Page 3 of Wagon Train Song
A week later,the new wagon and team of oxen had been delivered along with the necessary supplies. Mr. Dunn said Joe would be along after noon.
The new oxen had drawn Bertie from the barn.
“Mama, they got names?”
“Yes. This one is Sal. The other is Sid.”
Bertie eased up to the beasts. Mr. Dunn, aware of Bertie’s fondness for all animals, had assured Marnie the oxen were gentle. Still, she held her breath, waiting for their first reaction to her son, a big man with the heart and mind of a child.
“Sal, youse so pretty,” Bertie whispered. “You too, Sid.” Both animals tipped their ears toward him. He held up his hand. Sal mooed—a plaintive sound—and Bertie laughed. “I like you too.” He wrapped his arms around Sal’s neck and whispered in the animal’s ear. Then he did the same to Sid.
Marnie’s breath eased out. Bertie was already friends with the first pair, Fred and Pat. It boded well for their journey.
A horse approached. Joe, just as she expected.As soon as he agreed to guide them, they could be on their way. A little tingle slithered through her veins. Tension or excitement?
In the twentyyears since Gabe Miller had last seen Bruffin, Manitoba, little about it had changed. Yes, the town was bigger and the roads in better condition. A Mr. Dunn now ran the General Store. But the streets were still wide. The sound of metal on metal still rang from the blacksmith shop. Horses and wagons still raised dust as they traveled.
Guess maybe he’d been expecting the place to have changed as much as he.
Apart from his plans, there was only one place he wanted to see, and he stopped the wagon in front of the church. Having been painted recently, it gleamed white and pure, as did the white picket fence past the church. Beyond it were neat rows of headstones.
“Pa?” Cecil’s call set Gabe in motion.
“Let’s go see your mother.” His boots thudded on the ground. The verdant grass bent before his feet as he crossed to the wooden gate and unlatched it to swing open. He pulled his hat from his head and clutched it in one hand.
Cecil and Walt both followed to the headstone. Ellen Miller. Wife. Mother. Daughter.You’d be so proud of your sons. They are grown big and strong just as we dreamed. And now I’m going to repay the debt I owe Norman Woods. And finally make it to the West as he had planned to do more than twenty-five years ago.
Birds called from the nearby trees. The wind sighed through the branches. Gabe returned his hat to his head while he retraced his steps. “Boys, take your time.”
Their steps echoed his own as they followed to resume their journey, taking the street out of town. This was one thing that was different. The Woods had lived in Bruffin when Gabe was last here. Now, they lived on a farm. Norman had written to inform him of the move many years ago.For Bertie’s sake. He loves animals and needs to be away from town.
Gabe ambled at the side of the lumbering oxen trudging their placid way up the laneway.
A gaggle of women clustered around the two wagons in the yard. Huh. So many adult women. Well, sure, he knew the girls would have grown up since he left and two more had been born, but seeing them all in a group like that still made him blink and sit up straight.
Cecil let out a low whistle. “Five of them. Which one you got picked out for yerself, Walton?”
A dark scowl on his face, Gabe’s oldest son gave the younger a glare. “You can start calling me Walt. And I ain’t coming along to find me a gal. I’ll leave that up to you.”
Ignoring his offspring, Gabe studied the two men. One stood by the oxen of the far wagon. The other hung back by thefence as if observing. As he drew closer, Gabe made out the second man to be part Native. If his coloring hadn’t informed Gabe, his buckskin breeches and fringed leather vest would have suggested he was an outdoor man.
At Gabe’s command, the team drawing his wagon snorted to a halt. Walt and Cecil reined in on either side of him. Gabe chuckled. The Millers lined up, ready to do business. From here, he had no trouble making out which of the ladies was Marnie. Her blonde hair had faded some, but her blue eyes were just as direct and challenging as he remembered. And those four girls must be her daughters. He couldn’t say which was which. Last time he’d seen them, Hazel had been a three-year-old, Carson, a toddler, and Bertie, a very sick five-year-old. They’d all had measles. His boys as well.
That man clinging to the oxen, was it Bertie? If so, the boy had grown into a big man.
“Pa?” Cecil’s voice reminded Gabe he wasn’t there to reminisce.
Gabe jumped to the ground, his movement making one of the oxen snort. The big man he guessed to be Bertie backed away and disappeared into the barn. Gabe patted the nearest beast of his team, gathered his thoughts, and strode forward.
“Mrs. Woods, I don’t know if you remember me.”
“Gabe Miller. Of course, I remember you. Just as I remember your boys.” Her chuckle was musical as her gaze swept his sons. “Though they were much smaller. It’s a surprise to see you.”
The unasked question lingered in her voice, so he answered it. “I’m here to accompany you to Fort Taylor.”
Blue eyes darkened and narrowed. “What makes you think I need you—and your boys, I presume—to escort me? If you look around, you’ll see I’m ready to travel on my own. I have my son and my daughters.” She glanced over her shoulder as if trying tolocate her son, then forged on, her gaze shifting to the man by the corral fence. “Joe is going to be our guide.”
The man leaned against the rails, his expression inscrutable.
