Page 1 of Eleanor’s Earrings

Chapter One

April 1, 1854

Independence, Missouri

Eleanor Whitaker had checked the contents of both wagons so many times that she could recite every item from memory. She knew exactly where the flour was stored, how many pounds of bacon they had, which crate held the medicines, and where Rebecca had tucked the spare harness buckles after deciding Eleanor's arrangement made no sense.

Eleanor had chosen not to argue about the buckles. It was far too early in the morning for such a thing.

It was also far too early to travel two thousand miles with seven younger sisters, but that had not stopped the sun from threatening to rise.

“If you stare at that list any harder, the ink is going to run away,” Caroline said from behind her.

Eleanor turned. Her sister stood beside the first wagon with her shawl pulled tightly around her shoulders. At twenty-seven, Caroline was only two years younger than Eleanor, which meant she had spent most of her life believing she was entitled to express opinions about everything Eleanor did.

She usually was, but Eleanor saw no reason to encourage her.

“The ink will remain where Father put it,” Eleanor said. “It has managed for nearly a year.”

Caroline's expression softened at the mention of their father. “The list will still be there after we leave.”

“That is the general purpose of a list.”

“You know what I mean.”

Eleanor did know. She folded the pages along the creases their father had made and slipped them into the leather pouch she wore beneath her cloak. He had planned every part of this journey. He had bought the wagons, chosen the oxen, ordered tools and provisions, and written directions so thorough that Eleanor sometimes expected to find instructions for when each sister ought to sneeze.

Then he had died before he could take them west.

Eleanor would get them to Clover Creek without him. She had promised, and Eleanor Whitaker kept promises.

An old acquaintance of her father’s, Dr. Malcolm Bentley, had written to him about the west and about Clover Creek in particular. So, her father’s focus had gone from somewhere in the west to Clover Creek, Oregon Territory.

“Wake the others,” she said. “We need to be ready when the train forms.”

“They are awake.” Caroline glanced toward the boardinghouse. “Whether they are useful is another question.”

The door opened before Eleanor could answer. Charlotte came out first with an inventory book tucked under one arm. Rebecca followed, carrying two buckets and wearing the look of a woman already annoyed with the entire Oregon Trail. Martha had one hand around Grace's arm and the other around Lucy's. Lydia brought up the rear with her bonnet hanging down her back.

Eleanor frowned at her. “Put your bonnet on.”

“The sun is not up.”

“It intends to come up.”

“Did it tell you?” Lydia asked.

Rebecca snorted.

Eleanor pointed at Lydia's bonnet. “On your head.”

Lydia obeyed, though she muttered something about tyranny. Eleanor pretended not to hear. If keeping Lydia from arriving in Oregon with a face burned brown made Eleanor a tyrant, she would accept the title.

They began their practiced duties. Rebecca and Caroline checked the teams. Martha made certain the water barrels were full. Charlotte compared the inventory against the last purchases they had made in Independence. Grace and Lucy rolled the bedding they had used the previous night, while Lydia carried items from the boardinghouse and complained that no human being should be required to lift anything before breakfast unless breakfast had personally offended them.

Eleanor took a small wooden box from the pocket of her cloak and opened it carefully.

Her mother's garnet earrings rested against faded blue velvet. The stones were not large enough to draw stares, but they were a deep, rich red that caught the light whenever she moved. Her father had given them to her mother during the first year of their marriage. After Mother's death, he had put them away until Eleanor's twenty-fifth birthday.