Leaving Independence (36 page)

“If you use a sharp blade it’ll cut the wood,” he explained. “I used oak ’cause it’s hard, but it’ll get nicks eventually. I can sand it out again every year or so for you.”

Every year or so? Was James Parker planning on sticking around, then?

He took a strip of dough and folded it first one way, then the other, until he had a fat, square block. He handed it to her, to put in the pan. Then he layered another strip.

When he handed her the last square, he said, “I’m twenty-six. Is that too old for you?”

She tried to think of something clever to say but couldn’t. “Mr. Parker, you’re always teasing, and I don’t quite know how to take you sometimes.”

Flustered, she reached for the empty bowl to clean it.

He took her hands and turned her toward him. She met his eyes, trying to keep the color from rising in her cheeks.

“I know,” he said. “I like cuttin’ up. But I’m not cuttin’ up now. When we get where we’re goin’, I plan to stay the winter. Come spring, I aim to ride back down this trail to Kansas for a herd of horses. It may take me another year to break ’em and get ’em back up here. But that’ll give me the money I need to build my own place.

“In that year I’m gone, I expect word’s going to get out about the prettiest girl that ever came to Oregon. Young fools like Paul Sutler are goin’ to muster their courage and start swarmin’ like mayflies. ’Fore that happens, I wanted you to know how I felt.”

“And how do you feel, Mr. Parker?” she asked, with a lift of her chin.

He grinned. “I like the way you lift your chin. And I like the thought of eatin’ your biscuits when I’m old. So I aim to court you when I get back.”

Corrine didn’t know what to say. Her heart was pounding at the thought of being courted by this tall, bearded man whose outlook was so naturally lighter than her own. But for some reason she was afraid for him to know it. “I may not cotton to the idea of being courted by a hairy-faced cutup who wears a gun on his hip.”

James narrowed his eyes and nodded. “When I shave my beard, you’ll know it. And you’ll know why.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, little missy,” he said, putting his bearded face close to hers, “that I may just turn you over my shoulder and haul
you
off to the creek.”

He winked and left her standing with her ears and cheeks burning.

At Fort Boise, there was another letter from Mimi.

August 1, 1866

Dear Abigail,

You will have got to Fort Hall and your answers by now. I know it is so because the Lord, He whispered it to me. I expect—and you tell me if I heard Him right—that you’ll be moving on to Oregon with the colonel and all the rest of them. And I expect you won’t be homesteading alone. I am so certain of this that I have sent my letter to Fort Boise. They can send it on back to Fort Hall if I got it wrong.

I have some bad news. Your father passed away on Sunday, July 29. He wasn’t sick long—pneumonia down in his lungs. He went down fast and sent for me so he could ask about you. Said he’d had a dream. Robert was standing on the left side of Jesus and your mother was standing on the right. When he woke he sent for the local preacher and begged forgiveness. Said he felt as if he’d sent Robert to his death by being ornery with him. He was worried he might have sent you to yours, too, by not giving you money and stopping you from going to Independence. He asked about each of the children and the dog and I told him you were all fine—better than fine! I told him you were like yourself again—strong and brave and standing on your own solid feet.

I said, “You know she’s got the best children in the world. I can say that because I helped raise them.” And he said I was right.

Mr. Thad and Mrs. Sue Anne’s baby is growing. He has a head full of black hair—a first in the Walstone family.

The church here is growing. It’s the singing that brings them in—that and Thomas’s preaching. He’s a good husband, Mrs. Abigail. A real good husband. I do hope you get to experience that again.

Give all my babies a hug and a kiss—yourself, too. I miss you all so bad sometimes I ache, but the Lord tells me you’re in good hands and all I can do is trust Him. Tell Corrine I want a painting of the family soon, so I can see how everyone has grown. Make sure the dog is in it.

Mrs. Thomas Hargrove (Mimi)

P.S. Lay you an unlit match on top of that sugar. A weevil doesn’t like the smell of sulfur.

Abigail wiped tears from her face as she folded Mimi’s letter.

“What’s the matter?” asked Hoke in alarm. Lina lay asleep on the bed between them, Hoke playing with her hair, which he found a miracle of softness.

When Hoke had brought Abigail the letter after dinner, delivered from a soldier from Fort Boise, he’d found her with Lina curled on her lap. He then carried Lina to their wagon since Emma Austelle was spending the night with Corrine in the second wagon. Abigail had just settled in beside him and Lina to read the letter.

“My father died.”

“Oh, darlin’, I’m so sorry.” He reached over, careful not to squeeze Lina, and kissed his wife’s forehead, his thumb raking away her tears. “You want me to get the children?”

“No, I’ll tell them tomorrow.” She blew out the candle and scooted Lina down so she could lay her head on Hoke’s chest.

He held her for several minutes, running his fingers up and down the strong spine of her back. “Will you be all right if I leave?” he said after a while.

“You promised you would never leave me, Hoke.”

He grinned. “I only mean for a few hours, to help with guard duty. Colonel’s been nice to give me a break, but I need to get back to it. Beckett’s out there tonight and I don’t feel good about his ability to keep my girls safe. Besides, I’m going to get soft if I sleep in here much longer. I haven’t slept this much on a real bed since I was a kid.” He put his face in her hair.

God amighty, he loved her hair! And her eyes . . . and her lips . . .

Abigail looked up at him. “You call this a real bed? You’re not going to make me sleep on the floor when we have a house, are you?”

“I guess not. But maybe we can make a little pallet out under the stars sometimes? Like on our weddin’ night?”

Abigail smiled. “I will never grow tired of the fire that simmers in your eyes.”

His eyes grew serious. “I’m sorry about your father.”

“Me too. Will you come back before morning?”

“You can count on it. If any other man tries to crawl in here besides me, shoot him.”

She reached for one more kiss. “I love you.”

It got him in a choke hold every time.

September 5, 1866

Dearest Mimi,

Thank you for writing to me about Daddy. I knew the finality of our decision and that I would likely never see any of my family again this side of eternity, but it is still a jolt to hear about Daddy’s death.

I have happy news to share and have waited to tell it all in one letter.

First, I married Hoke Mathews. Guess what his real name is? David. His father gave him the nickname “Hoke” because they laid him under a chokeberry tree when they cleared their homestead in Kentucky. (Do you remember what a chokeberry bush looks like, Mimi? It has a lovely white bloom. The dark berries are bitter, but can be made into a sweet wine or jam when they’ve had a chance to ripen.) After his mother died, being called David made him sad. So he went by Hoke instead.

I am struck by similarities to David and Abigail in the Bible. It’s as if Mother prophesied when she named me. Robert was not like Nabal, but Hadley certainly was . . . “churlish and evil in his doings.” And while I would not describe Hoke as ruddy, he is handsome and fearless like King David.

Abigail rode her donkey out into the wilderness to meet him. We have that in common, too. In reading back over 1 Samuel 25 I have a new favorite passage, in verse 18: “Abigail made haste.” I told Hoke I was tired of waiting. That’s why I made haste to marry him when he asked me so soon after learning of Robert’s death. I hope you and my brothers will not think me rash. The children all gave their blessing and are proud, I believe, to have him in our family. He, too, is a good man, Mimi. You would like him very much.

The second piece of good news is that we have at last arrived at our destination. Colonel Dotson has decided to stay and settle near a young town, just platted last year, called Baker City. Five years ago a man found gold on the Powder River in this area. So folks have been coming here ever since. The surrounding land is most beautiful and with those who have already come here, supplies are readily available. It is still young enough of a town to satisfy Colonel Dotson, and he is convinced it is an ideal location to attract the railroads. So send future correspondence to Mrs. David “Hoke” Mathews, Baker City, Oregon. Hoke is at the land office now with several of the other men to stake the claim for our acreage.

Once we are settled, I will write longer letters to both you and Thad. I also need to let Mrs. Helton know we won’t be coming back to Independence.

Until then, all my love,

Abigail

CHARACTER LIST

COLONEL DOTSON’S WAGON TRAIN

COMPANY A

COMPANY B

COMPANY C

COMPANY D

MARSTON

OTHER