Page 39 of Wagon Train Hope
She frowned at the worry in Walt’s voice. “Will he return before we get there?”
“He didn’t think so. But we’ll prepare, and we’ll do all right.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“We won’t take any chances.”
Was that a warning? Was it meant for her? She tried to drum up resentment, but the sun was warm on her face, the drone of insects soothing. She closed her eyes and leaned back.
Walt shifted,stretching out his legs. They’d have to prepare before they attempted to cross the valley. They’d cut hay for the animals as they had before. They’d fill water barrels, and they’d ration what they drank.
Apparently, alkali flats could be deceptive. They often looked ordinary, but they were dangerous. Once a wagon got bogged down in it—well, Joe hadn’t needed to say more. Good thing he described what to watch for.
“He warned us about the alkali flats. I’ll scout ahead at all times to be sure we don’t travel into one.”
“So will I.”
His nerves twitched at the thought of her riding alone and getting caught in one of those places. About to say she should stay with the wagons, he stopped himself. She didn’t take kindly to orders or suggestions. “We should team up. That way, we could find a trail wide enough for the wagons.”
She squinted at him. “Are you subtly telling me not to ride off by myself?”
Amusement tugged at his mouth, but he didn’t smile. “I know better than to do that.”
The leaves overhead whispered in the breeze. Their dancing light flickered across her eyes. She studied him, then burst out laughing. “You’re learning.”
Unexpected pleasure filled him. “It’s nice out here. Peaceful.”
The musical sound coming from her was not quite a laugh…more of a skeptical acknowledgment of his statement. Before he could ask for an explanation, she offered one.
“You mean because our campsite is noisy—what with the dozens of people coming and going? A regular trading post?”
“Well, if you put it that way—” He grinned. “But when Limpy sets to barking, and Petey cries and your ma calls for something?—”
Her eyes alight, she added, “And the oxen bellowing. Or worse, when we’re traveling and the wagons rattle and the pots and pans bang. Yup. Now that you mention it, this is peaceful. And pleasant.”
Did she mean his company?
She pulled her hand free, suggesting otherwise and leaving his palms cold. They both sat back, languid in the warm sun.
“My grandfather left me a gift…a Bible.” Would she be interested in seeing it? “I’ll show you.” He trotted back to the horses, where he removed the Bible he’d stowed before they began their ride. He palmed it. Almost put it back. Would she see only a worn, old book? He closed his fingers around it and returned to where she sat upright, her legs crisscrossed before her, her expression attentive, her eyes tracking his return.
He almost paused to reconsider his plan—though, in all honesty, he didn’t have one apart from showing her something that had special meaning for him.
He sat in the dusty grass and shifted his foot to avoid crushing a tiny yellow flower. The Bible lay in his open palm. “It was my grandfather’s. He always carried it with him. I remember seeing him pull it from his pocket in all sorts of places.”
“That’s a wonderful memory.”
He paged through it. “I picture him standing at the far side of a field, pausing from his work. I’d watch his lips move as he read a portion.”
“It sounds like your grandfather was a good man.”
“I thought so.” He gazed into the distance…seeing the past. “Sometimes, I’d come to the barn to help with chores, and his legs would be dangling from the opening to the loft. He’d laugh when I entered and say, ‘Son, I like to listen to God’s voice everywhere I go.’” He turned the little black book over in his hands. “Do you want to look at it?”
Her fingers brushed his palm as she almost reverently took it. She ran her fingers across the cover, then pressed her palm to the Bible. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one this tiny.” She opened it and bent over the pages. “The print is so small.” Her lips moved as she read. Then she spoke the words aloud. “‘And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.’” She lifted her head. “Look, there’s a fingerprint here. As if someone marked that verse. Was it you?” Her gaze bored into his.
He bent close to look, and indeed, the shape of a fingertip stamped the verse. “It must have been Grandfather.”
“Is there a story here?”
