the coffeepot, and some brush I spotted a little way back. No guarantees on how dry it will be, though!”
They were wiping up the last bacon grease from their tin plates with flour pancakes Maggie had made. Irish put down his plate first and reached into his pocket for a cigar, bending to start it smoothly from a smoldering stick from the fire.
“First thing I intend doing when we get settled in Oregon is find me a nice rich clay deposit. Then I can set up my wheel and make some real pots and plates. It’s uncivilized to have to eat from metal. It leaves a tinny taste in your mouth.” He nodded towards Maggie. “No offense to your cooking meant, not at all.” Irish spread his compact body out on the damp grass, tipped his slouch hat over thick, wavy, chestnut hair and dark eyes, and pulled at the cheroot.
“How can he make plates with a wheel, Ma?”
“It’s a different kind of wheel from the ones that pull our wagons, Jamie. Irish is a potter by trade.”
“Oh.” The boy cogitated on the new information only a moment, then, “May I go and play with some children?”
“Who did you have in mind?”
“The Kreller girls up toward the front of the train. They’re fun. Especially Matty. I promised to show her my bow and arrows from Straight Arrow and Running Bear. I might even let her try it out. She’s my age and can do almost anything I can.”
“Only almost?”
“Well, she is a girl, Ma!”
“And what about me, young man?”
“You can do anything, but mothers are different.”
Maggie shot a glance at Johnny, who was biting back laughter.
“Go ahead, son, but head back as soon as you see the camp shifting. We may need you.”
“Thanks, Pa!”
“Johnny~”
“He’ll learn exactly what girls can do soon enough, Meg. Let him feel superior for at least another year!” Amidst laughter, Johnny eased his much longer frame onto the ground in imitation of Irish.
“The trip timing is good.” Irish blew out a smoke ring thoughtfully. “If we arrive in October, like everyone expects, there’ll be the whole winter to fuss with a proper kiln before I have to worry about getting some planting done.”
“You think you can make a business out of it?”
Irish tapped at his ash. “Not right off. Just for my own use and pleasure. In another few years I figure there’ll be a need. When more folks follow us out.”
“It should be the same with the books,” Johnny thought aloud. “But if I can’t find enough interest I’ll just drum some up.”
“How you planning on doing that?”
“There must be upwards of five thousand Americans in the Willamette Valley and spread out beyond, and if they’ve little interest, I’ll just teach the Indians to read.”
Gwen, following the conversation as she and Maggie cleaned up after the meal looked horrified. “You’d teach the Indians?”
“Why not? They’ve minds and souls the same as we.”
“But, but . . .”
“But what? They’re heathens? Let me tell you about a few members of the Kansas tribe we knew back in Independence~”
Just then, however, the call to move floated back to them. Groaning, the two men got up to yoke their teams. Also on schedule, Maggie heard a cry of protest from Charlotte in the cabin. It was time to face the rest of the day.
THREE
Spirits were high in the prairie camp that night. The long, cold winter was over, and solid weeks of rains seemed finished, too. The prairie hay was greening fast. They’d made twelve miles on the trail. There were reasons for optimism.
The Stuart family lazed under a full moon, Charlotte crawling around a blanket, eager to get the exercise she’d been denied all day. Johnny and Maggie watched her with pride while Jamie practiced jumps from the wagon traces to the soft grass below.
“Doesn’t that boy ever tire?” Johnny asked. “He’s already put in twice
They were wiping up the last bacon grease from their tin plates with flour pancakes Maggie had made. Irish put down his plate first and reached into his pocket for a cigar, bending to start it smoothly from a smoldering stick from the fire.
“First thing I intend doing when we get settled in Oregon is find me a nice rich clay deposit. Then I can set up my wheel and make some real pots and plates. It’s uncivilized to have to eat from metal. It leaves a tinny taste in your mouth.” He nodded towards Maggie. “No offense to your cooking meant, not at all.” Irish spread his compact body out on the damp grass, tipped his slouch hat over thick, wavy, chestnut hair and dark eyes, and pulled at the cheroot.
“How can he make plates with a wheel, Ma?”
“It’s a different kind of wheel from the ones that pull our wagons, Jamie. Irish is a potter by trade.”
“Oh.” The boy cogitated on the new information only a moment, then, “May I go and play with some children?”
“Who did you have in mind?”
“The Kreller girls up toward the front of the train. They’re fun. Especially Matty. I promised to show her my bow and arrows from Straight Arrow and Running Bear. I might even let her try it out. She’s my age and can do almost anything I can.”
“Only almost?”
“Well, she is a girl, Ma!”
“And what about me, young man?”
“You can do anything, but mothers are different.”
Maggie shot a glance at Johnny, who was biting back laughter.
“Go ahead, son, but head back as soon as you see the camp shifting. We may need you.”
“Thanks, Pa!”
“Johnny~”
“He’ll learn exactly what girls can do soon enough, Meg. Let him feel superior for at least another year!” Amidst laughter, Johnny eased his much longer frame onto the ground in imitation of Irish.
“The trip timing is good.” Irish blew out a smoke ring thoughtfully. “If we arrive in October, like everyone expects, there’ll be the whole winter to fuss with a proper kiln before I have to worry about getting some planting done.”
“You think you can make a business out of it?”
Irish tapped at his ash. “Not right off. Just for my own use and pleasure. In another few years I figure there’ll be a need. When more folks follow us out.”
“It should be the same with the books,” Johnny thought aloud. “But if I can’t find enough interest I’ll just drum some up.”
“How you planning on doing that?”
“There must be upwards of five thousand Americans in the Willamette Valley and spread out beyond, and if they’ve little interest, I’ll just teach the Indians to read.”
Gwen, following the conversation as she and Maggie cleaned up after the meal looked horrified. “You’d teach the Indians?”
“Why not? They’ve minds and souls the same as we.”
“But, but . . .”
“But what? They’re heathens? Let me tell you about a few members of the Kansas tribe we knew back in Independence~”
Just then, however, the call to move floated back to them. Groaning, the two men got up to yoke their teams. Also on schedule, Maggie heard a cry of protest from Charlotte in the cabin. It was time to face the rest of the day.
THREE
Spirits were high in the prairie camp that night. The long, cold winter was over, and solid weeks of rains seemed finished, too. The prairie hay was greening fast. They’d made twelve miles on the trail. There were reasons for optimism.
The Stuart family lazed under a full moon, Charlotte crawling around a blanket, eager to get the exercise she’d been denied all day. Johnny and Maggie watched her with pride while Jamie practiced jumps from the wagon traces to the soft grass below.
“Doesn’t that boy ever tire?” Johnny asked. “He’s already put in twice
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