Wagon Train Reunion

Nothing would distract her from her plans for a new beginning in Oregon.

Not even her mother.

Chapter Three (#ulink_05b35dd2-cbab-5c68-a88d-3aab25ed3e09)

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 was 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.

Abby measured the flour, lard and other ingredients and mixed them as she had learned at home. She cut them into rounds and placed them on the baking tray. There, she congratulated herself. This was going to turn out just fine.

She put them in the reflector oven, then poured tea for Mother.

Mother pulled her down to whisper in her ear. “I object to sharing meals with...with those.”

“Mother, be grateful.” They’d eat much better for the sharing.

A great clatter and Sally’s sharply indrawn breath jerked Abby’s attention her way. “Oh, no.” The oven had collapsed. The biscuits fallen into a heap.

“I’m sorry,” Sally said. She’d been tending Johnny and hadn’t noticed where Abby set the oven.

Abby rushed to her side. “Are you okay? You’re not burned?”

“No, I’m fine. But the biscuits—”

“They’re ruined,” Rachel said. Abby knew she wasn’t mistaken in thinking Rachel sounded rather pleased about it.

“Why, the oven wasn’t even braced. Now all this food is wasted,” Rachel continued.