Pa glanced at Will. “You mean about the deserters being fine men?”
Will nodded.
“Some might be, and some are probably villains. It’s not safe for families to take them in until they get to know the men as individuals.”
“And the Army?” Will asked. “What do you think about soldiering?”
“I haven’t had much experience, myself,” Pa said. “A short stint with the militia back in forty-seven, when we pursued the Cayuse who killed the Whitmans. And some posses from time to time, both in California and Oregon.” He puffed on his cigar. “Some soldiers are fine men, like Robert O’Neil, and others are as mean as Samuel Abercrombie.”
Will rubbed the pockmarks on his cheek. Mr. O’Neil had left the Army and come to work for Mama while Pa was away mining gold. Mr. O’Neil cared for Will when he had smallpox, back when Will was very young. He’d been as kind and gentle with Will as Mama. “Mr. O’Neil is a good man,” he said.
“That he is,” said Pa. “Talk to him about the Army someday. He’ll tell you the good and the bad of it. As for me, I didn’t take well to following orders I thought were foolish. I don’t think you would either.”
Chapter 6: Is She My Sister?
Maria’s birthday, Jenny thought as she woke up on March 30. They’d celebrated the occasion with the party two weeks earlier, and last Sunday they’d celebrated Easter with another large meal. But Jenny still wanted to make today special for her oldest daughter. She hadn’t borne Maria, but family was who we loved, Jenny reflected, not who was ours by blood. Maria had become her treasured child and companion.
Jenny increasingly felt nauseated in the mornings—a sure sign another baby was coming. She still hadn’t said anything to Mac, but she must do so soon.
After dressing, Jenny went downstairs to the kitchen where Maria assisted Mrs. O’Malley with breakfast. Jenny’s stomach turned at the smell of frying bacon, but she managed to smile and hug Maria. “Happy birthday, daughter,” she whispered into Maria’s hair. “Go sit down, I’ll help Mrs. O’Malley.”
Maria hugged her in return. “Thank you, Mama. I don’t mind helping.”
“Sit,” Jenny said, more firmly. “I won’t have you working on your birthday.”
“I told her I’d make chicken pot pies for supper,” Mrs. O’Malley said. “Her favorite.”
“With vanilla custard for dessert,” Jenny said, smiling. “And you get the first portion. Make your brothers wait their turn.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Maria whispered.
Jenny wondered whether she should have taken Maria out of the girls’ school in Oregon City when she turned twelve. The other girls had not been kind to Maria because of her Spanish and Indian ancestry. But keeping Maria at home had not increased her daughter’s self-confidence—she remained timid and self-effacing.
Mac came downstairs to a breakfast table laden with bacon and pancakes. Maria sat in her place, cutting up a pancake for Maggie beside her. “Good morning, girls,” Mac said. “Where’s your mother?”
“In the kitchen helping Mrs. O’Malley,” Maria said.
Then Mac remembered—it was Maria’s birthday. He bent and kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday,” he said. “Fourteen. You’re a young lady now.” Then he turned to kiss Maggie’s sticky face.
Maria’s face brightened at his kiss. Maria was an easy child to love, he thought. Serene and even-tempered. She had her mother Consuela’s dark beauty, though Mac hadn’t noticed her mother’s stubborn streak in Maria. No way of knowing who’d fathered her, of course. Though he felt like Maria’s father—he’d known her since birth and had been the first person able to calm her as an infant.
Some things happened for reasons known only to God, Mac mused. If Consuela had lived, Maria would probably be with her mother in a brothel in California. Instead, Mac had made her part of a large, loving family.
And someday Mac would give her away in marriage. He felt a pang of sadness. Someday far in the future, he hoped.
Will, Cal, and Nate clomped down the stairs and into the dining room. Mac’s quiet moment with his oldest and youngest daughters had ended.
Will trudged home from the academy, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand. His teacher had written all over his essay about the Tanners and why slavery was wrong. The teacher had given Will a failing grade because the essay was based on personal experiences, not facts. Wasn’t an essay supposed to be personal? An opinion? An attempt to express that opinion? Mama had told him “essai” meant “attempt” in French. And Will had attempted his best to explain how he felt about the Tanners.
Pa had liked the essay, and Pa was the smartest man Will knew. He kicked at a stone as he entered the yard, wondering what Pa would say about the bad marks he’d received on the essay.
“Hello, Will.” Maria sat outside the back door peeling potatoes. “Why do you look so mad?”
Will’s mood lifted. He’d hoped to find Maria alone today, so he could give her the birthday gift he’d made. He carried it in his pocket all day—a small wooden horse he’d whittled with the Bowie knife Pa had given him a year ago. He’d tried to make the carving look like Shanty. He’d finished it just the day before, and it was his best carving ever.
“Happy birthday, Maria,” he said, smiling. “I thought Mama said you didn’t have to do any chores today.”
“Mrs. O’Malley said if I wanted potatoes in the pot pies, I needed to peel them.”
“Give me the knife,” Will said. “I’ll do a few. As a birthday gift.”
She laughed and gave him the paring knife. “I suppose you won’t cut yourself,” she said. “You’re always whittling at something.”
“That reminds me.” Will set the knife down and pulled the little horse out of his pocket. His hand trembled as he held it out. “This is for you.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “How beautiful. It’s Shanty, isn’t it?”
Will grinned, relief surging through his chest. “You recognized him?”
“Of course,” she said, tracing the blaze on the tiny horse’s nose and the spots on his rump. “Here are his markings.”
“Do you want to go riding with me?” Will asked. “Maybe on Saturday? We can take Shanty out to the Abercrombie farm. See Jonah and the rest of the Abercrombies.”
