She shook her head. “I did that day. But not again.” She sighed. “What do I say?”

“Just answer her questions,” Mac said, taking Jenny into his arms. “And tell her to keep her thoughts to herself. Or talk to us. You’re right—the other children shouldn’t know. They’re too young.”

The next afternoon, Jenny and Maria polished silver in the dining room. The younger children were at school, Maggie napped, and Will was nowhere around. Mac had gone to his office in town. “I’m sorry you were there when Jacob Johnson came,” Jenny said, broaching the subject with Maria. “And I’m proud of you for scaring him off.”

“I was so frightened, Mama,” Maria whispered. “And now I’m so afraid for Will.”

“Why for Will?” Jenny asked.

“He’s brooding. Like he doesn’t know who he is or how to act around us.”

The girl’s perceptiveness startled Jenny. That’s exactly how Will behaved—like he had to probe a wound, to test his relationship with each one of them. “Maybe he doesn’t know how to act,” she said. “We must show him we love him still.” She hesitated. “You know, I’ve never loved you less because you aren’t my daughter. I mean, you are my daughter,” Jenny amended. “As much as if I’d given birth to you. And Mac feels the same way. About both you and Will. We’re your parents.”

Maria smiled, tears shining in her eyes. “I know, Mama. Folks in town might call me a half-breed, but I’ve always known you loved me.”

Jenny stared in surprise. “They don’t call you a half-breed around me.”

Maria shrugged. “They know you’d give them a piece of your mind.”

“No matter your heritage, you are our daughter.”

Maria’s face remained impassive.

“Can you keep your knowledge about Will to yourself?” Jenny asked. “If you have questions, come talk to me. Or Mac. But don’t let the little children know. Will would be embarrassed, and so would I.”

Maria touched Jenny’s hand. “You shouldn’t be. Those men were the villains, it wasn’t anything you did.”

“Good did come from their heinous acts,” Jenny said, with a rueful shake of her head. “Because they brought me Will. And then Mac. And you.” She waved her hand to encompass the house. “And all our family. I am more blessed now than I ever was before they assaulted me.”

“If anyone should be embarrassed, it’s me,” Maria said. “My mother was the whore.”

Jenny took the girl’s shoulders and forced Maria to look at her. “You mustn’t ever say that. You are not responsible for your mother’s actions. No more than Will is responsible for his father’s. We are each what we do in this life, not what others have done to us.”

Several days passed with no sign of Jacob Johnson anywhere in Oregon City. Mac decided it was safe to make his long overdue trip to Eugene. He took the steamboat upstream to Eugene. When he disembarked, he went to the newspaper office of Byron Pengra, the man planning to build a road from Eugene east across Oregon to Fort Boise. Pengra had arranged for Mac to meet other investors in the road project.

Once the men were gathered, Pengra said, “We have good transportation between Oregon and California. At least by sea. We still need better roads south to Sacramento and San Francisco. But equally important are connections from Oregon to the East. Boise is the first stop.”

“The folks back East are too busy with the War to worry about Oregon,” another investor said. “But the War will end. The South can’t stand much longer. Then people will pour into our state.”

Mac wasn’t as optimistic as these men that the War would be over soon. But eventually it would end, and settlers would flock west again. Indian tribes and emigrants would continue to fight over the land, and someone would need to police them both. “A military road?” he asked. “Is that the idea?”

Pengra nodded. “That would be its primary use. At least at first. And that’s what we’re surveying this year.”

Another man chimed in. “But over time, our road should become the rail bed between here and Boise, and from there all the way to St. Louis. There will be a transcontinental railroad within the decade. I’d bet money on it. In fact, by building this road we are betting money on it.”

“But the transcontinental railroad is starting in San Francisco and Sacramento, not Oregon,” Mac said.

“We want another railroad east from Oregon,” the railroad proponent replied.

“That’s not likely,” Mac said. “California is far larger than Oregon now. The first route is already determined.”

“Then we’ll have to demand a rail connection soon after,” another investor said. “That’s how we’ll make our money—from federal land grants along the track lines.”

“And how do we recoup our monies if the railroad never comes?” Mac asked. “If the road never develops into a rail bed?”

“Tolls, perhaps,” Pengra said. “But we truly believe the railroad will arrive at some point. Are you with us?” he asked Mac.

Mac nodded. “I’ll invest. But in phases. I’ll help with the surveying costs this year. But that’s all I can commit to now.”

“That’s all we’re planning at the moment,” Pengra said, smiling. But Mac knew the man hoped for more.

Chapter 16: Quiet Before the Storm

Will tried to keep to himself in the days after Mac brought him home. He had to interact with his younger siblings—he supposed they were his siblings, or at least his half-siblings. Cal still pestered Will daily, and Nate followed Cal’s lead. Lottie and Eliza and little Maggie clung to him, wanting piggyback rides and stories. It all felt normal, and yet he felt like a stranger.

Will escaped the bustling household by visiting Jonah whenever he could. It was mid-April, and the air had finally warmed. Farm work kept Daniel, Jonah, and Sammy busy all day, and they welcomed Will’s help.

The first time Will joined them after he’d run away, Jonah questioned him about why he’d left home. “Leave Will be,” Daniel ordered. Will wondered what Daniel knew about his past, but he didn’t ask. He didn’t want Jonah to know any of it—Jonah would look differently at Will, and his friend might also think poorly of Mama.

Whatever happened, Will needed to protect Mama. She’d been through too much already for his sake. She must not have wanted him to be born, at least not at first, though he didn’t doubt she loved him now. He tried not to think about how he’d come to exist. He tried to work and work, to exhaust himself each day, so he could sleep at night.

One evening, Will found himself alone with Maria in the kitchen. She washed dishes after supper, and he volunteered to dry for her. If he stayed in the kitchen, the other children wouldn’t badger him—they’d already hightailed it upstairs to avoid doing any chores.

“Are you all right, Will?” Maria asked as she handed him a wet plate.

“What do you mean?” He swirled a towel over the plate, then set it on the table.

“I heard everything that man said.” She handed him another plate. “And I talked to Mama afterward.”

“Did she tell you?” he whispered. “About the three men.”

Maria nodded.

“Any of them could have been my father,” Will murmured. “Any of them. They were all wicked, and one of them is my father.”

“It doesn’t matter, Will. You’re still the same boy—”

“But I’m not,” he exclaimed. “I don’t feel the same. I don’t feel like me.”

“It doesn’t matter about those men,” she insisted. “Pa raised you and me both. Neither of us is his, and I’m not your mama’s either. But they’re our parents.”