Page 51 of Wagon Train Song
“I suppose you think of Ellen when you see it.”
“I picture both of you, your heads bent over the sewing and your laughter warming the room. Seemed to me you had a lot of fun making it.”
“We surely did.” Her voice, now husky, rasped from her throat. He understood. They both had sweet memories and then deep sorrow. “I would think it’s worn out by now.”
“It has some life left in it yet. So do I.”
Her startled gaze came to him. Then puzzlement flared the edges of her eyes. A moment later, pink crept into her cheeks. Yes, she understood what he meant. He would have liked to ask if she felt the same, but she turned away to study her slice of dried apple.
Her attention still on the bit of apple, she let out a slow breath. “I remember how worried Ellen was that time you got an infection in your hand.”
“I was a foolish young man who took risks.” He’d been cutting a roast from the deer they had hanging in the cold shed and, being in a hurry, had cut toward himself. The knife slipped and cut the pad of his hand. He hadn’t taken time to wash it carefully and ended up paying for his carelessness. Ellen had tended him day and night as his hand swelled and grew red and hot and he grew sick. Later, she told him she feared he’d die. “Ellen said I was delirious for three days.” He jerked upright. “Weren’t you there too?”
“I spelled her off so she could sleep and tend her babies.”
“I remember”—he pressed fingers to his forehead—“your cooling touch.”
More pink in her cheeks. “I merely wiped your face with a cold cloth.”
He’d loved Ellen and would never have entertained any unfaithful ideas, but something about the memory of that touch?—
He ate the last of his portion of dried apples and handed the canteen to her.
She drank and handed it back. “I suppose if we went upstream we’d find clean water.”
“Yup.” He drank the tepid water, recapped the canteen, and leaned back. “I suppose so.”
She didn’t make any move toward rising. Nor did he. The sweetness of their memories warmed him, and she beamed when she turned to him. “Do you remember when the four of us took the children to the circus?”
He laughed. “Or did we take the circus to them? As I recall, Bertie couldn’t be dragged from the cages, Hazel cried because she couldn’t pet the big kitty, Walt wanted to eat every ten minutes, and Cecil insisted on being carried.”
“It was quite an adventure.” Her laughter joined his. When she’d sobered, she said, “In Cecil’s defense, he could barely walk. What was he? A year and a half? About the same age as Petey.” She leaned back, tipping her head against the wagon. “Such good memories. I’m glad I can share them with you.”
“Me too.” He might have added more, but the clop of an approaching horse silenced him. He sprang to his feet, awaiting Joe’s report.
With the way the scout shifted his hat back and forth, it wouldn’t be good news.
CHAPTER 14
Marnie fiddled with her sleeve, folding the cuff, not sure she wanted to hear what Joe was about to say.
Joe leaned over his saddle horn. “Found a place to cross. Three miles upstream.”
Marnie smoothed out the fold. She should be grateful they’d soon be able to join the others. Was it wrong to also regret her time alone with Gabe had ended? Times like that would be few and far between along the trail. Always one or more of their children nearby. But why should that matter? She didn’t have anything to hide or be ashamed of.
But she couldn’t avoid the truth. Talking with Gabe when it was only the two of them was different from talking with others around. Her cheeks warmed. There was something intimate about the former. There wasn’t time to analyze or explain her thoughts as Gabe took his oxen back to the wagon and she put the canteen in the back.
They walked side by side, following Joe along the river’s edge. The gravel underfoot jabbed into her feet, and twice, she jarred her ankle when a rock rolled away. The wagon jolted and creaked over the rough ground.
Joe stopped. The oxen stopped. Marnie’s heart stopped.
Thiswas where they were to cross? Surely not. The water was swift, roaring around rocks.
Gabe was talking. “The banks are gravelly. That means there should be a gravel bed for us to cross on. No mud to get bogged down in.”
Was he trying to divert her from the specter of those rushing waters? If so, he wasn’t succeeding. She couldn’t pull her gaze away from them.
“We’ll ride. Joe will guide the oxen.” He held out a hand. Nudged her when she didn’t move. Then his hand was warm and heavy on her shoulder. He jostled her. “Marnie?”
