“That’s ’cause they’re our friends,” Sarah replied. “Do you have friends in the train?”
He shrugged. “Mama used to let me play with Sammy and Pete sometimes. They’re over thataway.” He pointed down the line. Then his bright expression faded. “We… we don’t have a ma anymore.”
Sarah noted the catch in his voice. “Oh, how sad,” she murmured. “I know just how you feel. Our ma and pa live up in heaven with Jesus, too. And you know what?” she added brightly. “I’ll bet our mas are friends already.”
“Think so?”
She nodded. “And they’d probably like us to be friends, too. What do you say?”
“I danno.” Tad sought his father’s approval. “I guess.”
“Good.” Expelling a breath of relief, Sarah stood and motioned to Amanda. “We found something in our wagon you might like—that is”—she looked anxiously to Mr. Hill, feeling her color heightening—“if your pa says you can have it.”
Tentatively, Amanda held out the slingshot.
The lad’s mouth dropped open. “Oh boy! Can I keep it, Pa? Can I? Can I?”
No one could have resisted the pleading in that impish face, least of all his father. Nor could Sarah miss the depth of love that softened Jared Hill’s demeanor as he gazed down at his young son. It warmed her heart. “Sure. I’ll teach you how to use it, so you can do it right.”
“Thank you! Thank you!” Tad said, awed by his new treasure.
Sarah touched his shoulder. “You’re most welcome. Friends, remember?”
“Friends,” he parroted.
Noting the way Bethany seemed drawn to the conversation, Sarah next knelt by her. “Would you be our friend, too, honey?”
The little girl pressed her heart-shaped lips together in mute silence, clutching her father’s hand all the harder.
“It’s all right,” Sarah assured her. “Sometimes it takes a while to make a real friend. But my sister and I made something for you.” Retrieving the dolly from her pocket, she offered it to Bethany.
The child stared longingly. Then, after glancing up and receiving her father’s nod of approval, she slowly reached out and took it, hugging it for all it was worth.
Sarah Jane smiled. “She’ll be a real true friend, you’ll see. Pretty soon we’ll come by and see you again, to make sure she’s been minding her manners. Would you like that? My sister might even tell you a story. She knows lots of them.”
A tiny smile curved her lips upward at the corners.
“Thank you, miss,” Mr. Hill said with sincere gratitude. “Thank you both.”
Completely charmed by the man’s offspring, Sarah lifted her gaze to his and would have responded, but Amanda beat her to it.
“People like to help each other, Mr. Hill,” her sister said kindly. “It’s what neighbors are for. Do have a pleasant evening.” With a smile at the children, she took Sarah’s hand and started for their prairie schooner.
Sarah’s backward glance revealed the tender sight of a father sweeping his two little ones up into his arms.
No crying issued from the Hill wagon that night.
CHAPTER 12
Three more families fell prey to sickness the next day. Then two more. The number of wagons in the train began to dwindle as those afflicted dropped out of the column while the rest continued on—a concept the girls found utterly appalling. Even though other brave Good Samaritans willingly stayed behind to look after the sick—or worse, dig needed graves, the fate of the unfortunates weighed heavily on Amanda’s mind. Oh Lord, she prayed fervently, be with them. Please, take care of them. Bring them back to us.
Weeks passed in tedious sameness as the wagon train rumbled through Nebraska in an upward slope of terrain so gradual the travelers were unaware they were going uphill until the bullwhackers’ whips cracked more frequently and oxen and mules strained against the harness.
Amanda often watched her sister silently observing the world around them and knew she was memorizing scenes, sounds, and sensations to record the minute they stopped for the noon meal or evening camp. From the various passages the younger girl had already related to her, Amanda knew entries in Sarah’s journal chronicled how the grass along the route now grew shorter, the trail sandier, and the weather more changeable, and the way a day could dawn in mild and colorful splendor—only to cloud over and turn cold, pelting the travelers with rain or even hail. But with spring’s fragile beauty lingering into early summer, the younger girl’s spirits—along with everyone else’s—remained high. Especially considering the plentiful elk and antelope to provide respite from the daily fare of smoked or salted meats.
On one of the meal stops along the arid plain between the Platte River and the low hillsides lining the valley, Amanda watched Sarah scribbling furiously in her diary. “Does it help much?” she teased.
Sarah stopped writing and crimped her lips together. Then she smiled. “Well, not that I’m likely to ever forget the way the wagon wheels screech in protest with every turn lately or the huge clouds of dust they throw up into our faces. But I thought I’d jot it down for posterity anyway. At least we can breathe through our handkerchiefs or apron hems. I’ll be glad to see the end of this section.”
Amanda had to giggle.
One afternoon, lulled into a state of half-awareness by the clopping of the animals, Amanda was brought rudely back to the present by an ear-shattering crack. Horrified, she watched as the wagon ahead tipped crazily, then crashed to the ground over its splintered rear wheel. She struggled to maintain control of her own startled mules, then steered cautiously around the disabled outfit so she wouldn’t be in the way of the men who would immediately assist in replacing the wheel.
“That’s the second one today,” Sarah Jane whispered.
Amanda nodded. “The dryness of the air is making the wood shrink. I wonder when our turn will come.”
“Alvin says that when he finishes helping his uncle tonight, he and his friend Jason will soak our wheels in the river.”
Despite the comforting news, Amanda’s unrest persisted. So many, many miles lay ahead. Could she have been wrong to presume the Lord wanted her and Sarah to go west after all? Pa had often teased her about her stubborn streak. What if she had placed her own will above God’s? The two of them might make the entire trip—only to meet with unhappiness and misfortune in the Oregon Territory! She couldn’t help recalling the incident in the Bible where the Israelites demanded meat in the wilderness rather than the manna God so graciously provided. He granted their request, but sent leanness to their souls.
“Let’s teach the kids some songs tonight.”
“Hm?” Amanda swallowed, forcing aside her disquiet.
“I said,” Sarah Jane repeated, “Bethany and Tad might like to learn some songs.”
With her mind occupied by more serious concerns, Amanda merely shrugged. “Sure.”
“Good. Tonight when we go to see them, I’ll take my guitar.” Reaching around for the instrument, Sarah unwrapped the sheet shrouding it, plucked a few strings, then adjusted the tuning pegs. “What with all my sewing and visiting, it’s been ages since I practiced. I wonder which tunes they might particularly like.” Her face scrunched in thought as she strummed a chord.
The slightly flat tones brought a smile to Amanda. So did the realization of how the children had grown to welcome their visits. It seemed a fair exchange when Mr. Hill offered to look after repairs on both wagons while she or Sarah sometimes both took the little ones for walks along the rocky outcroppings on the hills or near the shallow river.
But when this evening finally came, Amanda’s pensive mood knew the further aggravation of a dull headache, precluding even the enjoyment of the usual camp music. She left the visiting and singing to her sister and strolled somewhat apart from the train.
The night breeze rustled the dry grasses beneath the huge dome of starry sky as she walked, and nightly cricket sounds blended with the familiar lowing of the cattle. Amanda sank to her knees
and clasped her hands. Dear Father, began her silent plea. To her frustration, no further words would come. She loosened her shawl and lay back, losing herself in the display of the twinkling host so high above her… almost wishing she had never left Independence.
“Isn’t that the Shelby gal?” Red asked, with a jut of his chin toward the open prairie beyond the camp perimeter.
Seth followed his friend’s gesture as if it was news to him… as if he hadn’t seen Amanda’s slender form depart, hadn’t observed nearly her every step. “Probably. Just like her to go off by herself as if there isn’t a wolf or rattler for miles.”
“Want me to go bring her back?
“Naw.” Rubbing a hand across the bridge of his nose, Seth let out a slow breath. “I’ll just keep an eye on her from here.”
“Don’t appear as if you’re the only one. I’ve noticed a certain widower’s a lot less sorrowful lately, since her an’ her sister have been ridin’ herd on those little ones of his. I s’pose it would solve more’n a few problems if he hitched up with one of ’em.”
Seth huffed. “No never mind to me.” But the confirmation of a niggling suspicion sank slowly to the pit of his stomach.
“This a private party?”
Amanda bolted upright with a start. “Not at all, Mr. Hill. I was just looking for some quiet.”
He sank down a few feet away, propping an elbow on one bent knee and followed her gaze to the starry heavens. “Does get pretty noisy some nights.”
Neither spoke for several seconds.
“Don’t you think it’s time you quit being so formal?” he finally asked. “We’re not strangers anymore.”
Amanda regarded him in the twinkling light. “No, we aren’t strangers.”
“Friends, then?”
“I guess so.”
“Then it’s Jared. And Amanda—unless you say otherwise.” She shook her head, then looked away. Everyone needed friends. There was no reason to keep always to herself. But she wasn’t silly enough to expect—or even desire—anything more than friendship again. Once was enough. And anyway, she assured herself resolutely, Jared Hill couldn’t possibly be putting more into this relationship than there was. It was far too soon for him to even be thinking about replacing his dear late wife. Amanda relaxed and began idly plucking at the stiff grass. Another span of silent seconds passed.
Jared raked his fingers through his hair. “Helped two young fellows take your wheels down to soak in the river a while ago. Should keep you going a ways now.”
She smiled. “I don’t know how we’d make it but for the kindness of folks on the train. Thanks.”
“Least I can do after what you and Sarah have done for my boy and girl.” He filled his lungs, quietly releasing the breath through his nostrils.
“They really miss their mama.”
Jared didn’t respond immediately, but Amanda felt his gaze switch to her. “Well, guess I’ll head back.” Standing up, he offered a hand.
She grinned and placed hers inside his more calloused one, and he raised her effortlessly to her feet. They walked in companionable silence back to camp.
The crossing of the shallow but fierce, mile-wide south fork of the Platte went without mishap. Advised about the threat of quicksand, no one ignored the order to water all animals beforehand to prevent them from stopping in the middle of the chocolate-colored river.
But Amanda would never forget the terror that seized her some miles later, poised on the brink of Windlass Hill. She and Sarah Jane gaped down the steep grade, watching the harried descent of other wagons. Even with the back wheels chained to prevent them from turning, and with dozens of men tugging on ropes to slow the downward progress, gravity sucked mercilessly at the rigs skidding and sliding to the bottom. To the girls’ horror, midway down the slope, one outfit broke free of restraint. Amid screams of onlookers, it teetered and toppled over the side, careening end over end till it came to rest, a shattered heap of rubble. For a moment of stunned silence, no one so much as breathed.
“That does it,” Jared Hill announced, climbing up to the seat and taking the reins from Amanda. “No way I’m gonna let the two of you try this one.” A jerk of his head ordered the girls out to walk with the other women. “See that my kids keep out of the way, will you?” He wrapped the traces firmly around his hands and eased the mules forward, already applying pressure to the brake. Neither girl could bear to watch their schooner’s descent to the reaches below.
When the nerve-racking day came to a merciful end with the arrival of the last wagon in Ash Hollow, the cool, bountiful meadow at the base of Windlass Hill seemed a glorious oasis. The very air was fragrant with the mingled perfume of the wild rose and scents of other flowers and shrubs in the underwood of majestic ash and dwarf cedar trees.
“Why, there’s actual shade!” Sarah Jane cried, as she and her small group reached the bottom of the hill. Taking Bethany and Tad by the hand, she bolted ahead of Amanda and Mrs. Randolph, with the children in her wake. Under the green canopy of a huge ash, she swooped the little girl up and swung her around. Tad ran circles around them both.
Mrs. Randolph joined in with their gleeful laughter. “I declare! It’s the Garden of Eden, that’s what it is.” Joining Sarah, she kicked off her worn boots and wiggled her plump toes in the silky grass, her expression almost dreamlike.
Amanda’s gaze drifted to the center of the meadow, where prattling little streams merged together in a translucent pond, sparkling now in the late afternoon sun. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she had been. The last truly decent water had been long since past. Glancing around, she spotted her wagon parked beside Jared Hill’s and hurried over to get a pitcher.
Her neighbor was tightening the straps on his rig’s canvas top when she approached. “Some place, huh?” he said pleasantly. “Almost feels like we deserve it after a day like today.”
Amanda laughed lightly and clambered aboard her schooner.
Jared’s low voice carried easily through the bowed fabric. “Wagon master says we’re stopping here for a day or two. Plenty of folks have a whole bunch of new repairs to see to. And most everyone will pitch in to help the Morrises salvage what they can from their wreck.”
“That was truly a horror,” Amanda said, emerging with the coveted pitcher in hand. “On the way down the hill, at least half a dozen ladies speculated on which of them could best make room for the family, bless their hearts. And I couldn’t be more grateful for a day of rest. Tomorrow’s Sunday anyway, isn’t it?”
“Come to think of it, you’re right.”
“Pa! Pa!” two young voices called out above their scampering footsteps. They made a beeline for him and flung their arms around his long legs.
Gratified at the sweet display of affection, Amanda averted her gaze and hopped to the ground.
Sarah Jane stepped beside her at the spring. “Alvin’s aunt has invited me to supper. Do you mind, Mandy?”
“Of course not. Just don’t stay out late.”
“Yes, Mother.” With a wry grimace, her sister joined her curly-haired escort.
Oh well, Amanda decided, watching the pair walk away, I’ve been wishing for solitude lately. This should provide a nice quiet night of sewing.
Or praying, her mind added. What she needed above all was to know inner peace again. There had to be some way to find it.
CHAPTER 13
The summer sun warmed the faithful flock gathered in the meadow for Sunday service on a curious collection of wooden chairs, crates, blankets, and the odd fallen log. The breeze rustling the leaves in the glen was gloriously free of the mosquitoes that had plagued the encampment late last evening. Now the voices blended in harmony with the fiddle and harmonica.
Amanda had known “Abide with Me” most of her life but had never paid close attention to the words. But as Sarah had pointed out a week ago, it must have been a lot of folks’ favorite, the way it got requested almost every Sunday. Going into the second verse, Amanda listened even as she
sang:
“Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.”
Certainly this trip had brought about drastic changes. Amanda surmised that other folks’ dreams of a new life had probably been every bit as grand as hers. Yet despite the fact that many of them had already lost friends and loved ones to sickness or accident, they found strength to continue on. Lonely, saddened, they somehow remained hopeful. It had to be of tremendous comfort to know that the Lord stayed ever constant. She observed the peaceful countenances of some of the folks within her range of sight and went on to the third stanza:
“I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.”
When Amanda saw a woman blot tears on her apron as she sang, her own eyes stung, rendering her unable to voice the lyrics herself. She finally managed to regain her composure for the final lines:
“Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.”
Never again would that hymn carry so little meaning. Amanda realized for the first time that it had not been her own strength that had held her together after the loss of her parents. It had been the Lord all along. His strength, His faithfulness—and those, without a doubt, loving answers to her mama and papa’s faithful prayers. Humbly she bowed her head and breathed a prayer of gratitude.
She opened her eyes to see the jug-eared man most folks had started calling “Deacon Franklin” rise from his seat and move to the vacant spot the fiddler left behind at the close of the song.
“Folks,” he began. “As you’ve figured out by now, I’m not much of a preacher. But like I said before, I love the Lord, and I love His Word. Thought I’d read a favorite verse that has been a real blessing to me for a lot of years. It’s in Romans, the eighth chapter, verse twenty-eight.” He opened his worn Bible to the page his finger had held at the ready. “‘And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.’”
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