Page 68 of Wagon Train Dreams
Her painwa too intense for words, Hazel could only nod.
Mrs. Dumont sat back. “Joe loved working with his father. His dream was to run a store just as his father had.”
Hazel stared at the woman. “Run a store. He never mentioned it.”
“His dream was snatched from him when Alex died so young. He would not allow himself to think of it again.”
Silence followed her remark. Hazel couldn’t think what to say. If Joe wanted to run a trading post or a store, why wasn’t he? A man should follow his dreams. His heart.
The words seared through her insides.
So should a woman. No matter the risks.
Mrs. Dumont watched her. “I see you understand.”
“Maybe I do. But?—”
“You will find a way. Now, I must get back to my charges.” She rose. “It was nice talking to you.”
Hazel stood to bid the woman goodbye and stared after her for a long time. Find a way. How?
Chapter Sixteen
Memories washed over Joe as he sat on his horse looking down on the fort from his hilltop vantage point. Memories of Pa, the trappers who came to the store. How he’d write out the order for Pa when they needed to restock or unload the supply wagons and store things in the shed. Pa always laughed because Joe knew where everything was kept.
“I have a system,” Joe would explain.
Pa would pat Joe on the back. “Someday, son, you are going to be a very good storekeeper.”
It had been Joe’s dream. He meant to take over for his Pa.
That dream died when Pa passed away.
Joe had been wandering aimlessly since then.
Squaring his shoulders, he reined around and rode to what had been Pa’s favorite fishing spot. Maybe he’d catch enough fish for a meal. Hazel would enjoy that.
Well, so would the others.
The lake was as pretty as he remembered. Nestled in a draw, surrounded by rustling trees with patches of flowers dotting the hills that rose on the other side.
Leaving Boots to amuse himself, Joe carried his fishing rod to the shore and dangled his line in the water. He caught threefish in rapid succession and then nothing. Not that he was ready to give up. A few more would be necessary for a good feast. Fishing required patience.
He lowered himself to the grassy ground and waited.
How many times had he sat with Pa in this very spot? They’d talked about Joe’s dreams of running the store. Having supplies for travelers and trade goods for trappers. Joe used to make mental lists of things he’d carry, displays he’d arrange, and how he’d bargain with trappers so they were both happy with the deal they closed on.
A horse approached, and he rose to his feet, ready for whatever came his way. Ah, an old trapper led a packhorse.
Joe studied the man. He seemed familiar. Though perhaps more wrinkled and more bent than the last time he’d seen him. “Mose? Is it you?”
The man drew up. “I be Mose. Who you be?”
Of course, he didn’t recognize Joe. Last time he saw the man, Joe was just a kid. “Joe Dumont.”
Mose squinted, and then nodded. “You be Alex Dumont’s boy.”
“Yes, I am.”
