Brides of Prairie Gold (3 page)

"If you're accusing Mrs. Waverly of something, you'll have to be specific."

Her chin rose another notch and crimson flared on her throat and cheeks. "Ladies do not speak of such matters!"

He stared down at her and felt his eyes narrow in irritation and impatience. "As far as I'm concerned, Mrs. Waverly has as much right to be here as anyone. If you decide to stay with the train, then I expect you and Mrs. Waverly to ignore your differences, at least until we arrive in Clampet Falls. Is that understood?"

Fresh shock dropped a film of moisture across her eyes. "I have never been spoken to in that tone of voice!"

When he noticed the tears, Cody felt like shouting and kicking something. Her tears and injured expression were intended to be weapons as potent as her dimples and tiny waist. What she didn't grasp was that he recognized the display of waterworks as female manipulation. The only effect of her tears was to further exasperate and irritate him.

"Remember what I said." Deliberately neglecting to tip his hat, he strode away from her, so annoyed that he didn't notice Mrs. Perrin Waverly until he nearly walked on her hems.

After a swift glance toward Augusta Boyd, Perrin Waverly informed him that Hilda Clum had agreed that she could share Miss Clum's wagon. Her face was pinched and pale with relief.

"Excellent," he said sharply. He left instructions with Heck and the boys, then strode away before he said something about women that he would undoubtedly regret.

When he reached Smokey Joe's cook wagon, he poured a tin mug of thick coffee from the ancient blackened pot that Smokey kept boiling whenever the wagons weren't in motion. From the corner of his eye, he watched Webb Coate, his scout, ride up and tie his horse to the back of the wagon.

"Smokey says you had a little problem." Grinning, Webb shook back a mane of shoulder-length black hair, then removed a cup from one of the boxes on the ground. He reached for the coffeepot.

"I'm asking myself what possessed me to agree to take a bunch of temperamental women to Oregon," Cody remarked sourly.

Webb laughed, black eyes sparkling. "If I remember the wager, you bet the first problem would be swimming the oxen and cattle. Or maybe something to do with the molasses. Smokey and I figure you owe us a bottle of rye whiskey."

Cody knelt beside the cook fire and cupped his hands around the coffee mug. He managed a smile. "Haven't you heard? It's illegal to give whiskey to Indians."

"Half Indian," Webb corrected. His voice blended an exotic mix of English, French, Sioux, and the American west. Cradling his cup, he leaned against the wheel of the wagon and inspected the sky. "It's going to freeze tonight. We'll have hard ground when we roll out."

"Did Murchason depart on schedule this morning?"

Webb nodded, thin sunlight sliding in his blue-black hair. "Murchason's train is a day ahead of us. Rochack will be a couple of days behind."

"The word is cholera and measles are all along the trail."

"Fresh graves every day. We'll avoid the usual campsites." Webb tossed back the last drops of his coffee and glanced down the line of wagons. "The tall blond woman, wearing mourning a widow?"

Cody studied Coate's bronze face. "She's mourning her father, the sainted Mr. Boyd."

"She's a beautiful woman."

"She's a pain in the ass. Forget it, old friend. Each of these women has a bridegroom waiting in Oregon. If you're in the market for a wife, you'd do better to make the choice after you return home to England."

Webb didn't comment. He continued to gaze down the row toward Augusta Boyd's wagon. Then he slapped Cody on the back. "Come on, Captain. If we don't get those oxen across the river, this train isn't going anywhere."

Cody rose to his feet and finished his coffee, catching a glimpse of Perrin Waverly and Hilda Clum dragging boxes around their wagon. Mrs. Waverly had the largest, loveliest brown eyes he had ever seen. And a chip on her shoulder as big as a buffalo.

The predeparture meeting was scheduled for seven o'clock in the small hall at the back of Brady's Mercantile. Most of the brides arrived with their wagon partners, chatting excitedly, debating the order in which they had loaded their goods into the wagons, deepening their acquaintance.

Cody waited near the lanterns at the front of the room, trying to place names with faces as the women chose seats. Two weeks ago he'd conducted a private interview with each of them, inviting each to select a letter introducing a prospective bridegroom.

During the interviews he had ascertained that the brides were in good health and able to work. He made certain they understood they didn't have to marry the men in Oregon if they could reimburse the cost of their journey. That made them lucky. As he understood it, the usual procedure required a marriage at the end of the journey, like it or not.

He recognized Augusta Boyd, of course, as she selected a seat in the front row. She was probably the only bride who could actually repay her bridegroom's expenses if she chose to forgo marriage. Cody doubted the others had the money to buy their way out if the bridegrooms weren't what they hoped for or expected.

For tonight's meeting, Augusta had changed into a black velvet gown that enhanced her blond beauty. Cody considered the fringe on her forehead, then shifted his glance to the small sullen girl at her side. This, he assumed, was Cora Thorp, the maid. Cora Thorp was small but wiry, with a demeanor that suggested low expectations and a lengthy acquaintance with hard labor.

Perrin Waverly caught his eye next. She chose a seat in the back row and took a long time arranging her skirts. None of the others sat next to her. Cody studied her downcast eyes and the neat center part that showed at the front of her bonnet, then he let his glance move forward.

The sisters, Mem Grant and Bootie Glover, were a mismatched pair, he decided with some amusement. Mem, the older and a spinster, was auburn-haired and topped five feet nine inches, extraordinarily tall for a woman. The widow, Bootie, was six inches shorter, with reddish gold hair, and clung to her sister's arm like an ornament. The widowed sister concerned him. He hoped she was less dependent on the older one than it appeared.

As he watched the other brides enter the room, he was able to recall the names of only two of the remaining seven. One was Sarah Jennings, another widow and the oldest of the women at twenty-nine; her wagon partner was Lucy Hastings, the youngest. Seventeen and sweetly pretty, Lucy was the only one who had actually met her intended husband, a friend of her father's.

When the eleven brides were assembled Cody cleared his throat, offered a few opening remarks, then introduced his men. "Webb Coate is our scout, and the most important man on this expedition."

Augusta Boyd and Bootie Glover, the widowed sister, frowned at Webb when he stepped forward and inclined his head with a white-toothed smile. Tonight he wore tailored broadcloth and a snowy stock instead of his usual buckskins.

"Webb will select our noon stopovers and evening campsites. Grass and water are the essential requirements for a successful journey; it's Webb's job to make sure we find them. Webb's made this trip before; he's one of the best scouts in the west. We won't cross an inch of ground that Webb doesn't recognize. Next, I want you to meet the men's cook, Smokey Joe Riley."

Smokey Joe flipped back a long graying ponytail, then stepped forward with a wave and a grin.

"Smokey knows all the tricks of cooking over an open fire. If you have any culinary questions, he'll be glad to offer suggestions and advice. Course you'll have to put up with his temper" Cody smiled, then motioned Heck Kelsey forward. "Heck is our blacksmith and all-around handyman. He'll keep the horses and oxen shod and make any repairs we need. When Heck isn't whittling or mimicking accents, he can work miracles with a broken wheel or a busted set of harness."

Heck smiled, turned red at the attention of so many females, then stepped back against the wall.

"These last four gentlemen are our teamsters, Miles Dawson, John Voss, Bill Macy, and Jeb Holden. Miles and John will tend the oxen and cattle. John will also drive a freight wagon, and Bill and Jeb will drive the molasses wagons. Most of you have met these young fellows, since they're the ones who helped load your goods."

Cody waited until the teamsters stepped back before he continued.

"Today was the first and last time anyone will help you load or unload your wagons. The boys are going to be too busy from here on with their own duties. There will be times when it will be necessary for you to unload your wagons to dry out your goods, or to lighten a ferry crossing. That's why you were instructed to pack light in units that you can move yourselves."

He gazed at a small sea of bonnets, examining sober eyes.

"Tomorrow morning we embark on a journey that will take us halfway across a continent. We'll be on the trail for two and a half thousand miles, and over five months. We're going to encounter all kinds of weather and problems we can't anticipate now. Several of you will fall seriously ill along the trail; one or two in our party will die. These are facts based on experience."

A gasp hissed across the room and several gloved hands flew to soft bosoms. The women slid anxious looks toward one another, then fastened their eyes back on Cody.

"There's cholera and measles on the trail; dysentery is a common ailment. We're going to ford rivers and cross mountains. It's going to rain, hail, and snow on you, and for most of the trip, the sun is going to broil you alive. We'll encounter every type of wildlife you can name, some of it dangerous."

"Will we encounter hostile Indians?" Augusta Boyd inquired, looking at Webb Coate with an expression of distaste.

Cody frowned. "To date, there have been numerous incidents of Indians stealing cattle, but few reports of hostilities. From Fort Laramie on, we'll encounter many Indians seeking to trade items of clothing for food or vice versa. By that point you'll be glad to see them, glad for the variety of fresh fish or venison."

He waited until the women stopped murmuring, then responded to a raised hand. "Yes?"

Sarah Jennings, whose late husband had been an army major, stood before her chair. "A few of us are wondering about the freight wagons, Mr. Snow. What are you hauling?"

"I'm glad you asked. We're taking molasses and a load of carbines and ammunition all the way to Clampet Falls. Both loads are part of your future. I own one of the molasses wagons; your prospective bridegrooms own the second wagon. Your bridegrooms and I own the carbines and ammunition jointly. Eventual profits should be high enough for your bridegrooms to build each of you a house. We all have a stake in getting the freight to its destination."

Sarah Jennings sat down, one eyebrow cocked, a puzzled expression on her face. Cody could almost hear her computing the price of molasses and wondering how the profits could be as lucrative as he claimed.

"Ladies, a well-organized wagon train performs as a unit. If one of us has trouble, we all have trouble. It's imperative that you set aside personal dislikes or prejudices and function as a team. I cannot stress this too strongly." He looked at Augusta Boyd, who returned his gaze with a cool stare. Perrin Waverly's beautiful face remained expressionless.

"My responsibility is to deliver you safe and sound to your bridegrooms in Clampet Falls, Oregon. I won't have time to deal with petty disputes or small problems. Therefore, before we leave here, I want you to select a representative for the group. If one of your oxen throws a shoe, I don't want to hear about it. You tell your representative and she arranges with Heck Kelsey to take care of it. If someone falls ill, you inform the representative. If it's serious, she'll inform me. That's how it will work."

After he finished the rest of his speech, which was frankly designed to scare hell out of them and weed out those who might be having second thoughts, the women pulled their chairs into a circle and began the process of selecting a leader. Cody dismissed his men, but remained behind to discover which of the brides he would have to deal with on a daily basis.

Since voting wasn't an act that sprang to a woman's mind, the women decided to select their representative by drawing lots. Cody had sworn not to interfere and he didn't, but this method impressed him as inefficient and the least likely to produce a qualified leader. He folded his arms across his chest, leaned against the wall, and watched in silence, attempting to judge the women's characters by what they said and who said it.

"Whoever draws the X will be our representative," Hilda Clum suggested. As a teacher Miss Clum was accustomed to addressing a group. In Cody's opinion, Hilda Clum would have been an excellent choice as the women's representative.

"But what if young Lucy draws the X?" Sarah Jennings smiled at Lucy Hastings and pressed her hand. "I like Lucy as much as any young woman I've met, but I think even Lucy will agree that she's too young to accept this responsibility."

Sarah Jennings would also be a good choice. When Major Jennings was alive, Sarah had traveled with him from one army post to another. She impressed Cody as practical and sensible.

Mem Grant, the spinster sister, nodded agreement. "Several of us may shrink from serving as representative. Perhaps only those who are willing to assume that duty should draw."

"Does everyone concur? Good." Hilda Clum beamed. "Mem, would you borrow Mr. Snow's hat, place the slips of paper inside, and begin the draw?"

Cody offered his hat to Mem Grant, admiring the gleam of auburn curling from her bonnet, and watched as she moved around the circle offering slips of paper to those who wished to draw. Mem Grant was a tall, handsome woman, the type of woman whom some men would see as plain and others would see as striking.

The vague unfocused brideCody thought her name was Winnie something-or-otherdidn't seem to grasp what was happening and passed on the drawing. So did Thea Reeves, a pretty, dreamy-eyed fairy of a woman. She smiled and shook her head when Mem paused in front of her. Lucy Hastings, the seventeen-year-old, declined to draw. And so did Jane Munger, the only bride who didn't live in or around Chastity, Missouri.