Page 23 of Wagon Train Promises
Hazel nodded.
He wanted to make a joke about the robin, but nothing came to mind. The air between them was stiff. Yet he’d been so relaxed with Louise not many hours ago. They’d laughed naturally. He looked over his shoulder.
Louise was watching them. Did he detect longing in her expression? He should have been more insistent that she accompany them.
Hazel slowed. “I’d like to go back.”
They retraced their measured steps, and Hazel returned to the log stool. “I’m very tired.” Even her voice lacked strength.
Cecil studied her, then arched a brow at Louise.
She met his look and drew her mouth back, so she was concerned about her friend.
He waited while Louise helped Hazel prepare for bed. When she returned, he voiced his concern. “I hope she’s getting better. If something—” He looked toward those on the other side of the river. How would they ever explain if something happened to Hazel?
“She ate. She isn’t feverish any longer. I think she’s on the mend. A few days of rest will do her good.”
He wanted to believe the same thing.
Petey waggled his ball to Cecil, and he played with the little guy until it was time for him to go to bed. Hazel drew her son to her.
Pink tinted the sky. The evening lay before them. They’d discussed sleeping arrangements. Louise thought Hazel would sleep better if not so crowded, so Cecil set up a tent close to the wagon where Louise would hear if Hazel needed attention. For himself, he would sleep under the wagon where he could hear if any of them needed help or if the water rose.
A glance in that direction revealed it had not.
Nor had it receded.
Light still lingered in the sky. An evening chill had them both returning to the warmth of the fire. He’d done little throughout the day and wasn’t sleepy. Nor did Louise yawn or suggest she’d like to go to bed.
“Would you mind reading more of that book?”
“Gladly.” She went to the tent, found the book, and then settled herself near the fire and began.
The words flowed over Cecil like sweet birdsong, flooding his senses with sights, scents, and sounds. Then her voice cracked. The light had grown gray. Just how long had she been reading?
“That was good.”
“Yes. Good enough I don’t mind reading it again. In fact, reading it aloud makes it even better.” She flashed a smile. “I don’t know if that makes any sense.”
“It does. Gramma read to us when we were younger. We’d gather round on cold winter nights and, in our imagination, be in a warmer, more exciting place.” He chuckled. “Even the Bible stories took on more color.” The gyrating flames danced and shimmered. “You’ve never imagined the books of Joshua and Judges until you’ve heard Gramma reading them.”
A log snapped. Sparks flew upward. Memories washed over him. Sweet and sad at the same time.
He shook off the melancholy. “Thanks for reading.”
“My pleasure.”
Did he detect a catch in her voice? Well, of course, he did. She’s been reading for a long time. Her throat would be parched. He snagged a clean cup and dipped it into the bucket of water.
“You must be thirsty.”
“Thank you.” She drank the contents and set the cup aside to be washed later. “I’ll go to bed now.” She waved toward the river. “Will the coyote come here, enticed by the smell of food?”
“Unlikely.” But to be on the safe side— “I’ll keep the fire going.” The wood supply had dwindled. He’d do something about it in the morning.
He retrieved his bedroll and spread it by the fire, rather than under the wagon. At least the ground was dry now. By morning, maybe the waters would begin to go down. The flames leaped upward as they caught on another log. He waited while Louisechecked on Hazel, declared she was sleeping peacefully, and then crawled into the tent.
The canvas shushed and billowed as she prepared for bed.
