Wagon Train Reunion

“I feel dirty all over,” the woman whined. “I simply can’t do this.” She fluttered her hands.

Ben couldn’t tell if she meant to include present company or present circumstances but likely both.

Abby smoothed her mother’s hair. “Have you forgotten you’re a Bingham? Binghams don’t let circumstances dictate their behavior.”

Beside Ben, Rachel gave a tiny snort.

But the words had the effect Abby no doubt desired and her mother sat up so straight Ben wouldn’t have been surprised to see an iron rod along her spine.

“I’ll do my best.”

Ben released a sigh of relief and heard the others do so, as well. If she would simply accept the circumstances and stop her complaining life would be more pleasant for all of them—herself included.

Abby returned to her spot by her father.

Little Johnny wailed. The child had proven inconsolable all day.

Ben glanced at Emma and they shared their silent concern. It didn’t seem normal for the child to be so fussy especially given that both Sally and Martin said it wasn’t usual. But then he’d been shot. Ben never had been, so couldn’t say how much a flesh wound hurt.

“His wound must be paining him something awful,” Emma said. “After supper I’ll put something on that might relieve his pain.”

“I’d so appreciate it,” Sally said, her voice weary.

Over supper, conversation turned to plans for the morrow and various concerns about the animals and the wagons. The meal ended and the women set to work cleaning up.

Martin took Johnny and tried to comfort him while Mr. Bingham set up his tent then helped his wife to it. Seems she meant to retire early. This trip would tax her strength and adaptability.

The animals were grazing under the supervision of others and it wasn’t Ben’s turn to keep watch though he wondered if he should walk about watching for anything that could lead to trouble. But for a few moments, he’d relax and he lounged back against the rear wheel of his wagon.

Abby measured out flour for another batch of biscuits. She examined the sack of flour carefully then spoke to Sally. “You were right. Only one corner seems to be affected. The rest is okay.” She carried the unusable flour outside the camp and disposed of it.

As she worked, she chatted cheerfully with the women. Soon she had Sally and Emma chuckling over some comment.

Ben thought of edging closer so he could share the joke but decided against it. He had no interest in what she said or did.

She rolled the biscuit dough in fluid movements. But then, as he recalled, she’d always had a graceful way about her that made him think of flowers swaying in a gentle breeze.

A picture flashed into his mind. One he’d tried to erase so many times because it made his heart contract with regret and bitterness.

They’d been on a picnic with a group of young people, chaperoned by the pastor and his wife. They’d spread their lunch on a red-checkered cloth in a grassy field outside of town. All around them were blue and red and pink and white wildflowers. Nearby, a lark sat on a branch and sang.