The Irish Bride by Alexis Harrington

Author:Alexis Harrington [Harrington, Alexis]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: historical romance irish
Publisher: Alexis Harrington
Published: 2010-03-30T00:07:39.600958+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

Although Farrell had agreed to make the trip to Oregon, how Aidan and she would get there, and how they would pay for the trip were still unanswered questions.

“All we need is the money,” he said the next morning over rashers and biscuits at La Maison Café. He might as well have said, “All we need is the moon and maybe some stars, too.” He had enough to pay for a few more days in the hotel, a little food, and nothing else. Money—it had always been his problem and he was thoroughly fed up with it. He vowed to himself that when they got to Oregon, he’d make the most of the opportunity and wring success from fate.

“How much do we need?” Farrell asked, buttering a flaky biscuit. She looked tired, he thought. He didn’t believe either of them had slept well since leaving Ireland. Shipboard conditions had not contributed to restfulness, and now, even though they had a hotel room, the tension and uncertainty between them was no help at all.

“I’m not sure. I’ve asked around—people who go by wagon on the Oregon Trail need about one thousand American dollars for a wagon, a team of oxen, and a supply list that’s longer than the number of saints on the calendar.”

“How much is that, a thousand dollars?”

He poked at a strip of bacon on his plate. “About two hundred pounds.”

She stared at him. “Two hundred pounds! Where in heaven or hell will we get that kind of money?” she whispered urgently.

He could hardly credit the amount himself. He didn’t think he’d ever seen more than a few pounds in his whole life, and doubted that Farrell had, either. “There’s another way. We can go by stagecoach. It’s much faster and not as dear.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” She took a bite of the biscuit.

“Aye, but we won’t have anything when we get to Oregon. That’s the problem. People live in their wagons until they can get their cottages built. Oh, here they call them cabins.”

He explained the advantages and liabilities while Farrell savored her tea. Going by wagon was a hard trip.

“Hah! Harder than that ocean voyage?”

“Probably, though it’s difficult to credit. I’m told that the women end up walking beside the wagons because the ride is so rough, they get sick and bruised from bouncing around. And the wagons move so slowly, they have no trouble keeping up. There are rivers to cross, sometimes the wagons have to be hauled up cliff sides because there’s no road. It takes about five or six months to get there.”

Farrell made a sour face and pushed away her teacup on the small tabletop. “Are ye sure we can’t go to New York or Wilmington? Holy Mother, maybe we should stay right here!”

“That’s not what Mary Kinealy told ye.”

She sat back in her chair and looked at her lap, her cheeks filled with roses again. “No, it wasn’t.”

“That’s why I was thinking the stagecoach might be the better of the two.

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