Page 41 of Wagon Train Promises
“Would you like to go with Hazel?”
The fire snapped. He blinked.
“Make sure she’s all right.” Still nothing. “I’d go, but I plan to bake.”
Cecil frowned toward Hazel, then to Louise. “I want to make sure you’re all right.”
The emphasis onyou’rewas purely in her imagination. She pushed aside the disobedient thought.
“I’m fine, as I’ve already told you.” She shuddered at the sharp tone so unlike her.
Sparks flew upward as he kicked at a log. Then he hurried away without a backward look.
She expected nothing else. He didn’t need to hover around her. She didn’t want it. Nor would she watch him join Hazel or take note of Hazel’s laughter.
By the time they returned, she’d baked a dozen cookies in the Dutch oven. By trial and error and remembering things Marnie said while baking this way, she’d managed to get the right number of coals both on top and on bottom of the heavy black pot.
The aroma drifted away from the fire. Maybe drawing the others back.
“Those smell wonderful. Can we eat one now?” Hazel rubbed her hands together and hovered over the rack of cooling cookies.
“I thought you might say that. There’s tea ready and waiting, too.” Louise nodded toward the pot.
“Gramma would enjoy this.”
At Cecil’s words, Louise’s hand froze midway to the Dutch oven. He better not think she’d done it to remind him of his grandmother and the things he’d shared about her.
For certain, she hadn’t baked raisin-oatmeal cookies because she was thinking of him. They simply seemed the easiest to make.
They all ate a cookie and drank tea except Petey, who drank water.
The lid clanged as she removed the latest batch of cookies. Sweat beaded her forehead while she worked close to the fire. Lifting a corner of her white apron, she wiped her face and squinted at the hint of blood when she eased the fabric away. She could almost forget about falling except for this and the ache in both her cheek and her hand. The bruises on her knees weren’tworth mentioning. Any more than the ache in the depths of her being needed to be acknowledged.
It was the result of her fall. Or maybe her falls. It was a physical ache. Not a heart pain.
She needed to keep her thoughts focused on practical matters, like the food she tended.
Beans simmered in another pot. She’d tested them several times, adding salt, pepper, and spices from the limited supply. She lifted the lid and stirred them. They would be cooked for supper.
Until the next batch of cookies was baked, she had nothing to do. She clasped her hands together and stood away from the fire. Hazel sat across from Louise. Petey played with his ball. Cecil perched on a log, staring at the tea in his cup.
What could she do to ease the stiffness between them?
“Hazel, I was telling Cecil about the quilt squares we’ve been embroidering. Yours are very nice. Why don’t you show him what you’ve done?”
Both Hazel and Cecil shook themselves as if leaving some distant place in their thoughts.
At first, Hazel didn’t move. Then she pushed to her feet as if her body weighed five hundred pounds. She trudged to the wagon and drew her sewing satchel toward her. The latch clicked open, and she removed the quilt squares.
Back at the fire, she sat and fondled the fabric. A soft sigh whispered over her lips.
“This is what I’ve done so far.” She fluttered the pieces but didn’t offer any to Cecil.
Well, for goodness’ sake. Did Louise have to do it for her?
“Show him the one you made of Petey. The one with the ball.”
Hazel looked at Louise, her eyes wide as if asking why she was doing this.
