“It made the vegetables so tasty.”
Cal entered the room. “Mama, Nate ain’t washed up yet.”
“Hasn’t, dear. Nate hasn’t washed yet.”
“Well,” Cal said with a sigh. “You’d better help him. He won’t listen to me.”
Will’s face soured at Cal’s arrival. She didn’t know why, but there seemed to be a problem between her two oldest sons. At least on Will’s side. He’d been such a cheery baby and toddler, back when the two of them were alone while Mac was in California. But over the past year, Will had turned surly. He hid his intelligence behind a wall of moods, and she didn’t seem able to break through. She was sorry she couldn’t sit and talk with him longer, but she needed to get her brood ready for church.
The only part of the church service Will enjoyed was the singing. He tried to match his tenor harmony to Mama’s clear soprano. Pa sang a baritone beneath them all. Today, they sang all the verses of “Amazing Grace.”
As soon as the congregation finished the final hymn, Will slunk outside behind the rest of his family, then sought out Jonah. He hadn’t seen his friend since the day on the farm.
“Did you get in trouble for playing hooky?” Jonah asked.
“Pa mustn’t have cared too much,” Will said. “He took me to Portland on Friday. We sent a telegram to California.” He didn’t mention Cal’s participation in the trip.
“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.
