Wagon Train Reunion Page 10

  Rachel elbowed him in the ribs. “I asked you a question.”

  “I merely told her how Emma appreciated her help.”

  “I see.”

  “She didn’t believe it at first.”

  Rachel looked at Abby then back to Ben. “How do you know that?”

  “She said so. She thinks she is useless because she can’t cook.” She hadn’t said those exact words but he knew she meant that. And likely more.

  “Tsk. Anyone can learn to cook.”

  “I told her that.”

  They rode on in silence.

  “She just needs some lessons,” he added.

  “I suppose so.” After a bit, Rachel climbed down and joined Emma who walked at Abby’s side. If his sisters would take Abby under their wings...

  Seems he would simply have to let things work out on their own in God’s good time and loving way. He smiled as another verse sprang to mind. Ecclesiastes three, verse one. “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.” He tried to trust God in everything, but sometimes it was hard. “A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.” He would sure welcome a time of laughing and dancing.

  The long, dusty afternoon trudged on. The oxen were slow creatures. Those walking had no trouble keeping pace. Ben leaned his elbows on his knees. Bouncing along behind these creatures gave a man far too much time to think. Far too many opportunities to glance at Abby and his sisters. He sat up and stared at the spot where they’d been just moments ago. They were gone. He looked up and down the trail, but as far as he could see through the dust, he couldn’t spot them.

  He leaned far to the right. Then far to the left. Where were they? Not that he was disappointed not to see Abby. Why, that wouldn’t make a lick of sense.

  There was no need to worry. Both Emma and Rachel knew how to take care of themselves.

  Unless they encountered Indians. “Friendly for the most part,” Sam had said. “They’ll likely remain that way if they’re treated fairly.”

  It was the for the most part that concerned Ben.

  With no one to drive his wagon, he couldn’t search for them. He sank back, trying to relax but every five minutes he looked about hoping to spot them.

  When Sam called for the wagons to circle he still hadn’t seen hide nor hair of them and his head echoed with every sound from the wagon train.

  He pulled in behind the Littleton wagon and leaped down to unhitch the oxen and turn them out to graze. Once his urgent chores were done, he jogged toward his horse, ready to ride out and find the missing girls, when he spotted them approaching, laughing together, their arms full of wood and each with a bouquet of flowers.

  With a groan he turned back to his chores. They’d been picking flowers while he worried himself into a frenzy.

  If it wasn’t so funny, he’d be angry. He chuckled softly as he sauntered over to help Mr. Bingham with his animals.

  The girls chattered away as they built a fire and started to prepare a meal. Emma took her medicine satchel and went to check on the sick, glancing back over her shoulder as if she regretted leaving the other two.

  Rachel handed a stack of ingredients to Abby who set them on the little table they’d put out. “Batter bread is easy,” Rachel said. “You put in—”

  Ben ducked outside the circle but stayed near the wagon where he could overhear Rachel and Abby. At first, he thought he must be mistaken but after a few minutes he knew Rachel was teaching Abby to cook.

  “Better sift the flour,” Rachel said.

  Ben held his breath. Did she mean to remind Abby of her failures?

  When Abby laughed, his lungs relaxed.

  “You surely won’t complain if there’s a little color in your bread.”

  Rachel laughed. “Yes, I think I might.”

  “Where’s Miss Hewitt?” The tone of voice calling across the camp sent steel into Ben’s spine. Something was wrong.

  He jumped across the tongue of the wagon. “Which Miss Hewitt?”

  “The one with the doctor’s bag.” It was Mr. Morrison. “Young Clarence has hurt himself. Where’s your sister?”

  “Emma.” He roared her name, then ran after Mr. Morrison.

  She jumped down from the back of a wagon. “What’s wrong?”

  He slowed his feet so she could catch up. “Clarence Pressman is hurt. Don’t know where or how bad but Mr. Morrison is certainly concerned.”

  They crossed to the wagon and joined the dozen men and women crowded around Clarence. He sat on the ground, pale as a sheet.

  “Leave me be. I don’t need any help.” Young Clarence never spoke above a gruff murmur. Even now.

  Ernie Jones threw up his hands at Ben’s and Emma’s approach. “He’s too stubborn for his own good.”

  “You’re hurt,” Mrs. Morrison said, reaching toward the young man. “Someone needs to look at that cut.”

  He shifted away. “I’m okay. Go away and leave me alone.” But he held his left arm as if it hurt.

  Emma edged around to the man’s back. She raised her eyes to Ben and he read her concern. Slowly, not wanting to further alarm the young man, he edged around to stand at her side.

  The man’s shirt was torn across the shoulders and a cut bled profusely, soaking his shirt.

  Emma pulled a clean cloth from her bag and stepped to the man’s back to press it to the wound.

  Clarence jerked away, eyes wide.

  Ben studied the man. What reason did he have to be so afraid? Unless he had something to hide. Perhaps the items that kept mysteriously disappearing.

  “This will stop the blood.” Emma spoke gently, calmingly and moved closer. “Why don’t the rest of you leave and I’ll take care of this?”

  The others hesitated but Ben knew she was right. Clarence might let her clean his wound if he didn’t have an audience, and he herded away the onlookers. He stopped on the far side of the wagon. He wouldn’t be leaving his sister unchaperoned with a single young man even if he was hurt.

  “How did this happen?” Emma asked.

  Ben could imagine her bending over the man to better look at the wound. Their heads would be very close. He didn’t care for the idea.

  “Fell and caught it on that hook.”

  “Ouch. It’s awfully deep. I’ll clean it good, then dress it. You need to get out of this blood-soaked shirt, though.”

  Did Ben hear Emma gasp? He jerked about, meaning to rescue her. Save her reputation.

  “No need for you to worry,” Emma said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Ben settled back. Pressmen must have gasped. For a few minutes, he couldn’t hear their murmured words even though he strained to catch every sound. Unfortunately the camp was noisy enough to drown out the voices on the other side of the wagon.

  A few minutes later, Emma reached into the back of the Morrison wagon.

  Ben leaned forward to catch her attention.

  She jumped in surprise. “I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Did you think I’d leave you alone with a man?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  Did he detect pink creeping up her cheeks? “Emma, I can go with you.”

  She waved him away. “No. No need.” Did her hands tremble? “I’ll just take him a clean shirt.” She pulled one from the valise she located in the wagon and darted away without another word.

  He stared after her. Odd behavior for his normally calm sister. Surely she wasn’t attracted to that man? Why she’d grown up with big strong brothers and father. Of course she would see how weak and puny Clarence was.

  She returned in a few minutes. “He’ll be okay.”

  He knew he didn’t imagine that she avoided looking directly at him as she spoke.
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  He rubbed a weary hand across his forehead. This trip was getting more and more complicated. He needed to avoid Abby as much as he could and now he needed to keep a sharp eye on Clarence in order to protect Emma.

  Chapter Nine

  Abby watched Emma and Ben walk back. The news had quickly circulated through the camp that Clarence Pressman had injured himself and refused treatment until Emma took things into her own hands and insisted everyone else must leave.

  But the scowl on Ben’s face informed one and all that he wasn’t exactly pleased about something. Abby couldn’t say if he was worried about Clarence or Emma’s reputation. But knowing Ben, she could assume both.

  Knowing Ben? What did she know about him? Now all she knew was he’d never married, his father had died and he and his sisters were going to Oregon to join their brother. She didn’t know what he thought or felt or dreamed or wished for.

  She snapped shut a door in her mind. She no longer had the right to such intimate knowledge of him.

  “How does this look?” she asked Rachel.

  Rachel looked at the beans and bacon. “You’re a fast learner.”

  “Or maybe you’re a good teacher. Thank you for offering to help me.” She couldn’t have been more surprised when Rachel came to her side during the afternoon walk and said she would teach Abby to cook and do the practical chores. Rachel only wanted music lessons in exchange.

  “You might not be so grateful when you try and teach me to play the mandolin.”

  They laughed together as Ben and Emma joined them.

  Ben’s eyes widened as he shot a look from one to the other.

  Rachel bumped shoulders with Abby. “I love surprising my big brother.”

  Ben swallowed loudly then smoothed his expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Abby chuckled. “Too late. Your expression already gave you away.”

  He grinned. “At least it’s a good surprise.”

  His gaze held hers, burning away every defense. Did he mean to remind her of another time when they’d had a similar discussion?

  She’d gone to his father’s store on the pretext of needing a new pen nib. But Ben wasn’t there. Only Grayson and the elder Mr. Hewitt. Grayson didn’t know where Ben had gone. Disappointed, she’d left the store and with no destination in mind, had wandered along the street. At the corner, Ben had stepped in front of her. She’d been so startled she’d pressed her hand to her throat to calm her racing pulses. “You surprised me,” she’d gasped.

  “At least it’s a good surprise,” he’d said, laughing, obviously glad to see her.

  She shook her head. The past had no part in the present.

  “Abby made the bean stew and the bread,” Rachel announced, with so much pleasure it brought a sting of heat to Abby’s cheeks.

  Father patted Abby’s shoulder. “Good for you.”

  Against her better judgment, Abby glanced toward her mother. Would she show the least sign of approval?

  No. She shook her head and her expression showed nothing but disappointment.

  Abby knew better than to expect otherwise and yet she kept hoping. She quickly dismissed the longing and helped serve up the simple meal. The pride she felt in her part in preparing the food far exceeded any reasonable boundaries.

  Emma went to watch Johnny so Sally could enjoy her meal and a break from the confines of the wagon.

  A few minutes later, Mr. Jensen called out a request for Abby to play her music so she got her mandolin and book from the wagon and sat down on the grass by the wheel to play.

  Ben rested a few feet away. It surprised her no end that he hung about when she played and sang. He’d always claimed to enjoy her music. For some reason she thought that would be reason for him to avoid listening.

  Did his hovering nearby suggest he still had some feelings for her? She dismissed the idea. He only meant to enjoy the music. Her choice six years ago had sealed her fate in more ways than one. It had given her a husband who was cruel and reckless, it ended any possibility of a relationship with Ben and it had left her a much wiser woman.

  She ducked her head over the instrument and played jolly, cheerful tunes while inside, pain twisted into a horrible knot. Her wisdom had come on the heels of sorrow and regret.

  It was time to read and she opened the book to where she’d ended yesterday. Two children crowded to her side. Cathy and Donny. She smiled at them and read past the lump in her throat.

  A few minutes later, she closed the book. “That’s enough for tonight.”

  The other children scampered off to join their parents and prepare for the night. But the twins didn’t move.

  “Mama says we have to let Annie and Betty put us to bed tonight.” Donny sounded mournful.

  “I’d sooner have Mama.” Cathy’s tone matched her brother’s.

  “You would, too, wouldn’t you?” Donny regarded Abby solemnly.

  She wondered what they would say if she told them that a governess had put her to bed. Her insides ached. Not once could she remember Mother tucking her in.

  “Would you like me to do it tonight if it’s okay with your mama and papa and your big sisters?”

  Two little heads bobbed in unison. “They won’t mind,” Cathy said. “They say we’re a nuisance.”

  She guessed they referred to their big sisters. “I don’t expect they really mean it.”

  “I guess they were just mad because we spilled the water and made a mess.”

  “We was just trying to help.”

  Laughing at the pair, Abby pulled them to their feet and took them back to their wagon.

  Both Mr. and Mrs. Jensen looked relieved when she offered to put the twins to bed.

  “They sleep in the tent with the girls. Their nightclothes are there.” Mrs. Jensen indicated the two nightshirts.

  Abby supervised the twins washing and added a swipe or two of her own to complete the job. They folded their clothes into a neat pile and put them into a corner of the tent.

  “You have to come in and listen to our prayers.” Donny had retreated into the tent after his sister and turned to indicate Abby should follow.

  She crawled into the small space. Four children crowded into the same size tent as the one she had to herself. She would have gladly shared hers with a sibling.

  They said their prayers, interrupting each other, so that it became a joint prayer. It had often been the same with her and Andy—finishing each other’s sentences, even their thoughts. Often speaking in unison.

  She rode the pain, knowing it would subside in a moment.

  “Good night.” She backed out of the tent.

  Feeling too raw to rejoin the others, she stepped over the wagon tongue and out into the dusk. The sounds of camp were muted as people bedded down for the night.

  The aroma of bacon and smoke wrapped about her. The oxen grazed placidly. A sentinel nodded from his nearby post.

  She fixed her eyes on the western horizon now aflame with orange and pink. The beauty of the sunset calmed her soul. God was with them. Their times were in His hands.

  Ben strode toward her.

  She kept her eyes on the sky, doing her best to ignore the way her heart leaped at his presence.

  “‘From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same, the Lord’s name is to be praised.’”

  She jerked about to stare at him. “Psalms one hundred and thirteen, verse three.”

  A smile creased the corner of his eyes. “I think I remember every verse we memorized.”

  “Me, too.” Just as she remembered every sweet moment, every gentle touch, every brimming smile and joy-filled laugh. She tried to put a stop in the flow of her thoughts, but found herself unable. Something in his look drew her along paths of tender remembrance.<
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  Deep inside her, something wrenched. A sensation of both pleasure and pain. Hope and regret.

  “I remember a lot of things.” His voice was husky as if he too had been drawn back to the time when their relationship was tender and trusting.

  A nearby animal coughed, breaking the spell.

  Out of breath, Abby turned her attention back to the setting sun.

  “I couldn’t help but notice you with the Jensen twins. They are attracted to you.”

  “They’re feeling out of sorts because their mother doesn’t have time for them at the moment.” Delores Jensen hated to let the twins out of her sight even though she was busy with the sick babies.

  If Abby was ever a mother, she would not let others raise her children. She’d devote complete attention to them. They’d know they were loved and valued.

  “You’re so good with children. I guess I thought—”

  “Thought what?” she prodded when he didn’t finish his sentence.

  “Until you said otherwise, I thought you must have had children.”

  When she turned to object, wondering if he thought she’d left them behind, he held up a hand to stop her and rushed on.

  “It hurt me to think you’d had children and lost them like the Littletons did. That’s all I meant.” He turned away as if seeking escape in studying the horizon.

  It afforded her a chance to study him without meeting his gaze. He’d been hurt by the thought? Because he didn’t want to think of her pain? Or simply because the death of a child was tragic and sorrowful? But why did it matter? She turned back to the sunset which was now only a hint of orange.

  “It will soon be dark.” Ben sounded regretful.

  Or else she only transferred her emotions to him. “Time to bed down.” Still neither of them moved.

  “I’m glad Rachel is helping you.”

  “Oh, no.” She covered her mouth. “I promised to give her mandolin lessons. I completely forgot.”

  Ben planted a big, warm hand on her shoulder. “You’ll get plenty of opportunity. We have months of travel ahead of us.”

  “Months and miles.” Again their gazes locked.

  “Anything can happen.” His words were soft. Full of promise?