Will gutted the fish, rolled it in a bit of cornmeal, and fried it. Without any oil or grease, it stuck to the pan, but the boys ate the pieces nonetheless.

Afterward, Will’s full belly let him sleep soundly.

The next day, the boys crossed the river and continued south. They arrived at Roseburg in late morning.

“See, I told you it was the Umpqua,” Jonah said. They had no money to spend, so there was no point in stopping in town. They skirted the edge of the village and kept riding under the hot sun.

“Sure would like a glass of lemonade,” Jonah said.

“Can’t without money,” Will said. “So no use thinking about it. Cold river water’s the best you’ll get.”

“Think about ices,” Jonah said. “A little fruit juice on ice. Wouldn’t that taste good?”

“Of course, it would,” Will said. “But I’ll make do with a full canteen.”

Jonah rambled on about fruit and ices until Will wanted to kick Shanty into a trot and leave his friend behind.

“Maybe we should stop early today,” Jonah said. “Go for a swim.”

That suggestion appealed to Will. “Maybe. Let’s see what the next creek looks like.”

The trail mostly followed a branch of the Umpqua. In midafternoon, they came to a little creek to the east of the larger river. It wasn’t deep, and a gravel bar split the creek in two. “How ’bout stopping here?” Jonah said. “Sun’s still high enough to keep us warm. I’m ready for a bath.”

“We didn’t bring any soap,” Will said.

“No need for soap,” Jonah said. “Current’ll wash us clean enough.”

Will agreed. They tethered their horses to bushes on the creek bank and undressed. Jonah plowed into the ice-cold water and cursed, sounding like old Samuel Abercrombie. As Will followed Jonah into the frigid water, he let a few “damns” and “hells” pass his lips as well. What Mama didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. He felt his private parts shriveling as he floated in the water, hanging onto a branch to keep from rolling downstream. After he got used to it, the cold creek felt mighty good.

“Bet I can catch a fish with my hands,” Jonah said. He nodded at a deep hole by the bank. “Probably a big one over yonder.”

“Bet you can’t,” Will said. “But I don’t mind watching you try.”

Jonah waded softly toward the hole until he yelled and disappeared. He surfaced once. “Help,” he cried, then went under again.

Will splashed after him and grabbed Jonah’s arm.

Jonah rose out of the water, sputtering. “Sink hole,” he said. “I ain’t expected that.”

“Can’t you swim?” Will asked.

“Not much,” Jonah said.

“Then be careful.” Will moved away from the sink hole and sat on the gravel bar in the middle of the creek. He kept an eye on Jonah, ready to rescue him again.

Jonah cupped his hands under the water and peered into the waist-deep hole near the bank. The boys remained motionless for a quarter hour or so, and Will started dozing in the sun.

“No good,” Jonah called. “I can’t see nothin.’ Guess we’re stuck with corn pone again tonight.”

“If you lend me your gun,” Will said. “I’ll try shooting a rabbit.”

Jonah nodded, and the boys found their clothes and dressed. Will took Jonah’s rifle and a few shells and found a clearing near the creek bank. He sat and waited for something to appear. Maybe he should have brought the shotgun and the little birdshot they had—he might find quail more readily than rabbit.

But after a bit, as the sun lowered behind the hills, he saw movement. Will aimed, pulled the trigger, then heard a cry. He ran over to the critter—a rabbit.

May 6, 1864. Passed Roseburg. I shot a rabbit. Best rabbit I ever ate.

The next day, their ninth after leaving home, the Applegate Trail wound from one creek bed to the next, staying mostly in the lowlands, but sometimes climbing a hill and dropping on the other side. The horses had no trouble with the terrain, but Will wondered how oxen or mules could pull a wagon through the underbrush and up and down the slopes. Maybe the trail had been in better shape in its early days.

And to think this route was supposed to be easier than Barlow Road or rafting the Columbia. His respect rose for Mama and Mac, for Daniel and Esther, and for all the Pershings and Abercrombies who made the journey. Mama and Esther had been younger than Will and Jonah were now, yet they’d cooked and washed clothes like grown women. Mac and Daniel and other men had scouted the unmarked route and led their wagons across rivers and mountains.

Today was Saturday, Nate’s tenth birthday, Will realized when they made camp that night. He wondered what festivities Mama planned for Nate. She made each child’s birthday a special occasion. Mac sometimes teased her, and Will sometimes did also—though he secretly enjoyed the attention when the celebration focused on him.

Last September, when he turned sixteen, Mama turned their parlor into a dance hall. She invited other youngsters his age, and the party was just for them. Maria was allowed to attend, but none of the younger children. The boys and girls danced together shyly, the boys mumbling their requests and the girls their acceptances. But then, at the harvest dance a month later, Will felt experienced. And again at Christmas parties.

Mama knew what she was doing, showing him with his birthday party he was now grown, a man. He’d had confidence in himself, based on hers in him.

Where would he be for his birthday this year? Who would bake him a cake?

The boys had finished the rabbit Will shot at their noon meal, so in the evening Jonah hunted for another. But no luck. Their dinner consisted of corn pone and water. He could take a day or two of that, but Will looked forward to finding Joel soon and getting a proper meal. Maybe even a proper bed.

May 7, 1864. No meat tonight. We should reach Jacksonville soon.

Chapter 24: Nate's Birthday

Jenny’s week passed slowly. She heard the commotion of the household but didn’t leave her room. In late afternoons, Maria brought the younger children to see her, and she hugged and spoke with each of them briefly. But Maria took them away when they grew boisterous. Jenny missed their chatter and even their arguments.

Mac came and went. He stayed home through breakfast, she knew, because he brought up her breakfast tray after he ate. He stayed with her while she picked at her food, then took her dishes back to the kitchen. He was usually home for the noon meal, and he repeated his visit while she ate. And again at supper.

From time to time, his deep voice rumbled as he talked with one or more of the children. Sometimes he stuck his head in to check on her while she rested. And at night he crawled into bed beside her and gathered her into his arms.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Friday evening when he came to bed.

“Fine,” she said. Then with a sigh, “I can’t stay in this room forever. When can I get up?”

“The doctor comes again on Monday,” he said, pulling her closer. “We’ll see what he says.”

“I’ll miss Nate’s party,” she murmured.