Wagon Train Reunion

by Linda Ford

  Someone rode up. “Come on, Ben.”

  He blinked, jerked away and swung into his saddle.

  She ducked her head as the world resumed turning and pressed her hand to her heart in silent consternation. Had she imagined it? Surely it was only her own impossible yearnings that made her think he had any interest in her.

  Delores wandered over and spoke, snapping Abby back to her surroundings.

  “I regret my children will have to miss church all these months. I don’t want them to forget what’s important.”

  Her words gave Abby an idea. “I could have a kind of pretend church with the children if you like. We could sing hymns and—” She thought of how she treasured the Word that she had hidden in her heart. “I could help them memorize Bible verses.”

  Delores squeezed Abby’s hand. “That would be wonderful. Do you mind if I let the other mothers know?”

  “Not at all.” She’d enjoy spending time with the children. It would give her something to do beside wonder about Ben and look for excuses to wander down by the river so she could watch him. That was an interest she did not intend to pursue. Independence was all she cared about.

  Thirty minutes later, she sat on a grassy spot, surrounded by a group of eager children. She played her mandolin and taught them hymns. Some of the mothers sat nearby and joined in the singing. Clarence Pressman watched from a distance then hurried away before she could invite him to join them, though a lone man would surely feel out of place among women and children.

  “I want to tell you one of my favorite things from church. Something that means more to me now than it did when it happened. Who wants to know what it is?”

  Little hands went into the air.

  She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. “I found a treasure and I buried it.” She looked about like she didn’t want anyone to hear her.

  Eyes widened and the children waited for her to continue.

  “Do you want me to tell you where I buried it?”

  The children nodded. Some whispered, “Yes.”

  She pressed her hand to her chest. “Here. In my heart.”

  Confusion and surprise filled the children’s faces. She told them of how she had memorized verses and they had been such a treasure for her. She selected a verse and taught it by putting it to music and by having the children play a recitation game. By the time she dismissed them, many of them were chanting, “Psalm one hundred nineteen, verse eleven. ‘Thy word have I hid in mine heart, that I might not sin against Thee.’”

  The mothers gathered round her to thank her then she watched them depart.

  It had been fun. She liked teaching. Maybe when they reached Oregon, she’d become a teacher. She could just imagine how her mother would react if she suggested it. Please, God. Free me from my promise. I know You have the power to do this.

  She edged around the nearest wagon and watched the ferry crossing again. Ben rode along as guide.

  In her thoughts she considered him noble and kind.

  Her heart seized within her. Too heavy with fear to beat. She ordered it to beat again even though she knew it would bleed sorrow into every vein.

  Frank had not appeared to be a bad man when she married him. She hadn’t loved him, but he didn’t seem to care. All he wanted was a woman he could control...a wife to do his bidding in and out of bed. Was he any different than other men? When Father spoke firmly to Mother, she obeyed. And he was but a soft-spoken banker.

  A big, strong, bold man like Ben would expect even more compliance. She rubbed at her breastbone, willing away the pain, the regret, the sorrow that held her heart like a vise.

  She’d once dreamed of being a wife and mother. But that dream had died at Frank’s hands. She’d lament it to her dying day but she didn’t plan to go through that misery again. God willing, she’d find contentment teaching, running a boardinghouse or any of the other things she’d considered. Most of all, she’d find the independence she sought.

  She turned away, unable to look at Ben any longer. Every look tore at her insides with regret over her dead dreams. She realized she had wrapped her arms over each other, again imitating the way Ben had held her, warmed her, comforted her.

  If only she could hope for more. But it was impossible.

  How would she endure this trip?

  * * *

  Ben knew the exact moment Abby stepped around the wagon to look his direction. He could explain her presence by saying she was interested in watching the ferry crossings as many were. He could also say he hadn’t been watching for her. But both would be half-truths.

  He didn’t even need to see her to know she was nearby. He felt it in the way his heart rate picked up.

  Then she’d spun around and run away.

  He could think of a dozen reasons for her sudden departure. Her mother had called. Or Sally or Emma or Rachel. Or she might have heard a baby cry and gone to investigate. Or a sudden urge to attend to one of the camp chores had come over her.

  But he knew in the depths of his heart that she had run from him. Just as she had in the past.

  He hardened his heart against the regard he had for her. Yes, she seemed sweet and helpful. But as Rachel had once or twice pointed out, it suited Abby to use Ben while traveling. And perhaps suited her mother for the time being though she showed no hint of gratitude. Once they reached Oregon, the whole group knew Mrs. Bingham’s plans for her daughter did not include Ben. As she’d told him six years before, Abby could do better. Much better. She could marry a man with social status and a generous bank account.

  He wasn’t about to stick his hand to the fire a second time. Except—he sighed and bent his back to the pole lest anyone overhear him. Except he’d never backed away from the fire. He’d never stopped caring despite his best intentions. Even though he knew she would use him and discard him, he still couldn’t stop caring.

  Rescuing her from the waters of the river, holding her to warm her afterward had served to fan the live coals into a blazing fire.

  His mind whirled. They had four months, maybe as long as six, before they reached Oregon. He had tried to harden his heart against her. Had tried valiantly to push her from his thoughts. Still tried. But she was everywhere...at the meals, walking beside the wagons during the day, circling the camp at evening, playing her music. Even at night, he heard her tossing and turning. How could he possibly pretend she didn’t exist?

  He stood a good chance of getting his heart broken again. But he’d survived it once, knew he could survive it again if it came to that.

  He knew she would reject him as a suitor. Her mother would not allow it. But he could hardly blame her mother that Abby had chosen Frank. She’d made it abundantly clear that it was what she wanted—a man with more promise than Ben.

  Yet the thought didn’t stop him from glancing after her. Perhaps he should nail a big sign to his chest reading, Proceed with Caution.

  He jogged to their wagon and jumped over the tongue and skidded to a halt. There she sat laughing with Sally.

  Sally held Johnny before her, steadying him on his two little feet. Abby held out her arms and the baby toddled unsteadily to her.

  Abby caught him, and hugged him, laughing. “Look at you walk.”

  Martin hurried up to his wife. “Get him to walk to me.”

  Abby turned Johnny toward his father and steadied him. He clung to her fingers. She eased from his grasp. The little guy’s legs bent. Abby reached for him but he stayed upright without her assistance.

  “Come to Papa,” Martin called.

  Johnny took one step and then another straight into his father’s arms.

  Martin swung him overhead, laughing.

  Little Johnny crowed with delight.

  Abby scrambled to her feet and as she turned, saw Ben. She blinked, looked away.
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  He wanted to open his arms to her and have her run to him like Johnny had gone to his father, in complete trust and acceptance. He pressed down a thousand desires equally as foolish and impossible. Trust went both ways and he would never trust her again.

  Her gaze slowly came back to his. She pressed her lips together. Pink stole up her cheeks.

  He stared. Despite his resolve, his longings swelled to impossible proportions. They’d shared something when he pulled her from the river. She’d leaned into his arms when he warmed her. Had she felt the same hope and promise he’d felt?

  Her eyes darkened.

  He didn’t know what it meant.

  His ma’s words tracked through his thoughts. There was still day by day. She’d said it often when one of the Hewitt children got looking too far into the future. For the days and weeks of their crossing, he must guard his heart and his thoughts. Even his glances at her.

  What they had shared in the past was over and he wasn’t foolish enough to think it could be resurrected. Nor foolish enough to think she had changed.

  “Dinner is ready,” Emma called, and he turned his attention to the food. He listened to the conversation and did his best not to watch Abby. But again and again his gaze found her and darted away before she noticed.

  He had time to relax a little while others took over the ferry. He meant to put it to good use and lounged against the nearest wagon wheel nursing a cup of coffee long past the time it normally took to drink it.

  Martin had stretched out for a nap with Johnny asleep at his side.

  Mr. Bingham had found an old friend in another wagon and gone to visit him. Mrs. Bingham must be roasting in her tent but refused to come out except for meals. Sally, Abby and his sisters sat together, working on quilt squares. From the conversation, he knew they were giving Abby a lesson in sewing.

  “Ben, what do you think of this?” Rachel held up a square. It was a dark piece of fabric with a white-canvassed wagon, and a field of flowers.

  He wasn’t sure what he was expected to say. “It looks nice.”

  “It was Abby’s idea to make quilt blocks to tell of our journey.”

  He shifted his gaze to Abby. “Are you going to do one of the river crossing?”

  She nodded, her eyes wide and questioning.

  Would she show a man and a woman wrapped together in a blanket? He swallowed hard. “That should be interesting.”

  Sally threaded a needle and bent her head over her piece of fabric. “Abby is such an asset to our group. To the whole wagon train.”

  Ben tried to think how to respond.

  “Yes, indeed,” Sally continued. “I was so impressed with how you took over the children this morning.”

  Ben cast a questioning look at Abby. She shied away from his glance, took the quilt block from Rachel and poked her needle through the fabric with such concentration, he knew she was self-conscious.

  “What did she do?” he asked Emma, knowing she would be the most forthcoming.

  “She played hymns for us and taught the children a Bible verse.”

  “I would have never thought to turn it into a song or a speaking game for them,” Sally said with much admiration.

  “We really appreciate your work,” Emma added.

  Ben studied the women. Emma gently appreciative. Sally enthused. Rachel’s face full of uncertainty. He guessed he felt a little like she did. Abby was different than he expected, reminiscent of the Abby he’d known and cared for in the past. He was impressed with how quickly she adjusted to life on the trail.

  Which Abby was the real one? The one sitting before him? The one he remembered from six years ago? Or the one who chose a man for the size of his purse?

  “It wasn’t anything special,” Abby murmured, glancing toward her mother’s tent.

  And that glance said it all. Abby was strong and helpful and everything a man might hope except in this one thing—her mother controlled her in what he considered an unnatural way.

  Again the question. Who was the real Abby?

  “I best get back to work.” He nodded goodbye to the women in general, letting his gaze rest on Abby just a second longer than the rest. She kept her head down.

  He glanced toward the Bingham tent. Was it because of her mother? Did she fear to have their conversation overheard? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. His heart was safely locked away from her charms.

  He returned to the ferry and crossed to the other side to help another wagon. It took a long time to take so many wagons over one by one. He was anxious to be moving as were all of them. But they had to move with caution and wisdom.

  A good principle to apply to his life, as well. Strengthened by the thought, he was about to guide the next wagon to the ferry, when Sam rode up with a stranger at his side. “Ben, you need to get the committeemen together. Something’s come up.”

  That didn’t sound good. Nor did the look on the stranger’s face provide any reassurance. Ben turned to the wagon driver.

  “Get your wagon on board.” He looked about for someone to guide the ferry across. Arty and Ernie Jones stood nearby and had the size to do it, but could they be trusted? “You men, come over here.” He signaled to them.

  Scowling darkly they ambled over, in no haste to answer his call. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake.

  “Think you can guide this ferry across the river?”

  Ernie stared at him. “You asking or telling?”

  “Asking.”

  Ernie shrugged. “I’ll consider it.”

  “I need someone big and strong. You were my first choice.”

  “That so?” Both chests swelled. “Guess we can do that.” Ernie jumped to the ferry and Arty followed. They grabbed the poles and shoved off.

  Ben grinned. The pair might be belligerent and troublesome, but he figured they’d do a good job just to prove they could.

  He hurried away, calling the other committeemen who were all on this side of the river to help control the impatient travelers. Seems everyone thought they should be next.

  They joined Sam and the visitor and withdrew so they could speak privately.

  “This here is James Stillwell,” Sam said. “He’s got something to say.”

  James stepped forward. Ben thought he might be of a similar age. Not as tall but broad shouldered. He took off his hat and set it carefully on his saddle horn and rubbed his hand over his hair as if to settle it in place.

  Ben grinned. The man looked as though he’d recently had his black hair cut. Everything about him spoke of special care of his looks. Then the man crossed his arms and peered around the small group of men, his dark eyes intense beneath bushy eyebrows.

  “I’m the agent for the Thayer and Edwards safe company. It was one of our safes that was robbed in Independence.”

  Ben nodded as did the other men. They’d heard about the robbery on the day of their departure. But what did that have to do with the wagon train?

  “I followed the trail of the thief to the Plante farm. Their wagon had been stolen. They had just arrived home from purchasing enough supplies to last them the summer and the wagon was still hitched up to oxen. I suspect the thief used it for escape. I lost the trail in the many wagon tracks of this wagon train. At first I thought it was a clever ruse to hide the tracks, but after a few days of searching I could find no sign of a missing wagon or the money. My conclusion is the thief is in this party.”

  Miles said what Ben and likely all the committeemen were thinking. “That would mean a late arrival.” There had been several who’d straggled after them for various reasons...something broken, a missing ox, or just plain disorganization but none that raised any suspicions.

  James listened to the explanation then nodded understanding. “It’s impossible to tell who might be the guilty party.
I will need to search every wagon until I find the missing fifteen thousand dollars.”

  The men gasped at the thought there might be that much money in one of the wagons.

  Sam stepped forward. “That’s not possible. The wagons on this side must cross as quickly as possible and then we must keep moving. Any delay might be costly.”

  James gave Sam a hard look. “More costly than losing fifteen thousand dollars?”

  Sam held his ground. “More costly in the way of lives.”

  James sighed. “Of course. I would never put money ahead of people. But my integrity is on the line if I don’t return that money to the shipping company.”

  Ben admired the man’s honor. “Why don’t you join the wagon train? That way you could do some investigation while we continue moving.”

  James considered the suggestion for a moment then nodded. “That might work. Do all of you approve?”

  The men nodded.

  James seemed to mull the idea over further then spoke. “It will work best if no one knows my real reason for being here.”

  Miles Cavanaugh stepped forward. “I’ve got my hands full traveling on my own. Why don’t you sign up with me?”

  James nodded. “Agreed.”

  The men clustered about, asking James all sorts of questions. He had a few of his own. Had they noticed anyone acting strangely? Perhaps not joining in the social activities as much as they might.

  Ben knew of one such person. Clarence Pressman. The young man had little to do with his fellow travelers, although he’d allowed Emma to continue to tend his wound. The two of them spent too much time a far distance from the camp for Ben’s liking. Rachel had accused him of interfering in Emma’s life. But there was something about young Pressman that seemed odd. He’d keep an eye on Clarence and share his concerns with James in private. No need to stir up things until he had at least a shred of proof. But he’d watch and see what Clarence did while the others gathered around socializing in the evening.