Donners of the Dead

Epilogue

Oregon City, Oregon – 1857

“Mama!” Ruth cried out in bloody murder.

I dropped the dishes into the bucket of water and ran out into the yard, my heart in my throat.

Please don’t let anything happen to my baby girl, I thought. Oh Lord, please.

I ran off the porch and looked around, unable to spot her. I panicked, not feeling this afraid since, well, since that time in the Sierra Nevadas.

“Ruthie!” I yelled, hiking up my skirts and running around the corner as fast as I could. I could hear her crying again, though it was so hysterical it almost sounded like laughter.

I barreled around the house, following the sounds until I came right up against the fence around the corral.

In the middle of it, Ruth was sitting astride a year-old calf that was trying to get rid of her. Holding her in place was my husband Jake McGraw, wearing a stupid grin on his handsome face.

“What in the dickens are you doing?” I cried out, climbing over the fence and stomping up to them.

Ruth was giggling her head off. At the sight of me, the calf widened its eyes and tried to take off. This time he was successful, and before Ruth fell to the ground, Jake had her in his strong arms, her little legs kicking beneath with glee.

“That was fun!” she cried out. “I want to ride again.”

“You can ride my shoulders,” Jake said. “Pretend it’s a piggy-back ride.” He flipped her chubby but light body up onto his shoulders, taking hold of her legs while she wrapped her little arms around the hat on his head. “Oink, oink,” he added.

He grinned down at me, a toothpick in his mouth. “Did we give you a scare?”

“Yes!” I cried out, and punched him lightly on the chest.

“That’s not very ladylike,” Jake commented.

“Mama ain’t a lady!” Ruth exclaimed.

“You got that right, half pint,” he said, giving her legs a squeeze.

“I’m serious, Jake,” I scolded him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“That’s nothing new, you’ve been a barrel of nerves ever since your mother left.”

It was true. My mother, who was now living in Salem with Rose, her husband Avery, and their five children, had come to visit. Naturally since it was a long journey from their land in Salem up to our small farm in Oregon City, they had to stay more than a few weeks. I loved my mother a lot—we’d grown so much closer over the years—but she was still my mother and loved to nitpick everything. Even though she loved to read, she still didn’t quite approve of my writings for the local women’s journal, nor did she approve of Jake raising cattle when Oregon was a land made for produce. Avery and Rose had many orchards, I guess that brought them a cleaner, greener lifestyle than one filled with ink-stained fingers and cow manure.

Still, we were happy. And we never talked about what happened in the mountains—there was no need to. Though reports of the Donner’s cannibalism eventually came out, future pioneers and gold-seekers never reported any casualties or monsters in the woods. I suppose we had killed them all.

At least, I liked to think that.

“I’ll tell you what,” Jake said, reading my face. “Tonight I’ll go out and shoot us a duck. I’ll roast you your favorite.”

I stood on my toes and kissed his rough cheek. “You always were a better cook than me.”

“Everyone knows this,” Jake said. “Even Ruth.”

“That’s right,” she said, though from her voice you could tell she was just trying to be funny. She often was. She took after her father.

I brushed the dirt off of her calico dress and hung onto Jake’s arm like the girl I was, a girl still madly in love, and grinned up at him. “Let’s get you both cleaned up if we’re going to feast on something so fine.”

We walked back to the house, arm in arm, my tribe of three.

THE END

Keep reading for an excerpt of Madeline Sheehan’s The Beginning of the End and Karina Halle’s Dust to Dust (Experiment in Terror #9, the final installment in the series).