Wagon Train Wedding

by Rhonda Gibson

  Heat filled her cheeks at her body’s betrayal of hunger. The day before, she’d been too nervous to eat much. “Well, I’m glad you both had a hot breakfast. I’ll have to thank Sarah when we stop for lunch.”

  He reached under the seat and handed her a lumpy parcel wrapped in a piece of cloth. Cora smiled in happiness. “Breakfast?”

  Flynn nodded. “Yep. Sarah didn’t forget you.”

  Cora opened the cloth and pulled out a warm biscuit. “Thank the good Lord.” She silently did just that and then sank her teeth into the best biscuit she had ever eaten. Before she could finish chewing, the baby cried.

  Flynn stated the obvious. “He’s up again.”

  She wanted to groan but didn’t. To do so would seem very unmotherly. Instead, she took another quick bite of the biscuit and bacon, then handed the rest to Flynn. “I’d best go get him. He’ll need to be changed.”

  He took her breakfast and rewrapped it in the cloth with one hand. “This will be here when you are done.” Flynn placed it back under the seat.

  “Thank you.” Cora hurried to Noah, who was now in a full-fledged snit. She felt sure the whole wagon train could hear his cries. If he was half as hungry as she’d felt a few minutes earlier, Cora could understand his frustrations.

  She gave him the sugar sweet and quickly changed his wet diaper for a clean one. The baby continued to fuss when the sugar sweet didn’t sate his hunger. Maybe if she sat with him on the seat, he could look about and would momentarily forget his empty belly. Cora opened the front flap. “Would it be all right with you if I brought Noah up there?”

  Flynn nodded. “Hand him to me and then come on up.” He extended one arm out.

  Cora wasn’t sure if handing the baby off was a good idea. She met his gaze. “Promise you won’t drop him.”

  He chuckled. “He’s not the first baby I’ve held with one arm, Cora. Trust me. I won’t drop him.”

  Taking a deep breath, she handed Noah to him.

  Flynn wrapped his arm around the baby’s middle and pulled him close while Cora climbed back onto the wagon seat. By the time she was settled, Flynn had tucked the baby into the crook of his arm so that Noah could lean against his body and look around.

  Noah had quit fussing for the moment, but Cora didn’t think his calmness would last long. The baby was hungry.

  Joe’s sister Martha ran up beside the moving wagon. “Mrs. Adams?”

  Cora heard Martha’s voice calling someone, but she continued to focus on Noah and the problem of what to feed him. She wished Gracie had written some notes on how to care for the baby. Then she felt guilty for the thought. Gracie hadn’t planned on dying, so why would she have written notes?

  Flynn cleared his throat to get her attention. “Cora? I believe Martha is talking to you.”

  She jerked her gaze from Noah. “What?”

  He indicated his head toward Martha, who was walking beside the wagon, waiting for her response.

  Cora turned to look at the teenager. “Oh, I’m sorry, Martha.” Only then did it dawn on her that Martha had indeed been calling her. “I’m not used to my new married name. Please, call me Cora.”

  Martha smiled up at her. “I understand.” She held up a small wooden bowl and spoon. “Here. Ma thought the baby might like some warm cornmeal mush for breakfast.”

  Cornmeal mush! How thoughtful of the woman to share it with her—and how embarrassing for Cora that Sarah knew she’d need the help since she’d slept the morning away. Cora leaned over and took the bowl and spoon. “Oh, Martha, thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome. Ma also said that when we stop for lunch, she’d like to have a short visit with you.”

  Cora’s voice was resigned but courteous. “Tell her I’ll come over as soon as I clean up our lunch.”

  Martha nodded and then turned to go back to her parents’ wagon.

  Cora called after her. “And, Martha, please tell Sarah I said thank you, for everything.”

  “I will.” Martha picked up her skirts and ran back to her mother, who waved from the seat beside her husband.

  “That was mighty nice of Mrs. Philmore.” Flynn turned the baby so that Cora could feed him.

  She answered Flynn with a voice filled with gratitude. “It was exceptionally nice of her. In fact, I think she just may be one of the nicest people I’ve met so far. I’ll be sure to thank her personally when we stop.” She began feeding a very hungry Noah.

  Noah smacked his lips and grabbed for the spoon. Cora gently moved it out of his reach, guiding it to his mouth. He reminded her of a baby bird, opening his tiny mouth wide for his next bite. Cora filled his little spoon time and again till the mush was gone.

  Cora heaved a sigh of relief. Her baby was fed, his little tummy stretched tight. She owed Mrs. Philmore a great debt.

  For the rest of the morning, Cora alternated back and forth between worry and excitement. The scenery held her captivated and she heard hope and expectations in the conversations around her.

  Right before they were to stop for lunch, Noah’s eyes began to close, but he twisted and turned, fighting sleep. Cora wondered if nine-month-old babies were supposed to sleep as much as Noah seemed to. Whom could she ask? She was afraid to ask anyone. As his mother, she was supposed to know everything about her baby’s habits already.

  She remembered that Sarah had asked her to stop by during their lunch break. Her thoughts and fears taunted her. Did she plan on lecturing her about getting up early enough to feed Flynn and Joe? Or worse...had Sarah guessed that Cora wasn’t Noah’s ma? Had she told her husband? Or Joe? Or Martha? Anyone?

  Chapter Five

  At the wagon master’s command, the wagon train came to a slow stop. Dust boiled as one by one the wagons circled up. Cheers from tired travelers and barking dogs made conversation difficult to be heard, so Flynn circled his wagon per the hand signals from Mr. Philmore until he finally was able to leap off his seat, to the ground. He stretched and walked a few steps, trying to get his land legs back.

  Flynn helped Cora down and then placed baby Noah in her extended arms. He paused. “Would you like me to take him with me?”

  She shook her head. “No. I need to learn how to take care of him and prepare meals for us at the same time.” Cora’s gaze met his. “I’m certain that’s what Mrs. Philmore wishes to share with me.”

  She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as she wanted to convince him, and he saw the now-familiar caution in her eyes. She seemed to always be on edge. She reminded him of women whose husbands had abused them, always looking over her shoulder. Always fidgeting. What was she so afraid of? Could she have been the victim of spousal abuse?

  He knew it was too soon to ask such personal questions. Right now, questions about her past would likely cause her to panic, and maybe even bolt. It didn’t take a lawman to know that even now Cora was running. He realized that he had been staring down at her for longer than she was comfortable with. “All right, but if you need help, let me know.”

  A small smile parted her lips. “Thank you. I will.”

  He started to walk away when she called his name. He turned back to her, a brow raised in question.

  Cora took a step back as if she feared he would get too close to her and the baby. “You don’t have to act like you care about Noah. That wasn’t part of the deal.” She suddenly seemed to realize how that sounded and closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful for your help with Noah... I just don’t want you to feel it’s expected of you.”

  He fought the urge to wrap her in his arms and tell her that things would be okay. That, together, they would get to Oregon. That he would take care of her and the baby. But he’d already told her, so he didn’t waste his breath repeating himself. It would take time for her to believe him.

  Instead, Flynn fingered a loose tendril of
hair on her cheek. “I seldom say or do things that I don’t mean.” He noticed Mr. Clarkson headed their way. He turned to greet the man, hoping whatever he wanted to discuss wouldn’t take long—he had chores to do himself. In case he needed a reminder, the oxen began to paw at the ground and make bawling noises in their throats. Flynn smiled and patted the nearest one on the rump. “All right, boys.”

  “These beasts wait for no man.” Mr. Clarkson stepped around the edge of his wagon.

  “I understand what you mean.” Taking the words as permission to see to the animals as they talked, Flynn unhooked the oxen from his wagon.

  Mr. Clarkson removed his hat and scratched his head. “That seems like a lot of work you’re going through. We’ll be leaving shortly and you’ll just have to hook them right back to the wagon.”

  Flynn shrugged. “They need to eat and drink, too. The way I figure, letting them graze and drink from the river now will refresh them and they will pull better this afternoon.”

  “You don’t know much about farm animals, do you, Mr. Adams?”

  Flynn unhooked the last of the yokes and then rubbed the nose of the nearest ox. “Mr. Clarkson, I grew up on a ranch. Animals are not that different from people. They need to eat, drink and rest just as we do. Giving them time to rest goes a long way with them.”

  “They are beasts of the fields.” Mr. Clarkson spit on the ground.

  Flynn wondered if this conversation was going anyplace. “Yes, beasts that have to get us all the way to Oregon. My fellas here will work harder for me if I treat them with kindness and avoid whipping them.” He started to tug them away from the circled wagon and tried not to show his surprise when Mr. Clarkson followed. “Think of them like your legs—if they stop working, you’re going nowhere fast.”

  Joe jogged up beside them. “I’ll take care of the oxen, Flynn. Mr. Tucker, the wagon master, would like a word with you and Mr. Clarkson.”

  Flynn grinned at Joe. “Thank you, Joe.” He handed the reins to the young man and then turned to Mr. Clarkson. “Looks like we’ve been summoned. We better not keep him waiting.”

  Mr. Clarkson nodded as they walked back to the wagons. “I’ll stop and let the missus know where we’re going.”

  Flynn smiled. “How long have you been married?”

  “Not long. We’re still getting used to it, but we’re doing just fine.”

  There was a new twinkle in the older man’s eyes when he talked of his wife. He truly loved her. Maybe Mr. Clarkson could teach him how to have a happy marriage. And if the older man would listen, perhaps he could return the favor by teaching him how to respect his animals and other people. “I better do the same. Cora will need to know I’ll be a little late for lunch.”

  Flynn parted ways with Mr. Clarkson and walked to where Cora had already started a small fire and was mixing a bowl of what looked like dough. She looked up as he approached.

  “The wagon master has asked to see me. Want me to take the boy now?” His gaze moved to where she had set four boxes and placed the little one inside the protected space they created.

  Cora smiled. “I was wrong earlier. You are welcome to take him anytime you want to, Flynn.”

  He didn’t know why, but showing that she trusted him with the baby sparked a happiness in him. “Then I think I’ll take him to his first meeting with the wagon master.” He scooped Noah up and placed him in his arms so that the boy could look about.

  The baby puckered his small lips as if he were going to cry but seemed to change his mind. He tilted his head back against Flynn’s chest and looked Flynn in the eyes. Could a child this small judge the character of a man? If so, Noah seemed to deem Flynn worthy of his trust, because he grinned. Flynn returned the smile and then proceeded to his meeting with the wagon master.

  Someone ran toward him, the slap of feet against the earth alerting Flynn to their approach. Flynn shifted the baby to his side and instinctively reached for the gun strapped to his hip. He forced himself to turn his head and look at the man running toward him. Seeing Mr. Clarkson, Flynn relaxed his hold on Noah and moved his hand from the gun handle.

  Huffing and puffing, the older man announced, “I told Doc to walk our oxen down by the water with yours. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “I’m glad you changed your mind about leaving them hitched up during the lunch break. It’s going to take all we have, both man and beast, to get to Oregon.” Flynn continued to where he saw the wagon master and most of the men gathered under a cluster of trees.

  Clarkson shook his head. “Doc wasn’t pleased but he did it. You know, sometimes I wonder why he agreed to come with us. He doesn’t want to do anything but drive the wagon. Although, I did hear him telling the ladies that if their families needed a doctor, he’d be happy to help them.”

  Flynn tried to remember if Doc had done more than doctoring when he’d lived in Texas. Until the night Miriam had died, Flynn hadn’t paid much attention to the doctor. It was only after Miriam’s death that he’d turned his attention to the man, seeking his insight from the examination of her body to see if it had yielded any clues that might lead to her killer.

  The wagon master’s voice caught Flynn’s attention, pulling him from the past. “We’ll give the rest of the men a few more minutes to get here.” He turned to the scout and proceeded to chat with him in low tones.

  Flynn took the time to search the features of each man who stood about chatting. If he were wanted for murder, Flynn didn’t think he’d look as relaxed as these men did. But he also wouldn’t be stupid enough to allow his unease to show, either. If his killer was easy to capture, it would have happened long ago. Flynn was dealing with a wily, careful man. Discovering his identity would take time and might require him to get to know each man personally.

  “I see the wife has already got you taking care of her son for her.”

  Flynn turned to find John Hart, the owner of the wagon traveling in front of Mr. Clarkson’s. Mr. Hart was a big man with a copper-red beard and matching hair that stuck out from under his hat like a scarecrow. His age was likely midtwenties to early thirties, but he acted like an old soul. He was not only tall but also built much like a water barrel, given his wide chest. His arm muscles bulged, as well. His bright green eyes sparkled, and his lips curved as if always on the verge of laughter.

  “Well, friend, he’s my son, too, now, so I thought I should act like it and bring him to a men’s meeting.” Flynn heard the defensive edge to his words and wished he could have sweetened them a little. It would not do for folks to think he took offense easily.

  Mr. Hart chuckled good-naturedly. “I know what you mean.” He turned so that Flynn could see the toddler clinging to the back of his vest.

  Laughter floated up from Flynn’s throat. He extended his hand and Mr. Hart clasped it securely, still chuckling.

  “Is this your first child, too?” Flynn questioned, his curiosity piqued.

  “Oh, no, this is number six.” Mr. Hart didn’t seem bothered by the number of kids he had, so Flynn figured he wouldn’t mind a few questions.

  “Well, I’ll know whom to ask if I run into problems with this one.”

  Mr. Hart harrumphed. “Not if,” he stated matter-of-factly, “just when. Once a man has kids, there will be problems till that child is grown.” He seemed to ponder what he was saying. “And even after they’re adults, they sometimes cause problems.”

  Flynn noticed the man’s expression hadn’t changed from the pleasant one of previous moments. “That doesn’t seem to bother you overly much.”

  “Nope, it doesn’t. Children make a home. Gives a man something worthwhile to invest in. Take me, for example. I have four sons. I’m teaching each one of them to work hard, to be honest, to care for those around them, and most of all, I’m instilling everything that’s important to me into them. My faith and my love for their mother and for them and their sisters.�
��

  Flynn viewed the man in front of him with new respect. “And I guess your wife will teach the girls.”

  “That she will, but so will I. It’s important that they learn how a man should treat a lady, and they will learn that by the way I treat their ma.”

  Flynn’s mind boggled at the wisdom of John Hart. “I guess there’s more that goes into parenting than I first thought.”

  Mr. Hart laughed heartily and slapped Flynn on the back amiably. “You’d be correct on that, my friend.”

  “How do you know if you’re doing it right?”

  “You’ll never know for sure, so all you can do is be the best man you can be yourself. Believe strongly in God, follow His teachings, and your children will grow up knowing truth. They won’t be easily deceived if they’ve been taught right from wrong.”

  “Gather round, men. I think everyone is here.” Samuel Tucker, the wagon master, motioned for them to move closer. Once everyone moved forward, he climbed on the tongue of a wagon so everyone could see him. He asked, “Did we have any problems this morning that need to be addressed?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Good. You will soon learn that our noon break is a time of rest. It’s also a time to fix any minor problems you have with your wagon or family. Men, try to rest, especially at the beginning of our journey. Later, when things get rough, we might have to do some major repairs on our wagons, deal with exhausted, crying women, or mourn the loss of a friend or a loved one. This is not an easy trip, so if you and your family are having second thoughts after this morning, you need to let us know now. There’s no shame in turning back.” He waited while they all thought on his words. The wagon master met each man’s gaze.

  He nodded. “Since you have decided to press on, there are a few things I will expect from you. Now that we are a few miles from Independence, we’ll each do security duty. Last night, Levi and I stood guard. Starting tonight, three men will take the first watch and three the second watch. If you have the second watch, I expect you to try and sleep until time for your watch. We need you alert—the wagon train’s safety will be in your hands. Also, until we get to Oregon, I expect you to help each other. Anyone who causes trouble will answer to me.”