condolences over your husband’s death.”
Of course Mrs. Littleton meant Frank, but Abby could not find it in her heart to feel sorrow at his passing. Yes, it left her penniless and back home under her mother’s rule, but it freed her from Frank’s cruelty. She shuddered. She’d never told her parents what marriage to Frank had been like.
Mother had seen him as the key to a promising future for the Binghams and when Abby protested over his offer of marriage, Mother had reminded her of her promise.
“Marrying well is the best way you can help us,” Mother had insisted as they discussed Frank.
“But I don’t love him.” Her throat still tightened as she thought of that day. If only her promise didn’t bind her to do her mother’s bidding.
“Love is a luxury few of us can afford.”
“But you love Father, don’t you?”
“I’m happy with our arrangement.”
Abby realized later that love was nothing but a flight of fancy. But at the time she still believed in it.
Out of guilt and duty, and a desire to please her parents, she’d obeyed her mother and married Frank. To be fair, he’d been attentive and gentle when courting her.
That had ended the day of their wedding.
Mrs. Littleton patted her arm. “A new beginning will be good for all of us. And please call me Sally.”
“I’m Abigail or Abby to my friends.”
Sally chuckled. “Then I’ll call you Abby.”
Abby glanced at her mother still sitting nearby on her wooden chair. No mistaking the disapproving scowl. She sighed. She tried, oh, how she tried, to please Mother, but nothing ever seemed enough. Why, mother had even hinted that it was Abby’s fault that Frank had died penniless. His grave had barely been covered over when agents from the bank had come and carried away everything but her personal belongings and had given her three days to leave the house. The harsh truth about her husband had been reinforced yet again. Not only was he cruel behind the closed doors of their home, he was foolish in business. She’d gone back to her parents’ home. Where else could she go? Though it had reduced her to striving for her mother’s approval and always falling short.
Mother would never let her forget her promise.
She remained convinced that Andy would have fulfilled all her dreams of advancement. And now she expected Abby to be the means.
“You’ll need to find a suitable suitor soon,” she’d been saying since they made plans to head West. “In Oregon, there are far more men than women. That means you can have your pick of the best.”
Abby hated the reminder of her duty. Surely she’d paid for it with her marriage to Frank. However, one thing no bank, no demanding mother or cruel husband could take from her was her faith. God would provide the strength she needed for every test and trial. And please, God, a chance to start over.
Sally shifted and glanced at the sun overhead. “It’s noon. I need to start dinner but I hate to put Johnny down.”
“Let me hold him while you cook.” Abby held out her arms. By rights she should offer to make the meal, but she doubted Sally and her husband would appreciate her efforts.
Sally shifted the sleeping Johnny to Abby’s lap. “You never had any little ones of your own or did they—?” She clapped her hands to her mouth to stop the words.
Abby understood Sally feared she might have brought up a painful subject—like she’d had babies and they died. “No, we never had children.”
“I’m sorry.”
Abby brushed Johnny’s hair off his forehead. Oh, to have a child of her own to love and cherish, though she couldn’t be sorry Frank had not given her one. It would have been a thousand times worse to endure Frank mistreating a child and she knew he would have if only to get at Abby.
She shifted the baby so she would look westward. In Oregon she hoped and planned and prayed she would find the freedom she longed for which, to date, had always seemed far out of reach.
Little Johnny fussed and Abby sang softly until he relaxed again. All the while, she watched Sally stir a pot of stew that had been simmering over the coals then slice a loaf of batter bread she’d baked in the tin oven. If Mother wasn’t watching like a hawk, Abby would have asked Sally to explain how she did all that. Mother had forbidden her to ask for help from the women around them.
We’re Binghams. We don’t need help.
Abigail knew otherwise. If they were to make it across the great plains and over the mountains, Bingham or not, they’d need help because Abby had no idea how to manage under these circumstances. She’d have to learn by observation. They had a tin oven, as well. She’d try baking biscuits in it.
Mr. Littleton returned. “How’s Johnny?”
Sally answered. “He’s sleeping.” But at the sound of his father’s voice, Johnny stirred and held out his arms. Mr. Littleton took him gently, careful of the bandaging around the baby’s middle.
Abby pushed to her feet. Her fingers trailed down Johnny’s back then she stepped away. “I best go prepare dinner for my folks.” She returned to their wagon.
Mother huffed as Abby set to work. “I hope you don’t plan to spend a lot of time with the likes of those people.”
Abby pushed aside annoyance. “Mother, it’s a long trip. Those kinds of people will be our constant companions.”
Mother pulled herself into her self-righteous posture. “You don’t need to associate with them. Keep yourself apart until we reach Oregon and then we’ll find you a proper suitor.”
Ben’s image as he faced those rowdy boys and then the questioning men filled Abby’s thoughts. He was a noble and kind man. At least he had been at the time they courted. But that didn’t alter the fact that marriage changed a man. Gave him rights to his wife that no law, no friend, nor even family could defy. She would never again subject herself to such ownership of her body and her rights.
She fried bacon and boiled potatoes. Even potatoes were difficult to cook over a fire. They burned on the bottom and were hard as rocks inside. Father ate them without a word. Mother nibbled at the food. Plain fare had never been her first choice. They both accepted a cup of tea. Abby sighed and turned her attention to washing up the few dishes, but her thoughts went round and round. She must become adept at all sorts of things if they were to survive this trip.
At Mother’s request, Father took her wooden chair into the back of the wagon and parked it atop two chests. Mother followed and perched on the chair. She barely fit beneath the white canvas. Mother had brought as much as she could pack into the wagon which was far less than she insisted she needed.
Abigail had brought a minimum of belongings. A few changes of clothing, a warm coat, a waterproof duster, her Bible, a few of her favorite books and her mandolin. After Frank’s death she’d learned how little material things mattered.
Abigail opened her mouth to warn Mother she wouldn’t be
