Glory

by Lori Copeland

  “I … I hope it wouldn’t have come to that. I’d have had a long chat with her.”

  “An interrogation, I believe it’s called.”

  His head swung around, but Ruth’s gaze was fixed on the snowy trail ahead. “It would have been more of a conversation,” he explained, “much like the one we had last night.”

  Ruth nodded. “So after you’d arrested her—”

  “I don’t think it would have come to that.”

  Ruth shrugged. “If you’d arrested her,” she persisted, “you would have hauled her back to Squatter’s Bend.”

  “Where she would have been cleared and released.”

  “Then she would have been separated by hundreds of miles from the only friends she has. It would have been too late to make the journey to Colorado this year. As it is, we’re hitting the passes a little late.”

  “It’s my job.” He snapped the reins. “I don’t always like it.”

  Glory punched Harper again. “That’s real nice of Ruth to take up for me like that.”

  Harper nodded. “Push!”

  Ruth ignored his remark and continued, “On the other hand, if Charlie Gulch had died from the head wound she gave him, what would’ve happened to her then?”

  “I think they would have weighed the circumstances.”

  “Of course, he’s a town resident; she’s a stranger.”

  Dylan whistled to the oxen to move them up the steep slope. “I’m not the judge and jury, ma’am.”

  “No,” Ruth agreed, “but it’s not hard to see her motivation. Glory makes no pretenses. It would be your choice to let her go.”

  He shook his head. “Not my call.”

  “And if she found herself at the end of a rope?” She looked at him directly. “And you knew in your heart that she was innocent of murder, despite what she claimed in her statement?”

  He shifted his shoulders, looking somewhat uncomfortable. “If it had come to that, I would’ve spoken in her behalf.”

  “That girl is no threat to society, no matter what happens to the likes of Charlie Gulch.”

  “Not the way the law works, ma’am.”

  “Hmmm. I imagine there are a goodly number of fugitives who move out West to start a new life and do so successfully.”

  He nodded. “I imagine so.”

  “Unless, of course, they are arrested and taken back to stand trial.”

  “You’re a hard woman, Ruth.”

  “On the contrary, Marshall McCall. I happen to believe that vengeance belongs to the Lord.”

  “Well, miss, it’s not within my authority to choose whom to arrest and whom to let go.”

  “Forgiveness is appropriate in some circumstances, don’t you think?”

  “I’d have to agree, but in our country that’s up to a court of law.” He lifted his shoulders. “Just stating a fact, miss. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

  Suddenly the oxen hit an icy patch. As their feet began to slip, they balked. The wagon wheels locked and started sliding sideways. Dylan slapped the reins and shouted, but the oxen were paralyzed with fear. Glory and Harper jumped aside as the wagon slid another couple of feet and a back wheel dropped off the edge of the trail. The undercarriage of the wagon slammed down on the ice at a precarious angle.

  Dylan grabbed Ruth to keep her from falling out as she looked down to see that the drop-off was hundreds of feet straight down the mountain. “Oh, my,” she exclaimed, desperately throwing her arms around his neck.

  Harper and Glory were up front now, pulling on the oxen to no avail. Jackson galloped back to the wagon. “Hang on,” he shouted as he shook out his lasso, tied it securely to the back of the wagon, and looped it around his saddle horn. He backed his mare, keeping the rope taut as Glory rushed to his side. “Hold my horse steady,” he told her as he slid to the ground.

  Mary and Patience had slid down off the mules tied behind the wagon. “Untie the mule team, girls,” Jackson ordered as he moved to the back of the wagon. “Bring them to me. Now back them up and hold them steady.” Jackson secured the mules’ harness to the corner of the wagon where he’d tied his rope to stop the slide. “Now, girls, lead those mules toward Glory. Steady, steady,” he repeated, as the mules began to pull the wagon as far back onto the trail as the dropped wheel would allow. “Whoa,” he called. “Hold them right there.”

  With that, he untied a long wooden pole strapped to the side of the wagon and pried it under the corner of the wagon that was resting on the edge of the precipice. Leaning hard, he applied all the pressure he could. Harper and Lily joined him. Pushing down on the end of the pole together, they got enough leverage to lift the corner of the wagon. When it was high enough, Jackson called to Glory, Mary, and Patience to lead the mules a couple of yards farther, which pulled the wagon the rest of the way onto the trail.

  Everyone was exhausted from the effort. Dylan climbed down from the wagon seat and helped a shaky Ruth to the ground. Jackson and Glory switched the oxen for the mule team to pull the wagon the last hundred yards to the summit.

  The snow stopped shortly after they passed the summit. They made camp that night a few miles down the trail under a clear sky. After a warm supper, an air of hope and celebration filled the air. Dylan took out his harmonica and played a square-dance tune, and Jackson took turns dancing with each girl, one at a time, saving Glory for last. As she twirled in his arms under a million stars, she felt like the happiest girl alive.

  Ruth, Patience, and Glory were the last to bed that evening. The wind shifted, and clouds rolled in for a second time that day. As she changed clothes inside the wagon, Ruth had talked nonstop about Dylan. Dylan this and Dylan that. The conversation itself was unusual, especially since Glory usually had to pry a discussion out of her after a long day. Seemed she thought the handsome marshall was overly arrogant and overly confident. Seemed to Glory that Dylan was only doing his job, but she’d been too tired to argue.

  “I think I’ll check on Jackson—see if he’s warm enough.” Before anyone could object, Glory slipped out the back of the wagon and closed the canvas.

  Frigid air blew up Glory’s skirt as she hurried toward the front of the wagon. Sleet fell in prickly sheets, howling through the boulders. She’d never seen weather change so fast, and dresses were nothing but a nuisance! If her two pairs of trousers weren’t so dirty that they could stand alone, she’d never have consented to wearing Patience’s hand-me-downs. The bodice was too tight, and the dress made her look girlie—too girlie—but it was much too cold to do wash.

  Rounding the schooner, she spotted a light in the distance. Jackson must be visiting with Dylan. She supposed that he was enjoying time with a peer—especially since he’d been confined to female companionship for the past four months. Jealousy suddenly surged through her, but she pushed it aside. Lord, I’m trying hard to be content with what you give me and not be envious of Jackson’s time with others.

  Lately, she’d found it easier to talk to the Lord in a natural way, as if she’d known him as well as Ruth did. In many ways she was creeping closer to Ruth’s certainty of belief. Sometimes Ruth spent extra time with her reading lessons; nowadays she could understand the words in almost half a Bible chapter without stumbling. Stories about the women in the Bible—Miriam, Deborah, and Esther—fascinated her; she never tired of reading about them.

  Shivering, she pulled her jacket tighter, thankful that the Lord had answered her prayer and seen them safely through the high divide. With the worsening weather, even one day would have made the passage more difficult, if not impossible. Denver City was only two days away now. Two days was all the time she had left with Jackson.

  She paused, wincing as icy pellets struck her, watching the light of the lantern bobbing toward her. Jackson’s tall form, bent against the wind, came into view. When he spotted her, he quickened his pace, his boots crunching atop the thin icy glaze.

  “You should be in the wagon,” he scolded as he approached.

  “I wanted to
check on you—I saw your light… .”

  Taking her forearm, he steered her beneath the makeshift awning strung near the fire. Wood chunks blazed brightly in the midst of red-hot coals. The air was warmer here, sheltered from the blowing wind.

  Retrieving the coffeepot, Jackson poured two cups, the fragrant aroma pleasantly mingling with the arctic air. Taking both her hands, he closed them around the steaming cup. “You should be in the wagon. It’s not a fit night for man or beast.”

  She nodded, meeting the warmth of his eyes. “Is Marshall McCall comfortable?”

  “Comfortable as anyone can be in this kind of weather.” They edged closer to the fire, standing shoulder to shoulder. She noticed he wasn’t eager to seek shelter, and she could only hope it was because of her company. They shared the silence, taking sips of coffee. After the next two days there’d be no more sharing coffee or late-night conversations. She wondered how she’d pass the hours, with no friends, no more Jackson Lincoln to argue with or hash over the day’s events.

  Jackson broke the stillness. “Were you frightened this afternoon?”

  “No.” She was never scared when he was around; only scared when he wasn’t. A wagon hanging over the side of a mountain was nothing. She doubted there was anything that he couldn’t fix or mend or make work, and she told him so.

  He chuckled, a low male resonance that stirred the pit of her stomach. “Your trust could be misplaced. There are a lot of things I can’t do or wouldn’t attempt without the help of a higher source.”

  “You mean without the Lord?” She didn’t know why folks found the source so hard to identify.

  He nodded, taking another sip from his cup. “Been doing a lot of bargaining with God about that pass.”

  “Were you honestly worried that we wouldn’t make it?” She couldn’t imagine that he’d fear anything. He seemed in control of every aspect of his life.

  His expression sobering, he focused on the crackling fire. “I was concerned. Even a day’s delay could have meant that we wouldn’t have made it through until spring. That spot is prone to sudden and severe changes in weather. One of the worst snowstorms I’ve heard of happened here in May of ’58. We’re coming through it at the end of October, but with this weather… .”

  Glory was smart enough to know what he hadn’t said, that death would have been almost certain if a blizzard had set in.

  She sidled closer to him, slipping the coffee cup into one hand and her other hand into his. The act felt as natural as rain. His large hand tightened around hers protectively. They were both foolish, standing out in a cold sleeting rain, but she wasn’t inclined to leave, and neither was he, she noticed.

  She looked up at him. “Guess you were happy to have Marshall McCall along to help.”

  Jackson nodded. “Seems to be a good man.” He glanced at her and smiled. “What’s between Ruth and him?”

  “You noticed, too?”

  Their soft laughter mingled with the popping fire; they kept their voices low so they wouldn’t disturb the others. Ruth wouldn’t appreciate them talking about her, but it was plain to see Ruth had gotten downright flustered around the handsome marshall.

  Suddenly aware of the proximity of the others, Glory gently removed her hand from his and wrapped both hands around her cup. She moved closer to the fire and sat down. Jackson came and sat next to her. They took another sip of coffee, huddling deeper into their jackets. Sleet hit the canvas, icy pellets dancing lightly in the air. Wind shrieked through the pass, howling like a banshee.

  “Two more days to Denver City?” she asked wistfully.

  “Two more days,” he verified.

  “Guess you’ll be glad to be relieved of your responsibilities.”

  “Not necessarily.”

  She took a deep breath, dreading to ask the next question but knowing that she must if she were to sleep a wink tonight. “Then what?”

  He glanced at her, then back to the fire. “I’ll make sure you ladies are settled, and, depending on the weather, I’ll either stay around for a few weeks, or I’ll start back to Illinois.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t.” The admission simply slipped out. She’d meant to thank him for his care and safe passage. Instead, she’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Did he think she was being forward?

  If he thought anything of it, he didn’t show it. “You thought about what you’ll do?”

  She shrugged. “Begin my new life.”

  “And that will be?”

  “I don’t know. Guess I’ll have to see if there’s work available in Denver City.” She found it hard to look at him now, her emotions close to the surface. “Thanks to you, I’m a sight more capable of finding employment now than I would have been earlier.”

  “No thanks to me,” he corrected softly. “Lily taught you to sew. Harper taught you to cook. And Ruth taught you to read and write.” He turned to meet her eyes. “You were a good student; you learned your lessons well.” A teasing light entered his eyes. “Do you realize that I am close to eating one of your pies without choking or dipping dough out of the water bucket?”

  She accepted his good-natured ribbing gracefully and tossed a measure of it back at him. “And you can shoot a squirrel at thirty feet and still have enough meat to put on the table. Aren’t we amazing?”

  “Thanks to you,” he conceded. They shared a smile. “We make a good team,” he said softly.

  “We sure do.” She wished it were a permanent team, like man and wife… . She stopped her train of thought. She didn’t need a man or a husband. What was she thinking? She was sad only because she knew how little time they had left together.

  He picked up a stick and stirred the fire. “Haven’t changed your mind about marriage, have you?”

  She shook her head, her chin firming. “Going to make it on my own. Well, I’ll need the Lord’s favor, but he’s the only one going to tell me what to do.”

  “I understand.” He watched the flames. “Feel the same way about taking a wife. Don’t need a woman around, making life miserable.”

  “Like your mother?” she supplied.

  “Like my mother.”

  They fell into a companionable silence.

  “Not all women nag and complain,” she reminded him.

  “How would you know?”

  “Don’t for certain. Just know I wouldn’t be like that.”

  “You wouldn’t?”

  “No. When I marry, I’ll make sure I don’t nag or complain. And if I do, I’ll give myself a sound talking to, like I do when I get in your way. Remind myself that I’m lucky to have a good man, and he’s lucky to have a good woman, and folks are just folks. Never met a perfect person, and seems more likely every day that I won’t. So when a man and a woman marry, they ought naturally to expect there’ll be times when they get on each other’s nerves. Considering no one’s perfect, they ought to make up their minds right off to forgive and go on.” She took another sip of coffee, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t you think?”

  He sat for a long moment, apparently considering the likelihood. “I suppose so … if a man and woman love each other.”

  “And if they don’t,” she said simply, “then it’s not likely they’ll overlook a thing. They’ll always be getting in each other’s hair, looking for a way out, in which case, no one can help because it’s up to the person whether he chooses to overlook fault or find fault. If anyone’s looking for fault, he’s going to find it; and if he’s looking for good, he’s likely to find that, too. Poppy used to say, ‘Be happy with what you got before you get a whole lot worse.’” She studied Jackson out of the corner of her eye. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Is it one of those things you’re bursting at the seams to ask?”

  “Might be.” She dropped her gaze, cradling the coffee in her hands.

  “What’s the question?”

  “Are you sweet on Ruth—are you going to marry her?”

  His jaw dropped. “What?”

  “I see the way
you two look at each other, all soft and caring. You never look at the other girls that way, so I think that maybe you’ve fallen in love with her and you’re hoping to marry her once we reach Denver City.”

  Strained silence closed over them. A twig snapped, shooting up a shower of sparks. Glory lifted her cup for another sip. Finally she couldn’t stand the awful suspense. “Well?”

  “Where would you ever get the crazy idea that I’m in love with Ruth?”

  “I told you … the way you look at her, the way you talk to her—”

  “I look and talk to Patience the same way.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He took a sip of coffee. “Your imagination is working overtime, Glory.”

  “You don’t look at Lily or Mary that way, either.”

  “You don’t look at me like you looked at Dylan this afternoon. Does that mean you’re in love with the marshall and you dislike me?”

  “Of course not. I didn’t look at Dylan in an unladylike way.”

  He turned to face her, lifting a brow. “Every single one of you has looked at him in an improper way. All day long.”

  They turned back to study the fire.

  She held her ground. “You’re avoiding my question.”

  “How can I answer when the question doesn’t make sense?”

  He understood the question only too well, and he didn’t want to answer. His reticence confirmed her worst fear: What he felt for Ruth was personal, and he didn’t care to discuss it with her.

  “Okay. I don’t believe you,” Glory said.

  “Fine,” Jackson answered.

  “Fine with me, too.”

  They sat for a few more moments.

  “If I married Ruth,” he said teasingly, “I’d have to borrow the money from you to pay back Wyatt.”

  “That’s not true and you know it.”

  The hour grew late. Sleet pelted the overhang, and wind rattled the canvas. The coffee warmed her insides, but the long day finally claimed her. Slumping against Jackson’s broad shoulder, she realized that Ruth would say she was being too forward, but his shoulder was too tempting. Although he didn’t look at her the way he looked at Ruth, tonight he had talked to her the way he talked to Ruth.