Page 45 of Wagon Train Promises
The horse was watered and left to graze with the oxen before Cecil returned to the fire.
“I thought Hazel was feeling better.” Shouldn’t she be up, helping Louise or at least visiting with her?
“I suppose she’s worried at this delay.”
“Nothing can be done about it. Like Grandfather often said, we can grumble against the detours in our lives or make the best of them.”
“Sometimes it’s easier said than done.” Her brow furrowed unevenly around the cut on her forehead. “Poor Hazel. She needs to be settled somewhere. Somewhere safe.”
“Does she have plans for when we reach the fort?” Maybe she’d corresponded with an eligible young man out there and was looking forward to a new life with him.
“She plans to start anew. Just like the rest of us.” Louise picked up a big black pot. “I need fresh water to soak the meat in.”
“I’ll get it.” He lifted the pot from her and trotted to the river. On his return, he eyed the dwindling woodpile.
She noticed his interest. “I’ve used up a great deal with all the cooking and baking.” With a flick of her hand, she indicated the mound of biscuits and another of cookies.
“Not to worry. There’s lots more where that came from.” In fact— “The two of us could bring in some this afternoon.”
Her eyes narrowed back and forth between him and the meager stack.
“Many hands make light work.” He pressed the matter. At the way her brows went up, he added, “Something my grandmother used to say.”
Her shoulders rose and fell. It could mean any number of things—agreement, disinterest, acquiescence?—
“Fine. I’ll go with you.” Another lift of her shoulders. “After all, I’m the one who used the most if it.”
“I didn’t mean you should help out of obligation.” Couldn’t she come along simply to enjoy his company?
Her gaze found and held his. She scrubbed her lips together. Was she regretting agreeing to accompany him?
“It isn’t simply obligation.” She ducked her head as the words floated up in the air and disappeared as if they had never existed.
But he’d heard them. And pleasure washed through him.
She stirred the soup. “It’s ready. Hazel?”
The other woman stirred and slipped from the wagon, bringing Petey.
Louise touched her friend’s arm. “Are you feeling all right?”
Hazel’s smile seemed half-hearted. “I was writing a letter to Petey’s grandmother Meyers.” She gave a sharp inhale of air, and her shoulders slumped. “Of course, it got me remembering many things.”
As her friend’s voice dipped, Louise gave her a sideways hug. “Of course, it did.”
“If only we could join the others.” Hazel’s bottom lip quivered.
“I’m sure it won’t be long.” Louise’s look suggested Cecil should add his agreement.
“Another day or two,” he said. “Maybe Joe is looking for another crossing.”
“I hope so.”
Hazel’s sadness dampened the eagerness with which Cecil had anticipated sharing soup and biscuits.
As soon as they’d eaten—savory soup and light biscuits that Hazel nibbled at—she excused herself. “I want to finish that letter.” She returned to the wagon, taking Petey for his nap.
Louise pressed a finger to her chin. “Lord, please don’t let her get sick again.” The words were whispered.
