Glory

by Lori Copeland

  When Ruth spotted Glory drifting farther away, she hollered, “Jackson said to stay close.”

  Glory acknowledged the shouted warning with a friendly wave over her shoulder but kept walking. Keeping pace with the wagon was tiring; it was too slow, and she felt the need to stretch her legs and walk faster.

  Up ahead, a covey of quail took flight, startling her. Her hand automatically switched the rifle to her shoulder, and she took aim. But the image of Jackson’s scowl brought her up short. “I shoot the game. Understand?” She lowered the rifle and walked on, peering over her shoulder at the quail that skittered across the road and thinking they’d look a whole lot better in a frying pan.

  The wagon bogged down again; she could hear Ruth and Lily yanking the harness, trying to drag the animals now. Voices grew fainter as Glory veered off the trail and headed for a grove of saplings. The sun was blistering hot; a few minutes in the cool shade would feel good before she tackled those stubborn oxen. She was a good half mile up the road, but Ruth hadn’t noticed. Glory dropped down under a tree and sat there, listening to the girls wrestling with the team, feeling a little ashamed. But the shade lessoned the guilt. She was exhausted. She just had to rest a spell.

  It was cooler here, quieter. She leaned back and closed her eyes, listening to a blue jay chattering overhead and enjoying the peaceful reprieve. She could still hear the oxen snort and Ruth, Lily, and Patience talking to each other.

  A twig snapped.

  She opened her eyes slowly and froze. Standing not twenty yards away was a deer. A small doe, nibbling grass in a clearing. Sunlight filtered through overhead branches, putting the deer in a perfect light.

  Glory lay quiet as a rock, observing the animal. A deer that size would last the party for a good two weeks. Lily could make fresh jerky; there’d be venison roasts and thick tasty steaks… .

  The animal lifted her head, her tail fluttering up and down. The doe had caught her scent.

  Glory’s fingers slowly closed around the rifle butt.

  The deer stamped her front foot, snorting.

  Glory eased to a sitting position, settling the weapon onto her shoulder, taking careful aim.

  Jackson whirled when a shot rang out. Kneeing his horse, he galloped back to the wagon.

  When Ruth heard the shot, she started, almost dropping the reins. “What was that?”

  Lily and Patience spun around, eyes seeking the source of the gunfire. “I thought it was Jackson hunting.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Jackson declared as he rode up. His eyes scanned the road ahead. Glancing over his shoulder, he searched for Glory. “Where are the others?”

  Ruth followed his eyes. “Harper!”

  “Back here, with Mary.”

  Ruth glanced at Jackson. “Glory!”

  Silence.

  Jackson cupped his hands to his mouth. “Glory!” He glanced at Ruth. “Where is she, Ruth?”

  “The last time I saw her, she was heading up the trail. I assumed she came back, though, and was with Mary. I warned her not to go off.”

  Ruth looked to Patience and Lily. “Have you seen her?”

  The girls shook their heads.

  Patience and Lily rounded the wagon. Both girls cupped their hands to their mouths and yelled for their friend: “GLOOOOOORY!”

  Wheeling the mare, Jackson took off, shouting, “Glory!”

  Jackson rode the trail, searching side roads and overgrown paths until darkness closed in, forcing him back to the wagon. Without a lantern, he was wasting his time.

  Jackson found the girls huddled around the wagon. They were hungry, scared, their eyes dark with fatigue.

  Ruth anxiously stood up as he approached. “Did you find her?”

  “No.” He dismounted, dropping the reins so the horse could graze. The girls were silent; only Mary’s occasional cough broke the stillness.

  “She stayed close to the wagon most of the day,” Lily ventured.

  Ruth leaned forward. “We were busy with the animals. I’m sorry, Jackson. I thought she was with Mary. I never thought she’d go off on her own.”

  Jackson took off his hat and ran a hand through his thick hair. “Did anyone see anything? Did you see anyone following the wagon?”

  One by one, the girls shook their heads. “There’s someone following us?” Harper exclaimed. “I didn’t see anyone; ’course, I was in back with Mary most of the day.”

  “I didn’t see anyone,” Lily agreed. Her voice caught. “Is it Amos?”

  “She’d have said something if she thought Amos was following,” Patience said. She struck a match and quickly lit the lantern. “Are you worried that Amos might be trailing us, Jackson?”

  “I don’t want to worry you, but someone’s been trailing us for the last few days. Nothing I can’t handle, but you need to stay close. Ruth, I told you that no one was to wander more than a few feet away.”

  “I’m sorry, Jackson. My mind was on the animals.”

  Jackson released a pent-up breath. Where was Glory? Lying somewhere wounded, unable to help herself? Had the fool girl gotten herself shot? Had Amos shot her?

  They stood in a circle, looking at each other, afraid to voice their growing fears. Ruth sank to the ground, wringing her hands. “What do we do? We can’t leave her out here alone, maybe injured.”

  Harper bounded up onto the wagon seat, her dark eyes wide with fright. “Maybe she wandered off and got lost.”

  Jackson didn’t believe that for a minute. Glory knew her way around the woods. She had a tracker’s instinct and a familiarity with nature that he envied. She could spot a trail quicker than he could, and he’d pit her sense of direction against a Sioux’s any day of the week. “She’s not lost.”

  He glanced at the girls and knew they were near the breaking point. They hadn’t eaten since noon, and they’d traveled over twelve hours of rough road today. They’d gone as far as they could go.

  His eyes scanned the edge of the trail. They had no choice but to camp where they were. At first light, he’d search the area. If Amos was out there, he wasn’t going anywhere either, hindered by the same conditions. No one was leaving until morning.

  “We camp here tonight.”

  “Here?” Ruth stood up, her eyes skimming the area.

  “There’ll be no fire. Ruth, Lily, can you fix a cold meal?”

  Lily nodded. “We have bread and cheese.”

  Jackson would give a month’s pay for a cup of hot coffee, but food didn’t interest him. “Fix what you can—”

  “Hey, you!”

  The party whirled, eyes searching the darkness for the source of the voice. A lone figure with a rifle slung over a shoulder came down the road, whistling.

  Jackson took a step, reaching for his shotgun.

  “Well, you going to sit here all night?” Glory walked into the ring of light. “Hi, folks.” She grinned. “What’s taking you so long? Had supper ready for half an hour.”

  The group, speechless, simply stared at her. Then confusion broke out. Ruth sprang forward and grabbed Glory around the neck and hugged her. Lily, Patience, and Harper jumped up and down, waiting a turn to express their relief.

  “Is that Glory?” Mary called weakly from the wagon.

  Jackson watched the exchange, his exasperation rising. Wading into the middle, he parted the women until he reached Glory.

  She grinned up at him. Her shirt was splattered with blood, and her hair was loose from her cap. “Hey, how ya doing, Jackson?”

  Jackson set his jaw. “Where have you been?”

  She stepped back, her smile receding. “Waiting for you. Where have you been? It’s dark.”

  “Where have I been? I’ve been scared half out of my wits, looking for you for the last hour!”

  She frowned. “Scared? Why would you be scared? I wasn’t but a half mile up the road.” She turned to point the way. “Right up there.”

  All eyes pivoted up the road. Straining, they could see a faint light glowing in the far d
istance, a light that they hadn’t been able to see in the twilight.

  “Got a surprise for everyone.”

  She struck off, and the girls scrambled into step behind her, while Jackson got Mary and put her on his horse. Glory led them to the clearing, where a side of venison browned over a rosy fire. The smell of roasting meat flavored the air. She stood back, hands on hips, looking pleased with herself. “Shot me a deer. Thought you might enjoy something other than beans tonight.”

  Squealing, the girls attacked the meat, juggling the hot pieces in their hands as they tried to eat it.

  In the midst of the chaos, Glory approached Jackson. Head hung low, she murmured, “Didn’t mean to cause a scare. You were off somewhere, and the wagon wasn’t going anywhere, so I decided to take a rest before I helped. I meant to come back … till I spotted the deer.” She sighed. “I know I promised to let you put meat on the table, but you were busy and—but you have to admit meat will taste mighty good tonight.”

  Jackson wanted to wring her neck. And he wanted to draw her into his arms and hold her until the fear left him. She’d scared a year off his life, but he was so relieved that she was safe that he had a hard time staying mad.

  She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. “Don’t be mad at me, Jackson. I’m only trying to help.”

  Removing his hat, he knocked the dust off on his wool-clad knee. “Right now, the only thing I’m mad about is the fact that you don’t have hot coffee to go with that venison,” he said gruffly. He didn’t want her to think she could pull this a second time.

  Her sunny smile resurfaced. “I can fix that. If you let me use your horse, I’ll go back and get the coffeepot. I’ll have a pot made by the time you bring the wagon around.”

  He caught her arm as she was about to skip off to jump on his horse. Meeting her gaze, he said softly, “Don’t ever do that again, Glory. You scared me to death.”

  “Yes, sir,” she replied. Then she flashed a grin. “Honest?”

  “Honest what,” he snarled, looking away.

  “Honest you were worried about me?”

  “I was worried,” he conceded shortly.

  “That makes me feel real good.” Riding off with the lantern, she turned to wave at him over her shoulder. “I am going to write your folks, just as soon as I learn to write better!”

  Shaking his head, he reached for a piece of venison before he set off to follow her on foot. He’d been far too worried; she was becoming more important to him than he cared to admit.

  Chapter Twelve

  A fearsome windstorm came up on Saturday, banging pots and pans against the side of the wagon, threatening to rip canvas and spook the animals.

  The girls and Jackson battened down their belongings, shouting at each other above the gale. Lily made Mary get inside the wagon and close the flap, securing it tightly to keep the dust out. The wind blew so hard as they worked that at one point the party was forced to run for cover among some bushes. With the wind came rain. When the storm finally abated, they were all soaked to the skin, grateful for their lives. Ruth stood in the middle of the road, arms held aloft, praising God for safe delivery. Glory had climbed a small rise to watch the storm whirling off into the distance. Two small twisters rose into the clouds moving off, leaving a sky now stunningly blue.

  The next morning Glory woke with a fearsome chill, her teeth chattering as she pulled on a heavy sweater Jackson had lent her. They walked eighteen miles that day. By late that night, she was huddled in a blanket in the wagon, too feverish to eat her supper. Mary shared some of her tea, but it left a bitter taste in Glory’s mouth, and she pushed the cup aside.

  She rode most of the next day on the back of one of the mules tied to the back of the wagon. Every time she tried to drink or eat anything, it left a brackish taste in her mouth. But she refused to slow the group down because she felt poorly.

  Every day brought them closer to Denver City; yet every day the remaining distance seemed formidable. Glory’s thoughts turned to the time when she would say good-bye to Jackson and the others. Sometimes she couldn’t bear the idea; other times she was filled with trepidation. What would she do when she was no longer a part of the daily lives of Jackson or the girls? The girls would marry; Jackson—well, she didn’t know what Jackson would do. Maybe he would marry Ruth, and they would return to Illinois and buy a small farm, start a family. She wanted that for Ruth, truly wanted it, but try as she might, she didn’t want it for Jackson. In her heart she couldn’t hand Jackson over to another woman, though Ruth had insisted there was nothing between her and the handsome wagon master.

  Something in Glory wanted to hang on, to pretend that it was real interest that she saw in his eyes occasionally, maybe even a special look meant just for her, the kind a man gives a woman when he thinks she’s not watching.

  But Jackson was mad at her these days. She’d given him a dose of his own medicine, and he hadn’t liked it. It had happened two days ago, when she’d rounded a corner and found that a skunk had him cornered against a big rock. Jackson had been pinned there like a gnat; the area around the rock stank something fierce. That skunk had fired off several pernicious rounds, and Jackson looked a mite shaken though he hadn’t been touched.

  When she’d walked past, Jackson had waved his arms, trying to get her attention. She’d paused, sizing up the situation from a safe distance. She felt ornery that day—real ornery. The way she figured, he needed to notice her a little more and find fault a little less.

  He’d mutely implored her to shoot the animal, motioning toward the rifle and pretending to pull the trigger.

  She’d motioned back, shaking her head.

  He’d scowled. “Why not?” he’d mouthed.

  “Can’t kill anything—you’ll get upset.” She grinned, hoping the Lord wasn’t watching.

  His scowl had darkened. “Kill the skunk!” he’d mouthed, jabbing the air with his finger to emphasize his demand.

  She’d slowly wagged her head, pantomiming someone choking her around the neck, and her falling to the ground, dead. She’d lain there, pretending to be out cold.

  A vein had pulsed in his neck. “Stop playing around and kill the skunk!” he’d mouthed.

  Shaking her head, she’d gotten up and walked on. She’d been in enough trouble for shooting out of turn, thank you.

  Of course, that skunk would leave a powerful smell, one they’d all have to suffer with for a few days.

  “Glory.” The voice of conscience boomed in her head.

  Heaving a sigh, she’d turned around and fired the gun in the air. The skunk bolted and ran for safety.

  “I was only funnin’,” Glory explained. She glanced at Jackson and grinned, noticing he wasn’t laughing.

  They passed fewer wagon trains now. When they reached the fork in the road, Jackson explained that most travelers chose the large Indian trail that crossed the main creek and took a northwest direction toward Pike’s Peak. Jackson said the longer one would be safer, but he preferred the less traveled road because it had more water and better grass along it. He believed that his route would cut off some miles. Glory and the others were in favor of the shorter route.

  Jackson pulled his horse to a stop and raised his hand to halt the wagon. “We’ve been pressing hard, following this stream for days, but I believe this route could save us a week or more. So if you’d like, we can detour a couple of miles and follow the Indian trail where I can show you the mineral spring that gives the Fontaine qui Bouille Creek its name: The Fountain that Boils.”

  “Yes!” came a chorus of feminine voices. The girls were eager to take a break from the routine for a little sightseeing.

  When they arrived, they hopped out of the wagon and scrambled over large ledges to see two springs bubbling up out of solid rock. Following Jackson’s example, they scooped up a handful of water to drink. Though strongly infused with salts, it was fun to taste.

  Glory giggled as the tiny bubbles tickled her nose as she tried to sip. She glanc
ed up to catch Jackson watching her. The warmth in his gaze was more exhilarating than the bubbles tickling her tongue.

  As they doubled back to the fork in the road, Glory watched Jackson’s handsome form riding ahead of their wagon. Their little excursion to the springs was a memory she would treasure in her heart. She savored the look in Jackson’s eyes, his pleasure in her delight.

  The following Sunday dawned disagreeably. The October wind was blowing hard, and it was bitter cold. Large flocks of snow geese flew overhead, getting a late start for warmer climates. The women wanted to observe the Sabbath today, but the incessant rain had slowed them. They decided to walk on, only not so far today. Tonight they would have services and go to sleep early.

  Jackson was keeping an eye out for signs of early snow. The worsening weather made Glory think it couldn’t be far off. Please, God, she prayed as she walked ahead of the wagon, winding her scarf tighter around her neck, Jackson said we needed three more weeks, that’s all. Three weeks, and we’ll be in Denver City. Can you please hold back the snow until then?

  They passed herds of buffalo and antelope grazing in the fields. The wind whistled across the expansive valleys.

  Late one afternoon, the wagon came upon a crossroads trading post. The adobe building crouched beneath a watery sun looked lonely to Glory. Not having seen a fellow explorer in days, the girls were eager to stop.

  “All right, ladies.” Jackson steadied his mare as he brought her even with the wagon. “We’ll make a brief stop. The animals need water.” He glanced back at the road they’d traveled. “Be careful now. Keep your eyes out for trouble.”

  “We will!”

  “Thank you!”

  The inside of the trading post was a wondrous delight. Glory’s eyes roamed the crowded room, and the sights fascinated her. Eight or nine male Indians sat around a large woodstove fashioning crafts. Some wove colorful baskets, others strung jewelry using glass beads, and still others worked with a reddish metal.

  “Copper,” Ruth whispered over her shoulder. “Isn’t it lovely?”