by Linda Ford
She trudged back to the wagon and climbed inside.
Ben stared after her, troubled by her concerns. “I can’t imagine how difficult it will be if the Littletons have to face the death of their only surviving child.” As soon as the words were out he wished he’d not spoken.
“I can’t, either. We must pray for Johnny to get better.”
He faced her squarely. “Our prayers are not always answered the way we want.”
Her gaze was steady. “No, they’re not. Do you remember the verses we memorized back—” A heartbeat of silence. “Back then?”
He remembered many of the verses. Mostly he recalled how much he enjoyed her company as they drilled each other.
She continued. “‘When I am afraid, I will trust in thee.’ I take that to mean when it’s hard to understand God’s ways.”
“Psalm fifty-six verse three.” He contemplated the words of scripture and hers. “It’s easier to trust when things go as we want.”
“But what is the need of trust in such a situation? It’s in the hard times we learn the true meaning of trust. Like now.” She trotted after the slow-moving wagons and spoke to those inside the Littleton wagon.
He stared after her. He should have asked her what hard times she meant. Did she refer to Frank’s death? Had she suffered the loss of children? His stomach constricted so hard he tasted bile in the back of his throat. He must find the courage to ask if only so he could offer his condolences.
He rode up to his wagon and took Rachel’s place. She climbed down and walked.
Driving the oxen didn’t require much of his attention, giving him plenty of time to think.
Unfortunately he did not like the direction his thoughts took. Seeing Abby again, watching her around others, triggered many memories that he’d hoped he’d buried deep enough they’d never resurrect.
But they proved to be too stubborn to die peacefully. Why must he remember her struggling to get the verses word perfect and laughing at her mistakes? Or see her helping one of their friends who had married and had a new baby? She’d taken the baby and looked into the solemn little face then lifted her eyes to Ben. Eyes so full of awe and hope that to this day his throat drew in tight. He’d thought...hoped even...that they might one day gaze so adoringly at their own child.
He groaned and forced his mind back to the here and now.
He was on his way to Oregon and a new beginning. He’d have to endure Abby’s presence for several weeks. Indeed, several months. He would not, however, forget the vast gulf between them. Not if he meant to keep his sanity and his heart safe.
“We’re nooning here,” Sam called, riding back to inform the other wagons.
Grateful for the diversion Ben jumped down and released the oxen to graze.
Emma edged to his side. “I think I know what’s wrong with Johnny.” Her voice trembled informing Ben that she did not have good news.
Chapter Seven
“It’s measles,” Emma whispered, her voice strained.
Abby stood where she could hear and understood Emma’s distress. The disease would spread through the camp like wildfire.
“I’m certain,” Emma said. “He has the spots inside his cheeks.”
Abby looked at the wagons on one side to those on the other. All those wagons. All those people. Now exposed to the disease. It wasn’t like they could hope the others hadn’t somehow been in contact with the Littletons.
Emma said the same thing. “Think how so many hovered over Sally and Johnny after he was shot.” Shock filled her eyes. “Maymie Patton was right there and she’s expecting a baby.”
Abby knew from the expression on Emma’s face that was bad. “What will happen?”
Emma rocked her head back and forth. “If she gets them, she might lose the baby.”
“Oh, no.”
Ben pushed his hat back on his head and wiped a hand across his eyes. “I’d hide this news if I thought it would protect the Littletons. But even if I could, there’s no point. I’ll have to inform the other committeemen.” He strode away and returned sometime later to join them for dinner.
“There’ll be a meeting in fifteen minutes. All the men should attend.” He wolfed down his food. “Emma, perhaps you should come and explain what needs to be done.”
“I don’t think there’s anything I can say.”
Rachel gave her sister a little push. “Go. You can’t always hide.”
Emma slanted a look of denial at Rachel then trotted after Ben.
Rachel chuckled. “She prefers to remain in the background.”
Abby smiled as Rachel included her in her look.
Martin and Father strode to where the men had congregated.
Sally peeked out of their wagon. “Will they make us leave the wagon?”
“I don’t see any call for that,” Abby and Rachel said in unison and then chuckled.
Mother had been disapprovingly silent until now. “You and your husband and little boy should go back. We should all go back. This trip is cursed. We’re all going to perish out here. Our bones will bleach in the sun.” Her voice grew higher with every word.
Abby tucked away her sigh. She grew weary of Mother’s complaints and dire predictions. But if she said anything Mother would only become more verbal. She hurried to Mother’s side with more tea. “Mother, people are upset enough already.”
“Apparently not enough. If any of them had an ounce of sense they would abandon this foolish notion.”
The noise from the gathered men grew loud.
Emma left the crowd and hurried across the clearing. “Everyone is upset. The committeemen are trying to come to a consensus.”
“This is all our fault.” Sally ducked into the wagon where soft cries could be heard.
Abby hurried after her. “Sally, it isn’t anyone’s fault.” She opened her arms to the woman and Sally laid her head on her shoulder. “It’s just life. No guarantees. ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.’”
Sally sniffed and sat up. “You are right.” She touched Johnny’s forehead. “At least he’s sleeping for now.”
Emma peered in the back. “If he gets hot again he’ll need to be sponged. Fever is the worst enemy at this point.”
“I know.” Sally sat back.
Abby didn’t ask what would happen. She’d been sheltered from the harsh realities of life, but a kindly maid when Abby was mistress of her own house had often chattered to Abby. “Fever done took his brain,” she’d said, talking about the child of a former employer. “T’would have been a mercy if the little one ’ad died. Seen others go blind, too.”
The men returned. Sam Weston led the committeemen. “We must go on. The way I see it, you folks have two choices. You can either drop out, return to Independence if you choose, or try and catch up later. Or you can tend the sick while we travel.”
Miles Cavanaugh spoke for the others. “Each family is to make their own choice. But those going on will depart in twenty minutes.”
After they left, Abby joined her parents. “What are we going to do?”
“I want to go back. I was never in favor of this journey in the first place. I think we need to heed this as a warning.” Mother crossed her arms and stared straight ahead as if the decision had been made.
Father turned to study the oxen as they grazed beyond the wagon. Slowly he brought his attention back to Abby and Mother who waited his decision. “I can’t go back. There is nothing for me to go back to.”
Abby moved to his side. “We can do this, Father. Together, and with God’s help, we can face whatever lies ahead.”
Father draped his arm across her shoulders and pulled her close. “You’re a good daughter and always have been.�
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His approval eased the tension that had gripped her insides since Emma’s announcement of measles in the camp.
Mother’s hands twisted in her lap. “So long as our good daughter remembers she will see we are advanced in Oregon.”
It was on the tip of Abby’s tongue to say she had other plans, but with no desire to engage in such a discussion, she held her tongue. She took courage from Father’s gentle hug.
“Then let’s get ready to travel.” She put away the last of the dinner supplies, smiling that her biscuits had been enjoyed despite the worry that consumed them all.
Glancing back at the line of wagons, she saw no one had turned around.
She lifted her head, silently praying for each wagon she could see, especially the Littletons. Help Johnny get better. Protect others from disease and danger.
Her gaze came finally to the Hewitt wagon. Ben stood by his oxen. His eyes were hidden under the shadow of his hat but she was certain he looked directly at her. His mouth lay flat, revealing nothing. She felt a jolt clear through her body.
She jerked away.
It wasn’t her imagination that he’d been studying her. Did he like what he saw? She closed her eyes against the painful truth. What he saw was a woman who had scorned him in favor of a man a fraction of his worth. A woman who owed such a debt to her parents she could only dream of ever being free.
But she’d start afresh. She would. She’d allow nothing from her past to hinder her. Somehow she’d even put aside regrets over Andy’s death and her feelings for Ben...feelings that should have died six years ago. Feelings she would not heed nor trust. All she wanted for herself was independence. She smiled. She’d left Independence, Missouri, on a journey she hoped would lead to independence for Abigail Black.
* * *
Ben forced his attention from Abby. Why should the words of the overheard conversation with her mother sting like angry insects? It was exactly as he’d expected. But for a moment, as she spoke fine words of courage about facing the trials ahead, he’d dared dream she would stand up to her mother’s control.
But when Mrs. Bingham alluded to the promise of a good marriage, Abby had turned into the dutiful daughter. Not that he, or anyone, would object to her doing her duty. Except in this case, her compliance went beyond duty. He had never understood it and didn’t even now. Abby wasn’t a weak, wish-washy sort of person and yet her mother exerted such control over her.
Well, never mind. He had a trip to complete and two sisters to see safely across the country. And now a wagon train that must deal with a measles outbreak.
Indeed by evening, six other children were irritable and fussy. Signs, Emma said, that came before the rash. She suggested all those who appeared sick should avoid direct light and ride in their wagons with the canvas pulled tight.
Fussy children did not care to be shut up in a hot wagon.
Sally had her hands full caring for Johnny that evening.
Between them, Emma and Abby helped Sally and the other families with sick children. Both had the illness previously so were at no risk.
Rachel prepared the meal on her own.
“I’m sorry,” Abby said, rushing back to help, though it was well under control. “I intend to do our share.”
Rachel stood with a big stirring spoon in hand. “You’re helping the sick. That’s important, too. I’m afraid I’m not much good around the ill.”
Mrs. Bingham sat stiff and upright, her expression pinched with disapproval.
Ben’s insides coiled at the sight of her. He turned away. Although he burst to ask why she controlled Abby so tightly, he doubted she would answer him. Besides, if Abby wanted to be free of it, she’d have to find a way.
“I’ll fetch some more wood,” Abby said, and hurried to collect it outside the camp.
“A Bingham should not be scrounging for firewood.” Mrs. Bingham spit out each word.
Ben tried to catch Rachel’s gaze and signal her not to respond but Rachel avoided looking at him.
She poured a cup of tea and took it to Mrs. Bingham. “You’ll feel better after you drink this.”
Mrs. Bingham looked carefully into the contents. “Did you put something in this?”
It so accurately echoed Ben’s concern that he choked back a laugh.
Rachel faced Mrs. Bingham. “Just tea and hot water and a touch of sugar. Just as you like it.”
Mrs. Bingham took a delicate sip. “It’s fine.”
No thank-you or any sign of gratitude.
Ben held his breath waiting for his volatile sister to react.
She shrugged and turned away. Out of the corner of her mouth, she murmured, “Now why didn’t I think to put something else in it?”
Ben turned his back to Mrs. Bingham so she wouldn’t overhear them. “Because you’re a nice person.”
“Sometimes it’s very difficult to be so.” Rachel grinned.
Abby returned with firewood and Emma crossed to the campfire and gratefully took the offered food.
It was Martin’s turn to ask the blessing. “Father God, bless our food. Thank you for providing our needs. I beseech You—” His voice cracked as he finished. “Spare our son. Amen.”
A hush fell on those gathered round. “Amen,” Ben whispered. Spare us all from danger.
“The good news is many of the children and a good deal of the adults have already had measles.” Emma spoke calmly as if she wanted everyone to think she wasn’t worried.
Ben knew better. He looked around their little gathering. “How many of this group has had them?”
“Our family all did,” Emma said. “Remember. You and I and Grayson had them the same time. I was only four so you two would be six and eight. Rachel got them when she was two.” She laughed.
Ben was relieved to hear the note of joy in her voice. “She was so cranky she makes Johnny look like an angel.” All heads turned toward the Littleton wagon where Sally tended the baby.
Rachel chuckled. “I hope you all gave me plenty of attention.”
Emma smiled adoringly at Rachel. “Father was so worried he barely left your side.”
The three of them shared a moment of sadness.
Emma sighed and pulled herself back to the here and now. “Abby, have you had measles?”
Abby nodded. “When I was little.”
Mother quickly added, “You and Andrew had them at the same time when you were four.” Each word came out in quick, harsh succession. “Of course you got over them quickly. We worried about Andrew for weeks.”
“Andrew?” Rachel, God bless her, couldn’t constrain her curiosity.
“Her brother. Her twin brother.” The woman’s words carried a harsh note. “He died.”
Mr. Bingham caught his wife’s hand. “That’s over, my dear. We need to let it go.”
“I’m sorry,” Emma said softly.
Ben knew she’d had a twin brother but that’s all except that he’d died a couple years before he and Abby met at the meetings. She’d never wanted to talk about it and he’d respected her wishes. Now he wished he’d asked what happened.
They finished their meal and Emma went to relieve Sally so she could eat and stretch her legs.
Clarence Pressman called across the clearing. “Didn’t Mrs. Black promise us more music and reading?”
Abby didn’t appear to hear.
“Abby?” Ben’s voice made her startle. She must have been lost in her thoughts. “Would you play the mandolin again, please?”
“Of course.” She hurried to get it from the wagon.
He stared after her. Did her steps seem jerky? Was she tired from all that walking? Likely her feet were blistered. He’d mention it to Emma. Perhaps she could suggest something to ease the pain.
Abby again played a
nd sang, then read. Her voice filled him with such sweet peace.
Ignoring the dangerous thought, he leaned back and relaxed.
Knowing four in the morning would come far too soon, she ended after only a few minutes. Already many had withdrawn to their tents or unrolled their bedding under their wagon, too tired to bother with a tent.
Emma and Rachel put up a tent without a problem, but then there were two of them.
Abby struggled to secure the ropes on hers.
Rachel and Emma glanced her way.
“She needs help,” Emma said softly, giving Ben a look that plainly said a gentleman would not let a lady struggle on her own.
“I will learn to do this,” she said through gritted teeth.
Even though he longed to jump up and help immediately, he took his time. He didn’t want the others on the wagon train thinking he gave her special attention. Then he thought of all the things he’d observed her do—how she helped her father with the oxen, how she’d learned to use the reflector oven, how she willingly and efficiently helped Emma, how she walked many miles every day— “I think you’ll do just about anything you set your mind to. Are your feet hurting?”
She jerked back to stare at him. “What are you suggesting? That I’m unfit for this trek?”
“Of course not. Didn’t I just say you could do anything you set your mind to? But I noticed you walked like your feet hurt. I expect a lot of the emigrants have blisters.”
She lowered her accusing gaze. “I’m sorry to fly off the handle at you. But—” She shrugged and didn’t finish.
The last rope tightened under his hands, but he didn’t immediately leave.
She slowly brought her attention to him. “Yes?”
“I enjoy hearing you sing.” His tongue grew heavy. “I appreciate the way you help Emma with the sick ones.” So many things sprang to his mind. How patient she was with her demanding mother—
A mother who exerted such tight control over Abby. That was her problem and he did not intend to let it become his.
“Thank you.” She seemed uncertain as to how to respond.
He had run out of things to say. Or at least, things he thought he could safely say. “Well, then, good night.”
