“Gosh.” Jonah looked impressed. “I ain’t never been on a steamboat. And telegrams are like magic—messages written on a wire.”

Will grinned. He didn’t want to explain Morse code to his friend—Jonah’s spelling was atrocious, and his penmanship worse.

But Jonah didn’t let him boast any further. “Look across the churchyard. See Iris Hayes with her family.” Jonah gestured with his head. When Will started to turn, Jonah hissed, “No, don’t stare.”

“What about them?” Will asked, facing his friend again.

“Not all of them. Just Iris. Ain’t she purty?”

Will took a quick glance. “I suppose.”

Jonah sighed. “She’s the purtiest thing I ever did see. I’m gonna marry her.”

Will chortled. “She’ll never have you.”

Jonah pulled himself to his full height, still shorter than Will. “I don’t see why not.”

“Have you kissed her?” Will asked. Not that he’d kissed a girl, but he was fairly certain Jonah hadn’t either.

“No. But I will.”

Will grinned. “Bet you can’t kiss her before April Fool’s Day.”

“That’s only two weeks off,” Jonah protested. “How’m I gonna do that?”

“Then don’t take the bet.” Will saw Pa gesticulating as he talked with other men across the yard. Their conversation might be more interesting than teasing Jonah. “Let’s go see what our fathers are talking about.”

After the service, Mac stood in the churchyard discussing his trip to Portland with other men. The weather had warmed, though it looked as if another spate of clouds and cold would reach town by the end of the day. Daniel Abercrombie and his father Samuel were in the group chatting with Mac. The Abercrombies had traveled from Missouri to Oregon in the same wagon train as Mac and Jenny, back in 1847.

“What news of the War?” Samuel asked. “Any advances by the Confederacy?” Abercrombie came from Tennessee, and his sympathies lay with the South. Daniel kept a closed mouth when his father spouted off, but Mac thought Daniel was on the fence—wanting peace between the states, yet not passionate about ending slavery.

“Not since the Battle of Olustee in Florida late last month,” Mac said. “Though with General Grant in charge now, the Union Army should do better against Richmond.”

“The Confederates pushed back the Union invasion in Florida, that’s for sure,” Samuel crowed. “We’ll send the Yankee bastards hightailing it north all the way to Maine, even against Grant.”

Mac didn’t respond—it would only encourage the old buzzard. Samuel Abercrombie had been a thorn in Mac’s side since they’d met, and Mac had learned to ignore the curmudgeon’s tirades whenever he could.

“Any news of Indian raids in Southern Oregon? Those’ll hurt us more’n battles in the East,” Daniel said. Daniel might not express strong opinions about slavery, but Mac knew the farmer feared Indian attacks.

“Relations between the Klamath tribes and miners in the Rogue Valley are terrible,” Mac said. “Every few weeks there’s talk of an attack. And with the Homestead Act bringing more settlers and miners, the Indians feel even more threatened.”

Samuel spat a stream of tobacco juice. “Threats come more from the tribes, not the settlers. White men just want to farm, build a home.”

“The tribes might say they’ve had homes here for centuries,” Mac said mildly.

“Savages can’t even count centuries.” Samuel followed his words with another spit. “Nor build proper homes. They move from place to place with the seasons, following their food rather than growing it. ’Tain’t a proper way to live.”

At that point, Will and Jonah joined the men. Mac wanted to impress on Will what he believed about the rights of Indians, so he said, “As long as both sides follow the treaties, we should be able to live in peace with the tribes. When we break the treaties—or when the tribes do—that’s what brings violence. But the settlers can’t keep pushing the Indians into smaller and smaller territories where they can’t survive.”

“They don’t do nothin’ with the lands they got,” Samuel objected. And he continued his tirade against the tribes.

Mac pulled Will aside. “Let’s head home.” After they walked away, Mac continued, “There’s no reasoning with that man. And no point in listening to him any further.” He hoped Will agreed.

That afternoon, after a huge Sunday dinner, Will lounged in the parlor reading a book, the family dog Rufus asleep at his feet. Mama didn’t insist on the Bible on Sundays, but she did like the family to engage in quiet activities. He thought about moving to the porch to finish whittling a little horse he was carving, but he was too sated with roast beef to budge.

While he read, Maria entered the parlor with her sewing basket in hand. “Oh,” she said, “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

“Just me,” Will said, sitting up straight on the sofa. “I don’t mind your company. As long as you don’t have any of the little ones trailing behind you.” Maria was almost fourteen, the next sibling after Will. He liked his adopted sister better than his natural-born siblings. He remembered when Mac brought her home—she’d been only a baby, and Will had been three. He’d thought she was a pretty baby then, and he still thought she was pretty. More so than any of the other girls he knew. A lot prettier than Iris Hayes.

“Tell me about your trip to Portland,” she said, as she sat and began working on her sampler. Rufus moved to curl up beside her sewing basket.

Will grunted. “You must have heard it all from Cal already.”

She smiled at him. “Yes, but I haven’t heard what you thought.”

That was all the encouragement Will needed. He started with the steamboat trip and recounted the journey step by step, telling Maria everything he could remember about the telegraph office and the hotel. “Maybe someday I’ll be a telegraph operator,” he said. “I’d like knowing the news before anyone else. Though think of the trouble if I got the message wrong. I could start an economic catastrophe, or maybe even a war.”

She laughed, a musical trill. “You used to want to be a Pony Express rider. Remember?”

He grinned back. “But that didn’t last any longer than the Pony Express. And the telegraph is much faster. Only minutes to transmit information across the nation, instead of days.”

Maria’s face turned solemn. “What do you really want to do, Will?”

“I don’t know.” And that was God’s truth. Will had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. Just that it didn’t involve any more schooling at the Oregon City academy. He was ready to leave that place behind.

Chapter 4: Preparing for a Party

A week after Mac’s trip to Portland with the boys, Jenny woke up with a queasy stomach. A familiar feeling—she was likely with child again. And today, March 18, her youngest child Maggie turned two. Another baby was not a surprise, but Jenny wondered when she would be done with birthing.

She remembered her friend Esther’s mother, Cordelia Pershing. Jenny was carrying William—her first—while they traveled the Oregon Trail, and Cordelia was pregnant with Jonah. Cordelia had died with Jonah’s birth. Jenny shivered at the memory. She may not be scrabbling in the wilderness as Cordelia had been, but women died of childbirth everywhere. As did their babies.

Jenny’s morbid thoughts turned to the two children she had lost. A miscarriage in 1853 between Caleb and Nathan. And poor little Abram, born in February 1859—that mite had died mere weeks after his birth. She mourned him every day.

Jenny sighed and sat up in bed. Mac had left already. He worked too hard these days, trying to make up for losses from the floods two years earlier. The family had plenty to be comfortable, but Mac treated business like a battle, a battle he intended to win.

She rose, dressed, and went to wake Maggie. Jenny and Mrs. O’Malley had a long day of cooking and baking ahead. Tomorrow they were hosting a party for Maggie and Maria, both of whom had birthdays this month.

Jenny tiptoed into the girls’ bedroom, only to be greeted with shouts of glee. “Good morning, Mama,” Eliza and Lottie crowed. “It’s Maggie’s birthday,” one of them added with excitement.

“Yes, it is.” Jenny smiled.

“Two,” Maggie said from her crib. She held up all her fingers, causing Eliza and Lottie to giggle.