by Linda Ford
Mother stood in the shelter of the wagon, watching their every step, her face pinched with disapproval.
It was too much to think she hadn’t seen them kiss.
Ben lowered his arm from around her shoulders but caught her hand to help her face the wind.
They stopped before Mother, sheltered marginally by the wagon.
“I rescued your tent.” Ben held it toward her mother.
“Abigail, take it and put it in the wagon. Benjamin, I’d like to talk to you.” She gave Abby a dismissive look and waited for her to climb over the tongue and step out of sight.
Abby’s heart lay like a cold rock in the pit of her stomach. What did Mother intend to say to him?
She ducked through the narrow opening in the canvas and shoved the tent against the seat, straining to hear Mother. But she couldn’t make out any words above the roar of wind, the continual claps of thunder and the creaking of the wagon.
Not that she needed to hear the words to know. Abigail deserves better. She’ll marry an important man in Oregon.
Abby closed her eyes. Maybe this time Ben would stand up for her.
The wagon shifted, the canvas opened enough to allow Mother to crawl inside.
“What did you say to him?” Abby demanded.
“The whole camp could see you kissing him. What kind of conduct is that for a young woman who plans to marry another? If word of this follows us to Oregon, why, I don’t know what a proper young man would think.”
“Maybe I don’t care.” Only one man had ever mattered to her. “What did Ben say?”
“He said he’d honor your plans.” Mother caught Abby’s arm and jerked her to within three inches of her. “Andrew would have made sure we were well taken care. It’s your fault he’s dead. I heard all about it from Isabelle’s mother. How you forced him to ride that horse to prove he could.”
Abby gasped. She hadn’t forced him. But she hadn’t tried to dissuade him, either. Her words of that day would live forever in her head. Andy’s the best rider around. He can ride any horse you have.
She’d smiled confidently at her twin brother.
Andy had laughed. “You got that right, sister. I’ve never seen a horse that could get the better of me. Bring your animal. I’ll show you.”
It had taken two grooms to bring the horse out. When Abby saw the wild roll of the animal’s eyes and felt the hatred from the horse, she’d gasped and reached out to stop Andy.
Mocking laughter at her side had made her drop her hand and keep her concerns to herself. Besides, Andy wasn’t stupid. If he thought the horse was too much, he would say so.
Too late, she realized he was as driven by the jeers of the others as she.
“Mother, can you ever forgive me?”
“Oh, I forgive you.” The words came far too easy. Abby knew they meant nothing.
“But I still expect you to make it up to me. Andrew would have never expected me to travel across this barren land.”
Abby stared at her mother, struggling against the accusation and demand in her gaze. Now. Now was her chance to tell Mother she didn’t want to marry a rich man. She didn’t want to continue to carry this load of guilt.
“Mother, wouldn’t you like me to marry for love?” Somehow the idea of marriage no longer frightened her. She’d seen enough in the weeks they’d traveled to know some men treated their wives well. Martin and Alvin, for example. And Ben? Would she be willing to risk her future happiness on it? Not that he’d asked. Even more importantly, not that Mother had released her from her foolish promise. Perhaps she would now. Please, God, change her mind.
Mother snorted. “It’s just as easy to love a rich man as a poor one.”
Abby rolled her head back and forth. Frank had proven that to be a lie.
Mother caught Abby’s chin to still the movement. “Abigail, you listen to me and you listen good. You owe me for taking him from me and you will pay by marrying a man who can help this family.”
“Mother.” The word whispered from Abby’s stiff lips. “Don’t you care about my happiness?” Don’t you love me?
“You lost the chance to pursue your own selfish desires when you let Andrew die. Now I’ll hear no more about this.” She shifted her back toward Abby and leaned against the pile of bedding.
At that moment, the skies opened and dumped rain on the miserable occupants of the wagon. The rain pounded at them. It blew through every crack, it dripped from the not-so-waterproof canvas.
Mother grabbed an oilcloth and huddled under it determined to keep as dry as possible while hating every minute of the journey.
And hating her own daughter?
Abby made no attempt to keep dry. She couldn’t be more miserable if she tried. Her mother intended to continue to control her. Was there no escape?
She held on to one faint hope. If Ben were to say something to indicate his kiss had meant for him what it did for her, Abby would find the courage to break free of her mother’s control. She’d fulfill her promise and responsibility some way other than marrying a man of her mother’s choosing.
* * *
Ben stared after Mrs. Bingham. Had she really said all those things?
You’ll never be good enough for my daughter. Don’t get the idea that she’s spending time with you on this journey because she cares. You’re just a convenience. When we get to Oregon, her plans are much bigger than a man without enough money to buy a decent hat.
His hand had gone to his head at those words. Where was his hat? It must have blown away at some point and he hadn’t noticed. Never mind. A hat did not indicate a man’s worth.
What concerned him was the thought that Abby was only using him. Rachel worried that might be the case.
How dare you kiss her? And in full view of the entire wagon train. Just goes to show what kind of man you are. No concern for propriety.
I’m sorry. I was simply grateful she was okay. Not that he regretted the kiss. Not for one second. He knew he wasn’t mistaken in believing she welcomed it. Practically begged for more. His heart had danced against his ribs at the memory, but soon plopped back in dejection as Mrs. Bingham continued.
Leave Abigail alone. I don’t want to see you with her again.
He’d stiffened at those words. Isn’t that for Abby to decide?
Make no mistake. She’ll do what’s best for her.
She’d done what Mrs. Bingham thought best for her when she married Frank and the man had hurt her over and over. He couldn’t believe that Abby’s parents hadn’t been at least a little aware of the situation. Was Mrs. Bingham really so uncaring it didn’t matter if the situation was repeated?
Don’t you want her to be happy? His words had been low but surely she’d heard the challenge in them.
Mrs. Bingham snorted. You could never make her happy. You have nothing for her. She’d climbed into the Bingham wagon, effectively dismissing Ben.
He drew in a shuddering breath. She was wrong. He did have something to offer—his heart, his care, his protection. But perhaps that would never be enough. He certainly couldn’t provide her with a mansion in which to live, nor servants to do her biding.
Rain slanted against him and he trotted over to the wagon. Rachel and Emma huddled inside. He would not crowd them further and grabbed his slicker and shrugged into it. He hunkered down beside the wagon, which offered no shelter. There’d be no sleeping until the rain ended.
But he wouldn’t have slept much anyway as he mulled over Mrs. Bingham’s words.
Did Abby agree with her mother?
He wouldn’t believe it unless he heard it from her own lips.
The rain battered all night. At some point, Ben pulled a waterproof sheet over him and dozed against the wheel.
Toward morning, the clouds blew away. The wind s
ettled down to the constant breeze to which they’d grown accustomed. Ben rose, stiff in every joint.
He glanced toward the Bingham wagon. Mrs. Bingham peeked through the opening and her glare stung. He would not turn away though and finally she withdrew.
He waited a couple of minutes, but Abby did not come out and he must check on how the others had fared.
Sam, Miles, James and the other committeemen joined him and they made their way to a wrecked wagon.
“Looks like it was struck by lightning.” James observed.
The smell of sulfur and burnt wood grew stronger as they neared.
Ben poked his head into the wagon and met the wide eyes of a woman. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer.
“Are you hurt?”
She blinked and shook her head. Her gaze darted past him and she shuddered.
“Ben,” James called. “Come here.”
He knew by the sound in James’s voice that he wouldn’t like what he saw and hurried around the wreckage of the wagon.
A man lay stretched out, partially hidden by the torn canvas. Sam bent over him and shook his head.
“Struck by lightning.” Sam rose. “Best we check and see who else has been affected.”
“What about this woman?”
People crowded about. “She can travel with us,” someone said.
“We’ll salvage what we can of the wagon,” Clarence offered. For the first time Ben felt a thread of respect for the young man.
Rev. Pettygrove and his wife hurried over. “We’ll take care of the details.” He lowered his voice. “The burial and all. I’ll ask Mrs. Black to play her mandolin and sing. It will provide a touch of comfort.”
Sam moved on with the committeemen accompanying him. They found two dead oxen.
“We got off better than I feared,” Sam announced. “Let’s get organized and move.” He strode away. The men dug a hurried grave, waited for Rev. Pettygrove to say a few words then dispersed to their various directions for breakfast.
At seven, the bugle sounded and the wagons fought the mud to start rolling. The Bingham wagon struggled to pull out of the mire.
Ben jumped down to lend his assistance. But Mrs. Bingham saw him. “Leave us alone,” she murmured.
Mr. Bingham, yelling at the oxen to move, didn’t hear and Abby walking a few yards away never even bothered to look his direction.
He backed off and let Martin and a couple other men help. He stood rooted to the spot, watching Abby march on, her head down. Was she purposely ignoring him or avoiding puddles in the grass?
Slowly her head came up and she turned toward him. Her gaze hit him like a bolt of lightning. Full of power. And regret? Regret over her mother’s words.
His heart slowed. Or regret over her choice to stop spending time with him?
Someone bumped into her. She turned her attention back to the trail.
He jumped to his horse and rode down the line of wagons. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t warned himself of the possibility since the first. But not until she said something would he accept it.
They pulled through mud for most of the morning giving Ben plenty to occupy him away from the Hewitt wagon which trundled after the Bingham wagon. Nevertheless, as he helped get wagons out of mud holes he had only to glance at the column of walkers to see Abby.
At the nooning, he hurriedly grabbed a bite of dinner then trotted away to check on those who had lost oxen and the woman who had lost her husband. Yes, he had responsibilities. But there was more to his hurry than that.
Mrs. Bingham had always before remained on her hard chair, never joining the others. Until today. She sat on a quilt close to the fire. Within reach of Abby. And she gave Ben a beady-eyed glare every time his gaze went that direction.
Ben couldn’t abide her presence any longer than he must.
He had reached the end of the train when the bugle sounded to travel again and he remained there for some time. Bit by bit he rode forward. He tied his horse to the back of the wagon and climbed aboard.
Emma drove the oxen.
He took the reins from her. “Do you want to get down and walk?”
“Thanks.” She joined the other women.
He sat alone with his thoughts, his gaze often slicing toward Abby. His insides were tight, awaiting a chance for her to speak her opinion of her mother’s decision on her behalf.
* * *
Abby followed Sally and the Hewitt sisters without paying any attention to their surroundings. What had Mother said to Ben? Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been more quelling than the words she’d spoken to Abby.
How was she to be free of her promise, her obligation, when Mother made it clear what her expectations were? Marry someone with prospects. The prospects being society and the appearance of riches. Did she have the courage to defy her mother? How could she when she’d given a promise and when God had commanded her to honor her parents?
Please, God. Give me a way out.
As they trudged along, she had lots of time to consider how she could extricate herself from her promise. But none offered a solution.
She saw little of Ben throughout the day as he was kept busy with his duties.
The muddy trail caused an axle to break on one of the wagons and he stayed back to help the man repair it. Then there was a ruckus because someone was missing a valuable skinning knife and had accused his neighbor of stealing it, so Ben had to hurry through the noon meal and join the other committeemen in rendering a verdict of the case. She wondered if the man who robbed the safe on the day of their departure was on the train with them. But if he had $15,000 why would he want a knife?
That night Ben was one of the sentinels guarding the animals so he wouldn’t be asking her to walk with him.
Mother watched her like a hawk and sat close, constantly demanding Abby’s attention. Still, if circumstances were different and he’d asked her to walk with him, would she have said yes? She wished she knew the answer but she felt caught between duty and longing, between guilt and freedom. For a time freedom had meant the ability to choose to live a life on her own. Now she wanted the right to choose anything she wanted.
The next day proved hot and dusty. Not a hint of the mud of the previous day. The wind blew incessantly. Mother complained continually. The mosquitoes bit every inch of exposed skin. But all those vexations paled in comparison to the turmoil in Abby’s heart.
They nooned on a level spot along the South Platte. To their left the banks rose to the high grounds.
Abby was heating the beans when she noticed Sally’s milk can rattling on the side of the wagon. She stared. It wasn’t possible. The wagon stood still.
“That’s odd,” Rachel said. “And I feel it in my feet. Is it an earthquake?”
“Buffalo stampede.” Mr. Weston rode up in a lather.
The committeemen rushed over to Miles Cavanaugh’s wagon, but Sam’s words reached most of the travelers. “We have to act fast.”
Grant Tucker trotted up to the group of men. Sam grabbed him. “Get your brother and head for the hill. Shoot the biggest bull and don’t stop shooting until they turn. Do you understand? Don’t stop until they turn.”
Sam’s voice filled Abby with fear and she clutched Rachel’s hand.
“Mother, get in the wagon and stay there.”
Mother looked ready to protest such a sharp order then looked at her vibrating feet and scurried inside. The wagon might not be enough protection in face of a stampede of animals up to two thousand pounds each, but there was nothing else to offer.
Emma hurried to join them and grabbed Rachel’s other hand.
“You, you and you.” Sam pointed to three men. “Go start a fire on the other side of the ridge.” Another group ran for spades to tear up the grass
behind the fire line to keep the flames from spreading down to the wagons.
Ben mounted his horse and, along with a couple other men, rode up the ridge.
“Where is he going?” Rachel’s grip tightened. Or was it Abby who squeezed so hard?
“God, keep our brother safe,” Emma whispered.
Abby silently echoed the prayer.
Then he rode out of sight straight into the face of the stampede.
She crumpled to the ground, pulled her knees close. She buried her head in her hands.
Was that the last time she’d see him?
Chapter Seventeen
Ben crested the ridge. A black sea surged toward him as far as he could see, shooting up a huge cloud of dust. He had a handful of cotton rags. He couldn’t even say where they came from. Only that someone had pressed them into his hand. He knew what he must do, though.
Turn those beasts before they crested the ridge. Otherwise they’d crush the wagons into kindling. And the people—?
He couldn’t think of what would happen. “Please, God, make ’em turn. Make ’em turn.” He shouted the words but no one would hear him above the thundering stampede.
He rubbed a rag in powder and shot it out the musket. The flaming rag lit up the grass in front of the ridge where others created a fire line. Time and again he shot out a flaming flag.
“Please, God. Please, God.” The word came on each exhalation.
The animals surged forward, seemingly unaffected by the puny efforts of man. He glimpsed the pale, strained faces of those nearest him. Knew every one of them shared the same fear.
If the stampede reached the wagon train, there would be none of them getting to Oregon.
Then the black sea parted and the animals flowed past them on the right and left. He rode to the ridge to watch the animals thunder past the wagons. The two columns rejoined, plunged through the river and flowed across the plain.
Ben slouched forward in his saddle. Would his heartbeat ever return to normal?
Sam rode along the line of men. “It’s over. Go eat your dinner so we can move on. Travel is what we need to do.”