Page 19 of Wagon Train Promises
Her surprise gave way to a snort. “He surely wouldn’t. A person should be content in whatever station of life they find themselves. He said that often. I think he read it somewhere.”
“Perhaps he was misquoting Philippians chapter four, verse eleven. It says, ‘For I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content.’”
“Really? It didn’t sound like a Scripture verse the way he said it.”
Her tight-lipped comment made him chortle. “I don’t think it means we shouldn’t consider moving or changing things, but perhaps that we shouldn’t be discontent with present circumstances.”
A grin split her face. “You mean like we should be content while we are stranded here but still be ready and eager to move?”
“Exactly.” With that, he looked toward the river and checked its height. It hadn’t risen since he last checked. He might as wellenjoy the time they were here. Content, as they’d discussed. And surprisingly, he was.
The log he sat on tipped as he leaned back.
Was it his imagination, or did Louise put several more inches between them even though it allowed the smoke to drift across her? Had he done or said something to offend her?
Apart from touching her hair. And pushing for more information until she confessed to a romantic disappointment. He knotted his fingers together to stop himself from touching her again.
If not for the crackle and snap of the fire, they would have sat in silence.
Until a cry came from Hazel. One of fear. Terror. Pain. Bringing Cecil to his feet and pounding toward the wagon.
At Hazel’s cry,Louise forgot every troubled thought about Cecil touching her. A touch that went much deeper than the feel of his fingers dragging her hair off her cheek.
She was instantly on her feet and running after Cecil.
The wrenching cries continued. Had something attacked Hazel? Or Petey?
Louise reached the wagon two steps behind Cecil and crawled up beside Hazel. Her friend curled into a fetal position, the cries and screams rending the air. A quick examination of the area revealed nothing, and Petey still slept. Louise shook her friend.
“Hazel. Hazel. What’s the matter? Wake up.” Another shake. Harder this time.
Eyes wide and unfocused and bleary as a rain-streaked sky met Louise’s, and then Hazel jerked upright, gasping for air. She looked around, moaned, and scooted to the end of the wagon.
“Peter. Where is he?” Fear laced her words.
“Hazel—”
She waved off Louise’s hand. “He’s calling me. I have to help him.” She dropped to the ground and raced toward the river.
Louise shot a look at Cecil. “She must be having a nightmare.”
Hazel hurried onward, and they followed, catching up. Louise kept as close to Hazel’s side as she could without tripping the other woman. “Hazel! Hazel! You’re dreaming. Wake up.”
The water-laden ground beneath their feet squished.
Was she going to throw herself into the flooded river?
But she stopped and flung her head from side to side.
“Where is he? I don’t see him. I can’t let him drown. Peter!” His name came on a wail.
Louise wrapped her arms around the distraught woman and held tight. “Hazel, he isn’t going to drown.” How much could she say without sending Hazel into a deeper fear? “He’s safe in the arms of Jesus.” She spoke softly. “Lord God”—the words were barely a whisper—“please touch Hazel’s mind. Bring her back to reality.”
A shudder shook Hazel and raced up Louise’s arms.
Cecil stood close, ready to hold Hazel back if the need arose.
Their gazes locked, his as full of concern as hers must be.
