Wagon Train Reunion Page 6

  Emma had joined the others walking along the trail. Rachel was still among the group. That meant—Abby glanced over her shoulder—yes, Ben sat on the seat of their wagon.

  And he watched her.

  She jerked her head round to face forward. She must be imagining it. Just a trick of the light.

  She would not look again though her neck creaked at the effort it cost her.

  A horse and rider rode toward them. “We’ll be nooning here,” the man called.

  Thank goodness.

  The wagons stopped. The oxen were loosed to graze. The men carried water to them as the women quickly prepared the meal.

  Rachel brought out the beans she’d prepared the day before. Sally had leftover biscuits. Emma fetched enough wood to build a small fire to make coffee.

  Determined to do her share, Abby added dried apples to the offerings. Yes, she might have thought to make them into a pie the night before. Except she didn’t know how to make a pie. Or she might have stewed them.

  Watching the others gave her an idea. They used an endless supply of biscuits and bread. Tonight she’d bake up a large batch of biscuits so there would be some for tomorrow.

  The men ate and stretched out on the ground and were instantly asleep. Sally nursed Johnny and he settled into her arms for a nap. She laid him on a blanket in the shade and when he didn’t stir, she joined the others to clean up.

  Abby stopped her. “Why don’t you rest with him? I’ll do your chores for you.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Emma added. “You need to preserve your energy so you can take care of Johnny.”

  “Thank you.” Sally squeezed Abby’s hands and stretched out beside the sleeping baby. Soon her gentle snores joined the louder ones of her husband and Abby’s father.

  Abby stole a glance at Ben lying in the shade of their wagon, his hat pulled over his face. She didn’t hear snores from Ben’s direction. Did that mean he wasn’t asleep? His hat tipped to one side. Was he watching her? Them—she corrected.

  Her cheeks grew warmer than they’d been a moment ago. One thought cooled them in an instant. They were no longer children. Both were wiser, more cautious. At least she suspected he would be. She certainly was. In Oregon, she’d find her freedom—from men, from her mother...could she possibly ever be free from her promise?

  Father God, provide a way. Please.

  Mother rose slowly and marched away. Abby watched her, noting she moved stiffly. Walking would do her good.

  She helped Emma and Rachel clean up from the meal, well aware that Rachel sent a frown in Mother’s direction.

  “I’m sorry,” Abby murmured. “Mother has no idea how to help.”

  Rachel’s reply was short. “She might have to learn.”

  Abby shrugged. “I don’t mind doing her share.” If she wasn’t mistaken, Rachel rolled her eyes before she reached for the last pot to put away.

  Yes, Abby had neglected to do her share earlier, let alone Mother’s, but she didn’t intend for it to happen again.

  They were soon on their way. Abby’s feet hurt but she would not complain. She went to their wagon. “I’d like to ride for a while. Father, why don’t I drive the oxen and you can walk?”

  Mother sat upright on the seat, her face pinched.

  Father climbed down. “I’ll walk beside the beasts.”

  Abby understood it was to ensure they continued in the right direction, but she didn’t mind. To be honest, the big animals made her mouth go dry.

  Within minutes she understood why Mother looked as if she were in constant pain. The wagon jerked and jolted causing the wooden bench to constantly whap Abby’s rear. Even with a quilt folded for them to sit on, her bottom hurt almost as much as her feet and her neck ached. How were they going to endure two thousand miles of this? Perhaps Mother was right. The Binghams were too soft for such a challenging journey.

  Abby’s spine stiffened. Her chin jutted out. Bingham or Black. Rich or poor. She meant to finish this trip. She meant to survive. More than that, she would become strong and capable, because at the end, she saw nothing but freedom. She nodded at the big ox. Liberty was his name. Liberty was her aim.

  With every jolt of the long afternoon, her determination grew. When they approached the stopping place, she changed places with Father so he could guide the wagon into the circle.

  And if every bone in her body protested, she ignored them. She had things to do. Even before the animals had been set free to graze, she set out to get firewood and returned with an armload in double-quick time. Others had done the same thing so likely no one took note of her actions.

  It didn’t matter. She had proved to herself she was capable of one thing. Now she meant to prove another and measured out floor, lard and milk. She rolled the dough on the little table Martin set out.

  She squinted at the slab of dough. “What is that?” Black dots. She picked one out.

  Sally and Emma bent over the dough.

  “Did you sift the flour?” Sally asked softly.

  “No, I was in hurry.”

  Sally chuckled. “Sometimes it doesn’t pay to be in a hurry. I’m afraid a mouse has been into your flour. Those are mice droppings.”

  Abby stepped back in horror. “Mice. We’ll have to toss out all the flour.”

  Emma shook her head. “You can sift it out. And likely it’s only in one corner. I’ll have a look if you like.”

  Rachel grinned so wide it was a wonder her face didn’t crack.

  Abby bit back the angry words rushing to her mouth. She grabbed the dough and hurried outside the circled wagons. She reached some bushes and shoved the dough into the branches. Let some hungry animal eat it. Maybe some mice. Let them choke on their own droppings.

  She fell on her knees, her breath coming in gasps. Why, oh, why was she so inept?

  After a moment, her breathing calmed, although her mind continued to twist and turn. She pushed to her feet and headed back to the camp. This little setback would not deter her. She would learn.

  As she approached the wagons, she heard her name and paused to listen. The voice was Rachel’s.

  “Imagine wasting all those supplies.”

  Abby edged forward trying to see who Rachel talked to.

  Then a man spoke. “Give her a chance.”

  Ben. She pressed her hand to her throat. She’d know his voice anywhere. He sounded weary. Weary of her failures? She closed her eyes. Lord, help me. Help me learn what I need to do. Most of all, give me strength to see Ben every day and not be filled with regret at what might have been.

  Again she reminded herself that what might have been was a romantic dream. Never again would she trust a man enough to give him the right to own her.

  She calmed her heart knowing she didn’t make this journey alone. Yes, she had her parents. But she also had God. He’d been her strength and solid rock of refuge for many years. In fact, she remembered clearly when she’d learned to love Him so.

  Not ready to rejoin the others, she leaned against the nearest wagon wheel and let her memories flow. It was at special meetings held in the school. There she also had met Ben. She’d seen him before, but their paths seldom passed until then.

  An itinerant preacher held the meetings. He delivered a challenge to the young people to become soldiers of the cross. How his words had fired her soul with resolve. He said as soldiers they needed to prepare for battle and gave such practical steps, each of them relating to soldiers. One of the steps was to learn to wield your sword with skill. There had been a list of Bible verses he’d challenged them to memorize. And apply with your heart. She had turned to the young man beside her and said she intended to do exactly that. That was Ben and he said he did, too. They’d spent hours together drilling each other on the list of verses. They had been some of the most pleasant
times in her life.

  She might have given up her chance to see where her relationship with Ben would go but she would never regret the time they’d spent learning the verses. Again and again, they had been her comfort, especially Isaiah 43:2. “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”

  She’d been through many troubled waters and found God’s supply sufficient.

  Lifting her head, she looked about her. No water here, just land and lots of it. God would be with her here, too.

  A smile on her lips, she stepped back into the circle and went to the fire. “I’m sorry I messed that up. Now tell me what to do to help.”

  Emma patted her back. “Let’s just say that’s a lesson you won’t have to learn again.”

  Abby laughed. “No. Once is enough for me, thank you very much. My intention had been to bake enough biscuits for tonight and tomorrow. Can I try again?”

  Sally and Emma both nodded. “By all means.”

  Sally added, “I have a loaf of batter bread baking at the moment. Why not do the biscuits after supper?”

  Rachel hung back, her eyes guarded, her expression watchful.

  Abby allowed herself one quick glance at Ben, but his attention was on something across the circle.

  Well, better disinterest than outright displeasure.

  * * *

  Once is enough for me.

  Abby’s words echoed through Ben’s head. He needed to brand them on the surface of his brain. He’d been hurt by Abby’s unfaithfulness once. Once was enough for him.

  He’d seen the shock and hurt on her face when she discovered the droppings in the biscuit dough. When she’d rushed from the camp bearing the ruined dough he’d wanted to follow and assure her it wasn’t the end of the world. Rachel had stopped him.

  “Why do you jump to her aid all the time? You know what will happen when she no longer needs your help.” Rachel wasn’t about to let him forget that Abby had broken off their relationship. And broken his heart in the process.

  Although he knew she spoke only out of concern for his well-being, he had to choke back words of protest. After all, he was a big boy now. He could take care of himself. He’d glanced after Abby, but didn’t follow her. Why would he seek to have his scarred heart torn again? Not that Rachel meant to let that happen. She could be very persistent.

  Abby returned, a smile upon her lips, and went immediately to Sally and Emma and asked to try again. Her voice revealed nothing but contrite sweetness.

  Ben had expected her to be upset. This serenity flummoxed him. He didn’t want to look at her but he couldn’t stop himself.

  She hummed as she helped serve the meal.

  When Martin asked the blessing, Ben peeked from under his lashes and stole a look at Abby.

  His eyelids jerked up at her posture. She sat on the ground like everyone except her mother. Her hands lay open in her lap, palms upward as if she waited for a gift. Her head was bowed and yet from what he could see of her face he thought she about overflowed with peace.

  How could that be? She’d lost her husband and for all he knew, a child or children. She struggled to cope with the chores and trials of this journey and her mother never stopped complaining and yet he knew he was right. All those things had not robbed her of her source of joy.

  He recalled the Bible verses they had memorized together and how she vowed to apply them to her life. When she’d chosen to marry a man richer than Ben, he’d decided her determination to live those verses had been as false as her words about caring for him. Perhaps he’d been wrong.

  He closed his eyes and added a silent prayer to Martin’s. Lord, she’s reminded me that my strength and joy are in You. Help me keep sight of that and forget the petty, confusing things going on about me. He meant a number of things—Ernie Jones, Mrs. Bingham’s litany of complaints, but mostly, he meant his confused feelings regarding Abby. He didn’t trust her and never would, yet the memories of the times they’d spent together were rich with sweetness and joy which he wished he could deny.

  One thing he wouldn’t deny, he was grateful for her reminder to trust God more fully.

  She carried a plate of food to her mother.

  “I feel dirty all over,” the woman whined. “I simply can’t do this.” She fluttered her hands.

  Ben couldn’t tell if she meant to include present company or present circumstances but likely both.

  Abby smoothed her mother’s hair. “Have you forgotten you’re a Bingham? Binghams don’t let circumstances dictate their behavior.”

  Beside Ben, Rachel gave a tiny snort.

  But the words had the effect Abby no doubt desired and her mother sat up so straight Ben wouldn’t have been surprised to see an iron rod along her spine.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Ben released a sigh of relief and heard the others do so, as well. If she would simply accept the circumstances and stop her complaining life would be more pleasant for all of them—herself included.

  Abby returned to her spot by her father.

  Little Johnny wailed. The child had proven inconsolable all day.

  Ben glanced at Emma and they shared their silent concern. It didn’t seem normal for the child to be so fussy especially given that both Sally and Martin said it wasn’t usual. But then he’d been shot. Ben never had been, so couldn’t say how much a flesh wound hurt.

  “His wound must be paining him something awful,” Emma said. “After supper I’ll put something on that might relieve his pain.”

  “I’d so appreciate it,” Sally said, her voice weary.

  Over supper, conversation turned to plans for the morrow and various concerns about the animals and the wagons. The meal ended and the women set to work cleaning up.

  Martin took Johnny and tried to comfort him while Mr. Bingham set up his tent then helped his wife to it. Seems she meant to retire early. This trip would tax her strength and adaptability.

  The animals were grazing under the supervision of others and it wasn’t Ben’s turn to keep watch though he wondered if he should walk about watching for anything that could lead to trouble. But for a few moments, he’d relax and he lounged back against the rear wheel of his wagon.

  Abby measured out flour for another batch of biscuits. She examined the sack of flour carefully then spoke to Sally. “You were right. Only one corner seems to be affected. The rest is okay.” She carried the unusable flour outside the camp and disposed of it.

  As she worked, she chatted cheerfully with the women. Soon she had Sally and Emma chuckling over some comment.

  Ben thought of edging closer so he could share the joke but decided against it. He had no interest in what she said or did.

  She rolled the biscuit dough in fluid movements. But then, as he recalled, she’d always had a graceful way about her that made him think of flowers swaying in a gentle breeze.

  A picture flashed into his mind. One he’d tried to erase so many times because it made his heart contract with regret and bitterness.

  They’d been on a picnic with a group of young people, chaperoned by the pastor and his wife. They’d spread their lunch on a red-checkered cloth in a grassy field outside of town. All around them were blue and red and pink and white wildflowers. Nearby, a lark sat on a branch and sang.

  Abby had laughed with utter joy. “It’s like God has painted an Audubon picture for us.”

  That had brought everyone’s eyes to her. Some knew of the naturalist but that didn’t deter Abby. Her eyes sparkling, she regaled them with stories about John James Audubon. “He set out to paint every bird of the United States. Beautiful pictures. My grandfather subscribed to his series of prints. There were issued e
very month or so in sets of five. I’ve never looked at birds or flowers or nature the same since I saw his work.” She’d rushed to her feet and run into a patch of flowers, plucking one and dashing back. “This is a common musk mallow. Have you ever noticed the beauty of the pistils and stamens? The heart shape of the leaves? Every detail so amazing.” She’d spun away, holding the flower overhead.

  She’d been amazing. Maybe still was. Her cheerful countenance certainly brought a smile to his lips even as it had back then.

  She pulled a final tray of biscuits from the reflector oven. “Anyone care to test them?”

  “I’d like to.” Sally took one and buttered it. She laughed. “At least I don’t have to churn butter. Just hang the cream on the side of the wagon and it’s ready for supper.” She took a bite. “Umm, these are good.”

  Abby passed them around to the others. Martin waved her aside.

  “Later,” he whispered. Little Johnny slept on Martin’s chest.

  Ben sat up and took one. He buttered it and bit in.

  Abby waited.

  He nodded. “It’s good. We’ll be grateful of them tomorrow.”

  She smiled. Her eyes sparkled, reminding him yet again of that day in the meadow and her unbridled enjoyment of life.

  Rachel broke hers open and carefully examined the inside.

  The smile slipped from Abby’s lips and she returned to the campfire.

  Ben wanted to say something to bring back the sunshine but his throat closed off. What could he say or do to change anything? And he didn’t mean only this moment.

  Baby Johnny woke up and wailed.

  Sally sighed wearily and reached for the child.

  “I’ll take him for a while,” Abby offered, and took the fussy baby. She walked back and forth singing a lullaby. After a few minutes the baby settled to sleep and Abby handed him to Sally.

  “I so appreciate your help,” the weary mother said. “You’re very good with him.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Sure would like to hear that mandolin again,” Clarence Pressman called across the clearing in a husky voice.