by Linda Ford
Sally unwrapped the baby in the cool predawn.
Abby slipped away, hopefully unnoticed. She stopped at her parents’ tent. “Mother, do you need help?” she whispered.
Father ducked out. “See if you can settle her down.”
Abby patted his arm. “You look tired.”
He nodded. “She fussed half the night.”
Abby sucked in steadying air and bent over to enter the tent.
Mother sat atop the mussed covers, her legs out in front of her. She had her corset on but looked about ready to cry as she struggled with her dress.
Abby’s heart went out to her. Mother had not welcomed this journey. She didn’t see the challenge as something to embrace. But now Abby saw just how difficult it was going to be for her. Mother was no longer young and had never been one to do physical work.
Abby dropped to her knees to assist. “Let me help you.” She eased the dress over Mother’s head and fastened the buttons. “You’ll get used to all this in no time.”
“I’ll never get used to it.” Mother brushed a blade of grass from her skirt. “It’s dirty and primitive.” She sniffed. “But I don’t intend to likewise be uncouth. Fix my hair and then fetch me some water so I can wash properly. And heavens, see that I get some proper food.”
Abby spoke soothingly as she did her mother’s hair. “Mother, how many times have you told me that a person must set their mind to do what needed to be done and then do it?” Of course, her mother had usually been talking about setting a proper table, or returning an unwelcome visit, but it surely applied here even more.
Mother sniffed. “About as many times as I told you if you made wise choices you wouldn’t have to live with unpleasant consequences.”
Abby chuckled softly, lest her mother fear she laughed at her. But it was amusing, ironic really, that this was the argument she’d used to convince Abby to marry Frank and the consequences had been horrible.
“This, I fear, is an unwise choice and the consequences will be most unpleasant.”
Abby ignored the dire tone of her mother’s words and managed not to shiver. If only Mother would stop making it sound as if they would regret this trip. She finished her mother’s hair. “Mother, the future beckons. We can make it as good or as awful as we choose.”
Abby meant to make the most of it. In Oregon, she would gain her freedom. Somehow she’d convince Mother to let her go so she could follow her heart.
She thought immediately of Ben. But that wasn’t what she had in mind. He was of her past and she meant to put her past—all of it—behind her and start fresh. Wouldn’t Mother be shocked if she knew the things Abby planned?
She crawled from the tent to get water for Mother.
Rachel frowned at her.
Abby looked about to see the reason. Sally tended a skillet of bacon with little Johnny perched on her hip. The baby sobbed softly. Emma checked the coffeepot. Abby knew from the aroma that it had boiled. Rachel stirred a pot of simmering cornmeal mush. A pitcher of milk perched nearby. Abby wondered who had milked the cow.
Abby’s heart sank. She should be helping. Her mother should be helping. Knowing her mother wouldn’t meant Abby should be doing enough for both of them. Instead, the others had prepared breakfast while Abby fussed over her mother.
It wouldn’t happen again. If she must tend Mother she’d do it before time to prepare food or make her mother wait until after the meal. Abby ducked her head lest anyone think she smiled because she’d arranged to miss breakfast. No, her amusement came from imagining Mother being told to wait to have her needs tended to.
Abby glanced about again. She didn’t know how to milk the cow, make the mush or most everything the others did. She vowed she’d learn just as she’d learn to ignore Ben, and the memories that came with his presence.
She looked about, didn’t see him and let out a sigh. Easier to ignore him when he wasn’t there.
Smiling at her private joke, she hurried to take the water to Mother, then rushed back to offer assistance to the other women. “I’ll wash up seeing as I was absent for preparing the meal.”
Sally patted her hand. “We work together as best we can.”
As best we can. At least Sally seemed to understand.
One glance at Rachel and Abby knew she wouldn’t be so accommodating.
“We all need to do our share.” Rachel’s words shot from her mouth.
Rachel would not hesitate to criticize Abby’s failures. Never mind. They’d all learn things on this journey. Even the efficient Miss Hewitt.
* * *
Ben stood outside the circle of wagons. He’d been there several minutes. Long enough to hear Abby talking to her mother. The future beckoned. What did she mean? Had she agreed to marry a rich man in Oregon?
He knew such arrangements weren’t uncommon. He had to look no further than the letter from Grayson for evidence. Grayson had suggested his widowed neighbor would be a good match for Emma. His three little girls needed a new mother. Emma had nodded when she read the letter. “I could look after them.” Emma could do most anything she set her mind to. She’d volunteered at the local orphanage for a time after their father’s death and had, according to all reports, been an excellent help with the children. Not that it surprised Ben.
Ben snickered as he recalled Rachel’s reaction. “You’ve spent five years nursing our father. Now you’re willing to play nursemaid to a bunch of little girls you don’t even know? Emma, when will you stop being so compliant?”
Emma had given one of her sweet, forgiving smiles. “I’m twenty-four years old. I’ve long ago given up hopes of romance. I’ll settle for safety and security.”
Ben wished he knew what to say to encourage his beautiful blonde sister.
Rachel had thrown her hands in the air. “I will never settle.”
Ben heard Abby speak again, bringing his thoughts back to the present. Did she have a suitor waiting for her in Oregon? Seems like it would explain why they were willing to cross the country.
Martin Littleton joined him. “Smells like breakfast is ready.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Bingham arrived and they joined the women around the campfire.
Ben stood, hat in hand. “I’ll ask the blessing this morning. Then why don’t we take turns doing it?”
The men nodded.
“Lord, we thank You for strength, for good weather, for good company and for good food. Keep us safe this day and to our journey’s end. Amen.”
The others echoed his amen as he sat between his sisters.
The coffee was hot and strong. The biscuits cold and dry. The cornmeal mush filling. The Littletons’ cow provided them with fresh milk. But the mood felt strained.
Mrs. Bingham perched on her upright chair and picked at the food. She uttered not a word, but her lengthy sighs said plenty.
Ben had overheard Rachel’s comment to Abby and knew she was annoyed. The last thing anyone on this journey needed was friction but there was little he could do about it without adding fuel to the fire. The women would have to sort things out among themselves.
The Littletons passed little Johnny back and forth between them and tried to calm his fussing.
“I simply don’t know what’s wrong with him.” Sally gave the group an apologetic glance. “He’s not normally like this.”
“Perhaps he’s ill,” Mrs. Bingham said as matter-of-factly as if she’d mentioned the weather and seemed not to be aware that she’d sent a shock wave around the circle.
Martin grabbed his son and pressed his hand to the little forehead. “He’s not fevered.”
Sally hovered over the pair. “If he’s sick— But Emma looked at his wound and said it was fine.”
Abby moved to Sally’s side and wrapped an arm around the woman’s shoulders. “So many changes are
hard to get used to. We’re all feeling it.” She sent a scolding look toward her mother. “He’ll adjust. We all will.”
Mollified, Sally sat back and held out her arms to take the baby. “You’re right, of course.”
Martin patted little Johnny’s back.
Ben couldn’t take his eyes off Abby. He remembered how kind she was to others back when they were friends. Why should he have thought marrying Frank would change that? But somehow he had.
Rachel nudged him in the ribs. And it made him aware of how long he’d been staring at Abby. He tipped his cup to his mouth for the last drops of coffee and bolted to his feet.
“Time to get ready to leave.”
The men brought in the oxen and yoked them to the wagon amid many shouts.
The women cleaned up the foodstuff and packed away the belongings. All but the youngest children ran about helping with the chores.
Ben prepared his own wagon. He’d let Rachel and Emma take turns driving it while he helped keep this company in order. He saddled his horse and rode from wagon to wagon until he was satisfied.
On the other side of the circle, Mr. Bingham tried unsuccessfully to get his oxen in order. Mrs. Bingham’s shrill voice reached Ben clear across the enclosure. The oxen stamped and tossed their heads. Between Mr. Bingham’s uncertainty and his wife’s yammering, they were about to have a wreck.
Martin had his hands full with his own animals so couldn’t lend his aid.
Ben spurred his horse into a gallop and reached the Binghams’ wagon. He leaped from his saddle and rushed to help with the animals.
“Easy there. Easy, big boy. There you go.” He calmed the animal and backed it into place. “The second animal is always harder to yoke into place than the first.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “And what’s your name, big fella?”
“That one’s Bright. His partner is Sunny. The other two are Buck and Liberty,” Abby answered.
Ben’s gaze bolted to the wagon where Abby sat on the seat, the reins clenched in her white-knuckled hands. Her face seemed rather pale. His heart melted at how frightened she must be with these big animals acting up. What had she said about facing changes? He’d venture a guess she’d never before had any dealings with thousand-pound oxen. They’d all adjust but some had more adjusting to do.
“Liberty? Isn’t that a little highfalutin compared to the others?”
She nodded. “Kind of thought so myself. But the man we bought him from said he was born on the fourth of July. What else was he to name him?”
“I guess it’s better than Bell.” His feeble attempt at humor was rewarded when she laughed.
“Buck and Bell has a certain ominous ring to it.”
He chuckled. “We don’t want any bucking around here.” He helped Mr. Bingham yoke the two remaining animals.
“I fear I’ll never get good at this,” the man murmured.
Mrs. Bingham poked her head out of the wagon. “I tried to tell you, you weren’t the sort to make this kind of journey.”
Mr. Bingham sighed softly. “We’re going.”
Ben patted Mr. Bingham’s shoulder. “You’ll catch on soon enough.”
He spared one more glance in Abby’s direction.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Her hazel eyes burned a trail through his thoughts.
Leading his horse, he strode away as fast as his legs would carry him. What was wrong with him that he couldn’t even look at the woman without his thoughts scrambling like an egg dropped on the ground? Her look had meant nothing but gratitude for his help.
He wasn’t about to pick up where they’d left off six years ago. A person could not undo the things that had been done. They couldn’t erase the words that had been spoken.
Only the future mattered and that lay in Oregon where he would join Grayson and the two of them would work together again as they had all Ben’s life. Like two oxen sharing the load.
He swung into his saddle and turned the horse toward the Hewitt wagon.
Emma and Rachel sat side by side. Rachel’s look was sharp with disapproval.
“Already she’s got you at her beck and call.”
Emma made a quieting motion with her hand. “Rachel, that’s not fair. Ben was only doing his duty as one of the committeemen.”
“I don’t see him helping anyone else.”
Which wasn’t true, but before Ben could defend himself, Rachel rushed on.
“I see it now. She’ll be all sweet with you while she needs your help, but once we get to Oregon, she’ll be off in search of better prospects.”
“Hush, Rachel.” Emma shook her head at Ben. “We all know she would have to search far and wide and still she’d not find anyone better than Ben.”
He smiled at his gentle sister. If only everyone thought the same.
“Emma’s right. I’m only doing my job.” His duty and fulfilling his responsibilities was all he had to cling to. Getting his family to Oregon safe and sound, assisting others on the wagon train, those were the sort of things that made him sit with his shoulders squared.
The bugle sounded to indicate it was time to move out. Ben sat astride his horse, urging each wagon into place. Soon the column was on the move and he leaned back, his heart at ease. This was what mattered—keeping things rolling.
Dust billowed up around each wagon wheel and filled the air. Those in the lead didn’t have to breathe in quite so much, but by the end of the column the dust was thick and choking. Soon the wagons fanned out to avoid each other’s dust. Still, those at the rear got more than their fair share.
Ben wiped his eyes as he rode past the final wagons but it did nothing to clear his vision.
Four wagons from the end, he encountered Ernie Jones and his wagon. He couldn’t see Arty. Likely the boy had wisely taken to walking far enough from the column to avoid the dust.
Ernie called out to him. “You made sure I rode back here, didn’t ya?”
“Everyone will take turns being first or last. Sam Weston ordered it.” He made to ride on.
Ernie uttered a rude word. “I’d like to see the day you make that gal friend of yers and her uppity ma and pa ride in the back.”
He’d done nothing that would give anyone reason to suspect they had once had an interest in each other. Or so he thought. He snorted. Yet Ernie had seen enough to make his accusation.
Or had he? Ben’s thoughts cleared. It seemed Ernie had a knack for creating trouble. That’s all it was. No need to get fussed about it.
At the second last wagon, a man signaled for Ben to ride closer. “My missus says her mixing bowl is gone.”
Ben had heard such statements before. “Did she leave it behind?”
“Not my missus. Someone’s taken it.”
More suggestion that there was a thief in their midst. “It’s easy to lose things in the hustle of moving every day.”
“I suppose so.” The man seemed ready to accept it was lost. Ben didn’t like to think otherwise. He thought of the bank robbery back in Independence but there was no reason to think that person was in the wagon train.
He rode up the column. Many of the women and children walked beside the wagons, far enough away to avoid the dust.
He reached the Hewitt wagon. Emma drove it. He glimpsed Rachel walking in a group of women. Sally Littleton was there, too, carrying little Johnny. She must get weary. She’d tried to carry him in a sling but he’d protested so loudly she’d abandoned the idea.
A familiar figure appeared at Sally’s side. Abby. Her bonnet hid her face but he knew her from the way she walked, the way she tilted her head as she talked then she turned to Sally and Ben saw her profile. She smiled at the other woman and held out her arms, offering to take Johnny.
The way Sally’s shoulders sagged as she released her baby to A
bby’s arms indicated how tired she had grown.
Ben smiled and his heart warmed. These women would soon learn to work together in peace. He dismounted and tied the horse to the back of the wagon then trotted up to the front and swung up beside Emma. “I’ll drive for a while. Why don’t you join the other ladies?”
“Thanks.” Emma barely finished the word before she jumped down.
He grinned as he guided the oxen along. The view was pleasant from up there. Abby did a funny little jiggling walk as she bounced the baby. Her skirt swung from side to side in a way that made her appear almost fluid. The baby caught at her bonnet strings and loosened them allowing it to fall back on her head. Her hair turned golden in the sun. She laughed at little Johnny’s antics.
He couldn’t hear the sound of her laughter but knew it by heart. Clear and musical as ringing bells. He jerked his attention to the heavy-hipped animals before him. Clumsy looking but they were suited to their task.
And he was suited to his. Just as Abby was suited to hers. He, a simple man. She, a beautiful woman who belonged in a fine parlor surrounded by things money could buy.
Against his better judgment he stole another glance at her. She seemed perfectly at ease with the child.
His heart twisted within him at the realization of why she was good with the baby. If she’d had her own and lost them.
Thankfully no one was about to see him flinch.
Chapter Five
Abby’s arms soon grew weary of carrying little Johnny. He wouldn’t settle. But then he hadn’t settled for his mama, either, and her arms must be four times as sore as Abby’s. Poor little boy was upset about so much change and no doubt suffered pain because of the injury to his side.
Over and over Sally thanked God it wasn’t worse. “Just a flesh wound,” she said.
“Poor Johnny doesn’t know he’s fortunate. All he knows is he’s hurt.” Abby jiggled the baby up and down on her hip. The least she could do was give Sally a break.
Sally had tried to settle him in the wagon, but he refused to let her put him down, and Sally said she got tired of bouncing around.