Wilderness Days by Jennifer L. Holm Read Free Book Online

booming, and as they had missed the gold rush, he was very eager that they try their luck on the bay. He had grand ideas of opening a hotel. Mrs. Frink was very fond of Mr. Frink, but men for all their good intentions were not as sensible as women, were they? After all,
she
had been the one to round up their horses when they’d spooked in Illinois, and it had been
her
negotiationswith that disreputable ferryman that had gotten them across the river in Missouri, and then, of course, it had been
her
good suggestion to use the metal bits from the pickle barrel to mend the spare wheel when it had broken near the Snake River.
    I learned all this as I changed into clean clothes behind the shabby blanket screen that served as a dressing area of sorts. Mrs. Frink had barely ceased speaking since entering the cabin. Mr. Swan had left her with me to provide a lady’s hospitality while he went off to show her husband our burgeoning settlement, but Mrs. Frink had done most of the entertaining so far. I tried to attend her but was distracted by thoughts of how I must appear next to this new arrival. While my dresses were of serviceable calico, they were not as fashionable as Mrs. Frink’s. I didn’t even own a pair of gloves anymore, and my bonnet was quite sad-looking. Not to mention my shoes were ill-fitting boys’ boots. I felt the same way I used to feel when Sally Biddle walked into a room.
    Really, it all went back to Sally Biddle.
    Picture a perfect girl with golden curls, a tiny waist, and all the best connections. Add to that an uncanny ability to make one cry with a single word, and that is Sally Biddle. Just thinking about her made all the misery come rushing back. How she used to say that my hair resembled a squirrel’s nest, and whisper that I was plump, and belittle our house on Walnut Street, saying that it looked like a stable.
    Perhaps the lone advantage of Shoalwater Bay was that it was situated a continent away from Sally Biddle in Philadelphia.
    Mrs. Frink continued chatting from the other side of thecurtain. “‘But Mr. Frink,’ I said, ‘I can’t imagine that there will be much call for a hotel here on the frontier.’”
    I fingered the newly bald patch on the side of my head. It was the size of a silver dollar. Blasted cow. There was no helping it. I tugged on my worn bonnet and came around the curtain in a determined fashion. I was not about to let this woman intimidate me the way Sally Biddle had in the past.
    “What a charming dress!” Mrs. Frink exclaimed. “Such a lovely print.”
    “Thank you,” I said cautiously. “I sewed it myself.”
    “How perfectly clever of you! Perhaps you would consider sewing a dress for me?”
    I looked blankly at her immaculate dress.
    “Oh,” she said with a self-conscious laugh. “This is the only decent dress I have left. The rest were all quite ruined on the trail. This only survived because I packed it away.”
    I smiled at her. “I’d be happy to.” I felt something tight in my chest loosen. She wasn’t like Sally Biddle at all. She was more like what I imagined an older sister would be.
    I poured her a cup of coffee and brought the sugar and milk to the table. It reminded me of Miss Hepplewhite’s, the soothing ritual of pouring tea.
    She clapped her hands happily. “You use tin, too, I see.”
    “Tin?”
    “Tin cups, my dear. They’re ever so practical.” She lowered her voice. “I used our good china on the first week of the journey, but I grew so worried about breaking something that Ipacked it away and adopted the pioneer method of using tin plates and cups. It’s ever so much more practical.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “And then, of course, our box of china fell out of our wagon during a stampede of buffalo somewhere back along the Platte River, so I have little choice now. I jumped out of the wagon after it and tried to shoo away the dratted animals with a broom, but I declare that they are the stupidest animals that ever lived,