Emma's Journey (Oregon Trail 1)

Davis had made the trip to the bank alone because he hadn’t wanted his mother to know about the financial problems that forced him to ask for a loan. If he didn’t get the money from the bank, the farm could go under and he had no idea how to tell his mother the house her husband had built with his own two hands when they were first married would be sold out from under her. She had barely recovered from his death m

erely six months before.

Located in west North Carolina, the Cooper farm had been small, with all the effort going into growing vegetables for the market, as well as selling eggs from the chickens and milk from a few cows. Two years of bad weather had resulted in poor vegetable crops and the death of one of the cows had added to their losses.

During a heated conversation between the two men over the unlikelihood of Davis securing a loan, a young boy raced past the bank, his hands cupped over his mouth as he shouted “fire.”

The smell of smoke had greeted Stuart and Davis as they stepped through the bank’s doors onto the boardwalk. “That smoke’s coming from my direction,” Davis yelled as he vaulted onto his horse.

He’d raced the distance between town and his home. The dusty road leading up to the farm had already swarmed with neighbors, hauling water in pails from the nearby creek. A line had formed from the creek to the barn, with men, women and children passing buckets. He’d jerked the reins and slid off his horse. Black dense smoke poured out of the barn, and flames shot up into the sky.

Someone shouted to him that his mother and sister were in the barn. Davis pushed his way through, in an attempt to reach the door, but strong arms pulled him back seconds before the roof collapsed. Smoke and debris mushroomed up from the ground, sending sparks raining down on the crowd. Within minutes, two of the four walls had collapsed, and Davis stood staring at the old barn that had become his family’s grave.

After almost two weeks of drinking himself into oblivion every night, Davis received a visit from Stuart. No surprise to Davis, friendship or not, there would be no loan from the bank. Stuart convinced Davis it was in his best interests to sell the farm and start over somewhere else. So Davis handed the deed over to Stuart, placed flowers on his family’s graves for the last time and left.

A year and a half later, he’d grown tired of his life of drifting and hiring out as a cowboy on various ranches. He joined up with Ezra Franklin who took him on as a scout. Looking into the bloodshot eyes of the young man, Ezra told him right off no liquor for scouts on the trail, and Davis agreed. The nightmares had pretty much stopped, so he didn’t need oblivion anymore to sleep.

Good food, no booze, and hard work had cleared Davis’s head. The hours he had spent roping cattle and chasing strays had toned muscles in his arms, legs and back.

Davis had plans for Oregon himself. He’d already told Ezra this would be his last trip scouting. The check tucked securely in his pocket that Stuart had sent him covering the balance on the farm’s sale, Davis had finished running from demons and was ready to settle down and start over in Oregon country.

Chapter Five

Things went smoothly for the first few days. Davis and Emma fell into a routine. Joshua came by first thing in the morning to get Davis up and out of the wagon. While they were gone, Emma busied herself straightening up the wagon and cooking breakfast. After Joshua came back with Davis, he rounded up the oxen and got them yoked for the day. Following breakfast, Emma cleaned the dishes, re-packed the wagon, and they were off. Joshua stayed with them most of the day.

About a week after the accident, Emma came back from her jaunt to the bushes to find Davis slowly walking the oxen over to the wagon. He was obviously still in some pain, although the cuts, scrapes and bruises on his face had pretty much healed, leaving yellow marks where the black and blue ones had been.

“What are you doing?”she asked. “Who told you to get up?”

“Well, ma’am, I figured I’ve had enough of inactivity, so it’s time for me to pull my own weight. I can’t sit a horse yet, but I can do more than lie around. You just go ahead and finish packing up and I’ll get these animals ready for the day.” Davis winced as he spoke softly, but with determination in his voice. Emma shook her head when he paled as he tightened the reins, but decided not to confront him. If the fool wanted to be in pain that was up to him.

Emma started off the morning riding on the front seat of the wagon while Davis plodded alongside. The day was hot, but with cloud cover. As the hours went by, Emma found her gaze drifting toward Davis’s sweat-soaked shirt, the muscles rippling on his back as he handled the animals and trudged slow but steady. Taller and broader than Peter had been, her cohort’s dark hair curled over his collar, and he used the red checkered bandana around his neck to repeatedly wipe his face.

“Mr. Cooper,” Emma called, “I filled your canteen before we left, would you like a drink?”

Davis turned and smiled up at her. She felt as if the clouds parted and the sun came out. Again she felt a shiver when she looked into his unusual blue eyes. She tramped down any reaction to this man. Her husband was dead barely a week. Even though she and Peter had only known each other a total of seven months when he’d died, it didn’t sit well with her to be aware of Davis at all.

“Appreciate that, ma’am.”

Emma climbed into the wagon and retrieved the canteen. Hot and flushed herself, she took several sips before climbing out, then handed the container to Davis. “Here you are, Mr. Cooper.”

“Mrs. Thorpe, since we’ve been traveling together for a week now, do you suppose you can call me Davis?” He handed the canteen back to her and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Emma took it from his hand and held it in her lap.

“I’m not sure that would be proper, but I’ll consider it, Mr. Cooper.” She began fussing with her apron. “But I’m thinking that now you should come into the wagon and rest a bit. You’re looking tired and sore.” The fumbling with her apron grew stronger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’ll shred that entire apron before we reach Oregon.

“No, I’m doing fine. We’ll be stopping for the noon meal in a bit, and I’ll rest then.”

About a half hour later Ezra blew his bugle from his position at the head of the wagon train. The first vehicle rolled to a stop, with the rest following. Emma stretched, and rotated her neck muscles.

Despite his bravado, Davis winced every time he moved, and felt ready to drop where he stood.

“Mr. Cooper, I insist I walk with the animals this afternoon so you can rest.”

“I don’t need much rest,” Davis said, holding onto the side of the wagon.