Wagon Train Reunion. Linda Ford
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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