Wagon Train Reunion

She’d been through many troubled waters and found God’s supply sufficient.

Lifting her head, she looked about her. No water here, just land and lots of it. God would be with her here, too.

A smile on her lips, she stepped back into the circle and went to the fire. “I’m sorry I messed that up. Now tell me what to do to help.”

Emma patted her back. “Let’s just say that’s a lesson you won’t have to learn again.”

Abby laughed. “No. Once is enough for me, thank you very much. My intention had been to bake enough biscuits for tonight and tomorrow. Can I try again?”

Sally and Emma both nodded. “By all means.”

Sally added, “I have a loaf of batter bread baking at the moment. Why not do the biscuits after supper?”

Rachel hung back, her eyes guarded, her expression watchful.

Abby allowed herself one quick glance at Ben, but his attention was on something across the circle.

Well, better disinterest than outright displeasure.

* * *

Once is enough for me.

Abby’s words echoed through Ben’s head. He needed to brand them on the surface of his brain. He’d been hurt by Abby’s unfaithfulness once. Once was enough for him.

He’d seen the shock and hurt on her face when she discovered the droppings in the biscuit dough. When she’d rushed from the camp bearing the ruined dough he’d wanted to follow and assure her it wasn’t the end of the world. Rachel had stopped him.

“Why do you jump to her aid all the time? You know what will happen when she no longer needs your help.” Rachel wasn’t about to let him forget that Abby had broken off their relationship. And broken his heart in the process.

Although he knew she spoke only out of concern for his well-being, he had to choke back words of protest. After all, he was a big boy now. He could take care of himself. He’d glanced after Abby, but didn’t follow her. Why would he seek to have his scarred heart torn again? Not that Rachel meant to let that happen. She could be very persistent.

Abby returned, a smile upon her lips, and went immediately to Sally and Emma and asked to try again. Her voice revealed nothing but contrite sweetness.

Ben had expected her to be upset. This serenity flummoxed him. He didn’t want to look at her but he couldn’t stop himself.

She hummed as she helped serve the meal.

When Martin asked the blessing, Ben peeked from under his lashes and stole a look at Abby.

His eyelids jerked up at her posture. She sat on the ground like everyone except her mother. Her hands lay open in her lap, palms upward as if she waited for a gift. Her head was bowed and yet from what he could see of her face he thought she about overflowed with peace.

How could that be? She’d lost her husband and for all he knew, a child or children. She struggled to cope with the chores and trials of this journey and her mother never stopped complaining and yet he knew he was right. All those things had not robbed her of her source of joy.

He recalled the Bible verses they had memorized together and how she vowed to apply them to her life. When she’d chosen to marry a man richer than Ben, he’d decided her determination to live those verses had been as false as her words about caring for him. Perhaps he’d been wrong.

He closed his eyes and added a silent prayer to Martin’s. Lord, she’s reminded me that my strength and joy are in You. Help me keep sight of that and forget the petty, confusing things going on about me. He meant a number of things—Ernie Jones, Mrs. Bingham’s litany of complaints, but mostly, he meant his confused feelings regarding Abby. He didn’t trust her and never would, yet the memories of the times they’d spent together were rich with sweetness and joy which he wished he could deny.

One thing he wouldn’t deny, he was grateful for her reminder to trust God more fully.

She carried a plate of food to her mother.

“I feel dirty all over,” the woman whined. “I simply can’t do this.” She fluttered her hands.

Ben couldn’t tell if she meant to include present company or present circumstances but likely both.

Abby smoothed her mother’s hair. “Have you forgotten you’re a Bingham? Binghams don’t let circumstances dictate their behavior.”

Beside Ben, Rachel gave a tiny snort.

But the words had the effect Abby no doubt desired and her mother sat up so straight Ben wouldn’t have been surprised to see an iron rod along her spine.

“I’ll do my best.”

Ben released a sigh of relief and heard the others do so, as well. If she would simply accept the circumstances and stop her complaining life would be more pleasant for all of them—herself included.

Abby returned to her spot by her father.

Little Johnny wailed. The child had proven inconsolable all day.

Ben glanced at Emma and they shared their silent concern. It didn’t seem normal for the child to be so fussy especially given that both Sally and Martin said it wasn’t usual. But then he’d been shot. Ben never had been, so couldn’t say how much a flesh wound hurt.

“His wound must be paining him something awful,” Emma said. “After supper I’ll put something on that might relieve his pain.”

“I’d so appreciate it,” Sally said, her voice weary.

Over supper, conversation turned to plans for the morrow and various concerns about the animals and the wagons. The meal ended and the women set to work cleaning up.

Martin took Johnny and tried to comfort him while Mr. Bingham set up his tent then helped his wife to it. Seems she meant to retire early. This trip would tax her strength and adaptability.

The animals were grazing under the supervision of others and it wasn’t Ben’s turn to keep watch though he wondered if he should walk about watching for anything that could lead to trouble. But for a few moments, he’d relax and he lounged back against the rear wheel of his wagon.

Abby measured out flour for another batch of biscuits. She examined the sack of flour carefully then spoke to Sally. “You were right. Only one corner seems to be affected. The rest is okay.” She carried the unusable flour outside the camp and disposed of it.

As she worked, she chatted cheerfully with the women. Soon she had Sally and Emma chuckling over some comment.

Ben thought of edging closer so he could share the joke but decided against it. He had no interest in what she said or did.

She rolled the biscuit dough in fluid movements. But then, as he recalled, she’d always had a graceful way about her that made him think of flowers swaying in a gentle breeze.

A picture flashed into his mind. One he’d tried to erase so many times because it made his heart contract with regret and bitterness.

They’d been on a picnic with a group of young people, chaperoned by the pastor and his wife. They’d spread their lunch on a red-checkered cloth in a grassy field outside of town. All around them were blue and red and pink and white wildflowers. Nearby, a lark sat on a branch and sang.

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