Page 64 of Wagon Train Honor
“You drive this morning,” she said to Angela in the kindest voice she could muster. “I feel the need for some exercise.”
“He’ll be?—”
Ruby cut her off. No words of comfort would help. Only seeing him ride back, unharmed and all in one piece would ease her breathing. She slowed until she walked behind the horses. If she constantly glanced over her shoulder, no one was there to notice. No one but God, and she lifted her face to the sky. “Lord, keep him safe. Bring him back. Please.”
Noon arrived. They stopped. They ate. They rested. Her head echoed from the strain of listening for approaching hoofbeats.
And then they moved on, putting mile after mile between them and him.
Apart from the horses, he had no reason to rejoin the wagons.
Thank God for the horses. Robert would come back for them if for no other reason.
God, do You hear me? Are You listening to my prayers? Are You protecting him? Please, God.
Fragments of sermons flitted through her mind.Sometimes God’s answer is a no. His ways are higher than our ways.
A Bible verse she’d memorized as a child came to mind. She stumbled and barely righted herself before she fell to her knees. “But your iniquities have separated between you and your God, and your sins have hid his face from you, that he will not hear.” She couldn’t remember the reference, although she had also memorized it.
But she didn’t harbor sin in her heart. She did what was right and good. Had all her life, thanks to the teaching and encouragement of her parents. Oh sure, she sometimes said unkind things, but she tried to be quick to apologize. Once—maybetwice—she’d snitched a candy from Bertie and let him fuss about losing it. But she’d asked God’s forgiveness for that years ago.
Lord, if something’s keeping You from hearing me, please reveal it.
She’d do anything, confess anything if it would help Robert.
There are sins of commission and also of omission.Words she’d heard from the pulpit but also from the lips of her pa. Had she committed a sin of omission by hiding the truth? She’d kept a secret from her ma. From her family. Allowed them to believe something untrue.
Guilt soured her insides. Was that keeping God from hearing her prayers?
If Robert didn’t return by the time they made camp for the night, she would tell them everything. She’d endure the questions, the recriminations, the way her stomach would churn at having her secret revealed if it helped Robert.
The afternoon dragged by on leaden feet as she alternated between praying for Robert’s safety and practicing how she’d tell her family the truth about her plans.
The campfire died down. Gabe set his guitar aside, preparing to end the evening. Now was the time. Ruby pushed to her feet and withdrew her sketchbook from her pocket. “I have something to say to everyone.”
Expectant silence greeted her announcement, and every eye except for Petey’s turned to her. He didn’t look at her because he’d fallen asleep in Joe’s arms.
Ruby’s gaze hovered at Petey. It would be nice to escape into sleep, but no, she’d made up her mind. With trembling fingers, she withdrew the letter from its place of safety between the pages of the book and unfolded it. The deep breath she drew in carried smoke, making her cough. She forged on. “I wrote to The Society for the Identification of Flora and Fauna of the Eastern Slopes of the Rockies some time ago after seeing samples of their work in a newspaper.” Her swallow was loud. At least to her ears. “I sent them some of my drawings and asked if they’d be interested in having me join them in Banff.” The page fluttered as she waved it. “They said yes. I plan to leave for Banff as soon as we reach Fort Taylor.”
Silence as deep as a pit greeted her announcement.
Ma was the first to speak. “What will you be doing?”
“Drawing plants and flowers for a book they will compile.”
“Drawing? I don’t understand. I thought you were keeping a journal of our travels.”
“Ma, I am. But I also draw.” If she showed them her work, would they be convinced of her talent? Surprised the youngest Woods girl could do something that good? Or dismissive? But she had to go all the way. “Here, have a look.” She opened the sketchbook and tipped it toward Ma and Gabe. Let them stare, flipped to several other pages, and then turned the book toward the others.
She ignored the murmurs—some of admiration, others of surprise—and focused on Ma.
“My goodness. Those are very good.” Ma shook her head. “But why have you kept it a secret? Why not tell us before this?”
The hurt in her voice sliced through Ruby. “I don’t know. Guess I didn’t want you to worry.” Her gaze swept those staring at her. “I didn’t want anyone trying to talk me out of it. Or telling me I was too young. Too—” No word came to mind to explain her reasons adequately. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed in me.” She closed the sketchbook and sat down. Then, remembering it was bedtime, she started to rise.
“I’m not disappointed in you. Only in the fact you didn’t feel you could trust us. Me.”
“Ma.” The one heavy word carried all her weariness. “It’s not that I don’t trust you.” Though she could perhaps understand why her mother would feel that way. Didn’t secrets convey a lack of trust? She shrugged. And then a truth edged into her thoughts. “Hiding my work simply became a habit. I’m sorry.”
