Across Barren Plains - The Oregon Promise, Book 3, Chapter 1

 

 

Chapter 1

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Eden Houston pressed one hand to the base of her throat as she stumbled to a stop. All around, the rest of the women who had been walking behind the wagon train with her did the same.

The day was perfect. Warm and breezy. But now they studied the large column of smoke blotting the blue of the western sky just over the next rise.

“What do you think it means?” Tamsyn Acheson asked, voice filled with trepidation.

In her arms, she carried a large chunk of wood that she’d found on the trail a few hours earlier. Eden figured she had brought it with her due to firewood being so scarce on this stretch of the trail.

Eden shook her head gingerly. “I’m not sure.” She felt the familiar pulse of the pain that had tormented her head ever since she’d been pistol-whipped and knocked unconscious by the man they’d all known as Hoyt Harrington. She was careful to keep any evidence of the pain from her features. The last thing she needed was word of it getting back to Adam. “I don’t think it can be anything good.”

“Do you think it’s from Fort Kearny?” The blond girl was one of the seven Hawthorne children that Eden had a hard time telling apart since there were three sets of twins among them. This one was either Wren or Whitley. They were the oldest Hawthorne children—about fifteen, she would guess. Their mother was once again round with child.

Eden wanted children, but she hoped the Lord wouldn’t bless her with quite so many as eight!

She might have smiled at the thought if their current situation wasn’t so dire.

“Do you?” the twin prodded, a bit of wishfulness in her tone.

Eden came back to the present with a start, realizing she’d left the girl waiting for her reply. “Sorry. No. I don’t think it’s from the fort. We aren’t supposed to reach it for a few days.” If only the explanation could be something as simple as the fort’s cookfires.

Ahead, the wagons of their train stretched in a long line, trundling one after the other up the gentle slope they’d been climbing for the past hour.

Since the first men of their party were about to reach the top of this rise and would likely be able to see what was happening ahead, they should soon have a better understanding of whether the smoke was something of concern or simply a natural event.

Did any folks live this far out from the fort? Could they be burning their fields for planting? Eden hoped that would be the case.

As she and the women continued forward, she kept an eye on the road ahead—paying even closer attention as the first wagon reined to a stop on the crest of the slope with Caesar Cranston riding his big Appaloosa beside.

Outlined against the horizon, Caesar’s long white hair billowed around him. He seemed to stiffen as he took in the scenery ahead.

Eden’s heart stilled. She held her breath. He didn’t move for so long that she’d begun to think she was imagining things.

But then Caesar reined his mount sharply to one side, snatched his bugle from where he kept it hanging down the side of his saddle, and blew the few notes that indicated the wagons should circle!

Eden’s heart thrashed painfully in her chest. Dear Lord. Dear Lord. Dear Lord.

Where was Adam? Whatever was happening, he’d likely be called right into the thick of it. And injured as his hand was from the burn he’d taken back in town a couple weeks back, she knew he’d be a bit clumsy with a gun, even if he wouldn’t thank her for saying so.

She took a breath to tamp down her fear. She might have awoken on this day with frustration pulsing in her chest toward the man she loved, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see him put in harm’s way. She wished that she could confide in him. However, their lack of trust and confidence in each other could be laid almost squarely at her feet, so she supposed she couldn’t complain too much when she had been the one to break their connection.

As though all of them had just found their feet unfrozen from the ground, several women surged toward their wagons at once.

Tamsyn hoisted a handful of her skirts and hurried forward with her wood tucked under one arm. “I have to get to Edi.” She spoke over her shoulder as she dashed into the swirling dust that twirled up in dust devils on this side of the slope.

The wind brought with it the sharply disturbing scent of smoke.

Eden gave her friend a distracted wave, unable to remove her gaze from the black mar billowing against the dome of blue sky overhead. Her pulse thundered in her ears, causing the pain in her head to throb with each beat. And her breaths came shallow and rapid even as she hurried to conquer the ascent.

Dread coiled in her belly. Drat this rise that blocked her view of whatever lay ahead. For weeks, they’d crossed open plains where the land stretched endlessly in every direction. But this morning, the terrain had changed. Subtle slopes and dips now rolled beneath their wagon wheels, just steep enough to hide what waited beyond. What could possibly be so urgent that Caesar had ordered them to circle the wagons? In the six weeks they’d been on the trail, he’d never once called for a halt so early in the day.

Willow Riley and Mercy Morran, with her two boys, fell into step on either side of her.

“Lord, have mercy,” Willow whispered. “This can’t be good.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Eden pressed her hands to the backs of both women. She ought to pray. It was something expected of the minister’s wife, even if she felt dry and deserted by the Almighty. She forced the words out as they continued to walk. “Lord, we ask for Your safety and protection for our wagon train. Give us courage to face what comes next and to do Your will. In the name of Jesus, amen.” She swallowed down her guilty conscience. Here she was praying, and yet she had all this anger churning inside. That certainly wasn’t the accepting faith a truly righteous woman should display. The person she ought to be angry with was herself, yet all her bottled-up displeasure seemed only directed at Adam recently.

“Amen.” Mercy and Willow spoke together, driving another nail into the coffin lid of her guilt.

Mercy clasped the hands of her two boys, her face pale and her eyes wide. “Come on, boys, let’s find Pa.”

Willow gave Eden a little wave and hurried after them.

Eden glanced back at the three women trailing behind. One was the elderly Mrs. Marigold Hawthorne, grandma to the family of mostly twins. Eden moved toward the woman, taking slow breaths to ease her headache, even as she flapped a hand at Mrs. Goode and Mrs. Hession. “Best hurry to your wagons, ladies. Quick like!” She hoped her voice inspired urgency but not panic.

A panic that she felt to her very core! If this were an attack of some kind, would her health stand up to it?

Several women traded places with their husbands on the wagon bench to take over driving the teams as the men hurried at a run toward Caesar.

But Eden had located their wagon now. It was far up the line—third from the front. Adam must have maneuvered closer to the front of the caravan after they’d all stopped for lunch, because this morning he’d been closer to the middle of the train. She had made cheese sandwiches with leftover biscuits at the nooning, but before she’d had a chance to eat her own, she’d been called away by Tamsyn to help tend to a blistered heel on one of the children. The wagons had been moving out again before she’d been able to return. Her stomach grumbled now at just the thought of food. Had Adam even noticed the sandwich she’d wrapped in a towel and left on the tailgate when Tamsyn had asked for her help?

Giving herself a little shake, Eden forced herself to focus on the present as she swept an arm around Mrs. Hawthorne’s shoulders. “Here, ma’am, let me help you up to your wagon. I have to tell you that I love the big red rose painted on the side of your canvas.” Eden inhaled purposefully. Now she was just blathering for something to say.

The woman planted her cane into the dusty track they’d been following and gave a nod. “Painted thet myself.”

Eden smiled even as she tossed a glance over her shoulder to make sure no one else remained behind. “You did a lovely job. That rose has brought a smile to my face on more than one occasion.”

“Well then, it has served its purpose.” Marigold gave a pleased hum.

“Mind this rock. We don’t need to turn an ankle.” Eden helped the older woman navigate the obstruction. “You are quite a talent with a paintbrush, I must say. Did you take instruction?”

Mrs. Hawthorne paused, planted her feet wide, and gave a blank look. She seemed ready to stay awhile.

Eden tamped down her impatience. She wanted to be at Adam’s side, no matter that she’d relish the opportunity to wring his neck. She would also love nothing more than to crawl into the wagon and take a nice long nap that might ease her headache. But she was needed here.

“Instruction?” Marigold asked.

“In painting?” Eden pressed one hand to the older woman’s back to urge her forward. Thankfully, she tottered onward, if much more slowly than Eden would have liked.

Carefully searching for a sturdy spot to plant her cane, Marigold said, “Oh my, no. A body don’t need instruction to copy down what they can plainly see before their very eyes!”

Eden bit back a smile. Mrs. Hawthorne had obviously never witnessed the blobs that fell off the end of her brush when she tried to paint. “Well, I must say you have a singular talent. It’s quite impressive. I can almost smell that rose for the perfection of it.”

She glanced up to take their bearings and felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. She and Marigold were quite alone. And the wagon train was still a good quarter mile distant.

Marigold tottered another couple of steps up the incline. “I’m an old woman, dear, so do forgive my meddling ways.”

“Meddling?” Eden frowned.

The older woman stopped once more and rested both hands atop her cane. Her rheumy blue eyes settled directly on Eden. “You and the mister don’t seem to be on the best of terms?”

Ah! That kind of meddling.

Eden tucked her lower lip between her teeth. She worked her fingers into the tight muscles at the base of her skull. How much ought she to say? She started to take a step, but the older woman’s hand shot out, surprisingly quick and strong where it clamped on her arm.

“I can see this ain’t something you be ready to speak on, and yet, I’ve experience with a difficult marriage.”

Eden felt her brow tuck into a tight pinch. “I don’t want you to think badly of Adam. He’s a good man.” If only he thought she was a good woman. She would keep trying. One day, he’d see that she was trying to be different now.

Marigold’s brows lifted. “A good man who sleeps on a hammock ’neath his wagon nights, ’stead of tucked in warmly by his wife.”

Tears sprang to Eden’s eyes, and familiar anger, hot and sure, surged. She spun away on the pretense of studying the distant horizon, unable to decide whether it was anger with herself for showing such emotion, anger with Adam for continuing to keep her at a distance, or anger with Mrs. Hawthorne for prying. This constant ache in her head wasn’t helping her choose. Yet, if she were to be the wife she wanted to be, she must defend him!

She faced the woman once more as she plucked a blade of prairie grass and shredded the stem. “He does do that, yes. But he has his reasons. He— We— We lost a child . . . a son, you see. And . . . I didn’t respond to that loss well. I shut him out for a time and now . . . well, things aren’t the best between us.” Embarrassment heated her cheeks. Why was she spilling so much to this woman?

Mrs. Hawthorne shifted and tipped a nod to indicate they should keep walking up the track. “My Henry, were he here, Lord bless him, he would tell me I ought to keep my meddling mouth shut.” She smiled fondly. “But he ain’t here, and your husband, Adam, puts me in mind of my Henry back when we first married—overprotective and trying to do the Lord’s tasks ’stead of trusting the Lord to do for Himself.”

Eden reached a hand to help the older woman over a rut in the path. Was that what Adam was doing?

“You be wanting children, dear?”

Eden felt her face heat at such an intimate question coming from a practical stranger. She released the woman’s arm and strode ahead a couple of paces. They were almost to the wagons now, and she could have left the woman to make it to hers alone, but politeness made her stay and answer, “Yes, I do. More than almost anything.”

But would this new pain in her head allow her the concentration to care for a child? Would the knifing shards ever recede? Worrying over that was likely exacerbating the affliction.

Marigold gave an assertive nod. “Thet’s why the loss of your first child took you under.”

The grief washed over Eden as fresh as it had on the day the grim-faced doctor had told her their son hadn’t lived through the birthing. She sobbed, quick and short, before she gathered her strength about her and drew herself together. “Y-yes. I suppose it is.”

Breathing hard, Mrs. Hawthorne paused again, settling her hands on the knobby handle of her cane.

Eden was surprised to see tears shimmering in the woman’s eyes. One slipped free to sweep down the crepey wrinkles of her cheek. When it reached Mrs. Hawthorne’s chin, she reached gnarled fingers, twisted with age, to swipe at the moisture which she then dried against her skirt.

The woman stared toward the smoke overhead for a long moment as though gathering herself. Finally, she lowered her piercing blue gaze to Eden. “I conceived, carried, and lost seven babes. Two more died when they were no more than walking. Grief takes the legs from under us and sits upon us like a great dragon determined not to let us rise. I been under the weight of that dragon more times than I care to remember. But I’ll tell you something the good Lord done for me.”

Eden searched the woman’s face, willing herself not to put too much hope in her words.

“He give me seeds to sow.”

Eden frowned. What nonsense was this? To be polite, she asked, “Seeds?”

A sage nod dipped Marigold’s wrinkled chin. “They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him. From the Psalms. One twenty-six, five and six.”

“Don’t you think those verses mean the spiritual seed we sow into people’s lives? And the sheaves are a picture of people that surrender to God because of our testimony.”

Marigold nodded and continued up the slope. “Sure. But spiritual seed isn’t just telling others they need the Lord. That’s part, but it’s also scattered when we show others love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self-control. It’s honesty. It’s respect. It’s putting others’ needs above our own. And I think the sheaves can also represent other things besides saved souls. Sometimes just the honor of helping another might be the cause of our rejoicing. Maybe God uses our pain to encourage others that they ain’t alone. Or thet—” She waved a hand. “—at the very least, someone understands and they don’t have to suffer alone.”

“I’m not sure I have much to offer others right now, Mrs. Hawthorne. I’m like one of those sheaves, unbound, and facing a roaring windstorm. I’m struggling just to hold myself together, and I don’t have any answers.”

Marigold’s hand fell to rest on her arm once again, but this time it was gentle and soft. “Ah, child. I know just what you mean.” After a moment, she released her, and the clunk of her cane beat methodically against the dust of the trail.

Eden fell into step beside her, relieved to at least have someone with a listening ear . . . until the woman continued talking.

“But you listen to me, now, and you listen good. You carry a precious pain inside you. The absence of a life cut down before it even begun. Thet has made you a stronger person than you was on the day before your loss. Sure, it took you some time to escape thet dragon of grief, but the good Lord calls to you now to sow thet seed of pain into ground what needs it. Take your pain, child, and cast it to the soil and see what joy the good Lord will bring from it. You don’t have to have all the answers because you know the One thet does!” She gave a definitive nod. “Thet were the gift the Lord done give to me. With every pain, I said, ‘Lord, show me how to sow this.’ And He’ll do the same for you, if’n you’ll let Him.”

They had reached the woman’s wagon now, and Eden had never felt more thankful to see an end to a conversation. “I’m sure He will. Thank you.” She offered the placating words as she hurried away, working her fingers once more into the tight muscles at the base of her neck. She shook her head. Sowing the seeds of her pain? No one, least of all her, wanted that crop to grow again.

She put the conversation behind her and hurried off to find Adam and discover the cause of the smoke that still belched into the sky.

 

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