скачать книгу бесплатно
He turned his attention back to his duties.
“The bank’s been robbed!” A young man rode through the crowd shouting, “Fifteen thousand dollars missing from the new safe.”
Men crowded around the rider. “Anyone hurt?”
“Did they find the thief?”
“Did he come this direction?” When the answers were no, the people were relieved to know the robbery would not involve them and returned to preparing for the journey.
The noise swelled with laughter, cries and shouts. Dust rose from the trampled ground. The smell of animals and woodsmoke tinged the air.
Mrs. Bingham had been riffling through a box of things at the back of the wagon. She straightened and signaled Ben, who rode over, his heart heavy. Whatever the woman wanted, he suspected it would be less than pleasant.
“My gilded mirror is missing.”
Ben nodded. “You’ve misplaced it?”
“I have not. It’s been stolen.”
Ben sighed heavily. Such accusations without evidence served only to instill anxiety and mistrust among the travelers.
Mrs. Bingham drew herself up and gave him a demanding look. “Aren’t you in charge of this group?”
“I am.”
“First the bank and now a bunch of innocent, defenseless travelers. I suggest you do your job and find the thief or thieves.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Though he wondered if any of their group were defenseless. Everyone had a pistol or a rifle or both. All had axes and shovels. And he wasn’t about to ride around demanding to know if someone stole a mirror. Likely the woman had misplaced it.
But he would do his job and keep a close eye on the Bingham wagon lest someone had targeted them as having valuable contents among their belongings.
Abigail returned to the wagon at that point. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
Mrs. Bingham grabbed Abby’s arm. “I’ve been robbed and this man is doing nothing about it. It appears to me he’ll help only those he chooses to.”
“Mother, we simply don’t have time to worry about it right now. Everyone is ready to leave.”
Ben rode away and didn’t look back. Abigail was every bit as much under her mother’s thumb as she’d ever been. Ben would not likely forget Mrs. Bingham did not approve of him. Therefore, Abigail didn’t, either.
* * *
Abigail didn’t have time to deal with her mother’s fussing. Their journey was about to begin and she couldn’t wait to get started. The future beckoned.
She joined her father beside the oxen.
“Well, daughter, we are about to see if your banker father can manage these huge beasts.”
“You sound excited.” Her own heart beat a rapid tattoo as she waited for their wagon to join the procession.
Ben sat on his horse, supervising the departure. He looked calm and in control.
She shifted her gaze away from him to the wagons rolling out ahead of them. He traveled with his sisters. They must be so proud of him. And to think she might have been the one whose heart swelled with pride—
No. A life shared with him might have been filled with unexpected sorrow. She’d learned her lesson well enough not to care to repeat it.
“Come, boys,” Father said, and the oxen moved out, following the others.
Abby laughed from sheer excitement.
Inside the wagon, Mother clung to her chair.
“Mother isn’t happy about this adventure,” Abigail commented.
“She’s afraid of change, but we need it. We need to get over Andrew’s death.”
Abby’s heart dipped. As always, guilt stung her at the mention of his name.
Father continued. “It’s time to put his death behind us and look to the future.”
“Is that possible?” If it still controlled them after ten years how was a trip going to change anything?
“I hope it is,” her father said. “I believe this trip will change us all.”
Abby hoped for the same, but change often came on the heels of adversity. She didn’t have to think very hard to find it so in her life. Her future had changed when Andy died. Again when the Panic struck and yet again when Frank died. And who could foretell which events would result in good and which ones in sorrow? Father God, let this trip result in good for all involved.
Sam Weston rode by. “Everyone ready?”
A roar of agreement answered him.
He rode on. “Wagons, ho.”
Slowly the long line of wagons began to move.
Hundreds of people lined the route, waving flags and cheering them on. One lady ran forward and pressed a package into Abigail’s hands.
“Some baking for the trip. God speed and safe travels.”
Abby held the woman’s hands for a heartbeat, and as the wagon lumbered away, she turned to wave goodbye.
Goodbye to the past.
Hello to the future.
She strained to see the way ahead, her heart pounding out the rhythm of the words as she waved and smiled at those sending them off.
Then they left behind the well-wishers and headed West.
Whatever the future held, it had to be better than the past. Her heart settled into place, feeling more hopeful than it had for so long she couldn’t remember the last time.
Nothing would distract her from her plans for a new beginning in Oregon.
Not even her mother.
Chapter Three (#ulink_05b35dd2-cbab-5c68-a88d-3aab25ed3e09)
The weather was clear, the trail easy. The white-sheeted wagons sailed across the green prairie like ships upon an ocean of green. Purple-and-yellow flowers dotted the landscape.
Mr. Weston called a halt at noon, by which time Abby was more than grateful. She’d tried riding in the wagon, but the hard bench and rough trail combined to make it most uncomfortable. She’d jumped down, preferring to walk. As soon as she vacated the wooden seat Mother left her unsteady chair to sit by Father, using a folded quilt to pad the bench.
Abby had walked almost the whole morning and her feet hurt.
The women immediately got out their cooking utensils and sent children to gather firewood. Father unhitched the oxen but, according to instructions from Ben, left them yoked. The great beasts grazed placidly.
Ben seemed to be everywhere. He rode through the camp calling out instructions or encouragement or, in a case or two, breaking up a fight. Several asked about the robbery. Could the culprit be among them? He tried to assure them there would be guards posted every night.
She turned to preparing a meager meal—all she seemed capable of. She could fry bacon again and eat the biscuits in the package she’d been handed as they left Independence.
She let the word independence roll around in her mind. She certainly liked the sound of it.
“Better check your bacon,” Sally called.
Abby turned the pieces over. Only the edges were charred. Hopefully they were still edible.
An hour later they were again on their way.
At three o’clock they reached a place Mr. Weston called Elm Grove.
Abby had never thought a few elm trees and some bushes would be so welcome but her blistered feet ached for relief.
Mr. Weston led them into making a circle.
Father followed his instruction and drove the wagon so his front almost met the back of the wagon ahead of him then turned sharply. When the oxen were released, the wagons formed a barricade.
The oxen were set loose outside the circle to graze.
Ben rode around the circle. “Sam says we need to share fires. Soon enough we’ll be scrounging for fuel. Three or four families together depending on the size of your family.”
Almost before Abby could sort out all the things that had to be done, the others had organized who went with whom.
The Binghams were to be with the Littletons and Ben and his sisters.
Abby went to the back of the wagon as if to pull out something, but everything she needed for the evening was already spread out on the ground in preparation for the night.
The Littletons would be enjoyable people to spend the trip with, but the Hewitts? Why must they be grouped with them? Rachel had made her opinion clear yesterday. She didn’t welcome the Binghams on the journey, let alone as their meal companions.
Emma, of course, had been more restrained in her reaction, though that didn’t mean she had less of an opinion.
And Ben? What did he think? Was it going to be awkward? Yes, they had history, but it was ancient history. They’d both moved on. She had no idea what Ben’s plans were but seeing as he was obviously still unmarried, likely he would be looking for a suitable wife. One who would prove an asset in the new life they all planned.
She made a sound, half snort, half groan. Ben should enlist help from Abby’s mother who thought she had a knack of finding suitable mates.
This time Abby groaned for real. Mother was not going to be happy about this arrangement and if Mother wasn’t happy, Abby would have her hands full keeping her mother satisfied.
Oh, God, give me strength and patience.
She held on to the prayer as she returned to the others. She could do this without getting caught up in memories or regrets or guilt.
The men left to tend to the animals.
“Let’s divvy up the chores,” Rachel said to the women.
The others murmured agreement. All except Mother, who had allowed Father to lift her chair to the ground where she remained seated. Abby understood her mother considered it beneath her station in life to help with mundane chores.
“We’ll take turns so no one ends up doing the dishes alone every night.”
Again a murmur of agreement at Rachel’s suggestion though Abby would have been quite happy doing dishes. It was the one thing she could manage. That and making tea. Both required only that she boil water.
“I’ll make tea right away,” she offered. “My mother is in need of a drink.” Mother was pale, her jaw clenched so hard it would take more than a hot drink to loosen it.
“I’ll cook the meat,” Sally said.
Emma offered to prepare vegetables and a sweet. Rachel said she’d prepare the beans that had been soaking all day. “That way they’ll be ready for dinner tomorrow.”
The three women turned to Abby. She swallowed hard knowing they expected her to offer to make something for the supper. Something more than tea. She stifled a giggle. Could she make it through the next few months by making tea at every stop?
“Why don’t you make biscuits?” Sally said.
Abby nodded not trusting her voice to speak confidently. She dragged out the reflector oven. She’d practiced setting it up and did so, though she still thought the apparatus was unstable, but others used one so she had to believe it was a suitable means of cooking. She positioned it close to the fire.
Abby measured the flour, lard and other ingredients and mixed them as she had learned at home. She cut them into rounds and placed them on the baking tray. There, she congratulated herself. This was going to turn out just fine.
She put them in the reflector oven, then poured tea for Mother.
Mother pulled her down to whisper in her ear. “I object to sharing meals with...with those.”
“Mother, be grateful.” They’d eat much better for the sharing.
A great clatter and Sally’s sharply indrawn breath jerked Abby’s attention her way. “Oh, no.” The oven had collapsed. The biscuits fallen into a heap.
“I’m sorry,” Sally said. She’d been tending Johnny and hadn’t noticed where Abby set the oven.
Abby rushed to her side. “Are you okay? You’re not burned?”
“No, I’m fine. But the biscuits—”
“They’re ruined,” Rachel said. Abby knew she wasn’t mistaken in thinking Rachel sounded rather pleased about it.
“Why, the oven wasn’t even braced. Now all this food is wasted,” Rachel continued.
