“I hope Lincoln wins,” Will said as he sat.

“I do, too, son.”

Will’s face went blank, as it often did when Mac called him “son.” But Mac wasn’t about to stop the appellation. He’d called Will “son” ever since the lad was a toddler. He’d tried to become the boy’s father, and he thought he’d succeeded. He wished Will felt the same.

Will could tell Mac didn’t have time for him. Nevertheless, after they discussed the election, he asked, “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Mac shook his head. “I need to catch up on my correspondence.”

“Could I draft your responses for you? Or take your dictation? Colonel Drew thought I was pretty good at it.” Will tried not to sound too eager.

Mac shook his head. “I’ve tried using a secretary, but I find it’s faster to handle my letters myself. I think better as I write.” Mac leaned forward. “Shall I seek your admittance to Harvard next fall?”

Will shrugged. “We don’t need to decide yet, do we?”

“No. Next spring will be soon enough. But you seem at loose ends, and I thought maybe if you knew what was coming next—”

“I am at loose ends,” Will admitted. Maybe Mac had some idea of how he could occupy his time. “I need something to do besides help Mama peel apples.”

Mac laughed. “I can see that’s not a fit occupation for a young man of your talents. What about a job in town? Shall I ask around?”

“Why not?” Will thought Mac’s work would likely be more interesting than a job elsewhere in Oregon City. But any job would be better than sitting around the house.

That night, when Jenny and Mac were alone, she asked, “Do you think we should send Maria away to school? Abigail Duniway needs a helper, and Maria is so good with the younger children.”

“I thought we decided against that,” Mac said as he washed his face.

“I worry about having William and Maria together at home, neither of them with any meaningful ways to spend their time.”

“I’m going to try to find Will a position in town,” Mac told her. “Perhaps at the newspaper. Or the telegraph. He’s a bright lad, and any establishment would be lucky to have him.”

“Can’t you make a place for him in one of the companies you’ve invested in?” she asked. “Keep him where you can watch him?” She wanted William to stay nearby. If not at home, then at least where Mac could oversee her son’s activities.

Mac grimaced. “The last thing Will needs is for me to be breathing down his neck. It would be better if he did something independent of us. He knows that, deep down. He’s been on his own for months, and he’ll chafe if we monitor everything he does.”

“But what if he leaves again,” Jenny said. That was her greatest fear.

Mac embraced her, and she rested her head on his chest as he rubbed her neck. “He’s going to leave sometime, Jenny,” Mac murmured against her hair.

“I suppose,” she whispered. “But I missed him so. And worried so.”

“But now you want to send Maria away?” he asked.

She sighed. “No. I want to keep them all close. But I can’t, can I?”

Chapter 61: Some Things Never Change

Will’s days continued to pass monotonously. Saturday, November 12, was a mild day, and in the afternoon, he took Cal and Nate down to the Willamette to fish. The fish were active in the cooler waters of late autumn.

They found a spot away from the steamship docks where the water was relatively still. The younger boys cast their hooks in the river, but Will decided to read instead. “I’ll help you if you land a big one,” he said to Nate, ruffling the little boy’s hair. Then he settled himself on the riverbank and opened Great Expectations. Will had read a few serialized chapters of the story, but never the whole book. Mama and Mac had purchased the three-volume novel while he was away.

“Will?” Cal asked after they’d been fishing about half an hour.

“Hmm?” he said, not even taking his eyes off the page.

“Did you kill any Indians while you were in the Army?”

At that, Will looked up. “Kill Indians? No.”

“But you saw them,” Cal said, turning to Will.

“I saw some,” Will said, thinking of Humboldt Jim and the Snakes whose horses were stolen with Shanty. “Watch your pole.”

Cal faced the water, then said, “Did you carry a gun?”

“Yes,” Will said. “We were all issued rifles.”

“Did you shoot it?” Nate asked.

“Yes. We hunted.” Will closed his book. “But mostly the rifle was for protection.”

“Protection from Indians?” Cal asked.

“Yes,” Will said. “Or from bears and the like.”

“Did you like the Army?” Cal asked.

Will shrugged. “It was hard work. I loaded and unloaded mules over and over again. Can’t say I liked that. But I enjoyed scribing for Colonel Drew. And I liked seeing the country, barren though it was.”

“I want to join the Army,” Cal said. “And fight Indians.”

“Why do you want to fight them?” Will asked. “Have you talked to your father about fighting Indians?”

“Pa? What does Pa know about Indians?”

“Ask him,” Will said. “He told me about being in the militia after the Whitman Massacre. And about being on posses through the years. He didn’t like fighting.”

“If Pa didn’t like the militia, why’d you join up?” Cal wanted to know.

“I didn’t have much choice,” Will said. “Joel Pershing had signed on, and Jonah and I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“If I can’t shoot Indians, I can shoot Johnny Reb.” Cal held his fishing pole like a rifle and made shooting sounds.