“What?” Ruth whispered, speaking for all of them.
“Cholera.” His tone was flat.
“You sure?” Ruth’s eyes flew back to the infected wagon.
Jackson nodded, his expression resigned. “Seen it more times than I care to remember.”
“Are they … ?” Patience began and then seemed unable to finish.
He nodded. “All four of them.”
“We can’t take a chance of catching this sickness,” he said grimly. “Do exactly as I tell you—nothing else.” He made brief eye contact with each of the women. “Understood?”
Each responded with a vigorous nod.
Ruth’s eyes returned to the wagon. “What do you want us to do?”
Jackson stepped to the back of the wagon and reached inside for the box of matches. “Move our wagon to the edge of the clearing and wait for me there. I have to burn their wagon. Only way to stop the contagion.”
“Can we get down?” Glory asked. “Look for their stock? If they’re tied up and left behind, they might starve.”
He considered for an instant and nodded. “Do not go near their wagon.”
“We should hold a memorial service for them.” Patience looked to Ruth. “It’s not fitting to … it’s not fitting to go this way.”
Worry creased Jackson’s brow as he glanced back at the silent wagon. “I can’t afford to risk your safety.”
“We can’t afford to leave them without saying words from the Good Book,” Ruth said quietly. “I promise we’ll be brief.”
Jackson nodded. “I’ll scout around to check for their stock.”
“I’ll help.” Glory scrambled out of the wagon, relieved Ruth was going to be otherwise occupied. She could help Jackson; the thought was pleasing though the circumstances were anything but happy.
Jackson and Glory searched a wide loop around the family’s wagon while the girls moved the wagon. He led the way down a slope to the Arkansas River, where tethered nearby they found a nice team of red mules still under harness, tied so they could graze on the heavy bottom grass and also reach water.
Glory murmured soothingly to reassure the two large animals as Jackson freed them. She trailed behind as he led them uphill. After tying the pair of animals to the back of his wagon, he and Glory joined the girls, who had formed a loose circle a short distance from the burned-out campfire. Glory and Jackson bowed their heads.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” Ruth murmured.
Glory’s gaze drifted over the neat bundles near the campfire: bedrolls, folded clothing … people’s lives. Her eyes focused on a scrap of black leather left out in the open not far from where she was standing. She stretched her neck for a better look. Beneath the black cover, she saw a flash of gold. It reminded her of the Good Book open in Ruth’s hands. She glanced up. Sure enough, the two looked practically the same: black leather covers, pages edged in gold.
Her eyes widened. Could this book be a valuable treasure like the one Ruth handled with such care? she wondered. She glanced up to capture Jackson’s attention, but his eyes were closed as he stood silent with head bowed.
“Amen,” Ruth intoned, and the others followed.
“Amen.” Jackson glanced up and frowned at Glory, who was staring at him. When he raised his brows questioningly, she pointed to the black book on the ground not far from her feet.
“Can I … ,” she began haltingly. “Would it be okay if I picked it up?”
Jackson’s gaze traveled from the Bible back to her eager eyes.
“Sorry, Glory. I can’t let you have it. Cholera is a powerful sickness. We have to burn everything.”
Glory’s face fell. She’d give anything to have a book like Ruth’s. She couldn’t read it, but she could hold it and feel the power of its words in her hands.
Stepping away, Jackson walked to his horse and loosened the leather strap on his saddlebags. He withdrew a book, secured the flap, and walked back to the gathering. He handed the book to Glory, his features grave. “You can have my Bible.”
Glory stared at the book, then up at him. He was giving her his Bible?
“I couldn’t take your Bible.” She handed the book back to him.
Seconds later, the black book was back in her hands. “I want you to have it.”
She opened the front cover and saw lines neatly penned in black ink. With a sigh, she passed the book back to Jackson. “What does it say?”
“You can’t read?” he asked gently.
Glory shook her head, unable to meet his eyes, feeling suddenly inadequate and strangely disappointed.
Jackson’s eyes softened. “It’s the family Bible, Glory. The names and origins of my family’s tree are recorded in the front.” He leaned closer, his breath warm on her cheek. “See here? My closest relatives live in Illinois.”
“Illinois,” Glory murmured, staring at the feathery script. No doubt Jackson’s kin had written the information for future generations.
“Perhaps you and I can write Jackson’s relatives in Illinois and tell them about our trip,” Ruth suggested, “so they’ll know where Jackson is and what he’s doing.”
“Thank you, Ruth. That’s a real thoughtful suggestion of yours.” Jackson gave Ruth one of those smiles Glory envied.
He studied the book in her hands for a moment. “I’m placing my Bible temporarily in your care, Glory, with one important condition.”
She nodded. “Whatever you say.” He was actually entrusting her with something of his. She’d never owned a book before. Neither had Poppy, though he’d always put a lot of store in such. She couldn’t believe her good fortune!
“If you want to keep this book, then it will be your responsibility to care for it. I think Ruth’s suggestion is good; you and Ruth will write to the names in the front of the book and tell them about yourself and how you came to be with my wagon.” He met her gaze directly. “This book is important to me, Glory. I wouldn’t entrust it to just anyone.”
She felt color spreading to her cheeks. “I can’t write.” He must realize that, so why was he embarrassing her all over again?
“Then you must learn to read. And write.”
Now she couldn’t believe her bad luck.
“And write?” Read and write. He might as well tell her to rehang the moon … or find an easier route to Heaven.
She sighed. For some reason, she wanted this book more than any earthly thing she could recall because it was his, but it came with strings attached. She sensed this reading and writing deal was going to be work, the kind of work she didn’t like, the kind of work where you had to sit still and think. She looked at the book, felt the weight of it in her hands. At that moment, she knew she would agree to most anything to keep it.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“We have a deal then?”
“Deal.” She nodded, sticking out her right hand while gripping the book tightly in her left.
Jackson took her hand and gave it a firm shake, then turned to face the girls. “Ruth, I’d like for you to teach Glory to read and write.”
“Of course, Jackson. I would be happy to tutor her.”
Harper lifted her brows and crossed her arms. “Teach her to read? Are you addled?”
“I don’t believe so,” Jackson replied, meeting Harper’s surly look with one of his own. “Other than you, Harper, no one has thought to question my common sense.”
Harper looked Glory up and down, her eyes dark with resentment. Glory felt her face grow hot under Harper’s scrutiny; she felt she was being judged like a cow taken to market.
“I-I’m not stupid,” Glory stammered.
“There’s times when—”
“Harper,” Ruth cautioned.
“I can do it.” Glory straightened defensively. She wasn’t an imbecile. There were just a whole lot of things she didn’t know. And reading and writing happened to be two of them.
“Well, Harper, I know you’ll want to get in on Glory’s education. You can teach her to cook,
” Jackson said.
“Cook? Her?”
“Maybe you’re not as smart as Jackson thinks,” Glory stated, crossing her arms smugly. “Maybe you can’t teach anybody to cook.”
Harper uncrossed her arms and crossed them again. “I can teach anyone anything if I set my mind to it. My ma was intelligent. That’s what Mr. Potter said. Very intelligent. He said that’s where I get my smarts.”
“Ha.”
“Ha.”
The girls faced off hotly.
“Then it’s settled.” Jackson seemed eager to move on. “Harper, you’ll teach Glory to cook, and Ruth will teach her to read. Ladies, return to our wagon and move on down the trail about a hundred yards. Wait for me there.”
The girls followed his order, loaded up, and started down the trail. They were over a hill and down the other side when Ruth reined in the team to wait for Jackson. They could no longer see the family’s campsite, but minutes later, they saw smoke rising in the sky and knew what was happening.
When Jackson topped the rise and approached, they could see the sadness on his face. He stowed the matches, then joined Ruth on the wagon seat. Without a word, he took the reins and gave them a shake. The oxen leaned into the yoke and trudged on down the trail.
Glory turned to stare out the back of the wagon, clutching the worn, black book to her chest. Jackson had loaned her his Bible. She thought she was going to burst with the joy of it all.
After supper that night, Ruth sat with Glory beside the campfire, going over the alphabet. Jackson suspected that Glory would have preferred to spend her time skinning rabbits, cleaning a fish, even washing dishes, but she appeared determined to prove herself a capable student.
He smiled at the frown of concentration on her face as she carefully repeated after Ruth. Beckoning to Lily and Patience from the other side of the wagon, he got their attention.
“Ladies,” he whispered when they joined him, “I would appreciate it if you’d teach Glory some household skills. You two do a fine job of it, and those are skills she’s going to need in the future.”
“Of course,” Lily said. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“Couldn’t be that hard,” Patience agreed. “If Ruth can teach her to read and write, and Harper can show her how to cook, Lily and I can hone her domestic skills.”
“I’d be much obliged.” Jackson nodded with a conspiratorial smile. “And, ladies, let’s just keep this among ourselves, shall we?”
Patience and Lily glanced briefly at each other and back to him. “Of course.”
Later, Jackson found a moment to talk privately with Mary, and she agreed to teach Glory to sew. Each of the women was more than willing to help, and all had agreed to keep their arrangements with Jackson confidential. After all, they told him, they wouldn’t want to hurt the young woman’s pride.
Jackson grinned as he set the wagon in motion the next morning, feeling downright proud of his accomplishments. He glanced over his shoulder, his smile widening. Glory was in the back of the wagon, leafing through his Bible. There’d be no walking until she satisfied her curiosity, and that would take a while.
A girl would be ill prepared for marriage unless she learned basic domestic tasks. Whether she liked it or not, before the trip was over, Glory would be qualified to make some man a good wife, even though somewhere in that stubborn brain of hers, she still thought that she was going to make it on her own.
Cooking. Now Jackson was set on meddling in her business. Glory picked up a long-handled fork and approached the fire warily. There were a hundred things she liked better than cooking. Sore bunions, for instance, or an earache would be better than standing over a hot skillet of spitting bacon.
She had more grease burns on her arms than she had freckles on her face. Uttering a bad word, she turned a piece of bacon, jumping farther back, spouting another unsavory word. Frowning, Lily shook her head. “We don’t say those words around here.”
Glory eyed the popping skillet, shoving it away from the fire. “I can’t help it, Lily. I’m not a cook. Don’t even like it. Can’t I do the wash? Or shoot something for dinner like a rabbit or a squirrel?”
“You ate when Poppy was alive, didn’t you?”
“He did all the cooking. I made sure he had stuff to put on the table.” If Mary or Lily asked her to skin a deer, she could do that. She could shoot a jackrabbit or wring a hen’s neck to throw in a boiling pot. What she couldn’t do was fry a strip of bacon without burning it or make a drinkable cup of coffee! She jumped back again, sucking a burnt finger.
The group gathered at the back of the wagon to eat breakfast. Eating had turned into an ordeal Glory would just as soon avoid. For three weeks they’d been on the trail now, and for some reason table manners seemed suddenly more important.
The girls eyed Glory disapprovingly when she sopped up gravy with bread. Why? You were supposed to sop gravy with biscuits, not eat it with a fork like Patience. If she tried to eat gravy with a fork, it would take her all day to get a decent bite.
Jackson approached the wagon, removing his hat. The girls bowed their heads, and he blessed the food. “Lord, we thank you for this bounty and ask that you be with us today on our travels. Amen.”
Ruth and Lily unfolded their napkins and laid them in their laps. Ruth’s eyes followed Jackson, and she hurriedly reached for the plate of bacon and eggs. “You must be real hungry this morning.”
“Thanks, Ruth. I can always eat Harper’s biscuits.”
I can always eat Harper’s biscuits, Glory mocked silently. Envy coursed through her. He’d never told her that he liked her cooking. Of course, she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t like her cooking, either.
She felt the girls’ eyes on her as she dug into her eggs, anxious to be on her way. The long days were full of new adventures, and she looked forward to each new day and to the knowledge it would bring her. Breaking a biscuit apart, she dunked it in gravy. “Good thing we ain’t—”
“Haven’t,” Ruth corrected.
“… haven’t,” she amended dutifully, “come across any more families who caught the cholera.”
Ruth passed Jackson the pan of biscuits and filled his coffee cup a second time. Her hand lingered a moment longer on his than what Glory thought was proper. Ruth smiled. “Jelly?”
Jelly? Glory watched the exchange, assuring herself that she didn’t care. These new feelings were worse than having a shoe fit too tight. Ruth had been good to her, real nice, but Ruth clearly had her sights fixed on Jackson, and clearly he wasn’t complaining.
Glory didn’t like the hurtful twinges Ruth’s maternal clucking caused, partly because she didn’t understand them and partly because she wanted to be the one doing the fussing. Jackson didn’t seem to mind who clucked over him. He took the mollycoddling in stride, like it was his due.
Scooping a bite of eggs into her mouth, Glory wiped her chin with the cuff of her sleeve. “What do you think we’ll see on the trail today, Jackson?”
Yesterday they’d spotted a big ten-point buck standing along a ridge. He’d stood there proud as a peacock, sniffing the air. Glory had studied the beautiful animal as Jackson rode to the back of the wagon and eyed her sternly before he spoke. “By the size of his rack, he’s been around a few years. Unless the meat is needed, nobody in this train kills for sport.”
Glory wouldn’t have shot the buck for any reason; Jackson didn’t need to look at her that way, as if she were loaded with evil. Poppy had said it was wrong to kill for sport, and she’d never dream of felling that magnificent creature.
The rest of the day she’d kept busy watching geese lifting off of ponds and colorful birds taking flight, wishing Poppy could see all the new wonders.
They’d stopped at Big Timbers long enough for Jackson to check the harness, and she’d watched Patience talking to a couple of bluebirds on a fence post. When she’d asked Patience if they’d said anything back, Lily gave her a weary look. Well, Glory didn’t talk to birds. How was sh
e supposed to know if they talked back to some folks?
Jackson glanced up from his breakfast plate, disturbing her musings. “We’ll be at Apishapa Creek in a month. At that point, you’ll be able to see the Huerfano Mountains and Spanish Peaks in the distance.”
“Huerfano?” Glory asked awkwardly, trying out the different sound on her tongue.
Jackson nodded. “Means ‘orphan’ in Spanish.”
“Like us,” Lily murmured. The girls felt an immediate kinship with a range of orphan mountains.
“Yes,” Jackson said, lying back to rest. “The Cherokee Trail comes in from Arkansas near Bent’s Fort and leads to the gold diggings at Cherry Creek.”
“That’s in Colorado,” Ruth said.
“Wow,” Glory murmured in awe. She shook her head, marveling at her good fortune. She’d already been farther than she’d ever dreamed possible and seen things she never knew existed, and Jackson said they’d barely begun the long trip, and they were less than halfway there.
That day they walked only ten miles, but the trail had crossed high, broken terrain. The going was slow and difficult, and the wagon had gotten hung up several times.
For weeks, Jackson had warned them that there would be many tedious days like this one, not to let themselves be spoiled by some of the earlier days when the road had been flat and worn down by previous travelers.
Again, Jackson reminded them of what lay ahead. “The road is just as bad up ahead,” he told them as they gathered around the fire that night. “Don’t look for easy travel.”
Glory listened to the warning, bone weary tonight. Her sore feet agreed that the road had been hard today, though she had found previous days exhausting as well. She ladled lard into the skillet and set it on the fire to heat.
The others eyed the skillet bleakly.
Glory noted their leery looks and determined to make them eat their uncharitable thoughts. Ruth had put her in charge of cooking tonight, and they were going to see that she was improving. She cut up an onion and threw it in the hot grease. The spicy aroma added hot fuel to the late August air.
Glory Page 10
