High Plains Bride

“Yes,” Zeb said, “it is. Except in this instance, your fellow man is a woman.”

“As if I didn’t know that.” Fisting his reins, Will put his left foot in the stirrup, grabbed the horn and vaulted easily into the saddle. “How long ago did the first wagons in the train pull out?”

“About two hours, I think. I remember that the sky was already darkening when they passed by.”

“All right. I’ll head down the trail and see how they’re doing, then come back and help you here.”

“Be careful,” Zeb warned. “Just because the worst seems to be over doesn’t mean it can’t fire up and hit us again.”

Will knew he was right. And that thought gave him chills all the way from his nape to the toes of his boots.

Not only had the wagons been in danger before, they could be again. Soon. Perhaps even before he managed to reach them.

Hoping against hope that someone from the rest of their train would ride ahead to check on their welfare, Emmeline kept scanning the trail and surrounding hills. When she spotted several riders silhouetted against the gray sky, she was at first encouraged. Then, she realized that the stationary men, watching from the backs of their horses, were Indians!

Her hand flew to her throat. She didn’t know what tribe they were from, nor did she care. The few Indian women she had noticed, in or near small towns along the trail, had seemed wary, almost afraid. She fully understood their reactions. The Indians were outnumbered and vulnerable in that particular situation. And now that she and what remained of her family were stranded in the middle of nowhere, that was exactly how she felt, too.

As she and Johnny prepared to put their shoulders to the side of the wagon to try to move it, Joanna kept insisting that they wait. “Don’t try to push that over by yourselves. You’re not strong enough. Do as I told you. Get your papa. He’ll know what to do.”

Emmeline didn’t want to inform her that Amos was dead, yet what choice did she have when her mother kept insisting? “Papa’s…Papa’s not able,” she said, hugging Glory and speaking through one of the cracks in the upended wagon.

Joanna gasped audibly. “Dear Lord. Why not? Is he hurt?”

“Yes,” Emmeline said.

“Then you should be tending to him. Go. Do it now. I’m fine. Really. I’m not injured a bit and I can wait as long as need be.”

Emmeline’s voice broke as she forced herself to explain. Reality was almost too terrible to voice. “Papa’s gone to heaven, Mama.”

“No! No, that can’t be. He’s just hurt. You’ll see. Go look again. You must be mistaken.”

“When the wagon turned over, an ox fell on him. Big Jack is okay but Sam is dead. And Papa’s underneath him.”

“Get him off. Save your father.”

“It’s too late.” Emmeline was fighting tears and so was her brother. “By—by the time I reached him to check, he was already getting cold.”

Joanna began to wail incoherently. Glory sobbed softly. And Johnny gritted his teeth while Emmeline struggled to stay strong for the sake of the others.

“Mama, listen. We’ll try to push the wagon over enough for you to crawl out,” she shouted above her mother’s loud, heartbreaking sobs.

Setting Glory out of the way, she motioned to Johnny and got into place beside him. “On the count of three. One, two, three.”

They pushed with all their might but to no avail, which Emmeline quickly realized was a blessing. Even if they could have managed to raise the side of the wagon a little, there was no way to keep it stable and guarantee that it wouldn’t drop and crush their poor mother during her escape attempt, the way the ox had done to Papa.

Exhausted, Emmeline shook her head, stood back and addressed her brother. “Stop. Mama was right. We aren’t strong enough to do this alone.”

“No!” the boy insisted. “I can do it.”

She knew the helplessness he was feeling and sympathized. That didn’t, however, change facts. Touching his thin arm, Emmeline stopped him physically. “We’ll get her out. I promise. Only we have to think, not just try harder. There are some things that are beyond us. Let’s pray for help to come.”

He jerked his arm away and glared at her with reddened, puffy eyes. “That doesn’t work.” His glance darted toward the place where their father still lay. “I prayed for Papa and look what happened.” Emmeline flinched as she heard her brother voice her own doubts. Her prayers hadn’t been heeded either. Why?

“Was…was it quick?” Emmeline asked, needing to know yet not wanting to hear that her father had suffered.

Sniffling and wiping his nose on his sleeve, the young teen choked back a sob before answering. “I don’t know. When I woke up, Big Jack was standing over me and there was Papa, already so still. I tried to wake him, to pull him free, but…” Johnny stifled another shaky moan. Tears streaked his cheeks.

Touched, Emmeline enfolded him in her arms and held him while he wept on her shoulder. It had been years since the boy had permitted her to show him any affection and their shared hug reminded her of the closer sibling relationship they had once enjoyed. In truth, she’d missed the sweet child her brother had been before he’d grown up enough to begin to emulate their father.

When Johnny finally pushed her away, Emmeline was chagrined. She truly loved the members of her family, all of them, even though they were sometimes less than lovable.

Swiping at his damp cheeks, Johnny pointed east, up the trail. “Look!”

At first, Emmeline feared that the distant Indians had decided to approach. Then, she realized that the horseman was riding with saddle and bridle as well as wearing a slicker that flapped out behind him like great, black wings. No Indian would ride or dress like that, at least not any she had seen thus far in her travels.

She held up her arms, waved boldly and shouted to the rider. “Over here. Hurry! We need help.”

He slid off his mount and started to run toward her before the horse had come to a complete stop.

She knew that man. Glory be! It was the cowboy from the mercantile. And no one had ever looked better to her, not even erstwhile beaus from her old hometown.

Unable to recall his name, she nevertheless greeted him with unbounded enthusiasm. Clasping her hands, she shouted, “Hallelujah!”

“What’s happened? Are you all right?”

“Some of us are,” Emmeline answered, sobering and glancing over her shoulder toward the place where the remains of the ox still lay. “The important thing right now is rescuing my mother. She’s trapped under the wagon. Johnny and I tried to lift it but it was too heavy.”

Will was fetching his rope from where it was tied at the fork of his saddle. “Where’s your father? We’ll need all the muscle we can get.”

Emmeline lowered her voice. “Papa will not be helping. He’s gone to meet his Maker.”

The cowboy merely nodded and went to work instead of asking for further explanation.

Relieved, Emmeline sighed. There was really nothing else to say. And now that a friend had arrived to help, she finally had a moment to step back and take stock of the situation. It wasn’t a pretty picture. When the last breath had left her father’s body, their whole life had changed. They had no home, no money to speak of, very few possessions and no predictable future. She didn’t know how things could get any worse.

And then she remembered that Bess and the twins were still missing.

Will had formally introduced himself to Johnny while he threaded his rope through two of the wagon wheels on the off side. Then, he and the boy used his horse in tandem with the surviving ox to pull.

The rope held. The wagon creaked and groaned as it tilted onto its side. It wobbled for a moment, then settled there in the soft mud, as stable as could be expected, considering the rutted ground.

He watched the tearful reunion of mother and daughters, noting that Johnny stood back with the ox and made no effort to join them.

“Help me free my rope, will you?” Will asked the boy. At first he thought Johnny had not heard. Then, the wiry youngster clambered atop the wagon to assist him.

“Appreciate it,” Will said, coiling the stiff, braided rawhide as he spoke.

Still, the boy did not reply. He seemed to be fixated on the dead ox, so Will started to approach it.