Mona Hodgson - [Hearts Seeking Home 01] Page 9

Caroline added more foodstuffs to the Kamdens’ table. During the noon stop, various members of the Company brought victuals of some sort to the wagon she shared with Davonna Kamden and the youngest of her grandchildren. Maren delivered a plate of potato cakes. Mrs. Zanzucchi brought a loaf of Italian bread, and Anna, a plate of smoked ham. Lorelei Beck was the next to approach Rhoda with wild blackberry tarts.

  “What a rude awakening.” Lorelei shuddered, blond curls bouncing at her ears. “You all must have been terribly frightened.”

  “Yes. Well.” Caroline slanted a gaze toward the farm wagon.

  Davonna poked her head out through the puckered canvas. She hadn’t stepped a foot off the wagon all morning. She looked at Anna and Lorelei then at Maren. “Did they tell you it was my fault?”

  “Your fault a bear came into camp?” Maren squinted. “How is that possible?”

  “I forgot to put the box of food away. Left it on the table. I may as well have put a sign on it inviting the bear to supper.”

  “That’s what Faither said.” Lyall kicked a rock. “I heard him.”

  “Never mind that, Mither Kamden.” Her lips pressed together, Rhoda let out a sigh that lifted the wisps of hair on her forehead. “Folks have been so kind to bring our dinner. At least come down to eat and visit.”

  “Mither’s right, Gran.” Duff pushed the canvas cap back on his head. “You can’t stay in the wagon forever. There’s no latrine.”

  Caroline wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. Instead, she pressed her lips together and saw that her friends were doing the same thing.

  “Son, that is not a proper topic to discuss in front of the ladies, let alone at the dinner table.”

  Duff looked up at Rhoda and slid the cap off his head. “Yes ma’am.”

  Sighing as if she carried the weight of the world on her shoulders, Davonna climbed out onto the seat. “My son only talked about the pretty birds and mountains I would see. He said naught about bears.”

  Duff spread his feet and twirled his right arm. “If I was a real cowboy, I could’ve lassoed that bear.”

  “Or at least the grub box.” Caroline laughed and so did the others. Except for Davonna.

  “Really, Miss Caroline?” Her Scots accent thick, Davonna scowled like a scorned schoolmistress. “You think having a massive animal like that on the other side of the canvas from you—from our children—is a laughing matter? Do you not take anything seriously?”

  Rhoda jerked, her eyes wide. “Mither!”

  “Miss Caroline was only making a funny, Gran,” Duff said.

  Davonna pinned her grandson with a somber gaze. “Well, it isn’t the least bit funny to think about fighting a bear.”

  “But I could protect you if I had a horse and a rifle like the captain. Or like Mr. Caleb. Or Tiny. Or—”

  “Rhoda, it was a bad idea to make this trip. All these coarse men are putting dangerous ideas into the wee bairns’ heads.”

  “Coarse men?” Garrett Cowlishaw stepped into view, his white slouch hat in his hand like a perfect gentleman. “Ladies.”

  “Captain.” Caroline smiled, though all she wanted to do was laugh. For all the trouble the children and Davonna could be, they were also most entertaining.

  Garrett stepped up beside the wagon and held his hand out to Davonna. “Ma’am, it would be my pleasure to assist you. You must be famished by this time.”

  “Well, I suppose I …” She accepted his hand and his assistance to the ground. “Thank you.”

  “Now, you were saying something about coarse men? Is someone giving you trouble?”

  “My grandson.”

  The captain regarded the boy. “Duff?”

  Davonna sighed. “Thanks to you and your trail hands, he is talking about roping a bear like a Wild West cowboy.”

  “I must say, Duff, I agree with your gran. For now, you need to leave the bears to us.”

  Davonna’s fleshy cheeks blushed. “I hope I didn’t offend you, Captain.”

  “Not at all, ma’am.” He set his hat on his head. “I’ve been called worse.”

  Caroline shivered despite the sun’s warmth on her arms. She’d been guilty of at least thinking the worst of him.

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Davonna pulled a tart from the table and took a bite. “Mmm. These are very tasty, Captain, you should try one.”

  Never mind that Mrs. Kamden wasn’t seated with a plate and napkin, and no one else had started eating or even said the blessing.

  The captain rubbed his chin in a failed attempt to hide a grin. He met Caroline’s gaze, the laugh lines on either side of his hazel eyes deepening. She couldn’t help but smile.

  It was official: she liked Garrett Cowlishaw.

  13

  Anna dropped the lead rope, grateful for their noon stop. The oxen team snorted and pawed the ground, ready for their portion of grass. She couldn’t say how the oxen’s feet were faring but, on this fourth day of walking better than fifteen miles, hers were sore. She needed to take off her shoes and put her feet up, but first she’d make sure her family had something to eat. Since dark clouds loomed on the horizon, the group only planned to stop long enough for quick refreshment for man and animal. The threat of a storm made it all the more critical they gain as much ground as possible before the rains made a muddy mess of the bottomlands.

  While Großvater started removing the yokes from the oxen so the animals could eat, Anna set up the small worktable then pulled bread and cheese from the grub box. Mutter unlashed two small cane chairs from the side of the wagon.

  “I still don’t see how walking miles and miles day after day, sleeping in a suspended rope bed, and cooking over a campfire is supposed to make things better.” A scowl creased Mutter’s forehead as she ground her favorite chair into the rocky soil on the other side of the table. Mutter hadn’t mentioned the missing bottles, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t searched for them. Their absence could very well be contributing to her bad temper today.

  Anna sighed in her exhaustion. They both missed their warm and comfortable beds back home. Why couldn’t she believe that was all that was wrong, that Mutter’s moodiness had nothing to do with her longing for the drink?

  Because she knew better. Mutter had set aside the bottle on several occasions and had never made it through the exasperation and headaches before succumbing to her thirst for deadening relief.

  Finished with the yokes, Großvater walked the oxen to the meadow near the pond where the rest of the livestock were feeding. Anna watched as he met up with Charles Pemberton and a few of the others in the field. At least the trip was doing Großvater some good. He’d taken quite keenly to visiting with the Company’s men, whether it be standing in a pasture or at a campfire.

  Mutter took slow steps to the covered pail that hung from an iron hook at the front of the wagon, then set the pail on the corner of the table.

  “Thank you.” Anna lifted the lid and peeked inside. “The butter set up nicely.”

  “Why wouldn’t it be churned? It’s a very bumpy, winding road.”

  As Anna spread butter on three chunks of crusty roggenbrot, she couldn’t help but wonder if her mother was referring to the road or her life. Both were true enough. Mutter hadn’t had an easy path. Her husband left her with two little ones. Her son died in the war. For as long as Anna could remember, Mutter’s constitution had been as unpredictable as the random twists and turns of the road they traveled today.

  When Mutter sank onto the chair, Anna set the bread on the cutting board and met Mutter’s gaze. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Mutter sighed, her thin shoulders sagging. “Just tired, very tired.”

  Anna wished that was all that was troubling her.

  “I am wrong to complain, dear.” Mutter brushed her graying brown hair off her face and into her faded bonnet, and glanced toward the Wainwrights’ wagon. “That poor Danish girl is making this trip with failing eyesight and a child to tend. Doesn’t even have Elsa Brantenbe
rg, Mrs. Heinrich now, here to help her with all this work.”

  “Maren Wainwright.” Mutter had already quit going to the quilting circle when Maren joined, but Anna had introduced them at the last caravan meeting in Saint Charles. “Hattie and Bette Pemberton are lending Maren a hand. And Gabi is almost five now and a proud helper.” Someone here needed to focus on the positive aspects of the trip. “I sliced a block of cheese for her this morning.”

  Mutter crossed her arms as if fighting a chill. “I do wish I were more like you, dear. A saint. You always have been.”

  Like her? A saint? Always have been? Except for the two different days she told Boney she couldn’t marry him? If Anna didn’t have her hands full of bread and cheese, she’d be tempted to reach up and feel Mutter’s forehead for fever. Something wasn’t right. Was Mutter trying to get Anna to let down her guard? Let her wander the next berg they passed alone?

  Anna removed the wrapping from the chunk of blue cheese, the pungent aroma tickling her nose. “Those of us from the quilting circle, except for Caroline Milburn, are sharing a campfire and the cooking responsibilities at supper tonight. Maren has our album quilt. Remind me to show it to you.”

  Mutter rested her hand on the edge of the table, causing it to wobble, and quickly let go. Was that why Mutter crossed her arms, so Anna wouldn’t notice her trembling?

  “I wish I could be of more help to you … to everyone. But”—Mutter glanced at the front of the wagon—“I need to rest.”

  “What about your dinner? You need to eat.”

  “I can’t seem to get warm.” Mutter stood and took small steps toward the wagon. “A short nap is all I need. Before my hammock takes to rocking again.” She heaved herself up and over the seat, then disappeared through the puckered opening.

  Swallowing a bitter bite of concern, Anna slid a chunk of bread and cheese into a red letter sack. She added one of the apples Maren had given her, then took a tin cup to the water barrel on the side of the wagon. The sack and full cup in hand, Anna walked through a bevy of wagons and travelers toward the meadow where she’d seen Großvater head with the four oxen. A few children scampered about with water pails while others managed mules on lead ropes. Before they’d left their noon meal on Tuesday, Anna took count. Sixteen children, including Hattie and Camille Le Beau, not yet eighteen, and Evie, still in her mother’s arms. The boys outnumbered the girls.

  Großvater waved from the grassy area by the pond. When Anna reached him, he took the sack from her and dangled it as if weighing its contents. “Doesn’t feel like enough food for the both of us.” He looked at her empty hands. “Where’s yours?”

  “Back at the wagon. I’m going to sit for a spell and put my feet up.”

  “Your mutter, how is she?”

  Cranky. Shaky. Flattering. “She’s resting.”

  “Good. She seems a bit out of sorts today.”

  Anna nodded and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see to her.”

  “All right. I thought I might visit with Oliver and Owen while I eat.”

  Anna was on her way back to the wagon when the three Zanzucchi boys breezed past her carrying willow-switch fishing rods against their shoulders.

  Back at the wagon, Anna set the two chairs to face each other. Bread and cheese in hand, she sank onto one chair and propped her feet on the other. Sweet relief. She tucked her shawl under her chin and leaned against the welcoming chair.

  As she savored the rich rye bread and the pungent blue cheese, Anna surveyed the wagons parked in a line along the edge of the road. She wasn’t looking for anyone in particular. That was what she told herself, anyway.

  This morning, Caleb Reger had read from Psalm 19 to the travelers from atop a tree stump.

  “Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation of my heart, be acceptable in thy sight, O LORD, my strength, and my redeemer.”

  She probably owed him an apology. He’d only been doing his job Tuesday when he’d come out to meet her and Hattie. She should be thankful for his concern over her whereabouts and safety. Mr. Reger was nothing if not conscientious. And taking one’s work seriously was an admirable quality. She’d just prefer that he not stick his nose in their business.

  Giggles drew Anna’s attention to their wagon. Mutter? Was she dreaming?

  Anna sighed, lowering her feet to the ground. She’d told Großvater she’d see to Mutter. Perhaps it was time to wake her and see that she ate something. After setting her napkin and tin cup on the table, she stood.

  “Die gedanken sindfrei …” Thoughts are free. The words and tune to the folk song, however muddled, made their way through the canvas.

  Mutter was singing in her sleep? Her voice always struggled to find the proper notes, but today even the words were being tortured in her attempts.

  Anna took quiet steps to the front of the wagon. She stepped up onto the wagon tongue and gripped the dashboard. This morning, the wagon had smelled of coffee and sweat. Now, it smelled more like peppermint schnapps. Couldn’t be. Anna had found three bottles and buried them in Saint Charles.

  Pulling back the canvas, Anna peeked inside. “Mutter!”

  Her mother startled and sank onto her hammock, then peered over the edge. “Dear, I’m glad you’re here.” She hummed a little of the tune. “Do you remember the words to my song?”

  “No.” Anna glanced about her. Satisfied no one stood in earshot, she leaned into the wagon. “You’ve been drinking.”

  Mutter pulled herself up, sitting in the suspended cloth. She clasped her hands in her lap like a lady. “I’m feeling better.”

  She was foolish to have thought four days on the road could cure Mutter. Anna yanked the canvas open, letting in some light and fresh air. She looked around the floor and between the trunks, then up at Mutter’s hammock. She didn’t see a bottle. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t one.

  “Did you get off your feet, dear?” Mutter lifted her stockinged feet and wiggled them in the air. “It did wonders for me.”

  Anna opened her mouth to speak, but desperate shouts outside the wagon stopped her.

  “Papa! Papa!”

  The panic in the eldest Zanzucchi boy’s voice sent a shiver up Anna’s spine. She turned away from Mutter and watched the lad dart toward his family’s farm wagon.

  “Viene! Viene! It’s Nicolas! He’s hurt!”

  Anna’s breath caught as she watched Mrs. Zanzucchi run toward her son. She pinched her skirts in her fists, her Italian responses flying like bats at sundown. Alfonzo Jr. pointed toward the creek.

  Dr. Le Beau emerged from a stand of trees where his six horses stood tethered. He ran to meet the boy, rattling in French.

  Caroline came up from the pond with the youngest Kamden children in tow. “Nicolas fell from a tree. I think his arm is broken.”

  After a short trip to his wagon, the doctor returned with his black leather bag and followed the boy and his mother toward the pond.

  Within moments, Hattie dashed toward the pond with Camille Le Beau at her side, the doctor’s daughter and translator.

  In the meantime, Mutter continued swinging in the hammock and butchering a good song.

  Anna returned to the worktable to slice cheese and bread for Mutter, reminding herself that plenty of folks had far worse affliction than caring for a mother who imbibed and sang indecipherable words off key.

  14

  Friday evening, Caleb twisted the axle nut with a grunt, then watched Boney Hughes take his weight off the lever pole and lower the wagon to the ground. The other three trail hands were scattered about the camp helping various men grease their wagon wheels. Their boss had a funny way of pairing them. Caleb hadn’t figured out if it was conflict or the potential for resolution that Garrett relished most. At least the boss hadn’t assigned him the job of digging the latrine.

  Caleb glanced at the empty seats around the firepit, then at Boney. “You know, none of the rest of us are as good a cook as you. Ever think about opening a café?”

  Boney
’s hands stilled. “Not for more than a split second, I haven’t.” A grin lit his narrow face. “Way too much work trying to please everybody’s picky palate.”

  “My sentiments exactly.”

  “Besides, I’m not all that keen on staying so long in one place. Too much to see.” Boney’s bushy eyebrows arched. “Kinda funny that you were thinkin’ about my future while I was thinkin’ about yours.”

  “Oh?” Caleb set the wrench to the axle nut again.

  Boney nodded. “Yeah. The way you read the Bible aloud over us every morning. Like God meant you to be a preacher.”

  Caleb had been sure of it, that God had made him to preach. That was before he’d gone and done something stupid.

  And he couldn’t let himself dwell on where that led him.

  Boney shook out his hat and returned it to its perch. “Reverend Reger … kinda has a r-r-ring to it, don’t ya think?”

  Caleb swallowed another bitter bite of regret. “Reading isn’t the same as preaching.”

  Bent on changing the topic, he glanced toward Otto Goben’s wagon where the elder man sat with his daughter in front of a campfire. “You’re at the Gobens’ camp a lot now. You and Miss Goben might marry after all?”

  Boney chuckled. “You definitely need to work on your sidestep.” He lifted the corner of the wagon. “Just an idea, you becomin’ a preacher. I’m going west to be a miner. The other fellas plan to be farmers and ranchers. Don’t seem like you have much direction yet.”

  Caleb pulled off the wheel and slathered some grease onto the hub. “Plans change.”

  Boney nodded. “I know about that, all right. Is that why you asked about me and Miss Anna?” The wiry fellow looked Caleb in the eye. “Your idea that you’re not the marrying kind … did it change too?”

  Caleb shook his head. “Just curious, is all, after she came to see you the other night.”

  “She came to clear the air between us. I was her brother’s best friend … a friend of the family. That’s how we see each other—good friends.” Huffing and puffing, Boney held the lever down while Caleb replaced the wheel. “Me and Anna don’t have a romantical kind of love.”