“What are we supposed to do while you’re looking for a good place to stop?” Walter questioned.
“Keep moving—following the ruts in the trail made by wagons that have gone before us.” Cole glanced at Cynthia and gave a nod. “You and your mother doin’ okay?”
“They’re fine,” Walter answered before Cynthia could open her mouth. “Even if they weren’t, it’s my business, not yours.”
“Walter, I’m sure Mr. Edwards is concerned for the welfare of everyone,” Mama intervened.
Cole gave a nod, reaching under his hat and pulling his fingers through the ends of his coal-black hair. He really was a good-looking young man. But then, so was Jack.
Walter said nothing, just gripped the reins a little tighter, making the veins on his hands stick out.
“I’ll tell Jack Simpson where I’m goin’, and then I’m off,” Cole said. He tipped his hat and rode quickly away.
They rode in silence for a while, until raindrops began to fall. Mama looked over at Walter and said, “I guess Mr. Edwards was right.”
Walter grunted.
Cynthia hid a smile behind her hand. For some reason, she was glad Cole had been right about the weather. No man should think he was always right. And Mama, she sure isn’t afraid to stand up to Walter. Maybe I ought to take a lesson from her.
Chapter 2
South fork of the Platte River
Dear Diary,
We’ve been on the trail a week already, but it feels more like a month to me. The rain we had awhile back caused our wagons to bog down in the mud. I feel like I’ll never be clean again, not to mention my poor dresses with mud-stained hems. What I wouldn’t give right now for a warm tub to soak in.
No sign of the bigger wagon train yet. I hope we’re not going the wrong way and will miss them. But Cole insists we’re on the right trail, so we have to trust him.
We take turns walking when we’re tired of sitting, and riding in the bumpy wagon when we’re tired of walking.
I feel sorry for Jack Simpson. His children are too young to drive the wagon and too little to walk very far without their legs giving out. Mama and I have begun taking turns riding in Jack’s wagon with the children, driving his team of oxen so Jack can walk awhile each day and stretch his legs. Little brown-haired Alan looks a lot like his father, and he certainly is a chatterbox. But Amelia doesn’t speak at all. Jack explained that she’s been like that since she witnessed her mother’s death. Poor little thing. I wonder if she’ll ever get her voice back. I’ve begun praying for her.
Cynthia stopped writing and looked up as Cole hollered that it was time to go. With regret, she put her journal away and joined her mother on the seat of their wagon. Every day on the trail seemed like the one before. They got up before daybreak, and while the men rounded up the livestock, the women cooked breakfast over an open fire. After the meal, it was time to head down the trail.
Some days they stopped to rest for an hour or two; then they’d continue on their journey until early evening. At night they pulled the wagons close together for protection. The men took care of the livestock, while the women cooked the evening meal. After they ate, they’d often gather around the fire to sing songs and tell stories. This helped pass the time and gave them a chance to get better acquainted. The women and children slept inside the wagons, but Cole, Jack, and Walter slept under the wagon or in a makeshift tent, depending on the weather. It made Cynthia feel safer, knowing they were out there where they could be alerted to danger.
Cynthia shivered. At least they hadn’t seen any Indians yet. If and when they did, she hoped they would be friendly natives and there’d be no trouble. From what Walter had been told, fewer people died from Indian attacks than from mishaps or illness along the way.
“What do you write in that book of yours?” Walter asked as he took up the reins.
“Oh, just the things we see and do on our daily journey,” Cynthia replied. “I’ve been journaling since I was fifteen.”
Walter shrugged. “If it makes you happy, it’s a good thing. Maybe someday you can read me what you’ve written about our trip.”
Cynthia cringed. Since she’d written about her lack of interest in Walter, she wasn’t about to let him know what was in her diary.
He leaned closer to Cynthia—so close she could feel his warm breath blowing gently on her cheek. “You look lovely this morning, my dear,” he whispered.
Her face heated. “I thank you for the compliment, but I certainly don’t feel lovely,” she said. “I feel dirty from all the trail dust, and even though I wash every evening and morning, I feel unkempt.”
“You’ll feel better once we get to California,” he said, letting go of the reins with one hand and clasping her hand. “After I get my new businesses going, you’ll be the finest dressed woman in all of California.”
Cynthia forced a smile. She didn’t care about being the finest-dressed woman. All she wanted was to be happily married and see that her mother’s needs were met. Cynthia wasn’t sure if she would be happy married to Walter, but at least Mama would be taken care of.
“Papa, I’m hungry,” Alan complained, squirming on the wooden seat beside his father.
Jack relaxed his hold on the reins, reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a piece of peppermint candy. “We won’t be stoppin’ to eat for a good while yet, so you can suck on this for now.” He handed it to Alan. “Just be careful to suck it slowly, and whatever ya do, don’t swallow the candy.”
Alan popped the candy in his mouth and grinned up at his dad. “Yum.”
Jack smiled and took another piece from his pocket. It was all he had left from what he’d purchased before they’d departed Independence. There was no doubt about it—his son had a sweet tooth. “You want this?” he asked, holding out the last piece of candy to Amelia.
She shook her head.
Jack couldn’t believe Amelia didn’t want a piece of candy. Was there nothing that could get through to his daughter? He wouldn’t force her to take the treat. He just needed to be patient and keep trying to get her to talk.
“Can I have the candy?” Alan asked, tugging on his father’s arm.
“Thought maybe I’d eat it,” Jack replied with a grin.
Alan’s bottom lip protruded. “Please, Papa. I’ll save it for later.”
Jack looked at Amelia again. “Are ya sure you don’t want the peppermint drop?”
She shook her head again.
“Is it okay if I give it to Alan?”
Amelia gave a slow nod.
Jack handed the candy to Alan.
“Can I drive the wagon?” Alan asked, looking up at Jack with expectancy.
Jack shook his head. “You’re not old enough for that yet, Son. But someday, when you’re a mite bigger, you’ll be helpin’ me and your uncle Dan on the cattle ranch.”
Alan’s eyes twinkled. “Can I ride a big horse and chase after cows?”
Jack chuckled. “I don’t know how big the horse will be, but yeah, you’ll be ridin’.”
Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Alan leaned his head against Jack’s arm and fell silent.
That evening, as everyone sat around the campfire after supper, Cole couldn’t help but notice the look of fatigue on the women’s faces. Particularly Cynthia’s and Mable’s. They’d walked a good deal of the day, while that high-and-mighty gentleman they were traveling with remained in the wagon.
“I don’t know about anyone else, but after that bland supper we just ate, I could use something sweet,” Walter spoke up. “Think I’ll head over to my wagon and get my jar of candy.”
“There was nothing wrong with the rabbit stew my sister fixed,” Cole was quick to say. “Maybe it didn’t measure up to the standards you’re used to, but it filled our bellies, and I thought it was right tasty.”
“I agree,” Jack spoke up. “And since I’m not much of a cook, I appreciate everything the ladies make for us.”
Cole looked at Walter, wonde
ring if he would apologize, but the snobbish man just rose to his feet and reached for Cynthia’s hand. “Come, take a walk with me. It’s a pleasant evening with a star-studded sky, and we shouldn’t waste it.”
Like an obedient child, Cynthia went with Walter. As they strolled, arm-in-arm, Cole couldn’t help but frown. Sure can’t see what that pretty woman sees in such a stuffy man.
Cynthia and Walter walked for a bit, making small talk, but as they headed toward Walter’s wagon, he stopped, pulled out his gold pocket watch, and checked the time. Just as he was putting the watch back in his pocket, Cynthia caught sight of little Alan peeking into the back of the wagon. Walter must have seen him, too, for his face turned red as he shouted, “What do you think you’re doing, boy?”
Alan jumped. “N–nothin’. Just wanted to see what ya got there.”
“Nothing that pertains to you.” Walter gave the boy a little push. “Now go on … scat!”
Alan glanced up at Cynthia with a pathetic expression then darted off toward the others still gathered around the campfire.
“That wasn’t a nice way to speak to the boy,” Cynthia said, looking at Walter. “I’m sure you hurt his feelings.”
“Well, he shouldn’t have been snooping around my wagon. The boy’s father ought to keep a closer eye on him.”
Cynthia watched as Walter peered into the back of the wagon, presumably making sure nothing was missing. She sighed. “I’m sure Alan meant no harm. He was no doubt curious about your load of supplies. Little boys are like that, you know. Surely you can remember those days when you were an inquisitive child.”
Walter folded his arms and huffed, “More to the point, he was probably looking to steal something from me.”
“I doubt that. I mean, what do you have that a little boy would want to take?”
Walter shrugged, pulling on the lapels of his jacket. He took out his pocket watch once more to check the time. “It could be anything. A child like that with no mother to teach him right from wrong could take things just for the fun of stealing. But everything seems to be in place. That rascal is lucky this time.”
Cynthia didn’t argue with Walter. It was obvious that he had made up his mind. She did wonder, though, what kind of father he would make. Would he be so strict with their children that they wouldn’t have any fun? Worse yet, would his harsh tone and expectations cause them to be afraid? Was Walter Prentice the kind of man she should marry? She’d noticed that he did do some peculiar things, like just now, checking the time, when he’d looked at it only moments ago. Perhaps it was something he did without thinking.
Cynthia glanced back at the campfire, where Mama sat with the others. I have to marry Walter, she told herself. If I don’t, Mama will be disappointed. And what would become of us when we reached California? With no money of our own, we’d be on the streets, begging for food. She looked up at Walter and forced a smile. Does he love me, or does he want to marry me for some other reason?
Chapter 3
Dear Diary,
Three more weeks have passed, and so far we haven’t incurred any serious problems along the way. We saw a band of Indians the other day. Fortunately, they followed us for only a few miles, watching from a ridge a good distance away, but they made no move to bother us, which was an answer to prayer.
Cole told us a few stories as we sat around the campfire last night, about things he’d heard that a few of the Indian tribes had done to some of the earlier pioneers. Horses and food had been stolen. Some people had been killed trying to protect their belongings. I pray every day that God will send His guardian angels to watch over us and take us safely to our destination.
There is still no sign of the wagon train that went ahead of us, and I’m worried. After this much time, we should have caught up to them. Of course, we have been moving rather slowly. Can our three bumpy wagons make it to California with Cole, an inexperienced guide, leading the way?
When Cole rode up to their wagon and said it was time to get the wagons moving, Cynthia stopped writing and slipped her journal into her reticule. “You holdin’ up okay?” he asked.
She smiled. “I’m doing fine.”
“What about you?” Cole asked, looking at Cynthia’s mother, sitting beside Cynthia on the wagon bench.
Mama sighed while fanning her face with her hand. “If it weren’t so hot, I’d be doing a lot better.”
Cole lifted the brim of his hat and wiped his wet forehead. “You’re right. It is kinda warm, but it’s bound to get hotter in the days to come. Just be sure to keep that sunbonnet on your head.”
Mama folded her arms and scowled at Cole. “Of course I’ll wear my bonnet. I’m not addle-brained, you know.”
“Never said you were,” Cole shot back as he got down from his horse. “Noticed the lid on your water barrel is about ready to fall off.” After adjusting the lid and making sure the water keg was tied securely to their wagon, he climbed back on the horse. “Water is precious out here on the trail, so make sure someone in your party checks it before we head out each morning.”
“Thank you for letting us know.” Cynthia smiled when Cole tipped his hat before riding away.
“That man thinks he knows everything,” Mama complained. “It’s not like he’s a real wagon train leader, after all.”
Sometimes Mama speaks her mind a little too much, Cynthia thought. And I wish she could be a little nicer about it. She decided to let the matter go. The last thing she needed was an argument with Mama today. Truth was, Cynthia’s mother had always been quite outspoken, but since Papa died, Mama could be a bit too vocal at times. Maybe she was angry with Papa for leaving them virtually penniless and struggling to pay the bills on the meager amount she made with a few boarders. Cynthia couldn’t blame her for that but felt certain Papa hadn’t made poor business decisions on purpose.
“What was Cole complaining about now?” Walter asked, coming from inside the wagon and taking a seat on the bench.
“He said we’d better make sure the water barrel is secure and the lid’s on tight before we head out each morning,” Cynthia answered.
Walter grunted. “That man sure likes to bark out orders.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Cynthia’s mother agreed.
Cynthia rolled her eyes. It seemed that Walter just liked to complain, and Mama said whatever she thought he wanted to hear. Is she worried that if she doesn’t agree with Walter on every little thing, he might not marry me?
“Are you two ladies ready for another boring, tiring day?” Walter asked, taking up the reins.
Cynthia nodded. “Every day sort of blends into the next, doesn’t it?”
Walter reached over and gently patted her hand. “It will be worth it when we reach the Promised Land, my dear.”
Promised Land? Cynthia mentally questioned. The Bible says the Israelites were headed to the Promised Land, but it took them years and years to get there. I hope our journey takes only months, not years. At the rate we’re going, we’ll never make it there before Christmas.
Around noon that day, their travels were halted when a wheel came off Jack’s wagon. “Oh, great,” Jack mumbled. “One more thing to slow us down.” He took the children down from the wagon and told them to stay close while he fixed the wheel. He felt bad about holding the other wagons up, but there was no other choice.
“I’ll give you a hand with that,” Cole said, stepping up to Jack after securing his horse.
“Thanks, I could use another set of hands.”
Cole looked over at Walter, standing beside his wagon, checking his watch. “Guess we won’t be getting any help from him today,” he said with a grunt.
“That’s okay,” Jack responded. “I’m sure we can manage without his help. From what I’ve seen of Walter so far, he’d probably tell us we were doing it wrong, and that his way was better. Not that he would know much about putting a wagon wheel on.”
“Ya got that right. Mr. Fancy Pants would probably just get in the way.” Cole mo
tioned to Cynthia, walking beside Virginia, with little Amelia between them. “I’ll bet either one of those ladies would be more help fixing your wheel than Walter.”
Jack smiled. Cole’s sister might try to tackle something like that, but he couldn’t picture the pretty little gal from New York lying on the ground, attempting to get the wheel put back in place. Cynthia had other qualities, though—besides her beauty. Since the women took turns fixing their meals, Jack had quickly discovered that Cynthia was quite a good cook. She was also good with his children. Amelia, although she still hadn’t spoken to anyone, seemed to light up whenever Cynthia talked to her, and that gave Jack some hope.
“Do you need any tools?” Cole asked.
“Nope. Think I have everything I need,” Jack responded, going to the box where he had them stored.
Before turning his attention back to the task at hand, Jack glanced around for his son. He figured the boy would be near his sister, but Alan was nowhere to be seen.
“Have you seen my son?” Jack called to the women.
“Not since you lifted him down from the wagon,” Virginia responded.
With deep concern, Jack cupped his hands around his mouth and called, “Alan! Alan!”
No response.
A sense of panic welled in Jack’s chest. If Alan had wandered away from camp, he could become lost or get hurt.
“If ya want to go look for your boy, I’ll take care of the wheel,” Cole offered.
Jack gave a nod. “Think I’d better check in all the wagons first. If Alan’s not there, then I’ll be heading into the woods to look for him.”
Chapter 4
The WESTWARD Christmas BRIDES COLLECTION: 9 Historical Romances Answer the Call of the American West Page 2