she dare to call him a friend?
Later that morning, Emma was able to leave the wagon and assist Rachel with the breakfast preparations. Her fears had been unfounded. Nathan had revived.
“You’re humming,” Rachel observed.
Emma looked up from where she flipped bacon in the fry pan. “Was I?”
“Yes. You were.” Rachel’s pointed gaze seemed to demand Emma admit to something, but she couldn’t imagine what.
She let her eyes linger on the landscape of tall, brown summer grasses before she returned her eyes to the pot. Did even the sunlight seem brighter this morning? “I suppose I am relieved that Mr. Reed is faring better.”
“He is?” Ben’s voice rang out as he joined them.
“His fever broke just before dawn,” Emma told her brother.
“Good.” Ben reached for the plate Rachel extended to him. “I won’t have to send someone riding after a doctor.”
“His cough still worries me.”
“Sally Littleton said she’s seen pneumonia develop from measles,” Rachel said. The thirtysomething mother was one of their neighbors in the wagon train and had been friendly since they’d left Independence.
Pneumonia. The word silenced the three of them. At the end, Papa had contracted pneumonia and never recovered.
“We’ll pray it isn’t that.” Ben’s voice remained grave. “I can’t spare any men to ride out. We need everyone on guard against the thief.” The last was said quietly, as if to keep the words from prying ears.
Emma set aside her spoon. “It isn’t Mr. Reed.” She had no evidence, but somehow she didn’t believe the man who’d been compassionate enough to comfort her through her fears of the storm could do such a thing. “I think Mr. Reed must have had a difficult life. But I don’t believe he is a thief.”
* * *
Nathan sat upright in the Hewitts’ wagon bed, bracing his hands against the sideboard, panting from just that little exertion.
And completely floored by Emma’s quiet, resolute statement, by her faith in him.
He’d done nothing to deserve it. In the face of her unexpected…friendship, he was ashamed of how he’d acted before this illness, brushing off and ignoring her attempts at kindness.
How long had it been since he’d known someone he counted as a friend? His childhood, twenty years ago. Or more.
And she was wrong. He’d done his share of thieving. When his pa had drunk away any money they would have used for food. As an adult, when his belly had been so empty he’d had actual pangs of hunger.
Having Emma’s faith in him, even if it lasted only for this moment and no longer, made him feel as though he could face whatever punishment the wagon train committee deemed necessary. It made him feel as if maybe there was a chance that he could really be forgiven. Be redeemed.
And that was dangerous thinking. He, more than any other, knew how black his soul was. And that good things didn’t come his way.
But then he heard Ben Hewitt’s next words through his swirling thoughts. “Someone stole a wad of cash out of the Ericksons’ wagon the night of the storm, during the fire.”
“It couldn’t have been Mr. Reed,” Emma’s sister chimed in. “You were with him in the wagon.”
“Yes,” Emma agreed.
“Whoever did it is sly,” Hewitt said. “Every able-bodied man was working the bucket brigade—or so we thought. Mr. Erickson didn’t notice the cash was missing until this morning. He thought his wife had it—she thought her husband had hidden it in their belongings. But it’s definitely missing.”
“How awful for them.”
The three siblings kept talking, but their voices faded out of Nathan’s head as he tried to scoot toward the tailgate.
If he was cleared, then he might still have a paying gig driving the Binghams’ wagon to Oregon. He’d taken the chance of joining up with the wagon train, knowing that if he could earn enough for a stake, he might get the fresh start he needed when the caravan arrived at its destination.
He could drive…if he could get his bearings. His head was swimming. He felt off-kilter, a little afraid he was going to fall out of the wagon if he got too close to the edge.
And then his hopes for a silent getaway went up in smoke as he started coughing. And couldn’t stop.
When he finally got his breath back, he was gripping one of the bows that supported the canvas, and Emma and her brother stood watching him from just outside the back flap.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Emma asked, her words more like a demand. Or those of a concerned sister.
“I thought I would—” A cough surprised him and cut off his sentence, though thankfully this one didn’t last long. “Head back to the Binghams’ wagon. Hitch up the oxen and get ready to pull out.”
Emma’s expression had turned into a thunderhead to rival what they’d seen the other day. Hewitt coughed, but when Nathan’s gaze slid to the other man, Hewitt had his hat off and was hiding behind it. Was he…chuckling?
“I figured I’d get out of your way, now that I’m better.”
Her frown only intensified.
“Better?” she echoed. The word sounded more disbelieving than questioning.
Maybe if he wasn’t so dizzy, he could follow the conversation a little better. Although that wasn’t a guarantee because he was awful rusty at talking to folks.
She stepped up onto a crate that must’ve been put in place to help her reach or get up into the wagon. She was muttering to herself, something that sounded suspiciously like, “If this is what your thinking gets you, I recommend you stop.”
But that couldn’t be right. He’d only ever heard Emma speak kind words, not sarcastic ones.
“Lie back down.”
He balked at the order and this time he heard Hewitt laugh.
She blocked him from moving anywhere but backward, deeper into the wagon. She’d pulled her hair up in a severe style since he’d seen her at dawn, the sun breaking behind her and casting a halo of light around her mussed hair.
He sent a glare over her shoulder at Hewitt. The man only shrugged, leaving Nathan to wonder if she made a habit of bossing him, too.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re cleared of the thefts,” Hewitt said. “I’ll speak to the committee when I’m able.”
Nathan nodded his thanks, unsmiling. If Hewitt would’ve investigated better, maybe
