by Emily Woods
Hoping for Love
Love on the Oregon Trail, Book 2
1
Wyoming, June 1853
Hope Riley coughed as the dust from the wagons blew in her face. She tried to keep her head down, but every so often, she forgot and ended up with a mouth full of dirt.
The wagon train was entering its third month of the journey, but to her it felt more like the third year. Each day was hard, as the calluses and blisters on her hands and feet proved. She was now adept at all manner of chores, something she couldn’t have said a few months before.
Back home in Missouri, she'd worked in the house of course, but her father had been able to afford some help, so she and her mother never had to do truly difficult work. Mostly, she'd done things like setting the table, clearing the dishes, helping her brothers with their schoolwork, and making the beds.
Now, every day was filled with grueling tasks like building fires, doing laundry, and scrubbing the dishes. Her formerly white, slender fingers were rough and red. It didn't matter how much rose-scented salve she slathered on them each night; they never healed.
A bitter taste filled her mouth as she thought about how she'd been forced to come on this trip across the country. Without so much as a decent explanation, her father had announced to her and her two brothers that they would be traveling to Oregon to set up a mission, which would hopefully one day turn into a church. He claimed that the native people as well as the new residents in the West were in dire need of a preacher and that he felt God was calling him.
Hope had watched her mother's face during the whole speech. Although she never corrected her husband, Hope could see that she wasn't happy, but as a submissive wife, she’d said nothing. Her brothers, traitors of course, had whooped with delight at the idea of an adventure. The young teens didn't have strong ties to their community and thought the journey across the country would relieve them of their tiresome routine of studying and chores.
“Water?”
A canteen was thrust in front of her face, but even though she was actually thirsty, Hope refused to accept the drink because of who was offering it.
“I'm fine, thank you,” she replied, her voice cold even if her words were polite.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the young man slouch slightly at her rejection. Her heart tried to pity him, but Hope refused to let her face show any emotion. Joseph Brown would never be the man for her. As her father's protégée, he would lead a life very similar to that of his mentor, and Hope had no wish to be at his side as a neglected wife and an afterthought, as she believed her mother to be.
“You should drink more, daughter,” her mother gently chided her. “The dust is particularly fierce today.”
Joseph perked up and extended the canteen again. However, she shook her head. “I have my own, thank you,” she informed him, her eyes never meeting his. She was afraid that he would see her repulsion of him there, and she did not want him to give a negative report to her father.
Breaking out of the line of walkers, Hope went to the rear of the family wagon and retrieved her own canteen. They had each refilled the vessels at the last stop where they'd eaten yet another lunch of cold bacon and dry bread. The variations on their meals had slowly waned as their supplies lessened. The wagon master, Jeremiah Holt, had warned them to ration their food carefully, but Hope knew most people had gone through the best of their provisions in the first month, and her own family was no different. All of the dried fruit was gone, and most of the canned food was depleted. They rarely enjoyed anything beyond the basics now.
And they still had more than three months to go.
Dinner that night was a less than dreary affair. Some of the men had managed to snare a couple of rabbits, and roasting them over an open fire made for a treat.
“Those Morris boys know what they're doing,” her father complimented begrudgingly as he dug into his meat. “Nice of them to give us some meat.”
“They're just trying to get close to Hope,” said Willy, her fourteen-year-old brother. He managed to duck just in time to miss being swatted by his sister.
“I don't even know them,” she countered, shooting a quick look at her father. He was frowning of course. Whenever he suspected one of his children of what he considered improper behavior, he was quick to reprimand.
“Keep it that way, daughter. They’re not our kind, as you know very well. I don't have a problem with them so long as they mind their own business. But they only seek to enlarge their own purse with the gold in California. You'd do well to give them all a very wide berth.”
Hope hung her head a little so that her father wouldn't see the defiance shimmering in her eyes. When would she have had a chance to talk to any of them? Her parents kept a close eye on all of them, but it seemed that her father was watching her particularly.
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, turning her head slightly to shoot a glare at Willy.
“Ah, they're not interested in a raggedy old thing like Hope,” her other brother, Martin, teased. “Not when there are girls like Margie and Sarah around.”
At the sound of the other two girls' names, Hope felt her chest go tight. They were both close to her age, but had no interest in being friends with her. She'd tried to talk to them when the train had first had set out, but they'd made it abundantly clear that they didn't enjoy her company. Her mother told her not to be hurt. They were of a different class than their family.
She'd never thought of herself as being in any specific class, but when she compared her clothing with that of the other two, she could see it wasn't as fine. Most people needed to have a certain amount of wealth to make this journey, and it was clear that the family of two sisters had more than they needed. Their father, a physician, thought it was the opportunity of a lifetime to travel west and start over again. His wife clearly disagreed and spent most of her time in their wagon, claiming to be suffering from terrible headaches.
Hope didn't know how the woman could stand it. The wagon was not only stifling hot, but it rocked and jostled its contents so badly that it was hard to keep food in one's stomach. She knew this to be the case due to the one time she'd tried to ride instead of walk. As horrible as it was to walk for ten hours a day, it was much more preferable to riding in the wagon for even one hour.
The children were given permission to play while she, her mother, and their neighbor, took care of the cleanup. Hope had complained that her brothers should help, but her mother had shushed her, saying that they were boys and needed to burn off some energy. This kind of excuse only contributed to the resentment that had built inside her heart at this whole ‘adventure.’
As she crowded into the tent that evening with her sweaty brothers, Hope turned to the side and lifted the flap in order to get some fresh air. Joseph slept in a separate, smaller tent while her parents slept together under the wagon, giving up shelter of the tent for the children's sake. She knew she should be grateful, but that emotion had been in short supply for the past month.
Her brothers were soon fast asleep, as their whiffling snores indicated, but she remained awake, her eyes refusing to shut. The tent was so closed and reeked with their odor that she had to escape, if just for a minute.
Careful not to wake the boys, she pushed open the tent and stepped into the night air. It was warm, but refreshing after being in the tent.
Being repeatedly cautioned not to stray far from the campsite, Hope knew that she should stay near the tent, but a perverse desire to disregard that rule rose up in her breast. She'd been given no choice in leaving her friends and home behind, and the frustration of that helplessness had been simmering in her for over more than two months. Rebelliously, she took several strides away from the tent, and seeing that nothing bad happened, took a few more.
The wagons had been circled to keep the animals safe, but she dared to cross the boundary. The first step outside of it felt delicious. Hope had never rebelled against her parents during her early teen years, so she decide
d it was finally time. After taking a few more steps, she felt a delicious shiver of fear, another emotion she rarely experienced. Outside of the brief encounter with a small band of Sioux several weeks before, she'd seen nothing to scare her on this trip.
Her mind recalled the encounter. Captain Holt had conversed with one of the braves in the band, and there had been some kind of disagreement over Emma Pearson's son, but it was soon over and the band departed. In a way, it had been anticlimactic in her opinion. There'd been no bloodshed, no yelling or tribal screaming, no scalping or anything of the sort. It was just a couple of men squaring off, each trying to intimidate the other.
“I wouldn't go any further if I was you, miss,” came a voice from the darkness.
Hope felt a scream rise in her throat, but then she recognized the youngest of the Morris brothers and the panic subsided. It was replaced by a kind of boldness that surprised even her.
“I like it out here,” she declared. “It's very peaceful.”
The young man chuckled a little and nodded. She could see his face quite clearly in the moonlight and noted his appealing features. She’d never seen the man so close up before; her father would have never allowed it.
“Yeah, I think so too, but you never can be sure what's lurking in the darkness. Could be something bad.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to say something about how it wasn’t that dark, but then she realized that the sun was all but gone.
“I suppose it's your turn to be guard?” she said instead, folding her hands in front of her.
He nodded again. “That's right. One day on, three days off. We split up three shifts among all the men of age.”
Her brow crinkled. “Aren't there four two-hour shifts from eight o'clock to four?”
“Yeah, but Captain Holt won't let anyone take the two o'clock shift 'cept him and Tommy. Says that he won’t risk someone falling asleep.”
It was only nine o'clock now, so she knew that he would be replaced in an hour. Maybe she would spend that time talking to him.
“I'm sorry, but I've forgotten your name,” she said demurely, knowing full well that they'd never actually been introduced, something else her father wouldn't allow it.
“Gabriel Morris at your service, Miss...?”
“Hope Riley,” she murmured. “But you can call me Hope.”
He nodded, a smile stretching across his face.
“Well, Miss Hope, I think you'd better turn in, don't you? Won't be good to fall asleep in the middle of the day tomorrow.”
Even though he wasn't exactly ordering her to return to the tent, she felt irritated at the suggestion.
“I can make up my own mind, thank you very much,” she replied coldly, in much the same way she’d spoken to Joseph earlier. “And my mind is telling me that I need to take a walk around the camp before returning to the very small space filled up with my brothers' smelly bodies.”
Now he chuckled outright. “I would never presume to tell a lady what to do. I was only concerned about your safety...and your reputation.”
It suddenly occurred to her that this was the very first time she'd been alone with a member of the opposite sex to whom she wasn't related. A shiver of excitement at her daring raced through her.
“I thank you for your care,” she replied, slightly more cordial now. “But I assure you that I'm fine as I am.” She paused and regarded him more closely. “Unless you are willing to escort me on a circle of the campsite or should I go on my own?” Her heart thumped at her brazen request.
“Oh, I couldn't allow for you to go alone, Miss Hope, and I'd be more than happy to accompany you so long as your father won't have my hide for it.”
“If he is to have anyone's hide, it should be my own.” With that, she began to walk around the perimeter of the wagons, careful to keep at least fifty feet away so that any other sleepless member might not be able to identify her.
But even if they did, she didn't care. For the first time in her eighteen years, she was acting completely of her own will, and she was enjoying the feeling of freedom immensely.
2
Gabriel, or rather Gabe, as he was known to his brothers, didn't know quite what to make of the lovely young woman who had entered his line of vision. It was certainly an enjoyable diversion from standing guard, not that he minded it. However, it was a little lonely for his liking. Having her company was a pleasure that he wasn't eager to deny, even if he knew that he should.
“Have you ever shot something with that?” Hope asked, pointing to his shotgun as they ambled around, nearly ten feet between them. She was bold enough as it was, walking unescorted. If she did get found out, she could at least deny even the appearance of wrongdoing.
He looked down at the old rifle. “Well, nothing much worth bragging about. As the youngest of three brothers, I haven't quite caught up to the other two in terms of hunting.”
The truth was that he disliked shooting. Having grown up on a farm, he knew the importance of providing for one's family, and he never shirked his duty when it came time to slaughtering food for the family, but he never much cared for hunting and would only do so when absolutely necessary.
“You are the youngest?” she echoed. “May I ask your age?”
“Twenty-one on my last birthday. And you?” He guessed she was about fourteen or fifteen, given her slight form and diminutive stature.
“I just turned eighteen last week,” she replied. “Not quite old enough to be left behind, I'm afraid.”
It wasn't hard to detect the melancholy in her answer, but he was more focused on the fact that she was closer to his age than he expected. Still, he didn't want to remark on it in case it seemed like he was being bold.
“Not too excited about the move? I thought it was every young woman's dream to walk across the country through untold dangers towards an uncertain future.” He waggled his eyebrows at little to show that he was joking.
A small giggle was the reward for his effort at humor.
“Yes, of course,” she answered calmly, giving him the briefest of glances. “All of my friends back home were terribly envious when I told them that I would be walking for ten hours a day, facing natives, cooking over an open stove, and washing my clothes and dishes in a river.”
“Is that right?” He kept his voice light. He could see over the course of her speech that she’d gone from joking to disgruntled. “I suspect a great many young men fell into a depression at the news.”
Another small laugh told him that he'd succeeded in warding off her gloom.
“And you, Mister Morris? Were all your friends wildly resentful when you told them about your trek to untold treasures?”
Inwardly, he fought his own feelings. His brothers had manipulated him into coming, saying that it would break his parents’ hearts if the three of them separated. Never mind that his mother had been long dead, and his father had passed last year. Henry and Michael told him they would have expected the three brothers to stick together, so they sold the family farm and booked a spot on the wagon train heading west.
“Untold is right,” he mumbled. “Untold, untested, and unseen.”
She was silent for a moment. “You don't want to go? But it was the dream of all young men to travel across two thousand dusty miles so that they could stand in cold water all day staring into a pan that may never yield more than a speck of gold.”
Her teasing words pulled him out of his bad mood. He laughed outright. “Oh, yeah. I forgot.”
The two of them walked along in companionable silence for a few minutes.
“So, what is your dream?” she asked softly. “If it's not to search for gold?”
He swallowed hard. Did he dare tell her and risk being laughed at? After all, it wasn’t a very big dream. And he wanted to keep her company a little longer.
“I just want to farm, like my parents did. I love the land, animals, and the work. I thought it was all I would ever do, but then Henry got it in his mind that we could get ric
h in California. It wasn't hard to convince Michael to go along, and now here we are.”
“But you want to farm?”
He shrugged a little. “I guess they call it ranching out west. I don't much care if it's horses, cows, sheep or even goats. I just want to have a life that connects me with creatures and the land.”
The note of longing in his voice might have shamed him if this conversation were with another man, but he sensed that Hope was equally unhappy with her life and the choices that were forced on her. They had that in common at least, and her next words confirmed his suspicions.
“All I wanted was to stay in Kansas, get married, and keep a nice house for my family. But that's not going to happen now.” The longing in her voice echoed his own.
“Was there someone you, uh, left behind?” He wasn't trying to pry exactly. He just didn't want the conversation to end.
“My friends and the people at the church. Oh, but you mean...um, not really. No one ever got my father’s approval, not that there was anyone I was terribly interested in.”
“Yeah, me neither. At first, I was excited about leaving, but I thought we were going to Oregon to farm, not California for gold.”
They kept walking for another minute and then sighed almost simultaneously, at which point, they both laughed.
“Poor us,” Hope said wryly. “Neither one is going to get to fulfill our dream, are we? We're being pushed into lives we don't want by family members. Woe is us.”
He chuckled a little and shook his head. “The difference is that I could stand up to my brothers and do what I want. I think they might give me my share of the inheritance, but I don't want to disappoint them. You can't get out of things that easily...well, not yet anyway.”
Hope gave him a sideways glance. “You mean that I could break away when we get to the city? I suppose technically I could, but what options would I have at that point? I'll be penniless in a strange city. Not a lot of honest work for a girl there.”