Page 69 of Wagon Train Song
“Your ma will be worried. Let’s go find her.”
Crashing through the bushes with no regard for the amount of noise they made, they stopped when they were in the open.
“Ma!”
At Bertie’s call, Marnie, who was on her feet and waiting, started running toward them, outpaced by Alice who didn’t slow until she butted into Bertie. Marnie nudged the goat aside so she could hug her son.
“Bertie, what happened?” she asked when she could speak.
“I bad.”
“What?” She leaned back, looked from Bertie to Gabe.
Gabe shrugged. Maybe she could make sense of her son’s reasoning.
His big hand gentle, Bertie patted Marnie’s shoulder. “I bad. Selfish. That why Alice almost die.”
Marnie shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“You and Mr. Gabe can be friends. Get marry. I be all right.”
“I tried to explain that he would be part of our family.” Gabe turned to Bertie. “When I marry your ma, I take you too.”
“You marry me?”
“Not exactly. But—Bertie what do you know about getting married?”
“Papa give Hazel to Peter. They touch Bible and promise. Hazel go with Peter to new home.”
“Good. When we get married, I will touch the Bible and promise that you and I will always be friends and you will always have a home with us.”
“Us?” He pointed to each of them.
“Yes, us.”
Understanding lit Bertie’s face. He laughed and held out an arm to include Gabe in a three-cornered hug.
Marnie kissed her son’s cheek, then turned to Gabe. He accepted her invitation and claimed her lips in a gentle, quick kiss.
Bertie laughed. “Us.”
What a sight they must have made as they returned to camp. The three of them arm in arm, Marnie in the middle, Limpy trotting behind and a muddy goat nudging at their backs.
Hazel shielded her eyes watching for their return.
“Where everyone?” Bertie asked.
The same question hovered on Gabe’s lips. Shouldn’t they all have heard his shots and returned by now?
CHAPTER 18
Where were the others? Had they run into trouble? Was that awful man following them? A dozen possibilities raced through Marnie’s mind, threatening to burst her bubble of joy.
They hurried to the campfire—the coals still glowing, the coffeepot still simmering, the food growing overcooked and dry, the oxen waiting for the journey to begin.
“Hazel.” The word scraped up her throat. “Where is everyone?”
“They’ve gone to the river to water the horses.”
