Leaving Independence (7 page)

As they turned to leave, Mrs. Helton took Charlie’s arm, and even though she leaned in and spoke low, Abigail still heard her. “If anything happens to your mother, Charlie, you and the rest of the children come back here to me.”

Abigail came around the wagon holding a rope. She handed it to Jacob, whose eyes grew large as they followed the cord to its other end.

“What is
that
?”

“A cow. Don’t act like you’ve never seen one before. Your job is to milk her every morning.”

“Wa—wait a minute! Where did it come from?”

“I traded for it.” When the Baldwyns moved their things to the wagons, Abigail realized her folly in thinking she could jostle all the way to Idaho Territory with a porcelain washbowl and pitcher. So she’d gone back to the store where she put the fire out to see if the merchant there would trade her for a tin set. He was so grateful to her for saving his store that he threw in a Jersey cow.

“When?” asked Jacob.

“Just now.”

“I never milked a cow before.”

“You’ll get the hang of it. Tie it over there, out of the way.”

Charlie had been sent for a stock of firewood, and Corrine and Lina were repacking the food. Corrine didn’t like the way it had been stacked the first time.

“I’m going to the mercantile one last time, Corrine, to get a churn.” Abigail noticed mud clumps covering the foot of the wagon. “And a broom.”

Corrine poked her head out of the wagon. “Why do we need a churn?”

“We have a cow,” said Jacob, holding the rope high.

Before going to the mercantile, Abigail paid a final visit to the post office. She handed the first letter to the postal clerk.
I have taken your advice and am coming to Fort Hall.
Robert would surely be surprised—this was the boldest thing she’d ever done.

Then she reached into her pocket for Mimi’s freedom papers and slid them into the second letter. Robert had drawn them up years before the fighting began. Mimi couldn’t refuse them now and Abigail wanted her to have them—to remind them both that Mimi had never been hers to own.

She smiled to see the clerk postmark each letter
Independence
.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something important,” she later confessed to an attractive brunette woman behind her in line at the mercantile.

The woman smiled. “You prob’ly are. But maybe I’ll have it, and you can borry it.”

“You’re with Dotson’s train?”

“That’s right. Melinda Austelle.” The woman extended her hand. Abigail could see she wasn’t shy. “Mr. Austelle and I have two boys and a girl. We’re from Georgia.”

Melinda Austelle seemed to know everyone and everything. Abigail quickly learned that Mr. Austelle was the blacksmith traveling in Colonel Dotson’s wagon train.

“Mr. Austelle has been workin’ in that big lot across from the courthouse helpin’ make shoes for all these stock and iron wheels for the local wagon sellers. Would you believe they’s over twenty smithies down there? If the wheels ain’t prepared right, the wood shrinks and the irons fall off. Some people soak the wheels in creek beds at night, but Mr. Austelle says you shouldn’t have to, if they’re prepared right.”

Melinda was better prepared for this trip than Abigail. She had a husband to help educate her on things like wheel irons. Abigail wondered again what she was forgetting.

With the stoneware churn on her hip and the broom in the crook of her arm, Abigail wove through the growing maze of wagons. As she neared her own, she heard a deep, now-familiar voice and saw Hoke talking to Lina and Corrine.

“When you start the team you give a little flip on the reins, like this. Mules are stubborn, but if you show them you’re boss and get them into a routine, they’ll do fine.”

Abigail stopped, curious to see what Lina and Corrine thought of him. Hoke’s back was to her . . . same dusty black boots, same once-black hat, different buckskin shirt.

“What if they see a snake?” asked Lina.

“If it’s a big rattlesnake, it’ll scare ’em.”

“What do you do then?” Lina’s eyes were large.

“Better hold tight. If they take off running it’ll be hell to pay.”

“Mr. Hoke!” Abigail stepped forward.

“Just Hoke.”

He didn’t turn. Had he known she was standing behind him?

“Please don’t say
hell
in front of my children.”

He turned to her. “They don’t know about hell?”

“Hoke brought our mules and horses, Ma!” Lina ran to tug her skirt, whispering up to Abigail, “I like his growly voice.”

“
Mr.
Hoke,” corrected Abigail.

“Is Charlie around?” Hoke asked. “I’ll show him how to harness the teams and hobble them at night so they can’t wander off.” He stooped to rub Rascal’s ears. Within seconds the dog’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“I know where the boys are.” Corrine reached for her sister’s small hand. “Come with me, Lina.”

Rascal loped after them, turning several times to look back at Hoke.

Abigail grinned. “You certainly made an impression on the dog.”

Hoke stood and came toward her. “Could you stop correcting me in front of people?” He was clean shaven and no longer smelled like horse sweat, but the scent of pine and cedar lingered.

Hugging the churn, she took a step back. “When have I corrected you?”

“I told Charlie the other day to just call me Hoke and you said, no, call him
Mr.
Hoke. You just did it again, plus you scolded me for saying there’d be hell to pay. Here, give me that, it looks heavy.” He took the churn from her arms and set it in the back of her nearest wagon.

“I’m sorry. But I’ve worked hard to teach my children a strict moral code. If you can refrain from cursing in front of them and promise not to offer them liquor or teach them to gamble, then I won’t have to correct you in front of them.”

“Do you think I’m a scoundrel?” He reached for the broom.

She couldn’t read him well enough to know if that smoldering look in his eyes was hurt or anger. Why should it hurt him for her to think he might be a scoundrel?

“No,” she answered hesitantly, letting go of the broom, which he set by the churn. “But you do have a piercing . . . hard way about you.”

He turned back toward her and burned her with his eyes. “Does that make me a bad person?”

Abigail looked from the churn to the broom, and back to Hoke. “I guess not.”

Charlie came bounding around the wagon. “Mr. Hoke! Good to see you again.” They shook hands. “This is my brother, Jacob.”

“Good to meet you, Jacob.”

Hoke took Jacob’s hand in his like he was shaking hands with a man. Jacob stood straighter.

“You boys probably already know this,” said Hoke, “but let me show you how to hitch and hobble these mules and horses.”

The boys looked at each other with raised eyebrows and followed him.

Abigail didn’t know if she was glad or upset to have Hoke on the trip.

She looked at the churn and broom again, wondering how he’d managed to take them from her hands in such a way that she had barely noticed, then stepped to the back of the other wagon to put her reticule in the cherry box.

Immediately she knew: someone had been in here . . . one of the children, maybe. Things she had left sitting on the top of the chest were strewn to the side of it. When she raised the lid and looked inside, it was obvious someone had rifled through her letters. Panicked, she checked the drawstring purse that had held the last of their twenty-dollar gold pieces.

It was empty!

CHAPTER 7

Mere suggestion of money

Fear nearly stopped her heart.

Abigail dug under the letters for the small box that held her jewelry. When the lid flipped up, she felt her heart beat again. The cameo brooch and pearl pendant were still there. The cameo had been her mother’s. As a girl, Abigail had thought the silhouette in the carved ivory was her mother’s profile.

Robert had given her the pearl pendant as a wedding gift.

Abigail tucked the jewelry box under her arm and searched for Colonel Dotson, but found his wife, Christine, instead.

“Mrs. Dotson!”

“Hello, Mrs. Baldwyn. Is everything all right?”

“Money is missing from my wagon . . . over a hundred dollars in gold coin. Nearly all we had left.” Fear and doubt squeezed her heart in equal measure. How could they possibly survive this trip on the few remaining coins in her reticule? Was she a fool for bringing her family out here?

Christine left to get Colonel Dotson while Abigail went to find her children. None of them had seen anyone near the wagon.

Hoke arrived with the colonel, and Abigail showed them the cherry box. “This is where I keep important letters. The money was in here, along with a small jewelry box.”

“They didn’t take the jewelry?” asked the colonel.

She shook her head.

The colonel looked out darkly over the camp. “I won’t tolerate thievery.”

“Be hard to know if it was someone in our group. People have been coming and going all day,” said Hoke.

“Mrs. Baldwyn, we could go wagon to wagon,” said the colonel, “but Hoke’s right. It could have been somebody from town. We could have everybody in our own group turn their pockets out, but how would we know your coins from theirs?”

Abigail thought of the bag of coins she’d laid in Hoke’s hand only days ago. She wasn’t sure she would recognize those same coins again if Hoke handed them back to her, so how would she know her missing coins if she saw
them
?

She bit her fingernail. “I don’t know if we can still afford to go. Unless . . . how much time do I have before the group meeting, Colonel?”

“Two hours.”

“Charlie, Corrine, watch Jacob and Lina. I’ll be back in an hour.”

Mrs. Helton looked surprised to see Abigail standing in the door of her kitchen. “Did you decide to stay?”

“No. I’m hoping you’ll help me go.”

Abigail told Mrs. Helton what had happened and showed her the jewelry. “Do you know anyone who might buy a pearl pendant?”

Mrs. Helton wiped her hands on a cloth and inspected the jewelry. “Not the cameo?”

Abigail shook her head. “I can part with the pendant more easily.”

The older woman looked at her a minute. “I’ll buy it.”

She was so humbled she could hardly speak. “I’m not asking you to buy it; I was just hoping you could refer me to a jeweler.”

“I have money. And I like it. If your circumstances change I’ll sell it back to you.”

Abigail’s eyes burned as Mrs. Helton laid twice the amount Abigail had paid her for their lodging back in her shaking hands. She clutched the older woman’s fingers and whispered, “What if I’m making a mistake, Mrs. Helton? What if I lose more than my money?”

The older woman studied her face before answering.

“Come here, I want to show you something.” She led Abigail to a cabinet in the parlor and opened a drawer filled with letters.

“These are postmarked from every territory west and south and north of here. And they don’t all have a happy ending. Sometimes people lose more than their money. But I am amazed at what they find.

“I know it took courage for you to come here, and it’s going to take courage for every hardship you encounter on the way. I admire you for it. If I knew Edward was out there somewhere . . .” She looked out the window, in the direction of the cemetery. When she looked back at Abigail, her eyes brimmed with tears. “Or my boy? I’d walk two thousand miles to get to him.”

Mrs. Helton brushed away the tears and smiled. “I don’t know what you’ll end up with, but don’t ever fault yourself for trying. And don’t let something like stolen coins stop you when you’ve still got the means to replace them.”

At the five o’clock meeting Hoke spotted Abigail on the opposite side of the circle of travelers, sitting quietly on a hay bale with her children.

So she hadn’t pulled out . . . not yet, anyway.
Good for her . . . good for her.

Since delivering the last of his horses that afternoon, Hoke had been wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He and James had made good from the sales off the herd. There was land aplenty right here in Missouri, and the offer of a job from a man who was like a father to him. So why go on this trip?

His only answer was the memory of that regal yet exasperating woman rubbing the muzzle of his white filly. That was the moment he had decided to go, surprising himself.

Or maybe it was when she leaned her head back at the corral.

The thought that he might not have control of his own independent mind was infuriating. She was already a worry to him . . . her money stolen before she even left! It made sense she’d be a target, with her fancy clothes.

He intended to give her back the five gold pieces she’d overpaid him—they were jangling in his pocket now—he just wasn’t sure of the best way to go about it. He didn’t want to embarrass her in front of anyone. The way she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin showed she had pride.

He had no business worrying over a married woman, just like he had no business keeping the filly. No western man rode a white horse. It was too dangerous. But that filly had captured his heart somehow. She had fire and spirit! And he didn’t know when he’d seen a prettier horse. Keeping her was a foolish vanity and he knew it. He just hoped it didn’t prove to be his downfall.

Hoke’s gaze fanned out over the gathering circle again. Who from this group would get buried along the road? It was said that for every hundred people that started down the Oregon Trail, five wouldn’t live to see the end of it.

There were all kinds of folks here: educated and uneducated, wealthy and poor . . . and perhaps one who was a thief.

Abigail Baldwyn and her children stood out in this crowd. The mere suggestion of money and pedigree didn’t just make people a target for stealing, it made them a target for mean talk, too.

Irene McConnelly waved to him from across the circle. He tipped his hat and looked away.

Abigail looked around the circle of travelers, her eyes stopping on Hoke. He stood tall and brooding beside several other men. His arms were crossed and he was chewing on a stick again, talking to no one.

Even at this distance Abigail could tell that his eyes—his whole body—simmered. His gaze seemed locked on her, but then it darted away, seemingly catching every movement at the gathering. A tall, bearded man in suspenders and calf-length boots stood next to him, beside a low, flatbed wagon someone had pulled to the middle of the ring.

Colonel Dotson hopped on the wagon and cleared his throat. “Welcome, everyone! We’ve got twenty-seven families, forty-six wagons, and seventy-eight souls on this train.”

“And two thousand miles to get to know each other,” yelled a man from the back of the crowd. Several people whooped and clapped.

“That’s right.” Dotson laughed.

Abigail realized with a sinking feeling that she should have brought simpler dresses. Several curious stares, some hostile, kept aiming in her direction. She wondered if word had gotten out about her money being stolen. What if folks didn’t believe her? Few would feel sorry for the Baldwyns’ present circumstances when it would appear they’d had plenty in the past. Abigail leaned toward each of the children and told them not to mention their stolen money to anyone.

The blackest stares in the group were coming from a petite, dark-haired woman who sat several feet away. When Melinda Austelle came toward her, Abigail nodded at the woman. “Who is that?”

“Irene McConnelly. And to answer your question, yes. She always looks like she’s been suckin’ a pickle. Her and that other woman over there, Sue Vandergelden.”

“I was worried she thought I was overdressed.”

“She
is
probably jealous of your looks and your nice clothes. I really like your shirt, by the way. It’s got the prettiest sleeves.”

“Thank you.” Melinda’s kindness felt extra warm after the cold stares she’d received from Irene McConnelly. “I can show you how to make them.”

Abigail liked the loose fit of Garibaldi sleeves and usually paired a white shirt with a black Swiss waist or a striped vest with pockets to hold her thimbles. She wore a blue-and-green-striped vest now, and her deep-purple skirts billowed over high-quality boots. Abigail had thought her everyday clothes were dated, but compared to most of the other women here—including Melinda, who wore simple muslin dresses and bonnets with little trimming—she was the very picture of fashion itself.

She noticed that a small pink rose was embroidered in each corner of Melinda’s bonnet brim, though.

“That’s good stitching,” said Abigail. She disliked wearing bonnets herself—they blocked her view on the sides. She wore hats instead, with a string tied under her chin. She didn’t like parasols, either. A woman needed her hands free to work in the garden.

“Nothin’ like this, though.” Melinda inspected the collar of Lina’s cotton dress. “Aren’t you smart? Look at this embroidery, Emma! Is that not pretty? So detailed.”

“Your boys are handsome, too, in those vests and boots,” said Emma, Melinda’s daughter who was Corrine’s age.

Charlie looked at Emma, his face reddening.

Melinda introduced Emma to Corrine and told Charlie and Jacob, “You need to meet my boys, Clyde and Cooper.”

Dotson was speaking again. “We’ve divided into four companies. Company A will be led by Gerald Jenkins.” Jenkins stepped up on the wagon so everyone could see him.

He read the names of everyone in Company A, including three single men—brothers fresh from Scotland—who didn’t have rigs of their own but would drive supply wagons for Dotson. A family named Peters planned to open a general store. Two older spinster sisters wanted to open a library. Dotson was also part of Company A. Not leading a team himself kept him free to handle larger issues that might arise.

“Anyone in Company A with an issue should report it first to Gerald Jenkins, who’ll bring it to me as needed,” said Dotson. “If we have to put something to a vote, having a train leader and four company leaders gives us an uneven number.”

“What difference does that make?” Jacob whispered to Charlie.

“Think about it, Jake.”

“Oh. I get it.”

Company B’s leader was Rudolf Schroeder. Abigail recognized him as one of the burly men she had seen talking to Hoke at the horse corral. “The Schroeder family is the largest family we have on the trip,” explained Dotson. “They’re from Pennsylvania. How many of you in all, Rudy?”

“Twenty-one, including my mother, Inez, who just turned seventy.” Rudy Schroeder’s scratchy voice didn’t quite match his exterior. There was more cheering. Inez Schroeder, who wore small round glasses on the end of her nose, stood up and waved.

Several barefoot children ran by and Melinda leaned toward Abigail. “Those are the Schroeder children.”