Page 56 of Wagon Train Redemption
“Don’t you like trees?”
“Huh?” The word exploded from her. “I like trees just fine.” Something flickered through her eyes. “One needs trees to provide leaves to throw.”
“Like yesterday?” He grinned at her. “I know so littleabout you, so if you don’t like trees or anything else, you have to tell me.”
“I will. And you must do the same.”
“I want to know more.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” She adjusted the reins, even though he wondered if they needed it.
“All I know is your mother passed when you were young, you didn’t attend school, and as far as I can tell, you lived alone with your father.”
“That’s about all there is.” The brittleness in her tone warned him off.
He didn’t intend to heed it. “You know so much about me. I’m sure my sisters told you all sorts of stories.” He almost managed a chuckle.
Her shoulders rose and fell, but she didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have the patience of Job, but he had enough to remain silent, hoping she’d say more.
“You know enough to ask me to be your partner.” Her voice was low. “That means you know enough to trust me even without knowing every detail about my earlier life.”
“Yes, that’s true.” Another moment of expectant silence that he broke. “Are you hiding something?”
Air whooshed from her chest with such force she bent forward. She sucked in a deep breath, sat up, and gave him a look so full of…what? He couldn’t decide.
“Maybe I don’t care to recall my past.” Another deep breath and her expression changed, softened, relaxed. “Your pa told me I should forget the past, enjoy the present, and plan for the future.”
“Well, if that’s how Pa felt…” Pa must have known how her life had been. For certain, he’d known her father. Maybe that was enough. “Can I say just one more thing before I’ll leave it be?”
“Could I stop you?” She must have seen that he didn’t understand. “From asking.”
“Maybe.”
“Pshaw. I doubt it.”
He took that as permission to go ahead. “I have to say that the little I know about your life before you joined us makes me think you were lonely.” Only because he was watching her so carefully, did he notice a muscle in her cheek twitch, and then laughter pealed from her.
“Not at all. I always had a dog, a dozen cats more or less, fifty chickens, and my chores. Not to mention fishing trips with Father.”
But what about the things she hadn’t mentioned? No trips to town. No visitors. Not even church. It still sounded lonely. “No friends?”
She stared straight ahead. She seemed to not even breathe. Her lack of response was answer enough. He’d guess the poor girl had been friendless and isolated.
He would have squeezed her arm or patted her back or—but she looked as if a touch would shatter her. Finally, she sucked in a breath and began to speak.
“I know you had lots of friends growing up beyond your siblings.”
“I had a few.” Would talking about it make her feel more isolated? It would at least let her into his world. “Of course, there were those who wouldn’t have anything to do with me because of Bertie. But there were others who proved real and loyal.” An errant idea brushed his thoughts. One he’d had before and dismissed because there was no answer. Was the rejection of others solely because of Bertie or was it partly because of him? Again, he pushed it aside. “My best friend was Billy Becker. He’d come to the farm to visit, and we’d explore and play cops and robbers. Our parents gave us permission tocanoe down the river by ourselves when we were twelve. We camped on our own for a week.”
Angela watched him as he talked, as if drinking in his joy at that friendship. She might deny it if he pointed it out, but it proved her loneliness, especially when she swallowed hard and sighed.
“You were fortunate.”
“I was, though it didn’t always feel that way.”
“You mean because of Bertie.”
