by Linda Ford
Someone called to Mary Mae and with another wave, she turned her attention away from Judith.
Judith sank back on her heels.
Gil had seen the little exchange. “I’m sorry, but I’m the only company you will have until the danger of diphtheria is over.” He shot her a teasing grin. “What shall I do to amuse you?”
She pushed aside her loneliness and uncertainty to study Gil’s face as he watched, waiting for her reply. His dark eyes flashed with playfulness and then it fled, replaced with a soberness that made her nerves twitch. It felt is if he searched her thoughts. Perhaps wondering, even as she did, what sort of marriage their agreement promised.
It wasn’t a question she could answer. She wanted to keep her heart closed to caring for a man. Did that mean they would live separate lives even when in the same house? Or would they find a way to be more than roommates? Heat started in her throat and headed for her cheeks.
Not wanting him to see, perhaps interpret her flushed cheeks to mean more than embarrassment, she glanced over her shoulder. “Anna is sleeping for now. But I don’t expect the peace to last long.”
“Poor little girl must be exhausted.”
“I know I was.” She brought her attention back to Gil who faced forward allowing her the opportunity to observe him openly. She was beginning to get a picture of him. A motherless child until age ten. And then his inheritance or wages or whatever he wanted to call it, given away to a stepbrother. Yet, unlike Frank, Gil chose to keep going, to find work he enjoyed, and to be a kind man.
Anna snuffled and sat up. Before Judith could reach her side, Anna wailed. Judith lifted the baby to her lap, found the sugar rag and tried to get Anna to take it.
Anna jerked it from her mouth and threw it aside. She pushed from Judith’s arms, pressing herself against the wall of the wagon, as far from Judith as she could possibly get, fixing Judith with an accusing, angry glare. And she screamed.
“What’s wrong?” Gil asked.
“She’s an unhappy little girl.” Judith reached for Anna. “Come on, sweetie. I’ll cuddle you.”
Anna screamed louder, shredding Judith’s eardrums.
Judith offered the sugar rag. Offered her a dry biscuit. Tried to play peek-a-boo to distract Anna.
Nothing worked.
Gil stopped the wagon and came round to the back. He reached in and lifted Anna from the wagon.
Anna kicked and screamed.
“Looks like a temper tantrum to me,” he said, raising his voice to be heard about Anna.
The others watched from across the way.
“She wants her mama,” Polly called, when Anna paused to take a breath.
“Mama.” Anna dissolved into heart wrenching tears.
“Poor baby,” Judith crooned. “I feel so helpless. How do we comfort her?”
“I don’t know.” Judith and Gil looked at each other, sharing their concern for the little girl who now had no one but them to provide her needs.
“We need to do more than give her food and shelter,” Judith said.
“Like what?”
“Comfort and love.” She didn’t know why she’d tacked on the last word and hoped he understood she meant love for Anna. Nothing more. Certainly not the kind of love a man and woman shared.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from Gil’s and wondered what he thought of her saying the child needed comfort and love. Did he think he needed it too? Or that she did?
Why had her foolish thoughts even considered such a thing?
5
Gil studied Judith. He’d heard her words. Anna needed comfort and love. “How are we to give it if she rejects it?”
Judith blinked twice as if she wasn’t sure what he referred to.
Why would she be surprised, perhaps even confused, at his response? Had he misheard her? No, he was certain of what she’d said.
She looked at the baby squalling in his arms. “The first thing is we must be patient with her.”
“Of course. What else would we be?”
“Some would think a child having what appears to be a temper tantrum should be spanked.” She didn’t meet his eyes.
He caught her chin and turned her face toward him, waited until she lifted her eyes and met his. “A temper tantrum by a spoiled child is one thing and might require some form of discipline.” He couldn’t imagine spanking a child as little as Anna though he knew those who did. “But one by a child who has lost her parents is quite another. I think it calls for compassion.”
She nodded. “I agree. But it can’t be good for her to continue crying like this”
The other wagons rumbled onward. Her friends marched ahead, leaving Judith and Gil and the crying baby in the dust from the trail. Buck rode up, stopping a distance from them.
“Is there anything you need?”
Anna’s mother and father, Gil thought. But those roles now belonged to Judith and him. “We’ll settle her before we continue,” he called. Their lighter wagon would have no trouble catching up to the slower, heavier wagons. He stared down at the distraught little girl who alternately screamed and sobbed. “I have no idea how to calm her.”
“I’ll try the sugar rag again.” Judith climbed into the wagon and returned with the soggy thing. She stuck it in Anna’s mouth and held it there. Anna tried to push it out then with eyes streaming tears, began to suck.
Judith wiped away the tears and dried the little face. “I’ll take her.” But when she reached for the Anna, the baby clung to Gil, pressing her face to his shoulder.
“That’s okay. I’ll hold her.”
“Why don’t I drive,” Judith said. “While you and Anna ride in the back. Maybe you’ll both be able to sleep.”
The idea was tempting. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep. But he wasn’t comfortable enough with the situation to rest while Judith drove. He knew she could. Had witnessed her doing so. But to snooze in the back…
Well, it required a degree of trust to make himself so vulnerable and he wasn’t able to do that. “Time to get moving.” They returned to the wagon seat. He held Anna as he drove the mules. She played with the ends of the reins.
Gil looked at Judith, saw his relief reflected in her eyes. After a bit, Anna’s head drooped. Gil shifted her so she slept across his knees, her head in the crook of his arm. After a bit his arm began to ache but he would not complain. “At least she is calm while sleeping,” he murmured.
Judith didn’t seem inclined to make conversation so the afternoon hours passed in quiet watchfulness of the passing scenery that changed very little. They would soon come to the Little Arkansas River and fresh water and wood to burn. He smiled at the memory of Judith’s reaction to burning buffalo chips. If they were going the way of the Cimarron cutoff, they would find neither wood nor water. Instead, they were going by way of Bent’s Fort. He might sell the contents of his three wagons there, rather than go on to Santa Fe, and take the money back to his stepmother and his other obligations.
The wagons beside them stopped at a familiar camping spot. They circled into place.
He pulled their wagon to a halt. Judith looked around. “We’re camping here? I don’t see any water.”
“No water. No wood until we reach the river.”
She glanced to their left. “How far will I have to go for fuel?”
“Buffalo chips?” He couldn’t keep the teasing out of his voice. “You’ll need an apron full to make supper and breakfast.” He jumped to the ground, the movement waking Anna.
She opened her eyes and looked about, gave a little sob but nothing more. Thinking she might want to stretch her legs, he put her down.
Judith joined him and they watched Anna toddle about. “I better be getting that fuel.” Judith took Anna’s hand and they headed out to the prairie.
Grinning at the determined look on Judith’s face, Gil unhitched the mules, gave them water from a bucket and hobbled them where they could graze. He kept them as close to the wagon as possible for even though
Buck had the guards check on Gil and Judith, Gil knew they were, as Judith said, easy prey. But the mules were good guards too. They would bray at anything unusual.
He returned to the wagon, but Judith had not come back. He tented his hand over his eyes and looked across the prairie until he spotted her some distance away, her apron bulging with her pickings. He squinted to focus on the distance as he looked for Anna. She’d wandered away from Judith but Judith seemed not to notice. He stared some longer. Judith didn’t move. She didn’t pick up buffalo chips. Nor look toward Anna who got further and further away.
A shiver raced across Gil’s neck as he sensed something amiss. He grabbed his rifle and trotted toward her. If thieves hid in a depression where he couldn’t see them, he knew he couldn’t hope to approach unnoticed, but there wasn’t any way to avoid that. His only protection was to move fast and dart from side to side so he didn’t make an easy target.
He stopped fifty feet from her and fell to one knee, the rifle aimed to any danger in front of her.
He held motionless and alert for several seconds. Nothing moved. Nothing signaled danger and he rushed to her side. Her face had lost all color.
“Judith, what’s wrong?”
She didn’t move. He couldn’t say if his question even registered.
“Judith?”
The sound that came from her throat was half groan, half sputter and she pointed toward a buffalo chip that lay a yard away, its underside exposed.
He looked about for a snake or tarantula. Saw neither. A quick glance informed him Anna had heard his voice and he made her way back to him. “Judith.” He shook her slightly.
She blinked. Her eyes slowly focused on him. She shuddered.
“You’re okay.”
She tilted to one side.
He grabbed her. She clung to him as shivers raced through her body. He rubbed her back and made soothing noises. The shivers lessened.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his arms still about her.
“Snake,” she whispered.
He looked again. Nothing. If there had been a snake it had slithered away. “Wait here.” He raced toward Anna and scooped her up just in case there was something harmful lurking about. Judith wavered, as unsteady as a tree about to topple. He hurried back to her side and wrapped an arm about her shoulders, holding her close and upright as they made their way toward the wagon.
Half way there, she straightened. “I hate snakes.”
“I guessed that.”
“Is this enough fuel?” She indicated her apron.
“It will do.” There’d be enough for preparing the meals. But if they wanted a hot breakfast there be no evening fire to chase away the chill. But then he’d survived worse. Little Anna had too and he’d be sure to keep her warm.
They reached the wagon and Judith emptied her apron.
“I’ll start the fire,” Gil offered.
“That’s good of you.”
The gratitude in her voice made him grin. “I’m basically a good person,” he said.
She laughed softly. “I know.”
Their gazes locked across the smoke from the reluctant fire. Something warm and faintly familiar escaped from the depths of his heart. It took a moment for him to place the feeling. Judith’s words of acceptance echoed the words of his step mother when she had married his pa.
“I know it isn’t easy to suddenly have a mother,” she’d said. “But I also know we will do just fine. I love you and that is enough.”
He and Judith didn’t have love. Seems neither of them wanted it. But they had Anna and the promise of a life together. That was enough. He turned his attention back to the fire and she concentrated on preparing a meal.
The fire caste a dim glow as they ate.
Anna perched on Gil’s knees eating only if he fed her from his plate. It pleased him that she allowed this.
As they finished, lightening forked across the sky and thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Are we in for a soaker?” Judith asked.
“It’s a long ways away.” Still a cold wind fanned the embers of the fire and made him shiver. He carried Anna as he retrieved blankets from the wagon. He draped one about Judith’s shoulders, another about his own and wrapped Anna tightly in the third.
Across the way, voices murmured in low conversation and then the freighter began to play his harmonica. Sad, slow tunes. Someone must have objected because he switched to lively tunes and two of the freighters stomped out jigs in time to the music.
Anna’s head fell against his arm. “She’s dozed off,” he whispered.
“Good,” Judith whispered back. “Hopefully she’ll sleep through the night and we’ll all get some much needed rest. Let’s put her to bed.” The fires across the way had died down and the music stopped.
He carried Anna to the wagon and waited for Judith to climb into it then handed her the baby. She hummed as she settled Anna.
Gil edged away silently. He placed his bedroll under the wagon, his rifle close at hand and was asleep as soon as his head hit the ground.
Judith lay with Anna’s warm little body beside her.
Warm? She touched the baby’s forehead. Was she too warm? In her stupid fright about the snake she’d forgotten about the threat of diphtheria. She wasn’t much of a mother.
But she would get better. She’d be the best she could be.
The statement failed to bolster her faith in herself. She’d been the best she could be for Frank and it wasn’t enough. Not enough for him to face the challenges in his life or even to realize that she would stand by him no matter what his future looked like.
She pushed aside the regrets. This trip would put an end to them. Just as soon as she found the stepbrother and made him own his share of responsibility in Frank’s death. She’d asked around and listened as the men talked but so far had not heard anyone with the name Jones that could be Frank’s brother. One Jones was a little Welsh man. He didn’t fit the sort of man she sought. Too old. Frank’s brother was only a year older than him. Frank had never given his name, simply called him his stepbrother. Not until after his death and her decision to find him did she wish she’d asked.
She checked Anna again and decided she didn’t have a fever. Six more days before they would be deemed out of danger. From beneath the wagon came Gil’s soft snores. Beside her, Anna slept peacefully. The distant storm had moved out of earshot. For now all was right with her world and Judith asked God to keep it that way before she fell asleep.
The next morning, Anna still slept as Judith slipped out to start breakfast. Poor little thing had worn herself out with crying and fussing. Sleep was the best thing for her.
Judith made coffee and fried salt pork and corn dodgers as Gil brought in the mules. She’d restricted the coffee to one small cupful each as their water supply was limited.
“Anna still sleeping?” Gil asked as he joined her for breakfast.
“It’s the best thing for her.”
Gil asked the blessing. “Lord God, thank You yesterday’s safe passage and that no one was harmed by the snake. Thank You for sufficient fuel, for food and water. Thank You that none of us is ill. Please protect us from such. Keep us all safe. Amen.”
Judith admitted to herself she liked the way he prayed…as if he trusted God’s care completely. She handed him food and helped herself. While they ate, she tried to find words to express her feelings without looking like an utter chump. “Gil, you’ve been through so much with your mother dying and lately your father, with the disappointment about your share of the money and the unfaithfulness of the girl you loved. And yet, you pray like your faith has not been shaken one degree by it.”
He sipped his coffee and didn’t speak for a moment.
She knew him well enough to know he considered his words before he spoke.
“Like you mentioned, I had to forgive those who hurt me. Once I learned how important that was, I found it easy to trust in God’s unchangeable nature.”
&nbs
p; “How did you learn? Did something happen?”
He set his cup down and pulled one knee up to rest his hands there. “I made a very bad mistake when I was first on the trail. I was in partnership with an older fella by the name of Stu Macleod. He knew the trail but needed someone younger to help with the wagons so we worked together. We reached a river and I thought I could take the wagons down a short cut even though Stu was against it. He was far more cautious than I and knew it, so let me make the decision to take that route. Turns out he was right and I was wrong as I learned on my first attempt. The wagon upended and threw me forward. Stu saw what was happening and raced in on horseback to pull me out of harm’s way.” Gil stared into the flickering midst of the fire.
Judith saw the pain in his face and knew the outcome had been awful. “Did your friend die?” she whispered.
“No. He likely saved my life but his legs were crushed. He was in so much pain. We made a bed for him in the back of a wagon and splinted his legs as best we could. I did everything I could to care for him. And told him over and over how sorry I was.” His voice deepened with regret.
“Stu was pretty much out of it for a few days. We gave him as much laudanum as we could but even so, he groaned at every rut we crossed.”
Judith understood how Gil’s mistake hurt him, but she wondered what it had to do with learning to trust God. She waited for Gil to continue.
Gil let out a gusty breath as if he’d forgotten to do so for several minutes. “Stu healed up but he would never again ride the trail. He took his share of the profits and bought himself a little house. He gave me the wagons. I said I couldn’t take them. I didn’t deserve them. I was responsible for his bum legs.” Gil’s eyes flared with a light that made Judith look at the fire to see if flames had shot up. They hadn’t. Gil’s fire came from within.
