“Andrew.” Mac tried the name out, thinking of his tumultuous relationship with his father, his failure to reconcile before the older man died. Perhaps naming this new son after the crusty old banker made sense. He smiled at Jenny. “You should have a part of him as well. Let’s call him Andrew Calhoun McDougall.”

Maria laughed. “That’s a big name for such a little mite. Do you think he’ll grow into it?”

Mac laughed, too. It felt good to laugh. There hadn’t been many reasons for joy recently, what with Will’s departure, his father’s death. And the fear this baby wouldn’t make it.

“He ain’t out of the woods yet,” the midwife had said after telling them to keep the newborn warm and comfortable. “He’s little. You gotta guard against chills.”

But for now, they could be happy.

“If only William were here,” Jenny whispered. “This little one came before midnight—still on Will’s birthday.”

Mac left Jenny to sleep and stole downstairs to his study. He’d placed Andrew beside his wife in a little cradle and sent Maria back to bed. Now, he poured himself a glass of whiskey and lit a cigar, feeling drained after the night’s ordeal.

Retrieving the cradle from the attic had brought back memories. He made that cradle for Will not long after they arrived in Oregon City. His first task in Oregon was to build the cabin and barn. But during the long cold evenings that winter, he needed something to do with his hands. He wasn’t skilled at carpentry, and the cabin and barn were largely the work of Clarence Tanner, Zeke Pershing, and other friends. But Mac made the cradle out of love for Jenny. He did most of the work himself, relying on Tanner only for guidance.

He didn’t realize he loved Jenny then. He didn’t figure it out until he left her, not until he learned Zeke wanted to marry her. Then Mac raced back to Oregon to claim Jenny himself.

Mac thanked the Lord every day she hadn’t married Zeke and had waited for him.

Now he thanked God again for Jenny and for delivering her of their new child. And he prayed his son Andrew would live.

He was relieved now he hadn’t gone to Boston. He should have made the trip years ago, perhaps. But at this moment, he was heartened to have been with Jenny during Andrew’s early birth. And comforted to know she wouldn’t wait alone for Will to return.

It was strange, Mac thought—he felt no more strongly about Andrew’s birth than he had about Will’s. Andrew was his, while Will was another man’s child. Except Will wasn’t another man’s child. Mac had lived through the trials of raising Will, save only the two years Mac spent in California. Will’s personality was due more to Mac’s toils and training than to any blood from the man who fathered the boy.

Mac felt every inch Will’s father. Somehow, he would have to prove it to the boy. He hoped Will would return so he could.

He picked up his pen and started a letter:

September 17, 1864

Dear Mother,

I received Owen’s telegram yesterday. It is now the wee hours of the morning, and my wife has just been delivered of a son we named Andrew, after Father.

I regret he has passed from this life without my seeing him again. I am sorry for your loss and for remaining away from you for so many years. Perhaps I can rectify my absence within the year, but until certain family matters are resolved here, I cannot leave Oregon,

Please be assured of my continued prayers for you and for my brothers and their families,

Your loving son,

Caleb

Jenny slept late the next morning and awoke to find baby Andrew nestled beside her. He rooted at her chest, trying to nurse, and she tapped his cheek to help him. His suckling felt weaker than her other babies’ early efforts, but he worked at it until he tired. She would try him again shortly.

She thought again about William. Would Will meet his newest brother? She still feared this baby wouldn’t live long. She’d felt that dread with each child since Abram. Abram had been stronger than Andrew at birth but succumbed to a fever not many weeks later.

“Oh, William,” she whispered, “please come home.”

Chapter 50: Leaving Boise

At dawn on September 14, the packers and their heavily laden mules followed Drew and his cavalry squad out of Fort Boise. They began retracing their path to Camp Alvord, where the bulk of the expeditionary force awaited their return. The first night out, after the long trek of thirty miles, they stopped at the Snake River. They forded the Snake the next morning and traveled twenty-five miles to Runnel’s Creek. Two hard days with cantankerous mules that protested every step after their rest at Boise.

September 16 was Will’s birthday. He spent it riding from Runnel’s Creek to Little Jordan Creek, a trip of only twelve miles, but twelve of the driest, most desolate terrain they’d encountered.

While he rode Shanty and pulled his four recalcitrant mules behind him, Will pondered his circumstances. He was seventeen now. A year ago, he could not have dreamed he would spend his next birthday in the Owyhee Basin as a packer for a militia unit. He thought of the birthday party Mama planned for him last year—a frothy white cake from Mrs. O’Malley, his first dance in their parlor. He’d danced with Maria and other girls, practicing the steps Mama taught him.

What did he have to show for this last year? He’d abandoned school, discovered his family was a lie, run away from home, and destroyed his mother’s and Maria’s faith in him.

And now he’d alienated Lt. Col. Drew—the one man Will knew who could help him forge a career out of the shambles he’d made his life. Since their confrontation at Fort Boise, Drew hadn’t said a word to him. Of course, Will tried to avoid the colonel, not wanting to receive another scolding.

Will wished he could have remained at Camp Alvord, instead of accompanying the reprovisioning group to Boise. Then he would still be in blissful ignorance of Mac’s telegram to the fort commander. But as a packer, he had to pull his mules.

That evening, Drew announced the group would rest for a day at Little Jordan’s Creek before heading through the Jordan River Valley. The next morning, the quartermaster commandeered Will to peel potatoes for the noon meal. “Hear tell you lied to the colonel,” Sergeant Crockett said.

“I suppose so,” Will said. Though he thought he was more guilty of an error of omission, rather than an affirmative lie—he and Jonah simply hadn’t told Captain Kelly they’d run away from home. Still, he’d fibbed about his age, and it embarrassed him that Sergeant Crockett—someone he liked—knew of his offense.

“Colonel Drew is a fair-minded man,” the quartermaster said. “But he expects the truth from those around him. Especially from his subordinates.” The sergeant picked up another potato. “And we’re all his subordinates.” He pointed his paring knife at Will. “Particularly young lads like you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Will and Sergeant Crockett peeled potatoes in silence until they amassed enough for the group. When they’d finished the task, Will slunk away to find Jonah, and the two of them fished in the creek.

“Trout’ll go well with them spuds you peeled,” Jonah said. “’Bout time you took your share of orders from the quartermaster.”

The next day, the reprovisioning party continued back through Jordan Creek Valley toward Camp Alvord, camping at the same spots where they’d stopped each night on their way to Boise. The weather turned decidedly autumnal, with brisk nights that made Will shiver until his body heat warmed his bedroll.

The men traveled every day, but Drew did not push the force along, despite his orders to return to Fort Klamath as soon as he could. “Wonder why he’s lollygagging,” Joel commented one evening.

“We’re moving at the same pace we did from Alvord to Boise,” Will replied as he whittled a small figure of a mule. “I wouldn’t say we’re moving slowly.”

“But we had wagons with us part way to Boise,” Joel said.

“And now we have fully laden mules,” Jonah said. “Do you want us to kill ’em?”

Joel snorted. “Take more’n a fast pace to kill these mules. No, it’s somethin’ Drew don’t want to do back in Klamath, I suspect.” He turned to Will. “You have any idea what Drew’s hidin’ from?”

Hiding? Will had never thought Drew might be hiding from anything. “He’s supposed to help negotiate a treaty with the Indians,” Will said. “I don’t know why he wouldn’t want to be there. But he doesn’t tell me anything these days.”