Page 30 of Wagon Train Dreams
The meal ended, and the dishes were wiped clean. They’d need a good scouring when water wasn’t being rationed.
Joe went to Ma. “Mrs. Miller, I would like to take your daughter and grandson exploring if I have your permission.”
Ma studied him, making him pull his shoulders back, but amusement shimmered in her eyes. “Of course, Joe. I trust you to take special good care of them both.”
“Ma’am, you have my promise on that.”
“Then off you go.”
Joe waited for Hazel to fall in step with him, Petey perched on his other side.
“Where are we going?” From what he’d said, she guessed the gully wasn’t very big.
“I want to find out how far this goes. It bothers me that I’ve never noticed it.”
The gully curved and continued for a short distance. At the end stood a grove of trees, more like tangled bushes with a few persistent thin branches reaching for the sky. Behind that rose the walls to the prairie.
“It’s not very long,” she said.
“Which explains why I missed it in the past. I would have to ride close to discover it.”
He helped her across the clumps of dirt, grass growing from each like hair in need of a brush.
The air cooled as they neared the bushes. Birds sang. A small animal rustled in the undergrowth. Joe held aside the prickly branches, and they entered a tiny clearing circled by six thin poplar trees.
She clasped her hands. “It’s perfect. Like a tiny outdoor chapel.”
“It has a bench for us.” He indicated the fallen log and caught her hand to guide her to it.
Petey wanted down and he sat on the mossy ground.
Joe took Hazel’s hand between his. “There’s so much I want to know about you.” His deep voice beckoned her to delightful discoveries.
“And I about you.” His thumb ran up and down the back of her hand, distracting her. But time was short. She meant to make the most of it. “What was it like growing up at Fort Qu’Appelle? Did you go to school? Did you have friends? Did you enjoy it?” She’d tried to imagine his life but hadn’t been able to.
“How about if I start at the beginning?”
She nodded, drinking in the warmth in his dark eyes.
“I was born?—”
A laugh rumbled from her. “Not that far back.”
His dark eyes gleamed. “My ma was raised at the fort by the missionaries. She didn’t remember what happened to her family, nor did the missionaries seem to know. That’s where Pa met her. He’d been sent by his company to run the trading post.” He trailed a finger along each of her fingers, sending delicious awareness up her arm and into her heart, where she stored it carefully.
He might say it was just for the day, but if she had her way, there’d be many, many more times to treasure in her heart.
He smiled. “Pa said he knew the minute he saw her that he would marry her.”
“And they were happy?”
“Very.”
“Didn’t people criticize them? You know. A white man marrying a Native woman?”
His fingers closed around her hand. “I know what you’re doing, but it’s different.”
“How?” She shook their clasped hands. “Tell me how it’s different.”
