Page 10 of Wagon Train Song
“It’s beautiful. Not that I’d ever forget you.” The words squeezed free from her constricted throat, but she wouldn’t cry. She was doing what she thought best and would allow herself no regrets—or at least, only a few.
Mr. Dunn carried forward a large box and stowed it under the seat in Hazel’s wagon. “We’ve put together food for your first day.”
One by one, or in pairs or small groups, people came to shake her hand and wish her well. Many of them went to the wagons to bid farewell to the girls. Thankfully, they saw Bertie at Gabe’s wagon and didn’t go toward him, though several said goodbye.
The last one to come forward was Annie, Marnie’s best friend for more years than either of them liked to count. They hugged.
“You write often?” Annie squeezed her tighter, her rosewater scent as sweet as the lady herself.
“I will.” A promise easily given and thoroughly meant. Tears clogged Marnie’s throat. “I’m going to miss you.”
“This is the best thing for Bertie.” Annie took in the travelers behind Marnie. “It appears others also think the journey is a good idea.”
Marnie managed a short, mirthless chuckle. “Our numbers keep growing. I better leave before we collect more.”
She returned to Bertie. Angela went back to her wagon, and with a rattle of wheels and creak of yokes, they trundled down the street, shouts of goodbye following them.
Town was a mile behind them before anyone spoke.
Bertie said, “Alice happy to go?”
His innocent question, so far removed from Marnie’s thoughts of loss and leaving, struck her as amusing, and she laughed. “Alice seems to be happy.”
The goat bounced up and down, ran to Bertie for a pat, and then darted to the roadside.
Oh, that they could all be so innocently pleased.
She could barely breathe past the lump lodged in her throat. But she wouldn’t cry, nor would she look back. Her heels sank in the dust of the trail. Her thoughts circled beyond what they were leaving to what they hoped to gain. A new life. Adventure even. And being with her other son—she’d missed his support these past two years and more that he’d been away. Most of all, a chance for Bertie to move past the loss of his pa.
One of the oxen lowed, drawing her attention to the here and now. She matched her steps to the man walking by the animals.
“Mr. Miller?—”
“Please call me Gabe. You did when you were friends with Ellen, if I remember correctly.”
She had. “Things were so different back then. We were young and innocent and full of hopes and dreams.” Nevertheless, she’d call him by his name and allow him to use hers. Partly because being called Mrs. Woods reminded her of what had been taken from her and what she was trying to forget.
“And now? Isn’t there still room for hopes and dreams?”
“I don’t know. Is there? You moved after Ellen’s passing, but I never heard that you remarried.” Not that Norman would think it important enough to mention.
“I didn’t. I moved home so my parents could help with the boys. Then I was busy working to provide their needs. I carried freight for a while. Learned how to work with mules, oxen…” A pause. “And men.”
She studied him. He seemed disappointed or weary. “Are you saying that in such a way as to suggest men presented the biggest challenge?”
“Sorry. I suppose I did make it sound that way.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, it is sometimes true.”
“You won’t hear an argument from me.”
They studied each other until it grew awkward.
He broke the silence. “I might like to hear your experiences in the matter.”
“And I yours.” Something—perhaps a promise of more time to talk and share their experiences—passed between them. That, and if she was willing to admit it, a sense of camaraderie. Well, why not enjoy the Millers’ company? “What did you do besides carry freight?”
“I did some blacksmithing. Helped Pa on the farm, but Walt kind of took over running the place when it got to be too much for my pa.”
“Where are your folks now? It must be hard leaving them.” Even if it was only to see her across the country.
