by Linda Ford
She glanced up as he neared. “How are your hands?”
“Oh, fine.” He’d almost forgotten his sore palms. “Where’s Emma?”
“The Jensen twins are sick. She’s checking to see if any others are ill. I think she fears sickness more than a buffalo stampede. Abby is helping with the twins.”
He hadn’t asked after Abby and wondered that Rachel would offer the information.
Mrs. Bingham sat on her wooden chair. “She shouldn’t be nursing the sick. That’s what servants are for. I will hold your entire family responsible if Abby gets sick.”
Rachel rolled her eyes, but wisely kept her opinion to herself.
On the far side of the circle, Mr. Henshaw picked at the strings of his fiddle as he tuned them. Music soon filled the air. Many grabbed a partner and danced.
Ben didn’t care to be among the merrymakers. There was only one person he wanted to share the celebration with and she was busy elsewhere. He stepped over the nearest wagon tongue and began his evening walk around the circle.
His footsteps slowed as he neared the Jensen wagon. There she was, sitting near the fire with Delores. He took his time passing, long enough to watch Abby hurry to the twins and start sponging young Donny.
He moved on, satisfied she was safe.
He finished his tour and returned to the camp, intending to wait by the fire until Abby returned. Mr. and Mrs. Bingham had retired to their tent. The others were enjoying the evening festivities.
A little later Alvin Jensen hurried toward him.
His heart hammering, Ben jumped to his feet. “Is something wrong?”
“The twins are sick, but Delores assures me they’ll be okay. I don’t know if she’s saying it for my sake or hers. Abby wants me to inform her parents that she plans to stay and help my wife as long as she’s needed.”
“Mr. Bingham,” Ben called.
“Thank you. I heard.”
Muttering came from the tent. Mrs. Bingham protesting, no doubt.
Ben resumed his position. He’d sleep on the ground beneath the wagon with Nathan, but for now, he waited for his sisters. They didn’t return until the music ended. As soon as they were safely in their tent, he rolled up in his bedding, as did Nathan. Soon the other man snored softly.
Ben slept lightly wondering if Abby would return.
When he wakened the next morning, she had not. They set out on the day’s journey and still she did not go to her parents’ wagon. She spent the next day with the Jensens, as well, and returned in time for supper looking weary but triumphant.
“Both of them have measles, but apart from the rash are feeling more like themselves.”
“You’ve worn yourself out,” Mrs. Bingham said sharply. “And for what?”
“To help others.” Abby’s reply, although soft, sounded abrupt.
Ben smiled. Abby had exerted more independence in the past two days than he’d ever seen before.
They departed for the day. Ben rode down the line of wagons then returned to the Hewitt one. He tied his horse to the back and swung to the bench.
Rachel drove the oxen. He would have preferred his quieter sister sat beside him. She would have respected his wish to sit and contemplate.
“Do you want to get down and walk?” he asked, hoping she’d take his hint.
“Maybe later.” She turned to give him her full attention.
“You’re staring at me,” he said after they’d traveled a few yards.
“Guess I am. I’m trying to figure you out.”
“What’s to figure?” He would not be drawn into one of her I see a problem and you’re it mind games.
“Well, let’s see. You and Abby have gone from ‘can’t keep your eyes off each other’ to ‘can’t look at each other.’ You act like you got a burr under your saddle and Abby...” She sighed sorrowfully.
He jerked about to watch Rachel. “What’s wrong with Abby?”
“I’d like to know. What did you do to her? What did you say to make her so unhappy?”
“Me? Why would you blame me?”
“Because it’s obvious, dear brother, that something is amiss between you.”
“Maybe it’s like you said. She’s only taking advantage of my assistance until we get to Oregon.”
“Ben, forget what I said earlier. What did you do or say to offend her?” Rachel tapped his knee for emphasis.
“Rachel Hewitt, what kind of man do you think I am that you can blame me for Abby’s problems?” He snapped the reins even though the oxen were trudging along at their normal pace. One of them swung his head in protest. Sorry, old chap. It’s not your fault.
“I may be but nineteen, but I know a lover’s quarrel when I see it.”
His mouth fell open and he stared at her.
“Shut your mouth before your brains fall out.”
He shut it. Opened it again. Then gave up and shook his head. “Lover’s quarrel? That’s rich.” He meant to sound amused but feared he sounded bitter instead.
“That’s how I see it.”
“Well, you are wrong. Abby’s mother doesn’t want me to spend time with her. Abby does what her mother says.”
Rachel didn’t reply. They rode in silence for the space of two minutes.
He was the one to break the quiet. “You didn’t expect that, did you?” Any more than he did. Oh, he should have seen it. The signs had been all there. But he chose to ignore them, to believe things had changed.
“Her mother is very controlling and Abby does her best to keep the woman happy. I admire her for that.” Rachel shifted to confront him. “But what I didn’t expect, Benjamin Hewitt, was that you’d let her go so easily.”
His mouth fell open again. Would his little sister ever stop surprising him?
She touched his chin. “Brains. Don’t want to lose what little you have.”
He clamped his mouth closed. “I don’t give up easy.” But did he? Or did he act out of caution, wisdom and experience? Besides, he had no desire to add misery to Abby’s life by antagonizing her mother.
“So what are you going to do?”
He didn’t answer. What could he do?
“Bear in mind, you’ve only got four or five months before we reach Oregon. And at the rate you work, it doesn’t seem as long as it does when I think of all the steps I have to walk.”
“Are you the same sister who warned me about Abby, saying she was only using me?”
“Maybe. But she isn’t how I remember her.”
“Hmm.” She was exactly as he remembered her.
Rachel leaned her head to Ben’s shoulders. “There’s many a mile between here and Oregon. Plenty of time to heal wounds and learn new ways of being.”
Did she mean wounds between him and Abby? But what else could she be talking about? “When will you stop surprising me?”
She grinned. “When you no longer look at me as a kid sister.” She jumped down and joined Emma and Abby.
Abby glanced his way. Her gaze riveted his for one heartbeat and then skittered away. As if to warn him that she wasn’t interested in spending time with him. He understood he couldn’t compete with the hold her mother had over her. No reason he should be disappointed. It was exactly what he’d expected from the time he realized she was on this journey.
* * *
For two evenings, they watched the sun set behind Chimney Rock.
The first evening, despite her mother’s protests, Abby hurried off to join the Jensens and help with the children,
The second evening about twenty Indians camped near them.
Some of the women came close to the camp. They wore deerskin dresses with tiny beads sewn into the sleeves. Their hair was braided and one of them carried her baby in a basket on her back.
&
nbsp; His sisters and Abby—again against her mother’s protests—went out to greet the shy women. Abby brought corn cakes to offer them.
One of the women offered a small square of deerskin in which were several chunks of cooked meat.
The Indian ladies touched both Abby and Emma’s blond hair and giggled.
Ben leaned back against a wagon and smiled. He, too, found Abby’s hair fascinating and so often longed to reach out and touch it
The Indian entourage slipped away and his sisters and Abby returned to the camp. He continued on his way around the circled wagons, often glancing at Chimney Rock and slowly a plan grew.
When they reached the place he’d ask Abby if she’d like a closer look at the rock formation. He’d ask her to answer his concerns clearly. Did she intend to follow her mother’s wishes? Was he only a convenient diversion on this trip? And if she said yes to the latter, what would he do?
He hardened his heart against a desire to try and woo her. If she wasn’t truly interested, he could find hundreds of ways of keeping away from her.
* * *
Abby stood with Emma and Rachel staring at the huge pile of rocks that rose from the plains like a chimney.
“It’s amazing,” Emma said.
“Let’s go closer.” Rachel grabbed their hands and tried to drag them toward the formation.
Emma pulled back as did Abby.
“We have to let Ben know our plans,” Emma said.
Abby knew Mother would disapprove. Mother had grown more critical of Abby with every passing day and Abby had no wish to aggravate her. But she longed to see the rock close up.
“Then let’s tell him. And Abby can tell her father.” Rachel turned them about and dragged them back to the wagons.
Abby nodded. Her father wouldn’t object. And if she spoke to Father privately she could avoid having to deal with Mother’s objections.
She slipped away from Rachel’s grasp and went to the Bingham wagon. Nathan drove it. Father walked by the oxen. Mother must be resting inside. Good. This was better than she’d expected. She hurried to her father’s side.
“The Hewitt girls and I are going over to the Chimney for a closer look.”
He smiled. “You go right ahead. Enjoy yourself.”
With a free heart, she joined Emma and Rachel who were still talking to Ben. They appeared to be arguing but stopped as soon as they saw her.
“You go on and have fun,” Ben said, waving them away. He raised his eyebrows at Abby as if asking her something.
She hesitated. If he wanted company she’d gladly stay behind. She could see Chimney Rock well enough from here. It would have been nice if they could have gone together—just the two of them. But in the past few days he’d made no attempt to talk to her alone. She could only assume that whatever Mother had said to him had the effect Mother desired.
She turned away. It certainly did not have the effect Abby wished for. Though she wasn’t even sure what that was. Had she hoped Ben would refuse to bow to Mother’s orders? But then why would he? Her words six years ago had disguised her feelings in dislike. Yes, she’d hoped these past weeks had shown him how false they were. But even if he cared she was bound by her guilt over Andy’s death. An ache as familiar as her name sucked her breath from her.
Her thoughts quickly turned to Delores’s words. She had to forgive herself. If only she knew how.
Rachel caught her hand. “Stop worrying about things. Don’t be discouraged. Everything will work out. I know it.” She laughed and pulled Abby along.
Abby had no idea what things Rachel thought would work out, but her laughter was infectious and Abby put away her problems for the moment and enjoyed the afternoon with the Hewitt sisters.
They joined the many others going to have a closer look and went right up to the Chimney, tipping their heads so far back they almost fell over which sent them into gales of laughter. Some of the boys scratched their names in the base.
Rachel begged a knife off Jed Henshaw and scratched her name there. She handed it to Emma who scratched hers.
Emma held the knife out to Abby. She shook her head.
She didn’t want to remember Abigail Bingham Black. She wanted to be new. Free. According to Delores she could be if she but forgave herself.
But how?
The question hounded her the rest of the day, had her tossing and turning on the hard ground throughout the night. Her lack of sleep was evident on her face the next morning.
“Abigail, you’ve overdone it,” Mother scolded. “That’s what you get for hiking off to some wild place like some sort of—”
“Mother, don’t say it.” She didn’t know what word Mother had in mind, but knew it would be insulting to those who shared their campfire, and who had been so helpful and patient with the entire Bingham family.
Mother’s eyes snapped her disapproval. She did not care for Abby challenging her.
Not that Abby ever did.
Later the next day, they passed Scotts Bluff, which looked all the world like Abby imagined a castle would.
The bluff walls hugged the river so they had to pull around it and climb a rocky ridge.
Abby couldn’t stop staring at the wild formation.
“Do you know how it got its name?” Ben’s voice came from behind, startling her and at the same time sending a wave of hopeful anticipation coursing through her veins.
“No, I don’t.”
He stepped to her side. “It was named after Hiram Scott. He worked for the American Fur Company about fifteen years ago. He was deserted by his companions after he was injured, some say by an arrow. Others say he broke a leg. His bones and boots were found here sixty miles from where they’d left him. He crawled the whole way.”
She jerked around to stare at him. “Crawled? Sixty miles? That’s incredible.”
“Yup, it is. Just goes to show what a man can do if he sets his mind to it. Or a woman for that matter.”
She couldn’t turn away from his look; didn’t want to—finding a secret source of strength and encouragement in his presence and the offering of his words.
“Like crossing the continent to get to Oregon?” she said.
“Yup. And even more, confronting opposition and criticism to do so.”
“Like turning aside a stampede of buffalo?”
He nodded, his smile soft upon his lips. “Like choosing to follow our own plans.”
“Like jumping into a river to save a child.” And like you jumping in to rescue me.
“I hope you don’t do that again.”
“I hope there isn’t a need.”
“But you did it because you saw the need. You’re one brave lady.”
“Am I?” She tore her gaze from his though it pained her to do so. “I don’t know.”
He touched her shoulder. So gently that it was a mere brush that triggered within her a yearning as big as Scotts Bluff.
She brought her gaze back to his, felt herself drawn into his look. “Some things are very hard to overcome.”
“This journey is bound to give us all the chance to deal with our inner challenges. A chance to get past them. Start over. Start new.” His hand on her shoulder, riveted her in place, filling her with hope and strength.
Did he refer to something Mother had said? Horror clouded her vision. Had Mother told him she was responsible for Andy’s death? Horror darkened her thoughts.
She spun away and hurried to catch up to the Hewitt wagon.
She couldn’t bear if he knew the truth.
You have to forgive yourself. It sounded so inviting. Forgive. Be free. Start over. Start new.
But how? How do I forgive an endless pain?
Chapter Nineteen
Ben stared after Abby. He’d hoped his wor
ds would make her see that she could be free of her mother’s control. Could start anew.
He swallowed back a bitter taste. Just hinting at it had sent her running.
He rehashed what he’d said. He wanted to help her. He wanted her to be free. He wanted to know the truth about her feelings and why her mother had such a firm hold on her even after she’d been married.
How could he get past her defenses?
A verse they’d memorized came to him. If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed. Something had her chained to the past, to her mother’s control. Perhaps if he could learn what it was he could help her see the grip it had on her.
Lord, I’m powerless to help her. Only You can free her of whatever this is. Guide my steps in trying to get through to her.
They would reach Fort Laramie in four days. The trip would be one third over. That left them many miles yet to go, but in some ways it seemed far too short.
He wanted to rush after Abby and demand an explanation but an inner voice warned him she had a battle to fight that she must fight on her own if she was to ever be free. So for the next four days, he stayed his distance, watching her, seeing the way she kept to herself, the way her forehead furrowed. Often she sought out Mrs. Jensen and the two appeared to be in earnest conversation.
Ben waited and prayed. Although he chafed under the strain of holding back his questions, he knew it was what he must do.
The wagon train reached Fort Laramie. A time to restock and rest. A time to resupply and repair wagons and harnesses and shoes. Built from logs, the fort was owned by the American Fur Company and mostly traded with the Indians, many of whom camped outside it. Trappers and mountain men dressed in leather congregated, as well. Nathan Reed seemed to know many of them and was greeted with much shouting and shoving.
“Like overgrown children,” Emma observed as they set up camp then made their way into the fort.
She gasped at the prices. “Coffee, a dollar fifty a pint, but we’re almost out.”
Rachel examined some calico. “A dollar a yard and it’s inferior.”
