Wed On The Wagon Train. Tracy Blalock

when their covered wagon had arrived at the boardinghouse as promised. While Mattie stayed out of sight, Adela had overseen the loading of their trunks without incident, and they were quickly under way.

      Now, however, Mattie’s earlier confidence was suffering a decided downturn.

      She shifted her gaze to focus on her sister. Adela certainly didn’t look like a girl about to embark on an arduous four or five month journey. She was decked out in a fancy costume complete with frilly parasol, as if going for a casual jaunt around the park.

      Before his passing, their father had purchased practical garments suitable for travel for himself and his daughters. Mattie, seeing little sense in hanging on to remnants of the past, had gotten rid of anything she wouldn’t need in her new life. But Adela had flatly refused to part with so much as a lacy hankie from her wardrobe, despite the fact that wagon space was limited and expensive fabrics had no place on the trail.

      It wasn’t surprising she’d dug in her heels over the issue, however, since she’d been against this trip from the start. She hadn’t wanted to give up their life in Saint Louis.

      And Mattie felt personally responsible for her unhappiness. The family’s financial decline was a direct result of choices Mattie had made.

      But neither her guilt nor Adela’s objections could restore what they’d lost. That life was gone, whether they returned to the city or not. Adela would have to come to terms with their changed circumstances.

      Their best hope for a bright and joyous future lay ahead in Oregon Country.

      Taking a deep breath, Mattie stiffened her own flagging resolve. “We can’t go back. And remember to call me ‘Matt.’ No one can know the truth.” She didn’t want to consider what might happen if Adela accidentally called her Mattie in front of anyone.

      “I’m sorry. It just slipped out. But I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

      Mattie steered the oxen toward the end of the line and drew them to a halt behind the last wagon. The lowing of cattle and whiny of horses mixed with the sound of people shouting and whips cracking, creating a cacophony of noise.

      Several minutes passed without any movement forward.

      Adela fanned herself with one lace-gloved hand and huffed out an impatient sigh. “How long will we have to wait for our turn to cross the river?”

      Scanning the dozen or so covered wagons waiting ahead of them, Mattie shook her head in answer. “I don’t know.”

      “Hours, most like,” a male voice interjected.

      Mattie turned toward the speaker and recognized the bearded man who had pointed out Miles Carpenter to her the previous day. Of medium height and build, he looked to be in his forties or fifties.

      He nudged the brim of his hat up to scratch his temple. “It’ll take the better part of the day to get all twenty-five wagons across the river. But it gives folks a chance to get to know each other. The name’s Jed Smith.”

      Mattie hesitated to reply. Each encounter with other travelers held the potential for disaster if her ruse was exposed. But living in such close quarters over the next few months looked to make any attempts at completely dodging conversation an impossibility.

      Grudgingly, she accepted Jed’s outstretched hand and again introduced herself as Matt Prescott, knowing she would be called on to do tasks so many times over the next several days.

      The deception was already wearing on her, and it had only just begun. Would it get any easier in time? Probably not. But she couldn’t let that discourage her.

      Jed squinted against the glare of the sun as he surveyed Mattie and Adela. “Seeing as how you joined the wagon train only yesterday, I’d guess you haven’t had occasion to meet many of our fellow travelers yet.”

      “No, we haven’t,” Adela replied. “Are all these people making the journey?”

      “Yep.” Jed hooked his thumbs under his suspenders and shifted his stance, indicating he planned to stay and chat for a while. “All told, our group’s about two dozen families. Mostly farmers, like myself and the Bakers with their brood of six, and Thomas Malone, a widower with a pair apiece of teenage offspring—two boys, and two gals about your age, missy.”

      “By any chance, would that be the two tall, blonde girls standing by the covered wagon near the head of the line?” Adela questioned.

      Jed glanced in that direction and nodded. “That’s them.”

      Mattie reached for Adela’s arm and gave it a slight squeeze as a subtle signal to shush her.

      The younger girl simply shook off her hold, however. “And who is that man on horseback, wearing a brocade waistcoat and starched cravat? He certainly isn’t a farmer.”

      “That’s Phillip Hardwick, a fancy British lord. He’s brought along a pair of servants. We also have a doctor and a preacher traveling with us. Then there’s our trail guide, a mountain man and trapper.” Jed fell quiet, his expression expectant.

      Clearly, he was hoping the Prescotts would volunteer information about their own background.

      And Adela obliged him, despite Mattie’s none-too-subtle elbow to her ribs. “We’re from Saint Louis originally. Now, we’re traveling to join relatives. Our uncle owns a hotel in Oregon City. The Prescott. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

      Jed shook his head. “I can’t say that I have.”

      Mattie cleared her throat and spoke before Adela had a chance. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Smith—”

      “Jed,” he inserted.

      “Jed. We won’t keep you any longer.”

      He tugged his hat brim down lower on his forehead. “Well, I’ll just mosey along and say howdy to some other folks.”

      Once he was out of earshot, Mattie turned toward her sister. “You shouldn’t encourage conversation. We must be especially careful that no one discovers the truth.”

      Adela pursed her lips. “We’ll draw more attention to ourselves if we refuse to speak to anybody. That will make it seem as if we have something to hide.”

      “We do have something to hide.”

      “Yes, but we don’t want the others to suspect that.”

      Mattie had to concede her sister made a valid point.

      Adela waved to a passing woman, who offered them an affable smile. “Besides, chatting helps pass the time.”

      “Fine. But please, watch what you say.”

      Adela held up one hand as if making a pledge. “I promise not to let words come tumbling out of my mouth with no prompting from my brain. Will that satisfy you?”

      “Thank you.”

      It quickly became apparent that Jed wasn’t the only person who viewed the delay as an impromptu social gathering. Several others approached her and Adela, including a couple who turned out to be Josiah’s brother and sister-in-law.

      Elias Dawson looked to be half a dozen years older than Josiah, but the family resemblance between the two was strong. Blessed with similar good looks, both men were tall and well built. But Mattie estimated Josiah stood an inch or two taller, and his frame carried a bit more muscle than the older man. It was difficult to judge for certain, however, without the pair positioned side by side.

      Although a redhead like his brother, Elias’s hair was a darker chestnut than Josiah’s light red-gold hue. The most notable difference between the siblings was that the elder didn’t share the same intense blue eye color that had so struck Mattie the day before. Instead, the older man’s eyes were an ordinary shade of brown.

      Rebecca, Elias’s wife, was a petite blonde in her early twenties. She seemed a pleasant woman, with her friendly manner and twin dimples bracketing her