Ripples Along the Shore (13 page)

Still holding the candle lantern, Jewell nodded and poured water from the kettle, filling the small kitchen with steam.

Caroline wiped her damp cheeks as if the kettle were to blame for her tears. She added a pinch of sugar to her cup and then followed Jewell past the man in the wicker wheelchair and out the front door.

The porch wasn’t anything to boast, but it did house two slat-back armchairs and afforded them a quiet reprieve. Sister time. Together. Alone.

Another tradition Caroline would sorely miss.

Jewell set the candle on the low railing and looked at Caroline. “You’re real quiet this evening. Have been ever since you returned from work.” She lifted her cup to her mouth and took a sip. “Did something happen at the store today?”

Caroline rested her cup on the arm of the chair and met her sister’s gaze. The glow from the candle set at their knees was enough to illuminate Jewell’s pinched brow. Caroline opened her mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come.

“You’re going, aren’t you?”

Caroline nodded, swallowing hard against the lump of emotion clogging her throat.

Jewell looked away, her hands wrapped around the teacup, and shook her head.

Caroline lifted her cup to her chin, letting the droplets of steam on her face mingle with the tears.

Seventeen

I
can
read
English, too.”

Seated in The Western House Inn, Garrett slid the provisions list across the table to the oldest of the three Zanzucchi boys. At age ten, Alfonzo Junior was already well into manhood. His father sat beside him while his mother and two brothers stood behind them. The family had arrived in Saint Charles that afternoon from New York. They’d journeyed by train with their Conestoga wagon disassembled on a flatcar, then across the Mississippi at the confluence of the Missouri on a paddle-wheel barge for the day-long trip upstream to Saint Charles. “Tell your father he will need to have the wagon stocked and ready to go on April 11. We’ll line up the wagons out on the River Road.”

Junior looked at his father, then rattled off in Italian what Garrett assumed was a translation.

“Candles, a water keg, chains, a sturdy rope, flour, rice … it’s all there.” Garrett pointed to the paper.

Junior spoke Italian to his parents and tapped the list.

Mr. Zanzucchi nodded, responding at several points in Italian.

Mrs. Zanzucchi cut in with what sounded like a question.

“Ermalinda!” Her husband shook his head, his look as stern as his voice.

Despite that, she let fly with what sounded like a diatribe. Her hand motions as fast as her Italian, the woman studied Garrett, her lips pursed and her gaze steady.

Garrett shrugged, waiting for his English explanation. Did she want to take a piano? A set of fine china?

Unfortunately, Ermalinda Zanzucchi didn’t look like a woman who could be easily dissuaded.

“Papa said we’ll be ready.” Junior folded the paper.

Garrett pulled the roster from the chair beside him. The Boone’s Lick Wagon Train Company would be a multilingual community. So far, he had Americans, Germans, Scots, French, and now Italians. Fortunately, each group had at least one member who could communicate in English.

Leaning forward, Mrs. Zanzucchi rolled her open hand in front of Junior, then pointed to Garrett.

Junior’s shoulders rose and fell. “Sir, Mama wants to know if you have a wife.”

Garrett swallowed hard. “Why would she want to know that?”

The two younger boys giggled.

“It’s Aunt Mia. She is traveling with us.” Junior’s dark eyebrows lifted. “She has no husband.”

“Ah.”

Junior fanned his fingers out in front of him like his mother had done. “So
do
you?”

“Have a wife?”

The boy nodded.

“No. And I don’t—”

Another outburst in Italian from the woman who apparently had no problem understanding his
no
but didn’t care to hear his explanation.

Junior pointed his open hand at Garrett as his mother had. “Mama says, ‘She is a good cook, my sister Mia. Not afraid of work.’ ”

Garrett looked at Mrs. Zanzucchi. “Ma’am. I’m sure your sister is a fine woman.”

Junior dutifully translated.

She dipped her chin and pursed her lips.

“It would not be right for me to marry anyone at this time.”

He waited for Junior.

Her eyes narrowed to slits.

“I have a job to do. A difficult job.”

Junior added hand motions in his translation this time. Garrett hoped they were convincing.

Straightening her back, the woman rattled off Italian. Even in a foreign language, it was a universal message of
Mama knows what’s best for you
.

Before Junior could translate, Garrett rested his arms on the table. He clasped his hands and looked her in the eye. “Mrs. Zanzucchi, your sister is welcome to join you on the journey, but I do not want a wife. And I have a cook.”

Five of them, although his bet for best cook was on Boney.

Junior was quick with his translation.

Mrs. Zanzucchi raised her thick eyebrows. They were fully arched by the time her son finished speaking. She answered in heavily accented English. “Some men don’t-a-know what they
need
.”

Choosing to ignore the remark, Garrett held the roster out to Junior. “You’ll need to read the information at the top to your parents. It is an agreement to abide by the company’s rules. If he still wishes to join the caravan, your father will need to write his name—all of your names—and then sign his name. It is an agreement to abide by the company’s rules.”

Junior set the roster in front of his father. The boy was translating the instructions into Italian when Caroline Milburn walked into the room. Her bustled green skirts swished with each step. She drew the attention of the waitress and had a short conversation. She’d gestured toward him, then to an empty table. The waitress looked at Garrett, then led Caroline to a table in the corner.

Why else would she be there but to see him?

Garrett pushed his chair back. “Will you kindly excuse me for a moment?” He waited for Junior to translate. When the boy’s parents nodded, Garrett walked to the table in the corner and removed his hat.

“Mrs. Milburn.”

“Mr. Cowlishaw. Do you have a moment?” She motioned to the empty chair opposite her.

He seated himself. He hadn’t seen her since they’d agreed he wasn’t a vindictive man. “You came to see me?”

“I did.” Her sly smile added a shine to her emerald-green eyes.

Had she come to try her charms to get him to change his mind? Would he be able to resist? Did he really want to?

She tilted her head a tad. “The Kamden family came to see me at the store.”

That didn’t sound the least bit threatening, or of any concern to him. “Is there a problem with the supplies? Johann said he ordered in all the dry goods. If something hasn’t arrived, I’m sure—”

“Ian Kamden asked me to go with them.”

“Go with them?”

She nodded toward the west, bobbing a fiery red curl at her forehead.

“West? With them?”

“They have two wagons. I would go as their nanny to help with the children and, well, the elder Mrs. Kamden.”

“I think that’s a fine idea.”

“You do?” Her lips curved into a small O and seemed frozen there.

“I do.”

Her smile faded. “You don’t want to argue about a single woman traveling through the scary wilderness?”

He shook his head. “And your sister? What does she say about this plan?”

Caroline shifted in the chair. “It wasn’t so much what Jewell said, but what she didn’t say that pierced my heart.”

Garrett had met the ill-tempered Jack Rafferty and had no problem imagining the desperation his wife must feel in losing her sister to the west.

The beguiling redhead drew a deep breath, drawing his heart in with it. “Needless to say, my sister doesn’t like the idea. But she understands that I must establish a new life … a life of my own. At least, I have to hope she does.”

He nodded. “And how did your nieces and nephew take the news?”

Tears pooled her eyes. “I will tell Mary, Cora, and Gilbert after supper.” She blinked hard and straightened. “I have to do this.”

“Very well then,” Garrett said. “I’m glad you’re going. Seems to me that you’ve secured for yourself the means required to make the trip. So, a trip you shall make.”

“Yes, I shall.” She stood, and so did he.

Now, the burden of guilt he was wont to carry for leaving her to her fate could be lifted.

A remarkable company indeed—Germans, Scots, French, Italians, and one unpredictable redhead.

Excitement swirled around Caroline as she carried a tray of chilled apple cider into the dining room, the room’s seams about to burst. On this last Thursday of March, Mrs. Brantenberg’s Saint Charles quilting circle had convened for one last time. Their hostess had called the children in to join them for a celebration. Mary and Gabi stood at one corner of the table working their patchwork dolls like puppets, their giggles sinking deep into Caroline’s soul. The elder Mrs. Beck and her daughter-in-law conversed with Emilie while
Hattie and Bette Pemberton engaged in an animated conversation with Mabel Webber. Maren held Jewell’s hands, speaking with her in hushed tones.

Those who were going west mingled with those they were leaving behind.

The Beck women seemed the easiest to separate. “Pardon me, ladies,” Caroline said. Irene and Lorelei parted like the Red Sea, allowing Caroline access to the table. She set her tray down, and Anna had managed to do the same at the other end, with a second tray.

Mrs. Brantenberg seated herself, then set her Bible and the stack of quilting squares on the table in front of her. When she clapped her hands, the chatter quieted and the chairs quickly filled, including the extras they’d placed on the perimeter. That’s where Jewell settled and pulled Mary onto her lap.

Fanning the quilting squares on the table, Mrs. Brantenberg pressed her lips together as if to hold back tears. She’d made a Shoo-Fly doll square in remembrance of her daughter, Gretchen, and for the joy of her granddaughter, Gabi. Anna honored her brother, Dedrick, with a Soldier’s Cot square. Mrs. Pemberton’s Remembrances square peeked out from under Maren’s. On her Double Hourglass square, Maren had embroidered “Our times are in God’s hands” above her new name—Maren Wainwright. Emilie had chosen a red and green Special Blessings pattern for her square.

“In my lifetime, I’ve said many hellos and many good-byes.” Their beloved hostess tucked a spray of white hair into the braid circling her head, then looked around the room. “We all have. No matter our age. Life’s changing seasons are as persistent as the ripples along the shore.”

Caroline nodded in accord with Anna and Mrs. Webber.

Mrs. Brantenberg moistened her lips. “While parting will be difficult, I’m so thankful God brought us together for a season.”

“I am too.” Hattie glanced at Caroline, then to Mrs. Webber. “For our seasons of sorrow.”

Maren turned her tender gaze toward Mrs. Brantenberg. “For seasons of joy.”

“For seasons of planting.” Mrs. Brantenberg looked out the window, toward the apple orchard.

“For seasons of harvest.” The dreaminess in Emilie’s voice reminded Caroline that Emilie and Quaid had reunited here on this farm during the apple harvest.

Hattie pressed her hands over her heart, her hat wobbling as she giggled.

Smiling, Mrs. Brantenberg opened her Bible. “The Lord has quilted our hearts together in those seasons of love and loss, sorrow and joy.”

A round of gentle nods circled the room.

Mrs. Pemberton set her weathered hands on the table. “And now we are in a season of plucking and uprooting.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Brantenberg nodded, her lips pressed together. “In two short weeks, most of us will set out on a long journey to rebuild our lives farther west.”

Emilie snatched Maren’s hand. “While a few of us will remain to see Saint Charles rebuilt.”

“Yes.” Mrs. Webber looked at Emilie. “I’m moving into town to work in Heinrich’s Dry Goods and Grocery.”

Caroline gave the woman a broad smile, supported by relief. “That is good news. I had only just started my job there when it worked out for me to leave with the Kamdens.”

Emilie nodded. “We will miss you, Caroline, but we are all seeing God at work in this change of seasons.” She looked at Mrs. Brantenberg. “Quaid and I are buying this farm.”

They all looked at Mrs. Brantenberg, who nodded and smiled.

“That’s wonderful!” Jewell shifted Mary on her lap.

“It is indeed a blessing. It pleases me so to know that our dear Emilie will raise her family here.” Mrs. Brantenberg looked at Maren. “The four of us will move into town until our exodus day.”

“We move into the house this weekend.” Sheer joy lit Emilie’s brown eyes.

Jewell cleared her throat. “Emilie, will you continue the quilting circle for those of us who remain?”

“What a splendid idea.” Mrs. Brantenberg’s eyebrows arched as she pinned Emilie with a questioning gaze.

“I suppose I could. With help.”