and clung to his mother.
“His name is Johnny. I’m Sally Littleton. And I thank you.” She squeezed Emma’s hands. Then they bowed their heads.
The women circling them also bowed their heads and Ben and the men removed their hats.
“Our Father in heaven, thank you for sparing Johnny’s life. And grant our deepest desire that he recover from this wound with no ill effects. Amen.” Emma opened her eyes and patted little Johnny’s back. She straightened.
All this time, Abby sat beside Mrs. Littleton, one arm wrapped about the woman’s shoulders, comforting her.
A man rushed up. “I heard my son was shot.” He threw his hat on the ground and knelt before his wife. He ran his hands over the baby. “Is he...is he?”
Mrs. Littleton pressed her palms to her husband’s cheeks. “It was only a flesh wound. Miss Hewitt tended it.”
“Thank you. Thank you.” He shook hands with everyone around him and introductions were made. “Thank God. Johnny is all we have left. Our other three died of swamp fever last year.”
Ben’s throat tightened. So many bore the pain of loss yet faced the great adventure full of hopes and dreams. Ben and his sisters, Emma and Rachel, shared the excitement. They’d eagerly sold the ranch and most of their possessions, bought three teams of oxen, outfitted their wagon with enough supplies to carry them across the continent to Oregon where they’d join their brother, Grayson. Grayson had gone out two years ago to escape the memory of his young wife’s death in childbirth. He wrote often, urging his siblings to join him and for Ben to consider working at his store. After the death of their father late last year, they made plans to do so. Ben would do his best to see that everyone else on the train made the trip safely, as well.
As he continued inspecting the wagons in the section he’d been assigned, he overheard bits and pieces of conversation.
New beginning. Fresh start. Opportunity. The final word rang throughout most of the conversations. It was the promise that filled them all with hope and determination. For a new beginning almost a thousand people were prepared to face the dangers this journey held.
Soon he was again engulfed by the noise of the camp as he went from wagon to wagon. Men yelled at oxen. Women shouted at children who raced about excitedly. Metal rang on metal as wagon wheels were prepared for the journey. Over it all hung the smell of hundreds of animals.
The poor oxen had to endure inexperienced men ordering them every which way without any real idea of how to direct the animals. Ben had taken the time to instruct both his sisters on how to drive their oxen. He planned to drive most of the time, though being one of the committeemen might necessitate he ride his horse along the wagon train to help convey instructions down the line.
He assessed those he was destined to travel with. An assorted lot to be sure. Many wore the clothes and had the markings of farmers. Others, like Mr. Bingham, appeared to be businessmen hoping for better times. There were small groups traveling together but most of the emigrants were meeting each other for the first time. There’d be plenty of friction as strangers were forced to learn to work together.
It was almost noon before he finished and returned to the wagon where his sisters waited with the meal ready.
Rachel looked ready to burst as he washed his hands and filled his plate. “I’ll ask the blessing,” he said, ignoring her impatience, and bowed his head. His amen was barely out before she spoke.
“I can’t believe the Binghams are on this wagon train. How are you going to avoid running into her?”
He pretended not to understand what she meant even though he knew she referred to the relationship he and Abby had enjoyed back then. “There’s a lot of people traveling together. We don’t have to keep company with any we don’t choose to.” He said it as if that solved the entire problem of encountering Abby and he intended it should.
Rachel sighed. “I just don’t want to see your heart broken again.”
“It’s not going to happen.” Never again would he give Abigail the right to hurt him. He would do his best to keep a wide distance between himself and Abigail. Two thousand miles over several months lay ahead of them. But all he had to do was avoid her one day at a time.
Surely that wasn’t impossible.
* * *
“Please stay with me,” Mrs. Littleton said to Abby as her husband left to attend to other business. “I’m afraid to be alone at the moment.”
“Of course.” Abby sat beside her on a quilt. The blond-haired woman’s blue eyes were friendly and welcoming. Her dress was well-worn but clean.
“You have a sweet baby. How old is he?”
“He’s just a year old.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your other children.”
Mrs. Littleton bent over her son, caressing his brown hair. His brown eyes closed slowly and he slept. “Life can be hard at times.” She looked into the distance. “I hope we can start over in Oregon without so many painful memories.”
“That is my hope, as well, Mrs. Littleton.” Losing her husband had necessitated her move back to her parents’ home. But it didn’t pain her the way losing her twin brother Andy had. That pain never went away but she had learned to let it sweep through her. It would then settle back into a steady ache. Perhaps in Oregon she could think of Andy without the pulsing pain and regret.
She hoped for more than freedom from her past with this trip. It was her chance for a new beginning. She had her private plans. When they reached Oregon, she meant to go her own way. She’d work until she saved enough money to set herself up in business. Perhaps she’d run a boardinghouse. All that mattered was she’d never again depend on someone else. But Mother had other plans...plans that involved marrying in such a way as to improve the social and financial status of the Binghams. Abby hadn’t informed her mother yet, but she would not marry again. To her sorrow and regret she had learned a lesson about marriage that she didn’t care to repeat.
Strange to see Ben on the wagon train. She hadn’t seen him since she ended their relationship six years before. His light brown hair had been tamed some. Only one wave dipped over his forehead. He’d filled out, too, so his six-foot frame seemed all muscle and power. Even his blue-gray eyes had grown serious.
His expression when he looked her way contained only the cool disinterest of a stranger.
Not that she could blame him. Six years ago, she’d dismissed him harshly because she knew no other way to end a relationship that held so much promise. She’d balked at the idea of marrying Frank. Begged her mother to allow her to marry Ben, the man she loved. But Mother had reminded her of her promise to take care of her parents and pointed out that Ben couldn’t possibly provide for her and them. Nor could he offer a way of advancing them socially. His father’s mercantile business had floundered in the depressed economy.
Mrs. Littleton turned to look into Abby’s face. “You’ve had your losses, too, I can tell.”
Abby’s mind flooded with sorrow as she recalled kneeling beside Andy’s lifeless body. He was but fourteen years old. If only she had spoken up and asked Andy not to ride that high-spirited horse. Instead, she had bragged to the snobby
