by Linda Ford
“I didn’t accuse your son,” Ben argued. “Only said the boys were being careless and the baby had been shot. I suggest the boys get their guns back when we are on the trail.” After a day or two, their high spirits would have subsided and they’d be less likely to shoot so carelessly.
“No,” the angry youth yelled. “Ain’t no one taking my gun from me.”
Ben tilted his head toward the firearms stacked on the table in front of Mr. Cavanaugh. Obviously someone had taken his from him.
The boy tried to grab his gun. Someone pushed him aside and an uproar ensued.
Mr. Cavanaugh pounded his fist on the table. “Seems to me you’re inclined to be a little hotheaded.”
Ben would sure like to know that boy’s name for future reference.
Apparently Mr. Cavanaugh did, too. “Son, what’s your name?”
The boy hesitated. His father stepped forward. “This here is Arty Jones, my son. I’m his father, Ernie. I say without a reliable witness, it’s jest my word ’gainst his.” He jerked his thumb toward Ben.
“I consider myself a reliable witness.”
Ben jerked about to see who spoke. Mr. Bingham and beside him, Abigail.
“Step forward.” Mr. Cavanaugh signaled them. “What did you see?”
Mr. Bingham kept Abby at his side as he pushed through the crowd. “I saw these young youths shooting wildly, as did my daughter. A couple of times I noted how they didn’t always make sure the barrel pointed skyward before they fired. I was about to say something when the baby screamed. I saw him shot. As did my daughter.”
Abigail nodded.
Ben stared. In his wildest dreams he’d never expected a Bingham to stand up for him. Yes, this was for the safety of all concerned, but still.
Mr. Cavanaugh turned to consult the other members of the committee, then nodded. “It is our decision that for the safety and peace of mind of all of us these pistols will be held in safekeeping until we are on the trail.” He gathered the guns, pushed to his feet and headed toward his wagon.
“Thank you for speaking up.” Ben spoke to Mr. Bingham, but his gaze darted to Abigail. Had she meant to defend him or was she only doing her duty? As if he needed to ask.
“It was clearly my duty,” Mr. Bingham said, and Abigail nodded answering his question.
They left to return to their wagon and he did the same.
Rachel and Emma jumped to their feet at his approach.
“What did they decide?” Rachel asked.
“There was some concern that I hadn’t actually seen the young fellas shoot the baby.”
“They called you a liar?” Rachel rolled up her fists and looked ready to defend her brother’s honor.
As usual, Ben found her attitude amusing and a little worrisome. He’d told her over and over that she must let him deal with his own problems. And warned her she shouldn’t be so ready to interfere in a situation.
“Mr. Bingham stepped forward and said he’d seen the whole thing. They accepted his word.”
Rachel’s mouth fell open. Emma stared. She was the first to recover her voice. “Mr. Bingham spoke up in your defense? What a surprise.”
Ben shrugged. “He was only doing his duty out of concern for safety in the camp.”
Emma nodded, her expression smoothed.
Rachel studied him for a long, silent moment. “Then why do you look so flummoxed?”
“I don’t.” Except he still couldn’t believe Mr. Bingham had spoken up on his behalf. With Abigail at his side.
But Rachel had her mind stuck on the topic and wouldn’t let it go unless he could divert her.
“The committee decided we will pull out first thing tomorrow. Those with cattle will go in one party. The rest of us will travel in another.”
“We’ll be ready,” Emma assured him, and immediately started to gather up odds and ends of kitchenware.
Rachel did not back down. “I wish the Binghams weren’t traveling with us.”
Ben lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture hoping Rachel would see how little it mattered. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“I remember when she dropped you,” Rachel said. “I saw how upset you were. I wanted to help.”
“I survived and am stronger for it. Besides, you were only thirteen.”
“And now I’m nineteen and I’m still not old enough to watch my brother get hurt.”
He shrugged. “Your big brother is quite capable of taking care of himself.” If Rachel took it in her head to fuss about this on a regular basis she would make it impossible for him to pretend the Binghams weren’t traveling with them. His stomach ached at the possibility.
“I hope so.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I got over Abby years ago. I won’t give her the chance to hurt me again.” She was merely one of almost a thousand travelers, not anyone who would earn special attention from him. “All I care about is getting us safely to Oregon.” He jammed his fingers into his trousers pockets. He would not fail. Not in any of his responsibilities.
The next morning, he discovered how challenging his responsibilities could be. Trying to get these emigrants organized and on their way was like trying to hold water in a sieve.
A man couldn’t find one of his oxen and accused his neighbor of stealing it. Ben directed the angry man to search among the many loose cattle until he found his own.
A woman wrung her hands because her five-year-old son had disappeared. “I’ll never find him in this bedlam,” she wailed.
They were near the Bingham wagon and Abigail hurried over to see if she could help.
“What’s his name and what does he look like?” she asked.
The woman stammered out a reply.
“I’ll find him,” Abby said to Ben. “You get on with your work.” Without giving him a chance to say yay or nay, she started down the line of wagons, calling the child’s name and asking if anyone had seen him.
He couldn’t think if he appreciated her help or resented being ordered about by her. But he didn’t have time to decide.
Mr. Bingham struggled with his oxen and Ben assisted him and gave him a few instructions on handling the animals. Mrs. Bingham sat on an upright chair inside the wagon. She wouldn’t last long on that perch, but she would not look kindly at advice from him. He decided against suggesting she find a different place to sit.
He checked on the Littletons. “How is Johnny?”
Mrs. Littleton washed dishes with the baby on her hip. “He’s fussy. Won’t let me put him down.”
“I expect he’s frightened.”
“My poor baby.”
Ben was about to move on when Abby returned leading the missing child and turned him over to his mother who smothered him in kisses, then scolded him for running off.
Abby chuckled. Her gaze lifted to Ben’s, her hazel eyes piercing right through his defenses.
How often in the past had her gaze done this to him? There was a time he welcomed it. No more. He wasn’t good enough for her six years ago and nothing about his station in life had changed for the better.
He turned his attention back to his duties.
“The bank’s been robbed!” A young man rode through the crowd shouting, “Fifteen thousand dollars missing from the new safe.”
Men crowded around the rider. “Anyone hurt?”
“Did they find the thief?”
“Did he come this direction?” When the answers were no, the people were relieved to know the robbery would not involve them and returned to preparing for the journey.
The noise swelled with laughter, cries and shouts. Dust rose from the trampled ground. The smell of animals and woodsmoke tinged the air.
Mrs. Bingham had been riffling through a box of things at the
back of the wagon. She straightened and signaled Ben, who rode over, his heart heavy. Whatever the woman wanted, he suspected it would be less than pleasant.
“My gilded mirror is missing.”
Ben nodded. “You’ve misplaced it?”
“I have not. It’s been stolen.”
Ben sighed heavily. Such accusations without evidence served only to instill anxiety and mistrust among the travelers.
Mrs. Bingham drew herself up and gave him a demanding look. “Aren’t you in charge of this group?”
“I am.”
“First the bank and now a bunch of innocent, defenseless travelers. I suggest you do your job and find the thief or thieves.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Though he wondered if any of their group were defenseless. Everyone had a pistol or a rifle or both. All had axes and shovels. And he wasn’t about to ride around demanding to know if someone stole a mirror. Likely the woman had misplaced it.
But he would do his job and keep a close eye on the Bingham wagon lest someone had targeted them as having valuable contents among their belongings.
Abigail returned to the wagon at that point. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
Mrs. Bingham grabbed Abby’s arm. “I’ve been robbed and this man is doing nothing about it. It appears to me he’ll help only those he chooses to.”
“Mother, we simply don’t have time to worry about it right now. Everyone is ready to leave.”
Ben rode away and didn’t look back. Abigail was every bit as much under her mother’s thumb as she’d ever been. Ben would not likely forget Mrs. Bingham did not approve of him. Therefore, Abigail didn’t, either.
* * *
Abigail didn’t have time to deal with her mother’s fussing. Their journey was about to begin and she couldn’t wait to get started. The future beckoned.
She joined her father beside the oxen.
“Well, daughter, we are about to see if your banker father can manage these huge beasts.”
“You sound excited.” Her own heart beat a rapid tattoo as she waited for their wagon to join the procession.
Ben sat on his horse, supervising the departure. He looked calm and in control.
She shifted her gaze away from him to the wagons rolling out ahead of them. He traveled with his sisters. They must be so proud of him. And to think she might have been the one whose heart swelled with pride—
No. A life shared with him might have been filled with unexpected sorrow. She’d learned her lesson well enough not to care to repeat it.
“Come, boys,” Father said, and the oxen moved out, following the others.
Abby laughed from sheer excitement.
Inside the wagon, Mother clung to her chair.
“Mother isn’t happy about this adventure,” Abigail commented.
“She’s afraid of change, but we need it. We need to get over Andrew’s death.”
Abby’s heart dipped. As always, guilt stung her at the mention of his name.
Father continued. “It’s time to put his death behind us and look to the future.”
“Is that possible?” If it still controlled them after ten years how was a trip going to change anything?
“I hope it is,” her father said. “I believe this trip will change us all.”
Abby hoped for the same, but change often came on the heels of adversity. She didn’t have to think very hard to find it so in her life. Her future had changed when Andy died. Again when the Panic struck and yet again when Frank died. And who could foretell which events would result in good and which ones in sorrow? Father God, let this trip result in good for all involved.
Sam Weston rode by. “Everyone ready?”
A roar of agreement answered him.
He rode on. “Wagons, ho.”
Slowly the long line of wagons began to move.
Hundreds of people lined the route, waving flags and cheering them on. One lady ran forward and pressed a package into Abigail’s hands.
“Some baking for the trip. God speed and safe travels.”
Abby held the woman’s hands for a heartbeat, and as the wagon lumbered away, she turned to wave goodbye.
Goodbye to the past.
Hello to the future.
She strained to see the way ahead, her heart pounding out the rhythm of the words as she waved and smiled at those sending them off.
Then they left behind the well-wishers and headed West.
Whatever the future held, it had to be better than the past. Her heart settled into place, feeling more hopeful than it had for so long she couldn’t remember the last time.
Nothing would distract her from her plans for a new beginning in Oregon.
Not even her mother.
Chapter Three
The weather was clear, the trail easy. The white-sheeted wagons sailed across the green prairie like ships upon an ocean of green. Purple-and-yellow flowers dotted the landscape.
Mr. Weston called a halt at noon, by which time Abby was more than grateful. She’d tried riding in the wagon, but the hard bench and rough trail combined to make it most uncomfortable. She’d jumped down, preferring to walk. As soon as she vacated the wooden seat Mother left her unsteady chair to sit by Father, using a folded quilt to pad the bench.
Abby had walked almost the whole morning and her feet hurt.
The women immediately got out their cooking utensils and sent children to gather firewood. Father unhitched the oxen but, according to instructions from Ben, left them yoked. The great beasts grazed placidly.
Ben seemed to be everywhere. He rode through the camp calling out instructions or encouragement or, in a case or two, breaking up a fight. Several asked about the robbery. Could the culprit be among them? He tried to assure them there would be guards posted every night.
She turned to preparing a meager meal—all she seemed capable of. She could fry bacon again and eat the biscuits in the package she’d been handed as they left Independence.
She let the word independence roll around in her mind. She certainly liked the sound of it.
“Better check your bacon,” Sally called.
Abby turned the pieces over. Only the edges were charred. Hopefully they were still edible.
An hour later they were again on their way.
At three o’clock they reached a place Mr. Weston called Elm Grove.
Abby had never thought a few elm trees and some bushes would be so welcome but her blistered feet ached for relief.
Mr. Weston led them into making a circle.
Father followed his instruction and drove the wagon so his front almost met the back of the wagon ahead of him then turned sharply. When the oxen were released, the wagons formed a barricade.
The oxen were set loose outside the circle to graze.
Ben rode around the circle. “Sam says we need to share fires. Soon enough we’ll be scrounging for fuel. Three or four families together depending on the size of your family.”
Almost before Abby could sort out all the things that had to be done, the others had organized who went with whom.
The Binghams were to be with the Littletons and Ben and his sisters.
Abby went to the back of the wagon as if to pull out something, but everything she needed for the evening was already spread out on the ground in preparation for the night.
The Littletons would be enjoyable people to spend the trip with, but the Hewitts? Why must they be grouped with them? Rachel had made her opinion clear yesterday. She didn’t welcome the Binghams on the journey, let alone as their meal companions.
Emma, of course, had been more restrained in her reaction, though that didn’t mean she had less of an opinion.
And Ben? What did he think? Was it going to be awkward? Yes, they had history, but it w
as ancient history. They’d both moved on. She had no idea what Ben’s plans were but seeing as he was obviously still unmarried, likely he would be looking for a suitable wife. One who would prove an asset in the new life they all planned.
She made a sound, half snort, half groan. Ben should enlist help from Abby’s mother who thought she had a knack of finding suitable mates.
This time Abby groaned for real. Mother was not going to be happy about this arrangement and if Mother wasn’t happy, Abby would have her hands full keeping her mother satisfied.
Oh, God, give me strength and patience.
She held on to the prayer as she returned to the others. She could do this without getting caught up in memories or regrets or guilt.
The men left to tend to the animals.
“Let’s divvy up the chores,” Rachel said to the women.
The others murmured agreement. All except Mother, who had allowed Father to lift her chair to the ground where she remained seated. Abby understood her mother considered it beneath her station in life to help with mundane chores.
“We’ll take turns so no one ends up doing the dishes alone every night.”
Again a murmur of agreement at Rachel’s suggestion though Abby would have been quite happy doing dishes. It was the one thing she could manage. That and making tea. Both required only that she boil water.
“I’ll make tea right away,” she offered. “My mother is in need of a drink.” Mother was pale, her jaw clenched so hard it would take more than a hot drink to loosen it.
“I’ll cook the meat,” Sally said.
Emma offered to prepare vegetables and a sweet. Rachel said she’d prepare the beans that had been soaking all day. “That way they’ll be ready for dinner tomorrow.”
The three women turned to Abby. She swallowed hard knowing they expected her to offer to make something for the supper. Something more than tea. She stifled a giggle. Could she make it through the next few months by making tea at every stop?
“Why don’t you make biscuits?” Sally said.
Abby nodded not trusting her voice to speak confidently. She dragged out the reflector oven. She’d practiced setting it up and did so, though she still thought the apparatus was unstable, but others used one so she had to believe it was a suitable means of cooking. She positioned it close to the fire.
