Leaving Independence (33 page)

The mystery of Robert’s behavior has been solved, Mimi. Hadley Wiles is the one who wrote the letters. He won’t be writing any more.

CHAPTER 31

About the split

From Soda Springs, most groups traveled north to Fort Hall, where they came to the Snake River. They followed the Snake south again to the split where the California Trail turned west. Since there was no longer any reason for them to stop at Fort Hall, and since there was the awkward business of one of the train’s men having killed one of the fort’s men, Colonel Dotson decided to take a shorter route, directly west from Soda Springs, that had become popular in recent years.

The mountains continued to rise around them. Abigail wondered if the land had grown more beautiful, or if her eyes were now just seeing it in a new, more brilliant light. The peace that had settled on her the morning after Hadley’s death flowed through the channels of her veins. There were still questions—like how she would provide for the children—but they were less frightening to her now.

All the talk since Soda Springs—besides that concerning the incident with Wiles—had been about which families were splitting off where. What was everyone’s final destination?

Dotson was planning to travel to the bend of the Snake just inside Oregon Territory. It was more popular for settlers to travel farther on, up the Snake and over the mountains, then follow the Columbia River to Oregon City. That was what the Becketts and McConnellys were going to do.

“We’ve come this far,” Sam Beckett said to the men. “Don’t you want to push on and see the Pacific?”

“I’ve seen it,” said Tim Peters. “Looks just like the water on the eastern side.”

The Schroeders, and now the Jaspers, would head down to California. Which route would Hoke take? He hadn’t told anyone.

Irene walked over to Hoke’s and James’s side of camp one evening. “Mr. Parker, Mr. Mathews, you fellows haven’t said where you’re going yet.”

Hoke and James always took supper with the Baldwyns. The Austelles, Marc Isaacs, Caroline Atwood, and Nelda Peters often brought their plates over, too. Nelda said her reason was to be near little Will, as it was helping her over the loss of her own baby. But Abigail and Melinda thought it was so she could be close to Doc Isaacs.

Hoke looked over his plate and scowled at Irene.

She had laid it on thick since Laramie—even thicker after he’d got back with Abigail. But Hoke’s mind was made. He was only biding his time until Abigail was over the loss of her husband.

Knowing she was free of Captain Baldwyn and having ascertained that Doc was showing more interest in Nelda Peters had relieved his mind considerably. But out of respect for her husband’s memory and out of respect for the children, he didn’t want to approach her too soon. That was why he couldn’t say what his plans were. They all depended on whether she’d have him, and he hadn’t asked her yet.

“Hoke and I been talkin’ about that, Irene, haven’t we, Hoke? We’re leanin’ toward California.”

Hoke looked at James sideways.

“Yeah . . .” said James, “California just might be the place. We’ve never tried our hands at prospecting, but I think we’d be good at it. And if that doesn’t work we can probably sing for a livin’ in a show somewhere. I’m gettin’ good on that guitar with all the practice I’ve had on this trip. Don’t you think so, Hoke?”

“You’re a regular maestro, James.”

“We probably won’t be able to keep the women off us.”

Doc laughed.

“Um-hum,” James continued. “The more I study on it, the more I think that’s what we need to do. And we got to stick together, me and Hoke, because you know he wouldn’t last a week without me, hard a worker as I am and lazy as he is.” James winked at Corrine. “Ain’t that right, Corrine?”

Corrine shook her head and turned away, but Hoke still saw her grin.

Irene frowned. “You can’t be serious. Why would anybody want to go to California when Oregon City is the place to go? Don’t you want to see the ocean?”

“We saw it in Texas,” said James. “It
is
somethin’ to see, but almighty sandy.”

Irene turned to Hoke. “Oregon City is already a nice established town.”

“Hoke and I don’t like established towns,” said James. “We prefer the open land.”

“California’s not going to be open land, it’s going to be full of miners and prospectors and people like the Schroeders. Besides, I’m sure there’s all kinds of open land near Oregon City and all kinds of places for a ranch. Isn’t that what you said you were thinking about, Hoke? A horse and cattle ranch?”

“Um-hum.” Hoke was careful not to look at Abigail. He’d worked hard to keep his feelings for her in check and didn’t want to give himself away, but he was dying to know what she thought about the idea of a horse and cattle ranch.

Would she like to be a rancher’s wife?

She and the children had lived in town back in Tennessee. She might rather set up a dress shop on the main street and live on the floor above. That was what Tim Peters and his clan were going to do—live upstairs from their general store. Hoke didn’t much relish the thought of living over a dress shop.

Of course, if she married him, she wouldn’t need a dress shop. If she married him, he’d take care of her . . .
if
she married him.

She ought to be an important man’s wife, Hoke told himself. The governor’s wife or somebody else’s. But hadn’t she responded to
his
kisses behind the wagon? Hadn’t she wanted to be in
his
arms?

When they got back to the wagon train after he’d killed Wiles, Hoke felt like everyone sized him up differently than they had before. He recognized the old familiar shame cloud that hovered every time he’d ever taken a life. This incident hadn’t been like defending the train against Indians. This had been a soldier—the man who had claimed to be Abigail’s husband. If Hoke took right up courting her, wouldn’t that make him look guilty of something? At the very least, wouldn’t that make him look like a brute?

He cared about the opinions of some of these folks, especially George and Christine Dotson. He didn’t want them to think he didn’t deserve Abigail. Hoke wanted their approval.

“I can see you ranching,” said Doc Isaacs to Hoke. “You’ll be good at that.”

“What would it take to talk you fellows into Oregon City?” asked Irene.

“Oh, I feel certain we could be talked into it,” said James lightly. “What are you offerin’, Irene?”

She rolled her eyes. “Mr. Parker, you are awful.”

Abigail was gathering supper dishes, acting like she wasn’t listening.

James asked, “What are you doin’, Mrs. Baldwyn?”

“Collecting the supper dishes.”

“No, I mean about the split.”

Abigail kept her eyes on the stack of plates in her hands. “I’m not sure. The children want to stay with the main group, but we haven’t . . . said for sure. Are you finished with that plate?”

Hoke was sitting next to James. He handed his plate over to her without looking up. She took it, not looking at him.

Irene’s eyes followed Abigail as she finished collecting plates and took them to wash. Then Irene sat down on the other side of Hoke, craning her head, searching out his gaze until he looked at her. “What would it take to talk you into going to Oregon City?”

Hoke chanced a quick glance at Abigail. He only tolerated Irene because he wasn’t ready for everyone to know his thoughts. His pride was at stake. When he did make his play for Abigail Baldwyn—which had to be soon, with both splits inching closer—if she refused him it would hurt like hell. He’d need a convenient fork in the road to travel down to lick his wounds.

No one had wept for Hoke Mathews for twenty-five years. He had told himself that was what he preferred—that freedom was the better choice. But the freedom he really treasured was freedom from vulnerability. Long ago he’d learned that if he kept moving and working, it dulled the pain of loneliness. Never again, he’d vowed as a ten-year-old boy left alone in the world, would he love someone and take a chance on losing them. Never again would he allow himself to be laid open by love’s sharp-edged sword. But here he had gone and risked it.

Hoke shook his head at Irene. “I don’t know. Maybe I will.”

Irene smiled up at him as Hoke stood. “I’ve got guard duty.” He took off his hat. “Beggin’ your leave, Mrs. Stinson. Everyone. I enjoyed my supper, ladies. Thank you.”

Abigail felt him leave but didn’t turn around.

She was growing confused. Hadn’t she and Hoke shared something intimate? Hadn’t he come for her? Why, then, would he share his dreams of ranching with Irene and not her? Had he decided that taking on a wife and four children was more
togetherness
than he could tolerate?

Only yesterday when she and Hoke had passed each other between the wagons like they’d done a hundred times, Hoke had stepped back to give her space . . . like he was afraid of brushing up against her.

Maybe I will
, he’d told Irene.
Maybe I will.

Abigail had trouble getting the words out of her head.

My heart is changing, Mimi. I can feel the difference in my chest. I’m tender and new, like a seedling pushing up through the lingering leaves of winter. I cry easier and laugh louder.

I’m trying to let go of the doubts, the fears, the worries, and the hurt, and to see the world through a different set of eyes—eyes that see with hope and peace and promise.

Food supplies had grown low as a result of bypassing Fort Hall, but everyone still managed to contribute something to a final picnic before the split.

“Mrs. Abigail, I meant to get you to show me how to crochet one of them hairnets,” said Bridgette Schroeder mournfully. “I just loved that one you wore at the dance in Laramie.”

“Oh, I’m glad you said something. I have gifts for you.” Abigail hopped up and ran to her wagon. It had taken a few late nights, but she had crocheted hairnets for all the women splitting off and sewn pink bonnets for the Schroeder twins.

When she crawled back down from the wagon, Hoke was walking by. He stepped over to help her down since her arms were full, putting his hands around her waist as she backed out of the wagon.

“How’s that side feelin’?”

The unexpected warmth of his hands sent hot shivers up her spine. “Better. Thank you.”

He reached for her hand that lay on top of the items she held and turned it to look at her wrist. “Those cuts are healing, too.”

She nodded, afraid to meet his eyes as his thumb ran over the outline of her scars. She held her breath, waiting for him to take her in his arms.

He let go of her hand.

She looked down and turned to leave, then stopped. “Hoke?”

“Yes?”

“Did you decide to stay with Dotson’s group?”

“For now. You?”

Why was he acting so distant? “Yes.”

He smiled. “Good.”

Abigail walked back to the picnic wondering why she couldn’t muster the courage to tell him how she felt. She had trouble offering her heart when he didn’t act hungry for it, that was why. Her heart was too bruised from five years of twisting.

She handed hairnets and bonnets to the Schroeders and Nora Jasper. “I hope you like them.”

“Oh, you shouldn’t have!” said Olga Schroeder.

“These are beautiful,” added Katrina, looking at her twins. She was facing life without Duncan now.