She sighed. “It’s all right, William. As I said, I never wanted you to find out who fathered you.”

“Mac’s my father in everything but blood,” Will said. “I know that now.”

She walked to his bed, leaned over, and kissed his forehead. “Yes, he is. And I’m glad you have come to see it.”

Chapter 67: At Church on Sunday

Will accompanied his family to church on Sunday, the day after the posse. He felt eyes on his back as they filed into their usual pew, filling it from side to side.

The minister droned on, and Will didn’t hear most of what he said. The sermon was something about “there but for the grace of God go I.”

That was true, Will thought, as he let his thoughts roam. Only God’s grace had brought Will into this world, though the Almighty had had a pretty brutal way of bringing him into existence. Only God’s grace had brought Mac into Mama’s world, and therefore into Will’s. Only grace had kept Jonah and him safe when they ran away, only grace had kept Mac and him alive on the posse and saved them from the fate that befell Deputy Albee. How long would it be before Albee’s family could find grace after his tragic death?

When the congregation stood to sing, Will heard Mama’s lovely soprano loud and strong. He looked over the heads of the other children to see her singing:

Through many dangers, toils, and snares,

I have already come;

’Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,

And grace will lead me home.

“Safe thus far,” Will thought. He’d been brought safe thus far. He’d come through dangers, toils, and snares this year—the worst year of his life. And he had survived. Not only survived, but grown from the adversity.

He still didn’t know what the next phase of his life would bring, but he knew he had a family’s love to support him. Maybe that was enough for now. Maybe it would always be enough to keep him safe.

After the service, Mac led his family out of church, letting them all precede him down the aisle. Last out of the pew was Jenny carrying their infant Andrew. She smiled at Mac as he ushered her ahead of him.

Once in the churchyard, Mac raised his face to the sky. The pale late November sun shone through high wispy clouds, but a breeze chilled him to the bone. Winter would soon set in.

His older children separated quickly once they were outside, looking for their friends. Only Maggie and Andrew remained with Mac and Jenny. He scooped up Maggie and carried her across the yard to where Zeke and Hannah Pershing stood.

“Good morning,” Mac said in greeting.

Hannah smiled and reached out her arms to take Maggie, who went willingly. They stepped apart from the men and greeted Jenny, who had followed Mac.

Zeke asked Mac, “Heard anything more about Johnson?”

Mac shook his head. “I stayed home all day yesterday. Figured the family needed my attention. Jenny was shaken up over Albee’s death.”

“I went to see the sheriff,” Zeke said. “Apparently, Johnson is spouting off about being Will’s father. Thought you should know.”

Mac swallowed. He’d hoped Johnson would be silent—after all, if the McDougalls told their story, the villain could be prosecuted for rape as well as murder. “What does Sheriff Thomas say?”

Zeke shrugged. “Says it’s none of his business. All he cares about is getting Johnson hung for killing Albee.”

Mac sighed. “I’ll go talk to the sheriff tomorrow morning. See what we can do to get us all through Johnson’s trial as quickly as possible.”

Samuel Abercrombie joined them. Both Zeke and Mac fell silent.

“Guess we showed that Johnson bastard what we Oregonians can do,” the old man boasted. He seemed to have forgotten that Jacob Johnson was a Southern sympathizer like he was.

“Why’d it take you so long to reach Johnson’s cabin?” Zeke asked. “You were supposed to be waiting for us when we came down from the top of the hill.”

“Them damn logs,” Samuel said. “Sheriff’s old nag couldn’t make the jumps. He led us around.”

Mac thought the sheriff had probably saved Samuel’s neck—the old man could have fallen off his gelding if they jumped. But it wasn’t worth commenting on.

“I been hearin’ some odd rumors ’bout Johnson and Miz Jenny,” Abercrombie said. “Just want you to know I don’t countenance what that bastard says at all.”

“Good to know, Abercrombie,” Mac said.

Chapter 68: Caleb's Birthday

On Saturday morning, November 26, Mac sat in his home study, reading a letter from the People’s Transportation Company. That steamship outfit had succumbed to a lawsuit from the Oregon Steam Navigation Company in Portland—the P.T. Company would no longer run a boat on the upper Columbia River. He sighed. It had been a good prospect, but now at least, he could focus his energies and finances on the bank proposal from Ladd. Or that would be his focus until Byron Pengra renewed his survey on the Central Oregon Military Road next summer.

From outside his study door, he heard children laughing and shouting and Rufus barking. The house was full of commotion—it was Caleb’s thirteenth birthday, and Jenny was preparing for another party that afternoon. “Boys,” he heard her cry. “Put the dog outside.”

He sighed. He would have to offer himself up to obey Jenny’s orders about the party soon.

The posse had captured Jacob Johnson over a week ago. The man would be tried for murder in a few weeks. Mac had little doubt about the outcome—killing Deputy Albee would bring Johnson a swift hanging. He hadn’t talked to Will about the likely resolution, but he should.

He should also talk to Will again about Harvard. There would be talk in town for a while after Johnson was brought to justice—there was no way to escape it. Will would do better if he left Oregon City until the rumors died down. After some time away, Will could make his way here in Oregon, if he chose. He’d done well on the expedition and he’d impressed the sheriff during the posse—even though he had been an uninvited member of that group.

But Mac still believed Will’s true talents lay in using his mind, rather than his muscle and guns. Neither the Army nor law enforcement were the best use of Will’s intelligence.

It was odd, Mac thought, that Will’s talents mirrored his own in many respects. Will was more cautious, perhaps, than Mac had been as a youth. Mac had craved action. Will could handle action, though he waited until he was forced to. But more than Cal or Nate, Will used his head—he would do well in law, probably better than Mac ever had. However, to become a lawyer, a college education would be useful, followed by an apprenticeship with an attorney back East.

After the cake was cut and most of the guests had wished Cal a happy birthday, Will approached his younger brother and cuffed him gently on the side of the head. Then he put an arm around Cal’s shoulders.

“Much happiness, little brother,” Will said.

Cal grinned up at him. “I’ll be as tall as you soon,” he said. “Taller maybe.”

“That’ll be the day, short stuff.” Then, in all seriousness, Will put his hand in his pocket and brought out a whittled horse. “I made another for Maria, but this one’s for you.”