“She is a warrior capable of slaying the demons in life. She is a pioneer capable of choosing her own path. She is a trailblazer capable of achieving new horizons. Just give her some time
and see her bedazzle the world.” Avijeet Das
Oregon Trail, 1851
The string of seventy-seven covered wagons slowly made its way across the empty plains of what would one day be eastern Wyoming. The day, like so many before, was hot and dry. The never ending wind did nothing to cool the summer temperature. Instead it blew the dust that billowed back from beneath the high wooden wheels of the first few to enshroud those that followed in a brown gritty haze. Nearly all of the oxen team drivers were men and many of the women and children walked to escape the rough ride and alleviate intense boredom.
At the age of eighteen, Loralee Brannigan wasn't a particularly social person. It's not that she was anti-social. Rather, she simply spent much of her time lost in her own world. A world in which she was so much more than she'd always been allowed to be. Highly intelligent and independent, she was the eldest of the five daughters of the Reverend Joshua Brannigan and his wife, Mary Ellen, and her position in the family hierarchy had meant her role was basically that of her mother's helpmate with a future that promised to be largely that of wife and mother. Loralee wasn't against being a wife and mother. In fact that was what she wanted for herself someday. But she wanted first to experience life in all its facets before allowing a wedding band to chain her down until she died.
The need to establish herself as an individual had always burned brightly within her, as did a decidedly romantic view of the relationships between men and women. Often she would look at the marriages of couples in her sphere of acquaintance and rebel at the thought of such a union. She was no one's slave, no one's chattel, and she had a mind of her own to be respected. So far, those men and boys who would court her did so with the expectation that she would eagerly submit to their mastery. So far, she'd stubbornly denied every one of them more than the expected pleasantry of mere acquaintanceship. Her parents had seen to it that she was well educated, yet they could not fathom her thirst to learn and experience more than they had taught. They could not understand why she simply wanted more.
They had been traveling since before dawn that morning with the expectation of stopping for the night at Register Rock. The ruts of the countless wagons that had gone before assured them that they were going in the correct direction. The ruts stretched for miles in both directions, with the passage of every wagon cutting a little deeper into the hard earth.
Joshua and his wife, as well as their youngest daughter, had perished a few days ago, leaving Loralee to decide whether to go on or turn back. As the doctor had assured the others that the Brannigans had not died of cholera but from bad meat, the wagons' leaders gave them the option of turning back or continuing on. She had decided it was safest for her and her remaining sisters to carry on to Oregon rather than risk traveling by themselves. So she had taken on the task of driving the oxen and looking after the younger girls. She was now both mother and father to them and was doing it virtually unaided.
Their wagon had been placed about midway down the line when the wagon at the front had moved to the rear, thus eventually giving every wagon an opportunity to ride free of dust. The girls were expected to pull their weight by managing themselves and their team on the trail and they did that with little aid from their fellow travelers. The lone exception was the scout, John Trace, who had taken an interest in them and helped them as much as he could. He made sure they had fresh meat when he went hunting and would check their wagon occasionally to make sure it remained in good enough condition to travel. Loralee was eternally grateful for his consideration. She also found herself fascinated by him, by his tough and serious demeanor that belied the tenderness she had sometimes glimpsed in his eyes when he spoke to her.
She had overheard Papa tell her mother once that John was part Cherokee from Georgia and that he had been well educated by his well-heeled adoptive father. Her parents had been gracious in their considerations of others, believing that all people of every hue were children of God deserving of respect and love. Unfortunately, it wasn't a view held by many, especially in the south where the division of the races was clear cut and harsh. Papa had said that when his father died, John had been driven from his home with only the clothes on his back and had survived by traveling west to Independence, where he had worked for a time at various jobs of work before signing on as scout for trains heading for Oregon Territory. This was to be his last as he had decided to settle permanently in Oregon.
The sun was reaching the horizon when they finally reached Register Rock. The wagons were divided up to form corrals for the teams. While Loralee and her eldest sister, sixteen-year-old Serenity, took care of the oxen, their other sisters, fourteen-year-old Jessamine and twelve-year-old Catrina set up the campsite on the other side of the wagon. It had been a hard and exhausting day for all of them but there were still chores to be done before bedding down for the night. But the girls were plucky and not afraid of work and soon they were able to relax beside the fire and enjoy a meal of corn porridge and bacon. Elsewhere, someone broke out his fiddle and began to play lively tunes that had people smiling and some even dancing.
Once they had eaten and the dishes had been rinsed, Loralee watched her sisters traipse off to take part in the merriment while she stayed behind, too tired to follow. Gazing upward at the clear night sky, she again marveled at the magnificence of the heavens. She had once looked through a telescope and been amazed as she had looked upon the moon and awed by the closer views of stars and a couple of planets. Would people ever be able to travel those great distances and tread on alien soil?
A sound caught her attention and she looked around to find John standing at the edge of the light given off by the fire.
“Mr. Trace! Hello!”
He took a step closer so that she could see him more clearly.
“Miss Brannigan,” he replied with a nod.
“Please, come sit by the fire.”
He paused for a moment before accepting her invitation. Removing his hat, he crouched across from her and glanced off before once again facing her, his expression, as always, serious as his eyes met hers. Not for the first time she was struck by his strong, handsome features. They seemed to impart a promise that he was a man to be trusted, who could be counted on when needed. And, indeed, he had proven himself to be so many times.
“How are you and your sisters doing?”
“We're doing fine,” she assured him, “Thank you for asking.”
“No problems?”
“None to speak of.”
He nodded.
“You will tell me if any come up?”
“Yes.” Her smile was gentle as she asked, “How are you doing?”
One side of his mouth lifted in a faint smile of his own.
“As well as can be expected. I expect spending a couple of days here will do us all some good.”
She nodded.
“I'm looking forward to doing some laundry and getting clean for a change.”
“A few of the men and I will go hunting for fresh meat tomorrow. I'll be sure to bring you some when we get back.”
“Thank you, Mr. Trace.”
“I think it would be safe to call me John by now. It's been a long time since we left civilization and its rules of society.”
She felt a blush rise in her cheeks and was grateful it wasn't noticeable in the firelight.
“I will call you John if you will call me Loralee.”
“Loralee.” He shifted slightly to a more comfortable position. “That's a pretty name.”
“I was named for my two grandmothers.” She glanced shyly into the fire before once again meeting his gaze. “Papa told me you are from Georgia.”
He nodded.
“I am. I was born there and raised by a good man who gave me his name.”
“He wasn't your father?”
He shook his head.
“No. My parents were...relocated...and I was left behind.”
“If you'll forgive me for saying so, that seems rather harsh.”
“Maybe. But they wanted the best for me and seein' as I could pass for white they knew Nathaniel Trace would see that I was given the best start.”
“Pass for white?”
“I am part Cherokee, Miss Brannigan.”
“Loralee, remember?”
Again that faint smile as he nodded and his voice lowered slightly.
“Loralee.”
Her blush heightened and this time he must have seen it as his smile widened. She struggled to gather her suddenly scattered thoughts.
“I, em, I imagine yours wasn't an easy upbringing, then.”
“It could have been worse.”
“Papa said that they ran you off.”
“After my father died. Before then, it was different. I was tolerated because he was a respected man in our community. A lawyer. And he taught me to be the same.”
Her eyes widened, “You're a lawyer?”
“Was.”
“Will you be one again someday?”
“I don't know. I hope so, in Oregon.”
“Then I hope so as well, John. There will always be a need for lawyers and I daresay there aren't that many where we are going.”
He cocked his head to one side, his eyes narrowed as he watched her closely.
“It doesn't bother you that I'm part Indian?”
She shook her head and her smile was gentle.
“Papa taught us that all human beings of any hue are children of God. I cannot see you any differently.”
He seemed to consider that for a moment before rising to his feet. Again, for a moment, he regarded her with an expression of bemusement before glancing back toward the fire where the others were gathered.
“I need to go back. You'll be alright?”
“Yes, I'm sure I will. My sisters will return before long and we'll turn in for the evening.”
She started to rise as well and found he'd stepped far enough around the fire to offer her assistance. She gratefully accepted and felt a strange frisson of, something, go through her as his warm, calloused hand closed gently around hers. He held it a little longer than necessary after she had risen to her feet. Their eyes met and they gazed at one another, the expression in his making her feel a bit breathless. Finally, he released her hand, set his hat atop his head, and took a step back.
“Good night, Loralee.”
“Good night, John. Sleep well.”
~
The sun was just rising when Loralee emerged from the tent she shared with her sisters. Wrapping her shawl about her body against the chill, she walked a reasonable distance away in search of a private spot for morning necessities then returned to the wagon to perform what ablutions life on the trail allowed. Feeling refreshed from a good night's rest and a clean face, she set about starting a fire in preparation for breakfast. From inside the tent she heard sleepy voices as her sisters awoke. Shortly thereafter they followed the same routine as their eldest sister had before going about their early morning chores.
Breakfast was a warm porridge made of oats and honey. Sometimes a dash of cinnamon would be added but for the most part it was hoarded for special situations, such as when they reached Independence Rock by July the fourth, which they should do barring any unforeseen delays. The honey was a luxury that their mother had insisted on and for which space was zealously maintained for its storage aboard the wagon. Unlike some others, they had not filled their wagon with unnecessary items, for their parents had sold nearly everything they owned to afford the trip. All the wagon held were supplies and the items absolutely needed to set up housekeeping when they reached their destination.
Loralee thought often about what they would do once they got there. She worried about what would become of them, but returning wouldn't have offered much more promise. They were alone in the world since their parents had both been orphans raised in an orphanage. They had grown up together and married early. Loralee was born a year later, with their other daughters coming every year or two afterward.
What would she do if she couldn't find employment? She supposed she could find work as a school teacher, as Momma and Poppa had ensured that their daughters received a good education. She surmised that where they were going school teachers would probably be in short supply. Maybe she would find accommodation included in her salary. That would certainly make things easier on them.
Once breakfast was over and their camp tidied, Loralee sent Jessamine and Catrina in search of buffalo chips for the fire while she and Serenity made their way to the broad, shallow river known as the North Platte. They carried with them the clothes they had all worn on the trail and which were in serious need of a good washing. The trick would be getting the clothes clean without soiling them again with silt from the river.
Later that day, John and the other men returned from a successful hunt. In addition to buffalo meat, he brought Loralee a couple of grouse and a small number of edible roots and plants. That evening, the girls ate well and, once again, Loralee's sisters took part in the festivities. This time the members of the train were celebrating the successful hunt and a good day free from traveling through clouds of dust.
When the sun was on the horizon, and everyone else was enjoying themselves elsewhere, Loralee found her way back to the river, to a secluded place where many had gone earlier to bathe themselves clean of the grit and grime of the trail. There, hidden by a small stand of trees and brush, she removed her clothing and waded into the cool, shallow water. After waiting for the silt to settle, she began to bathe, humming quietly as she made use of an old rag and one of her mother's precious bars of lavender soap. Afterward she used the soap to wash her long, waist length hair, luxuriating in the purely feminine task. After rinsing the long tresses, she finger combed them as she made her way back to the river bank where she had left a newly clean dress.
It was as she was dressing that she became aware that she wasn't alone. Her heart jumped and began to beat frantically as fear filled her, and she grasped the front of her dress where she had just begun to button it.
“Whose there?”
“Do not worry, Loralee,” came the quiet response in a deep man's voice from beyond the brush, “it's John and I'm only here to watch over you.”
“Have you been watching me bathe?”
“No, ma'am. Once you started to undress I turned my back. I swear I am only here to ensure your safety.”
After a few moments she hurriedly finished buttoning her dress then sat down in a dry patch to put on her shoes.
“I believe you, John,” she told him, equally quietly. He hadn't given her any reason at any time on the long journey to believe him anything but honorable. “I'm decently dressed now if you'd like to join me.”
He appeared with a rustling of the brush, his shadow only slightly darker than the night closing in around them.
“You shouldn't come here alone, Loralee, especially after dark.”
She sighed as she finished with her shoes and made to stand up. He was there in an instant, holding her arm as she rose.
“Thank you,” she murmured as he stepped away again, “I'm afraid I didn't consider there may be danger.”
“You must never forget the possibility always exists. There are Indians who aren't always civil with the white man, as well as a few with us on the train whom I don't trust. It's better to be cautious.”
“Yes, thank you, John. I shan't forget again.”
She bent down and picked up her dirty dress and the cloths she had used to bathe, then paused.
“I suppose there's a danger in our being here alone as well.”
“Only in the minds of those who would question your morality.”
She smiled sadly.
“And as a minister's daughter alone in the world, I imagine I'm scrutinized even more harshly than most.”
“I'm afraid so,” he agreed and stepped aside as she passed by. “I would have no one speak ill of you, Loralee. Remember I am always nearby should you need me. For any reason.”
“My sisters and I appreciate your kindness, John, Thank you again.”
The music and merriment were still going on when they arrived back at her wagon. The fire had burnt low so she added a couple of buffalo chips to it. Using a folded pad of cloth, she checked inside the metal coffee pot suspended from a small iron bar set over the flames.
“Please, sit down. There's coffee left over, if you'd like some,” she offered with a smile and he nodded.
“I wouldn't turn it down.”
Mindful of any passersby, he settled into a squat across the fire from her and watched as she removed two metal cups from a nearby wooden box.
“It won't take long to warm,” she promised as she knelt, “Would you like something to eat as well? We have plenty left over from dinner.”
“No, I'm fine. But thank you for asking.”
They waited quietly for the coffee to grow hot while listening to the cheerful music of a concertina that reached them on the cooling night air.
“Do you dance, John?”
“Badly, I'm afraid.”
“Really? I would have thought your father would have had you learn all of the social graces.”
He met her teasing smile with a rueful grin.
“He tried, but I was born with the proverbial two left feet.”
“Then perhaps you should seek out partners with two right feet.”
He chuckled softly as she poured them each a cup of coffee.
“Do such creatures exist?”
“Surely if there are those with two left feet then there must be others with two right. Otherwise, what use would God have for the extras?”
She held out a cup to him and he accepted it with a murmured thanks.
“I suppose that you are a fine dancer, Loralee.”
Her eyes seemed to glow in the light of the fire.
“I enjoy dancing, I admit, but Jessamine is the true talent in the family.” She took a sip from her cup. “My sister was always the most popular partner at social gatherings.”
“And you?”
“I was usually helping with refreshments or seeing to the aged.”
“But you did dance, didn't you?”
“Occasionally, yes.”
“Seems to me like the males on those occasions missed much by not seeking you out more often.”
Loralee smiled shyly.
“Thank you, John. That's a lovely thing to say.”
“No more than the truth.” His gaze met hers intently. “I would have danced with you, more than once.”
She felt the color rise in her cheeks as she looked down into her cup, not certain how to respond.
“Have I offended you, Loralee?”
She shook her head then glanced at him before looking away again.
“No,” she said softly, “No, you haven't. I'm just not accustomed to such frankness.”
“I prefer to think of it as sincerity. To say I am frank seems like too much of a common description for the meaning behind my words.”
He paused and watched the flames for a moment before again meeting her gaze.
“At the risk of crossing a line, I would admit to thinking highly of you, Loralee. You are a fine woman. Beautiful and intelligent, and loving toward your sisters. If we were somewhere more civilized I would court you as you should be courted, with care and respect.”
Her blush deepened as his words sank in and she struggled with what to say. She finally decided to respond honestly in a soft voice.
“And I would have welcomed you.”
Long moments of silence stretched between them before he asked, “And now? Would you welcome me now?”
“Yes.”
John took a deep breath.
“I have nothing to give you.”
“You have already given me much. You've taken care of me and my sisters by bringing us food from your hunts and by helping us look after our wagon and stock.” She paused. “You've been a true friend to my family.”
“I would be more than a friend to you, if you would let me.”
Loralee's smile was gentle as her sparkling eyes met his over the flames of the fire.
“Yes.”
John smiled in return but before he could speak, another voice, this one loud and obnoxious, broke in from the shadows between the wagons. A stream of tobacco spit appeared before a large, rough-looking man followed it.
“Well, well. Is the preacher's daughter welcoming a breed into her bed?”
John set his cup aside and rose to his feet.
“Our conversation is none of your concern, Bowers, and your comments are offensive. Apologize to the lady.”
“Or what? You going to scalp me? Shoot me for calling 'em as I sees 'em? What do you think the fine womenfolk of this wagon would say if they only knew what I know?”
“Bowers! I said...”
Loralee set aside her cup and stood up.
“No, John, don't!” She turned toward the other man. “Mr. Bowers, I do not care what the other women would think if they should believe you over John. Now, please, be on your way.”
“Oh no? The world is a mighty cold place for women who would lie with the likes of him.”
Suddenly, John stepped in front of Bowers, their faces nearly touching.
“You heard the lady. Leave!”
Instead, Bowers merely grinned before spitting on John's boots and Loralee watched in horror as John instantly buried his fist in the other man's soft belly. From there, everything seemed to happen at once. Bowers straightened and, with a bellow of rage, hit back, catching John on the chin and knocking him backward before jumping on him and taking him to the ground. Loralee gasped as she watched the two men rolling and punching one another, their grunts filling the night, until John finally landed a punch hard enough to knock Bowers out.
John rose to his feet just as other members of the train arrived, having broke away from the merriment when they heard the commotion.
“What the hell is going on here?” demanded the train captain, Higgins, as he looked from the man still on the ground to Loralee and John. She stepped forward before John could answer and bravely met Higgins' suspicious gaze.
“John, I mean Mr. Trace, was defending my honor, Mr. Higgins. Mr. Bowers was being vulgar and saying terrible things to me and refused to leave as Mr. Trace told him. Then the man spit on John's boots. I believe John's actions were understandable under the circumstances.”
There was a moment of silence, then a suspicious female voice spoke from the back of the group.
“Mr. Bowers has always seemed honorable to me, Miss Brannigan. I wonder what was going on to give him reason to question your...behavior.”
Loralee gasped and felt John move closer behind her, but before either of them could speak Bowers groaned and opened his eyes, one now swollen almost shut. Looking up, he saw the small crowd that were gathered to one side of him while Loralee and John stood alone on the other, and rose unsteadily to his feet.
“Bowers,” Higgins growled, “what was going on here?”
Bowers looked at Loralee, his expression dark and mean.
“Miz Brannigan had apparently gone to the river to bathe and I saw the breed follow her back. I was worried he was up to no good and so I asked her if he'd been bothering her. Next thing I know he jumps me!”
“Ahh, tell us a better story than that, Bowers,” John told him sarcastically before turning his attention back to Higgins, “He approached us while we were talking and made insulting comments toward Miss Brannigan. I asked him to leave but he refused by spitting on my boots. What was I supposed to do but retaliate?”
Again the female voice spoke from the group.
“You were talking alone? In the dark?” There was a pause. “What else were you doing, I wonder?” The speaker snorted derisively. “And you a preacher's daughter!”
A murmur went through the crowd and Loralee felt a cold chill run through her.
“Loralee and I were only talking,” John told them, “She is a respectable lady. I would never do anything to dishonor her.”
“So you say,” Higgins responded doubtfully before turning his harsh gaze on Loralee, “There is no room on this train for a jezebel, Miz Brannigan. This behavior will not be tolerated!”
Loralee's eyes widened in horror.
“But...!”
Before anything could be said further, John stepped forward and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. Surprised, she looked up and saw a small smile on his face before he winked and tightened his arm.
“We might as well tell them, Loralee,” he murmurred then again faced Higgins, “Miss Brannigan accepted my proposal tonight. We will be married as soon as we are able.”
Loralee's mouth fell open in shock before closing when his arm tightened again. Higgins eyed then suspiciously.
“Is that true , Miz Brannigan?”
She struggled to speak.
“Y-yes, Mr. Higgins, that is right.” Her voice strengthened as she straightened her back. “I said yes just a few minutes ago.”
“They're lyin'!” Bowers bellowed, “I never heard them say anythin' about marriage!”
“Perhaps you should have been listening more closely, Bowers,” John commented sarcastically, “Or were you too far back in the shadows to hear clearly?”
Before Bowers could say anything further, Higgins interrupted.
“If what you say is true , Trace, I see no reason you two can't be married tonight.” He turned to face the crowd. “Where's Abe Carlton? He's a Justice of the Peace.”
Loralee turned her helpless gaze up and met John's reassuring one.
“It'll be alright,” he murmured for her alone, then pulled her close in a comforting hug.
Abe Carlton was soon found and brought to stand before the group, which had by now grown larger as more people left the fire around which they had been celebrating. He attempted to refuse to officiate on the grounds that he was only a Justice of the Peace in the state of Indiana but was quickly overruled. Soon after, Loralee was no longer a Brannigan. Afterward, the crowd soon dispersed, leaving the younger Brannigan girls to stare at their eldest sister as if she had lost her mind. It was Serenity who finally conceded that Loralee had had no real choice and took her sister in her arms in an understanding hug.
“Things will work out,” she promised Loralee, “I know it will.”
Turning next to John, she hugged him as well.
“Welcome, brother. Thank you for protecting our sister from those vile accusations.”
John smiled as she stepped back.
“It was my pleasure.”
Jessamine and Catrina then stepped forward to congratulate the couple before disappearing into the tent. An uncomfortable silence settled over the three remaining as the question of sleeping arrangements loomed in their minds.
“I'll bed down under the wagon,” he finally decided, “and you ladies can remain in the tent.”
The sisters smiled, grateful to have had the matter resolved without any embarrassing discussion over it.
In the early morning hours, Loralee was awakened by the thunder of an approaching storm. Her thoughts turned instantly to John as he slept beneath the wagon and she sat up just as lightening flashed and was followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder that made the earth beneath the tent tremble. By the time she had risen to her feet, rain had begun to pour down so hard that she could barely hear herself think over the noise of it falling on the oiled canvas of the tent. Wrapping her shawl about her nightdress, she stuck her head out into the rain.
“John! John!” she bellowed as loud as she could manage but her voice remained unheard over the torrent. Finally, she pulled the shawl about her head and hurried out into the rain toward the wagon. Before she reached it, John was standing in front of her, a darker shadow with rifle in hand and water dripping from his hat.
“Loralee! What's wrong?”
“The rain! Come into the tent with us, out of the storm.”
He shook his head.
“I'm fine. Now, get back inside!”
“Not without you!”
Lightening flashed, illuminating their faces for a brief moment. His expression was stern, hers determined. Before he could say anything, she grabbed his arm and started pulling him toward the tent.
“No arguing now! We're married. There's nothing improper about it!”
The rain began to fall harder and he realized that the only way she would get out of the storm was if he followed her inside. So, resigned, he did.
The storm had woke the other women up and Serenity was lighting the lamp when Loralee and John stepped into the tent. Her eyes widened momentarily before she pragmatically reached for towels to hand them. Then, without a word, she just as pragmatically began to move her younger sisters about so that more room was made for John to lie down.
Once she had dried herself as well as she could, Loralee reached for the dress she had worn that day before looking expectedly back at John. After a moment of silence, he grinned and turned his back while she changed from the wet nightgown back into her day dress. When she had finished, she knelt down and straightened the blankets she had been using. With so little room remaining, there was really only one place for him to sleep. Beside her.
John laid his rifle alongside the pallet then settled his sinewy body upon the layers of quilts that offered some relief from the hard ground and removed his boots. Moments later, Loralee extinguished the lamp and gingerly lowered herself to the quilts beside him where he settled another quilt over them. Lightening continued to flash, thunder continued to roll, and the rain continued to pound against the tent as its occupants once again settled into sleep. Except for Loralee.
Uncomfortably aware of John lying beside her, she held herself stiffly away from him, trying not to allow their bodies to touch, though that was impossible given their proximity in the closeness of the tent. After a few miserable minutes, she felt his hand curve around her shoulder and tug lightly.
“We'll both sleep better if we spoon,” he murmured, “so back up here against me.” He paused then continued with a smile in his voice, “We're married, remember?”
Reluctantly she edged backwards until her back was against his chest and felt his arm settle over her waist.
“Lift your head,” he whispered and as she did so, he moved his other arm beneath it and settled her closer. “Now go to sleep.”
Their combined warmth eased into her chilled body, relaxing her until she drifted naturally into sleep, her last thought being of how safe she felt in his arms.
The storm had moved on by the time dawn arrived, bringing with it the promise of a sunny day. The campsite was a mire of mud but as the day warmed it would slowly begin to dry up. They would be moving on the next morning so the day would be spent finishing the things that needed finishing and getting ready to leave at first light.
Loralee had awoke to find herself snuggled up against John with her head on his shoulder and one leg thrown across his. Mortified, she had started to move then stopped when his arms tightened about her. Glancing up she found him still asleep and, drawn by something she didn't understand, she relaxed and just let her eyes study him. He was a handsome man by any standard and his two day beard growth only accentuated his masculinity. A sense of strong character seemed to be imprinted into his striking features and she thought about how much he'd done for them since their parents had died. She realized for the first time how attracted she'd been to him all along, but the demands of trail life had kept her too busy to pay it much mind. Now here she was, married to him, and not at all sorry about it. Suddenly, she didn't feel so burdened by all her responsibilities. She already knew that he would help her carry the load.
As her eyes moved over his face, he took a deep breath and shifted, his arms tightening once again around her. Slowly his eyes opened and she found herself staring into their warm, brown depths.
“Good morning,” he greeted her softly then looked away as he yawned. That, in turn, caused her to yawn and they both chuckled when their eyes met again. “This is a nice way to wake up.”
She blushed and moved her leg off of his.
“I'm sorry if I impeded you by sleeping this way. I assure you it wasn't intentional.”
He grinned roguishly and his eyes twinkled.
“You can sleep anyway you want to with me. We're married, remember?”
Her expression turned serious.
“Yes, I remember.” She looked away for a moment before bringing her gaze back to his. “Do you mind overmuch, being married?”
Lifting a finger, he gently caressed her cheek.
“Not to you,” he assured her quietly and smiled tenderly as he ran his finger over her lower lip. “In fact, I had already begun to think of courting you when we arrived in Oregon.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
Her blush returned and she buried her shy smile against the coarse fabric of his shirt.
“You are assuming a lot of responsibility, what with me and my sisters.”
“And I assume it gladly. You make for me a fine family to start.”
“To start?”
“Yes. We will most likely have a family of our own in time, will we not?”
She nodded and slid her hand over his chest, feeling the strong beating of his heart against it.
“Yes.”
He paused, “Do you not want children?”
She lifted herself so that she could look down into his eyes.
“Yes, I do, I really do. I simply, well, I hadn't expected it to happen so soon.”
“When did you expect it to happen? Did you have other plans for your future?”
“No, not really. I had simply hoped to enjoy a period of freedom before taking on a husband.”
He frowned.
“What kind of freedom?”
“The freedom to learn as much as I can about the world and to experience life fully.”
She sighed and settled her head once again on his shoulder.
“I suppose that must sound selfish and childish.”
He was silent for a few moments, then he began to comb his fingers through her hair.
“My father believed in the equality of the sexes. He taught me that men and women were merely different sides of a whole, with their own strengths and weaknesses that complimented one another.” He rested his hand on the side of her head. “I would never want to stop you from learning or experiencing all that life has in store for you.” He lifted her chin so she would meet his eyes. “I would not want you to be anyone but who you already are.”
Tears filled her eyes and she reached up to lay her palm against his stubbled cheek.
“Thank you.”
He smiled tenderly, “You're welcome.”
One of the girls shifted and they knew that their time alone was coming to an end. After a quick glance around, he leaned over and kissed her gently.
“Never start the morning without a kiss,” he advised and kissed her again before rising to his feet. “I'll see to the livestock.”
~
By mid-fall they were settled in a small community not far from Oregon City. They had built themselves a cabin on a hundred acres of uncleared land and were planning to add to it as time and money allowed. John worked as a logger and had begun to counsel others in legal matters, while Loralee taught school from inside the cabin to several neighbor children, as well as continuing Jessamine's and Catrina's education. Life wasn't easy but it wasn't as hard as the journey west had been. Watching the flames dance in the stone fireplace, she was certain she was where she was meant to be, with the man she was meant to be with. They were partners and lovers, man and wife. Two halves of a whole.
She smiled softly and turned her eyes upon her husband lounging lazily in the chair beside hers with a mug of coffee in one hand. He smiled in return and lifted her palm to his lips with the other. Though rarely said aloud, the love they felt for one another was there for all to see, pure, deeply held, and free.
Seems like a very long wagon train. Making the wagon master have a tremendous job keeping everyone moving forward with river crossings and other obstacles, like death along the way. While there were wagon trains of over 100, most were about 30 or 40 wagons, cattle, horses and sheep. You could add that livestock to your story. Meat and milk wasn't always from the wild.
I would've liked you to start with Loralee’s parents sickness and death. When she really took over the reins from them for her sisters.
Justice of the Peace? There were no other ministers on the train than Loralee's father? It's just strange with the wagon train this big.
I really love the twist of the sudden marriage in the middle of the story. And I like to think that marriages like that were made often even in the straightlaced religious nature of the times. There were many marriages of of necessity. Quite often because of the death of a spouse leaving a woman or man without the support of another strong person to help them deal with the challenge of life in the wild West.
Who knew the Wright's had a trunk full of hidden family secrets? Searching for treasure and hidden family secrets is one way to fuel the flames of passion.
Oregon Trail, 1851
