Baby On The Oregon Trail. Lynna Banning

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       Chapter Nine

      Ruthie gazed up at Lee with round blue eyes. “Mister, I heard funny noises last night.”

      Lee snapped his pocketknife closed. “Noises like what?”

      “Like something crying.”

      “Do you know what a wolf is?”

      The girl shook her head. “Tell me ’bout a woof.”

      “A wolf is like a dog, honey. In fact, a long, long time ago, dogs were wolves.”

      “What happened to them?”

      “I guess they grew up. Some of them got to be dogs, and others stayed wild.”

      “I want one,” Ruthie announced. “A big one.”

      Lee swallowed a smile. “Would you like a new doll instead?” From his shirt pocket he produced the small figure he’d been carving.

      Her eyes grew larger. “A dolly? For me?” She reached out her small hand and touched it with one finger. “Is it a boy doll or a girl doll?”

      “A girl doll, I think. See, she has on a dress.” From the corner of his eye he saw Jenna watching them, her hands propped at her waist. But her eyes looked soft and kind of shiny.

      Ruthie flung her arms around his neck and smacked a kiss onto his stubbly cheek. “Gosh, mister, you’re all scratchy.”

      “Yeah. Guess I’d better shave, huh?”

      “Oh, goody. Can I watch?”

      Over the girl’s blond curls he saw Jenna shake her head.

      “Maybe another time,” he said. “What will you name your doll?”

      “I’m gonna call her Lee.”

      “What? Lee is a boy’s name. My name is Lee.”

      “You’re not a boy, mister. You’re a man.”

      At Jenna’s burst of laughter he felt a rush of relief. From the moment she rolled out of bed at dawn, she had been glowering at him, all through their breakfast of cornmeal mush, right up to the moment Ruthie had interrupted his wood carving. Didn’t take a genius to see Jenna had something stuck in her craw.

      He rose, pressed “Lee” into Ruthie’s hands and strode off to the creek to shave. As he scraped away at his chin he thought about Tess and Mary Grace and what he had planned for them this morning.

      And Jenna. That is, if he could he persuade her to do it.

      * * *

      “Not on your life,” Jenna announced an hour later. “No. No. No. Never.”

      “Listen,” he said, his voice oozing patience. “The girls will learn, and that will make your presence out here on the plains a good deal safer.”

      “I understand that,” she said. “But you don’t need extra hands for firearms we don’t have. We have only your three weapons.”

      He shook his head. She knew what he was thinking, that Mathias had not taken proper steps to protect his family. In that, perhaps, the Virginian was correct.

      She watched him walk Tess and Mary Grace off some fifty yards away from the wagons, nail a scrap of white cloth to a tree stump for a target and direct the girls’ attention to his revolver.

      With a sniff, Jenna turned back to the fire pit where the kettle of beans sat soaking.

      A single gunshot cracked into the quiet, and she looked across the plain to see Tess standing with Lee’s Colt gripped in both long-fingered hands. Lee was bending to show her how to reload.

      He was right about their need to protect themselves. It was foolish to depend solely on him. What if he fell ill, or was injured? Yesterday he’d risked his life getting their wagon across the Platte River. What if he had lost his footing and drowned?

      Another shot sounded. This time it was Mary Grace, whose two-handed grip wobbled with the revolver’s weight. She had managed to nick the target, and Jenna felt a surge of admiration for the eleven-year-old’s accomplishment. And, she thought grudgingly, for Lee’s skill at instruction.

      The rifle lesson was next, she gathered from the difference in the sound. She tried not to listen. In an hour, the target practice session drew to a close, and Jenna grew edgy. Lee had insisted on showing her how to yoke up the oxen and touch that precious horse of his. She prayed he would draw the line at handling firearms.

      Probably not. Once this man made up his mind about something, he was stubborn about it. Sam said Lee had “sand.” Right now, she wished he had a good deal less of it.

      “Ruthie,” she called into the wagon. “Let’s walk down to the stream and take a bath, shall we?”

      “Don’t want a bath, Jenna.”

      “Why not?”

      “I want to do it with Mister Lee.”

      Jenna stuffed down a chortle of laughter. “You can’t do that, honey. Boys and girls don’t bathe together.”

      Ruthie pushed out her lower lip. “He’s not a boy, Jenna. He’s a man.”

      Oh, my. How could she explain the difference? Before she could come up with anything remotely proper, Tess and Mary Grace flitted back into camp.

      “Did you see us, Jenna?” Mary Grace chirped. “I hit the target twice. Tess didn’t even come close.”

      “Show-off,” Tess muttered. “Who wants to hit a dumb old tree stump?”

      “I do!” Mary Grace challenged. “Lee says it’s important.”

      “And it is,” his low voice announced behind her. “Now, Jenna...”

      She spun to face him. “No.”

      His dark eyebrows rose. “No what? I haven’t asked you anything yet.”

      “Whatever it is, the answer is no.”

      He looked at her steadily with crinkles growing in the corners of his gray eyes. “I was going to say that I’m going to take a bath before supper. All right with you?”

      “As long as I don’t have to—”

      His snort of laughter told her he’d read the thought she had squelched. Still chuckling, he strode off toward the stream, his canvas shaving kit dangling from his hand.

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