To retaliate, she splashed water at them in a big plume. A playful water fight erupted, and the tension dissolved into giggles. Soon, Glory was having a great time, feeling fully accepted into the group for the first time.
By the time Glory climbed out of the stream, tired but clean, the girls had persuaded her to strip off her dirty clothes, scrub from top to bottom, and rub her hair with soap until it squeaked.
Ruth had fetched a fresh outfit for Glory, and when Glory walked into camp, she looked like a different girl. Eyes aglow, freshly scrubbed hair falling to her waist—she was a sight to behold. Jackson ventured a glance from the far side of the wagon but kept his distance. He planned to give her overnight to cool off. Yet he had to smile at the transformation.
Glory looked lovely wearing one of Patience’s dresses, her skin radiant and glowing, her green eyes dancing as she laughed. Her mass of cinnamon-colored hair glistened as Mary carefully brushed it dry in the firelight. As he stared at her, something stirred in him—something he didn’t care to identify.
That night Glory noticed that the other girls moved their bedrolls closer to hers. When the light went out, she rolled to her side and whispered. “I have to admit,” she began, compelled to show her appreciation, “this is the best I’ve felt since Poppy died.”
“Tell us about Poppy,” Mary urged gently.
“Well, he was the closest thing I had to a family.”
“Was he like a real daddy?” Patience spoke in hushed tones.
“Poppy was good as gold to me, raised me from a youngster like I was his own. Fed me, taught me to hunt and fish, taught me everything he knew.”
“That’s nice,” Mary said wistfully. “I always wanted to be adopted by a nice couple.”
“Not me,” Harper declared. “I knew better. Knew better than to wait around for somebody to pick me out like a cur in a litter. All I ever wanted was for folks to leave me alone.”
It was the most Glory had ever heard Harper say at one time; there was a pent-up force behind her words, like a sudden thunderstorm. Glory shook her head in the darkness. “Poppy told me he found me in the road, figured I’d fallen off a wagon when the wagon train had passed through on their way west. Said he waited at that very spot for days, in case my family came back to find me. He figured they’d have come if they could.”
“He just took you home to raise by himself?” Ruth asked with a trace of amazement.
“Said he had a wife once, but she died giving birth. Baby died too. After that, he lived alone because he said no one could match her. I miss Poppy a lot, but it’s better now.” Better now that she felt a kinship with these girls, safe under the protection of Mr. Lincoln.
“So,” Harper hissed, “you fell off a wagon headed west, and now you’re in another one headed west.”
“Guess I’m meant to ride west in a wagon,” Glory said with a sigh.
“Well, try not to fall out this time,” Patience whispered so earnestly that the rest of them broke into giggles.
“Pipe down, ladies,” a gruff voice reprimanded from the far side of the wagon. “Miles to make up tomorrow. Get your rest.”
The group fell silent, and Glory snuggled down under her fresh-smelling blanket. As she closed her eyes, she reached out to capture Mary’s hand in hers and give it a reassuring squeeze.
“Don’t worry, Mary. I know your ma loved you. And even if she didn’t, I do.”
The pleasant aroma of castile soap still clung to her clothing when Glory opened her eyes the next morning. Rolling to her side, she stared at Mary, who slept opposite her. Sighing, Glory realized that she’d gotten a mite upset last night—wasn’t used to being waylaid like a common criminal. A bath this time of year! Seemed a waste of good soap and water. Still, she had to admit it felt good to have the dirt off.
An unexpected thought popped into her mind. Had Jackson noticed? Guess he would have since he was partly responsible for the ambush. He’d said she stank. The words still made her cheeks burn. Well, someone could have told her something earlier if she smelled all that bad! She didn’t powder herself or wash with soap until her skin looked plumb raw like the other girls. She sniffed the air and decided they’d expect her to smell like this all of the time. Well, if it was so all-fired important, then she’d bathe every night like the rest of them and hope her skin didn’t wear out.
Mary opened her eyes and returned Glory’s sleepy smile. “Good morning.”
The sun was not yet up. Birds chattered noisily overhead in tree branches as daybreak rose over the camp. Glory shut her eyes and savored the smell of strong coffee perking. A smile touched the corners of her mouth. Jackson was up a full half hour ahead of the others every day. It was nice to wake to the sound of another person.
But Jackson and coffee weren’t the only things on her mind this morning. These were her friends, and she was putting them in the way of danger. She hadn’t mentioned Amos because until now there’d been no need to tell them about Amos or the man she’d killed in Squatter’s Bend. Now she was part of their group—a real part—and being part of someone or something meant you had to be honest. You had to share.
She wasn’t prone to lying. Poppy wouldn’t have it, but Glory could stretch the truth as well as anybody. Didn’t do it all that often, but she could when she needed to. However, this wasn’t the time for fibs. It was the time for truthfulness, painful as it might be. Jackson and the girls needed to know what she’d done.
She shivered deeper into the blanket, trembling when the voice that haunted her day and night echoed inside her mind. “You killed Charlie! You killed Charlie Gulch!” She’d never meant to kill anyone—wouldn’t kill anyone unless she saw no other way out, and she hadn’t seen another way out that night.
“Penny for your thoughts.” Glory opened her eyes to see Mary still smiling at her opposite the fire.
“They’re not good ones.” The others were still sleeping, oblivious to the girls’ softly spoken conversation. Glory could hear Jackson moving around the wagon, checking the harness for the long day’s travel. Her heart ached for what she was about to do.
Would Lily and Mary hate her once she told them the truth? Seemed like they would. Killing was wrong, no matter how a person tried to excuse it.
Lily, awake now, too, reached for Glory’s hand. “What’s wrong? You look sad this morning. Are you still mad about the bath? Because you really need—”
“I killed a man.”
The dazed silence was as loud as a gunshot.
Glory stared at the crackling fire, waiting. Apparently Lily and Mary were trying to think of a response.
“Did you hear me?”
“You said you … killed a man,” Mary repeated.
“I did … and I stole money from Poppy’s brother—leastways he thinks I did.” Her words tumbled one over the other now. “I didn’t steal that gold, because Poppy told me that if anything was to ever happen to him, I was to take the money—it was supposed to be mine.” Glory rolled to her side, grasping Mary’s hand. “I’m scared, Mary. I’m scared that Amos is following me and will take the gold. And the man I killed? That wasn’t my fault, honest. He and his friend was tormenting me, saying awful things, wanting to do awful things, and I spooked. Before I knew it, I’d hit him.”
“You killed Charlie! You killed Charlie Gulch! You’ll hang for this!”
Lily, wide-awake now, with eyes as wide as saucers, pressed a hand to her mouth. “When? When did this happen?”
“The second night I stayed in Squatter’s Bend.”
“Oh, dear.” Daylight filtered through the camp. The girls lay in the stillness, Mary holding Glory’s hand.
“Do you hate me?”
“Hate you? Goodness, no.” Mary squeezed her hand reassuringly. “I know you’d never kill anyone unless you felt you had to. The Good Book tells us not to kill—”
“I wouldn’t, honest, Mary.” Glory’s voice came out in a shaky whisper. “Honest. What should I do?”
The
girls thought about it for a long while. Finally Lily said, “I guess you’d better tell Jackson.”
Oh, she hated to have to tell Jackson. “Isn’t it enough that the two of you know? You can help me keep watch for Amos and the dead man’s friend. If we’re lucky, they’ll not catch up with us.”
“They’ll catch up with us,” Lily predicted. “If Amos lives in these parts, he’ll ask around and discover you hooked up with us. If the other man is behind us, he’ll catch up too. You don’t have a choice really. You have to tell Jackson. He’ll know what to do.”
Glory felt like bawling like a baby. New friends. She’d not have a one after today. When the others found out that she’d stolen and killed, they would leave her beside the road and not look back. And who could blame them? Loneliness washed over her already, and she held back bitter tears.
“I don’t want to tell him. He’ll make me leave.”
“No, he won’t. He can be gruff at times, but he’s fair, Glory. You tell him what happened and ask him to help you.”
She’d sooner walk over hot coals barefoot, but she knew Lily was right. She had to tell Jackson; it was the only fair thing to do. “All right. I’ll tell him first thing this morning.”
The promise was a hard one to keep. During breakfast she watched the others laughing, having a good time, even putting up with Harper’s bad mood in a charitable way. The sun rose, hot as a new-formed blister. The girls broke camp while Jackson hitched the team.
Lily sent her supportive glances, but Glory hung back, reluctant to destroy the only remaining shred of her newfound security. Still, there came a time when she couldn’t put it off any longer.
“Mr. Lincoln.”
Jackson glanced up from tightening a harness strap. Freshly shaven, wearing a blue broadcloth shirt that matched the color of his eyes, he looked so confident, as if he had the world by its tail. She’d be grateful for a little of his confidence this morning.
“Shouldn’t you be helping the others break camp?” he asked.
“We’re done.” She shuffled closer, eyeing the oxen. “Fine team.”
“Yes, they’re good animals.” He went about his business, glancing up a moment later. “Did you want something, Glory?”
“I killed a man.”
It came out mighty harsh-sounding, even to her ears. She’d rehearsed more tactful versions, but somehow they all came out the same. She’d killed a man. No way to sugarcoat it.
“And a man thinks I stole money.”
Jackson’s face drained of color. She’d known that it would. Could have bet on it, but Poppy didn’t hold with wagering either. She’d been nothing but a thorn in Jackson Lincoln’s side since they’d met up, and she’d just made it worse—lots worse.
Silence built. He stood there, leather harness in hand, staring at her, probably trying to figure a way to shoot her and get away with it.
“Well … aren’t you going to say anything?”
“You killed a man and stole his money.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that.” She explained what she’d done as simply as she could, if murder could ever be considered simple.
“Are you sure the man was dead?”
“You killed Charlie! You killed Charlie Gulch!”
“Yes, sir, he was dead.” When she saw resentment and then anger cross his rugged features, she sighed. “I’ll get my things and be out of your way.” She turned to step to the back of the wagon when his gruff voice stopped her.
“The way I see it, you didn’t steal the money. Your guardian gave it to you, so put Amos out of your mind. We can deal with him. However, killing is a serious thing. If the man threatened you, you had a right to defend yourself. If you shot him point-blank without a reason, that’s a different story.”
Glory took a step toward him. “I didn’t shoot him! I hit him. Him and that other man was up to no good; that’s the only reason I hit him!”
“That may be, but you should have gone to the sheriff and reported the incident.”
“I was scared. All I could think about was getting out of that horrible town.” If she never saw Squatter’s Bend again, it would be too soon for her. And truthfully, all she’d thought about that fearful night was getting back to Jackson and the girls.
It wasn’t right, but that’s what she’d done, and now she’d have to pay for her behavior. She should have gone to the sheriff and tried to explain. Maybe he would have taken her side, and maybe not. Either way, she wouldn’t have the killing hanging over her right now, choking her like a heavy rope.
Jackson was right; the money was hers, no matter what Amos claimed. But had she been honest from the beginning, she might have been spared the frustration evident in Jackson’s eyes right now.
She faced him, lifting her chin. “Do you want me to leave?”
He viewed her somberly. “Do you want to leave?”
No, she didn’t want to leave. She’d do most anything to stay, to be a part of their group on the long journey west. But she wouldn’t cause him any more trouble, even if that meant she’d be on her own again.
“I’d … be beholden if you’d let me stay.” The admission hurt, but that’s the way she felt.
Stepping back to the animals, he laced a leather strap through a brass ring. “Seems only fair that I’d talk it over with the girls. We’ll all be affected by your decision.”
Nodding, Glory stepped aside. “Seems only fair. I’ll wait right here.”
She watched the group huddle for a short meeting. The disdain in Harper’s tone clearly carried over the other voices, and Glory’s heart sank. They didn’t want her to stay. They didn’t want to be peering over their shoulders, running from a crazy so-called uncle, from a man seeking revenge for a friend, maybe even from a lawman or a posse.
Quietly she eased toward the wagon and reached inside to fumble for her pack and bedroll. Might as well go ahead and leave, make it easier on everybody. Tears welled in her eyes, temporarily blinding her. Didn’t seem fair. Charlie Gulch had intended to hurt her; she’d had no choice but to defend herself. And Poppy told her she was to take the money if anything happened to him. Well, something happened to him and to her, too. Something neither one could stop.
Lily caught sight of Glory as she turned from the group, and she shouted, “Glory! Wait!” Breaking from the huddle, she ran to meet her. “You can stay! Everyone agreed that we want to help you.”
A smile broke across Glory’s face. “They did!”
“Of course. You’re ours now.” Lily draped an arm around her.
The other girls gathered around, adding their support. Even Harper gruffly conceded that she could stay as long as she kept out of her way. Glory didn’t care; she’d keep out of everybody’s way for the entire trip, just so long as she didn’t have to be alone. Mary and Patience hugged her, and Lily patted her back. When she saw Jackson watching the exchange, she broke away and cautiously approached him. “I won’t be any more trouble,” she promised.
He nodded, his demeanor more sober than she’d ever seen it. “You keep your eyes out for trouble.”
“I will, sir.” She’d watch harder than she’d ever watched. She wouldn’t cause him a lick more of trouble.
“Jackson. How many times do I have to tell you? It’s Jackson.” He glanced up, giving her a grin that melted her heart.
“Yes, sir. Jackson.” The name suddenly felt right on her tongue.
He winked at her, then stepped around the front of the oxen. “Girls! We’re wasting daylight!”
And as easy as that, Glory put her pack back into the wagon and prepared to walk the ten miles of travel that day with Jackson.
Chapter Eight
The wagon traveled across level prairie until it passed Big Turkey Creek three and a half miles up the trail. The rest of the day the Arkansas River Valley was in sight. The frequent rains left pools of water along the road. Late afternoon, Jackson spotted a wagon in a clearing up ahead and slowed the team. It was too early to stop for
the night, but the girls would enjoy sharing supper with company.
Observing no activity around the camp as he drew near made Jackson uneasy. Reining in the team, he assessed the area: no one in sight, no animals, campfire in ashes, belongings scattered. Dread replaced the uneasy feeling.
“Hello,” he shouted. “Anyone here?”
Ruth sat beside him on the wagon seat; the other girls peered from behind the curtain, trying to get a look.
“Let’s go say hello,” Ruth suggested. “They can’t be far.”
“Stay here.” Jackson turned on the seat, his glance taking in every curious face behind him. “All of you,” he added firmly. “I’ll have a look.”
He sprang lithely to the ground and slowly approached the campfire. Squatting beside the ashes, he passed his hands inches above the remains. Cold. When he straightened, he noticed the dishes and four bedrolls spread out around the camp. “Hello,” he called again and waited—no response, the silence eerie.
Unable to see anything around the others, Glory raised the side canvas a few inches. “Hey,” she whispered, “I can help—”
Jackson lifted his hand to silence her without turning around. His deliberate manner stopped her midsentence, but she and the other girls continued to squirm for a vantage point from inside their wagon. No doubt the prospect of meeting other travelers, maybe young people their age, filled the girls with anticipation.
Jackson moved to the back of the deserted wagon and took a deep breath before lifting the flap. Sunlight spilled over his shoulder into the dark corners as his gaze moved over the faces inside—a man, a woman, between them a young boy and a small girl. All dead. Their bodies close, embracing each other.
He stepped back, dropping the flap as he turned and strode to the edge of the clearing. He released a breath and filled his lungs with fresh, cleansing air.
“Is something wrong?” Glory called.
He dropped his head briefly before he lifted his gaze. The women’s eyes were wide and inquisitive. Covering the uneven ground in efficient strides, he returned to stand beside his wagon. Glory drew back slightly at the look of despair on his face.
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