stood up straighter. Maybe Uncle Jack's answer was sitting on Mrs. Stevens's old porch right now, brought by some neighbor who had gone into town. The McCartys wouldn't read it, I was sure. They would send it back to him. Maybe in a year, when I had been living with my family in Oregon for months, Uncle Jack's letter would come back, carried by farmers and stage coaches and people in wagons like the Kylers. We would read it together and laugh to think that the letter had traveled the Oregon trail
twice
to find me.

“Katie? Katie!”

I looked up, startled. It was Mrs. Kyler, looking flustered. “Benton sent Polly to bring us back. He says the other camp has a guide, and the man is coming to talk to us. I want to hear what he has to say.”

I nodded, my thoughts still with the letter inside my bodice. I didn't need to read it. I knew exactly what it said. I had been so unhappy, so desperate when I had written it.

“Katie?”

I looked up at her.

“Did you hear me?”

I nodded, and we began walking. Polly had gone ahead, I could see her running across the grassland, framed by the big stockade doors, her dress flying out behind her.

Mrs. Kyler put her arm around me. “No letter?”

I shook my head. I didn't want to explain.

“I'm sorry,” she said. She held me close to her side for a moment, then let me go. “It will all work out for you, Katie,” she whispered.

Neither of us said another word as we walked. I could smell cook fires and bacon as we neared our camp, and it made my mouth water. She looked into my face and smiled. “Bacon sounds good now, doesn't it?”

I nodded, and we both laughed.

“Back to work, I guess?” she asked. I tried to smile at her. She patted my head. “Will you get the fire made? I'd love to eat before the wagon guide gets here.”

I nodded again.

She tilted her head. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I told her. And it was true. I was all right. I was fine. We would soon be on our way—maybe with this new guide to show us the shortest, easiest trail to Oregon. Uncle Jack was there. One of my letters had just gotten lost, that's all. Just one.

The sun was up and warm against my skin as I raked back the ashes. I crumpled the letter and used it to raise a flame, then added kindling wood. I knew exactly what the letter said and it didn't matter anymore. I didn't need to tell my uncle I was living with Mr. and Mrs. Stevens now, working too hard and eating too little, scolded and switched all the livelong day. Things had changed. I had saved myself from them, and I would get myself to Oregon, too.

Once the fire was crackling, I ran to check on the Mustang. I told him about the letter, and he nuzzled me, nibbling at my hair and cheek as I talked. I hugged him and patted Delia and Midnight, then told them all I had to go back to help Mrs. Kyler.

She was bending over the fire when I got there, the bacon sizzling and the coffee on. Breakfast was almost ready. Carrying firewood for her, I began to hum a tune. I had no idea where it had come from at first, then I remembered. It was a song my mother had sung, an old one, from Ireland, from her grandmother.

I tried to remember the words and couldn't, and it made me sad until I realized that Uncle Jack must know it. Even if I couldn't remember it, he would be able to teach it to me. The thought made me smile. This long journey wasn't taking me somewhere strange and scary. It was taking me
home
.