“No matter. He’ll have others.”

“Any word of William?” Her eldest was seldom far from her mind.

“No.” Mac heaved a breath against her cheek. “I rode out to Daniel’s today. He and Esther haven’t heard anything either. And Sheriff Thomas has seen no sign of the boys or Jacob Johnson.”

“Did Esther write Joel?” Jenny asked.

She felt Mac nod. “Said she posted the letter yesterday.”

“Then there’s nothing more we can do,” she said.

“No,” Mac replied drowsily. After a minute, he relaxed into sleep, his arms growing heavy around her.

Saturday morning Mac was awakened at dawn by shouts from the hallway. “It’s my birthday,” Nate cried. Sticking his head out into the hall, Mac told the boy to hush, but the rest of the household was already roused.

“Dress and go down for breakfast,” Mac ordered, and for once the children rushed to obey.

Twenty minutes later, Mac entered the dining room to find them eating sausage and eggs. Maria aided little Maggie, who held out her sticky hands to Mac for a hug. He kissed the toddler’s cheek, then Eliza and Lottie demanded their turn. This felt like the first happy morning since Will had left, now some eight days ago.

How much longer would it be before they found Will?

After they ate, Mac told the children to amuse themselves quietly—they wouldn’t leave for Esther’s and Daniel’s house until almost noon.

When he took Jenny’s breakfast tray up to her, she laughed when he told her about the children’s antics. “I wish I could go with you.” She sighed wistfully.

“I know,” he said. “But you need the quiet time to rest. I’m sorry Nate woke you so early.”

“No matter,” she said. “I wasn’t sleeping. I nap so much during the day I can’t sleep at night. I lie here and worry about Will.”

“I’ve asked Sheriff Thomas to have Deputy Albee ride by the house while we’re out,” Mac told her. “But the deputy won’t bother you. He’ll just check to be sure all is quiet. And Mrs. O’Malley will stay until we return. And I’ll put Rufus in the kitchen.”

“I don’t need—”

“Maybe not,” Mac said. “But I’ll feel better knowing someone is checking on you. No one knows where Johnson is.”

Mac thought Esther outdid herself, despite her advanced pregnancy. The children shrieked and shouted happily and ate more than their fill. When Nate found himself the center of attention of children and adults alike, his head swelled to twice its normal size. Mac had to tell the boy to settle down.

While the children played in the barn and the women gossiped inside, the men sat on chairs and barrels in the yard. The early May afternoon was warm and sunny, and the plum tree Esther had planted years ago was in full bloom.

Samuel Abercrombie accosted Zeke Pershing about his land dispute. Apparently, the creek still maintained its new course, even as the runoff slowed.

“I told you, Abercrombie,” Zeke said. “I’ll help you dig that ditch as soon as all my crops are planted. But it’s goin’ more slowly than I’d like.”

“Mine, too,” Daniel said. “Without Jonah’s help, I’m down a worker.”

“Don’t know why you couldn’t keep track of him,” Samuel growled to Daniel. “Young Jonah is as unreliable as his pa Franklin Pershing. You shoulda put a firmer strap to the boy when he was a young’un.”

Mac’s jaw clenched at Samuel’s words. Daniel treated Jonah well—as well as Mac treated Will. Mac had never hit any of his children. “Is that how you raised your sons?” he demanded of old Abercrombie. “With a strap?”

“Darn tootin’,” Samuel said. “Only way to raise a boy. Both of ’em turned out fine.”

“If you raised Daniel so well, he probably handled Jonah just fine.” Though he shouldn’t bother arguing, Mac thought—Samuel would say whatever he wanted.

The party continued until late afternoon. The children enjoyed themselves, but Mac grew weary of the men’s bickering. Samuel Abercrombie had a bone to pick with every man there—after arguing about water rights with Zeke and about Daniel’s child-rearing, he started in on Mac’s investments.

“Don’t know why you put money into steamships and railroads,” he told Mac. “What we need is farm roads to town, so’s we can move our grain.”

“I’m looking into road opportunities as well. A road from Eugene to Boise. Would you like to invest?” Mac asked.

“And loans to farmers.” Abercrombie shook a finger at Mac. “You could do a world of good if you charged less interest than them damn storekeepers in town.”

“Come see me,” Mac said. “I’m happy to finance your needs, assuming we agree on suitable collateral and terms.” As he suspected, Abercrombie had no interest in obtaining a loan—he merely wanted to complain.

Later, as Mac harnessed his horses for the ride home, Zeke took him aside. “Heard any more about Jacob Johnson?” he asked.

Mac shook his head. “I asked the deputy to ride by our house today. I didn’t like leaving Jenny alone. Not with Johnson on the loose.”

“I’ve asked folks in these parts,” Zeke said. “No one’s seen any strangers about. Maybe he’s gone.”

“I hope so,” Mac said. “But somehow I doubt it. A man doesn’t like to be chased off by a fourteen-year-old girl.” He gave a wry grin. “And our women beat him off twice—both Jenny and Maria have pulled guns on him.”

As Mac drove the wagon home, the younger children all fell asleep, curled together like a litter of kittens. Nate, the birthday boy, was the first to nod off. Maria sat on the bench beside Mac, and Cal sat right behind him, talking into his father’s ear. “Where do you think Will is, Pa?” Cal asked. “Why’d he leave?”

“I don’t know, son.”

“Do you think he’ll come home soon?” Cal asked.

“Maybe, son. Depends on what he’s looking for.” Mac hoped Will would tire of the adventure soon, but there was no telling.

“Do you think he left because of me?” Cal demanded. “Because I took Maria’s horse?”

Mac and Maria both stared at him. “Of course not,” Mac said. “I’m sure he had his reasons. Or just wanted an adventure.”

Cal moved on to another subject. “When can we go to Portland again? Can I see the telegraph again?”

“I’m not planning any trips while your mother is ill.”

“Can I come see your office in town? Can I help you there?” Cal’s questions fired one after the other.

Finally, Mac snapped, “Hold your tongue, Cal. I can’t hear myself think.” And then he felt guilty—he’d reacted just as his father might have reacted when he was young.