Chapter 16

Sixteen

"Sit up and I'll remake that pallet for you." Hollis squatted next to Owen who reclined on a pallet in the open air, not far from the campfire the Mason family had shared for the past days.

Owen sent him a look that might've quelled another person, but Hollis remained where he was and waited Owen out.

Owen hadn't spoken one word to Hollis since he and Alice and Braddock and the soldiers had ridden into the camp. Hollis glanced several yards away, to where Abigail's head and shoulders were visible above a blanket strung between two wagons. She was helping a tired and weak Rachel take a bath.

Abigail hadn't spoken to Hollis since their arrival either.

Possibly because he'd been avoiding her at every turn. It was easy. There was much work to be done, and even with the soldiers' help, the work never ceased. Finally, after another couple of days, the tide was turning.

Many pioneers were recovering. Like Abigail, who'd been very ill for twenty-four hours and then recovered quickly. With the improvements, spirits had grown more positive.

Hollis had been adamant that she not overdo it. Including sending someone to insist she go to bed last night. He'd been pleased and relieved when he'd walked past their makeshift camp, and seen her asleep in her bedroll.

He didn't know why God had granted him a reprieve, why God had allowed her to live. But Hollis intended to keep his distance. The farther he stayed from Abigail, the safer she'd be.

Tired of waiting for the stubborn Owen to move, Hollis nudged his arm.

Owen grunted, then reluctantly rolled off of the pallet and onto his knees. He weaved a bit, even though he wasn't standing. Probably lightheaded, though he'd hate to admit to such weakness to Hollis.

Whatever patching up Alice had hoped for hadn't happened. At least not between Hollis and Owen.

Fine. Neither of them had to like this. Just endure it.

Hollis pulled away the old bedding and quickly spread a new quilt. Owen must've been watching from the corner of his eye, because he laid back down as soon as Hollis finished. He must've twisted wrong, because he pushed a hand into his stomach, grimacing.

Still tender. But at least he'd held down some of a mash Alice had made this morning. His fever was lower. At least that's what the doc said.

The baby cried from where she'd been laid in a long wooden crate padded with a quilt. Owen looked like he was going to push up off his pallet, no matter if he felt like death, to get to her.

Hollis clamped his shoulder. "Stay there. I'll bring her to you."

Something twisted up inside him when he cradled the bit of baby in his hands. What might it have been like if his child had lived…?

He didn't have time to dwell on it, not when the three steps to Owen had been crossed and he was handing her over.

As soon as the baby was nuzzled against Owen's shoulder, her little body relaxed and she made a soft sound. Owen patted her shoulder.

Hollis had to look away. He picked up the bowl of broth one of the soldiers had given him. Sat it beside Owen on the pallet.

"Eat." If Owen wanted to speak to him in grunts, Hollis could do that too.

Owen ignored the bowl.

Hollis felt his temper spark, but tamped it down.

"Eat," he ordered. "You need your strength back."

Owen shook his head.

"You're a stubborn man," Hollis muttered, picking up the old bedding. It needed a good wash. Or maybe to be burned.

"I'm not the stubborn one," Owen growled suddenly. "You're the one who can't accept help. No matter how well intentioned."

Hollis shook his head. That wasn't true.

But apparently now that Owen had spoken, the dam was broken. He wasn't finished. "You push everyone away. Leo. Me. August."

Hollis turned his face from Owen's intent scrutiny.

And found himself watching Abigail.

He could only see one of her ears, her upper cheek, her eye, the top of her head, her hair pulled back into a bun. But she was smiling.

He didn't have to see her entire face to know it.

At the sight of her joy, the small sign that she was all right, a minute amount of tension bled from him. She wasn't entirely recovered, but she wasn't on her deathbed.

"You especially push Abigail away," Owen muttered.

Hollis's body jerked. He sent a scathing look at his former captain. "That's none of your business."

"Of course it isn't."

Now Owen lifted the bowl to his lips and took a long slurp. His eyes never left Hollis's.

Emotion rose in Hollis's throat, strong and hot and choking. He wanted to punch the other man. He was spoiling for a fight. But the frustration and grief and anger had no real target—not when Owen was so sick he could barely get up.

At that moment, Alice walked past the wagon, heading for Abigail and the hidden Rachel with her arms full of fabric. She raised her brows. Hollis didn't know if the look was meant for him or her brother.

If only he could walk away, but Owen was watching him with narrowed eyes. Expecting that he'd do just that.

"I'm cursed," he said, voice low so as not to carry to the women. "Are you happy to know it?"

Saying the words aloud made him feel sick.

Owen shook his head in confusion. "What?"

"It's why I lost my wife and child. Why I lost my cousin. I know it." Hollis tapped his chest with his fist. "Here. I don't know why, but I'm cursed."

Owen looked skeptical. "God doesn't curse his children."

"He made an exception for me."

Some emotion moved across Owen's expression. "Show me a Bible verse that says God curses his children," he demanded softly.

Hollis shrugged, shook his head.

"God sent his Son to earth for the business of breaking chains," Owen said softly.

Abigail's lilting laugh traveled to his ear on the breeze, and he couldn't help glancing her way. The blanket had shifted so that he had a full view of her face. A drip of soap suds was sliding down her cheeks.

Breaking chains .

A beat of hope slammed into his chest with the strength of his heartbeat.

But, "How do you explain my wife?"

Losing Dinah had meant Hollis lost a part of himself, too.

"I can't explain it." If Owen had ignored him or made fun, it would have been easy for Hollis to walk away. As it was, his feet felt rooted to the ground by Owen's serious expression. "Just like I can't explain why Rachel's husband died. Bad things happen. But I know there's a God up there who loves you. He sent his Son to earth to save your eternal soul."

Hollis's ma had taught him that from the time he could talk. Read him the Bible and sang songs he'd never been able to forget.

"God's got a plan for you," Owen said.

Could it be true?

Hollis couldn't understand how losing Dinah was part of that plan. But maybe he didn't have to understand. Maybe he just had to accept it.

Abigail disappeared from sight as the breathless hope grabbed Hollis by the throat.

Had God put Abigail in his life so that Hollis might have a second chance at happiness?

Hollis turned his gaze on Owen, who looked peaked and a little chagrined.

"I was wrong to leave," Hollis said. "I should've listened." He cleared his throat when the words didn't want to come. "I value your friendship, your advice."

"I was wrong, too," Owen admitted. "I'm grateful you came back. And brought help."

Hollis shook his head. "Alice is the one who brought reinforcements."

"How'd she convince them to come?"

Hollis shook his head. "I don't know. The commander wouldn't give me a lick of help. But she and Braddock disappeared into the fort, and when they rode back out, they had soldiers with them." Braddock had been riding beside one of the more senior soldiers. Hollis had a suspicion, but no proof, that there'd been bribery involved.

Owen frowned. But his expression lightened when Rachel appeared from behind the blanket, freshly bathed, her hair wet down her back. Hollis thought, not for the first time, that his friend was a lovesick fool over Rachel.

And he'd be the same for Abigail.

Abigail had turned away, slowly lugging the washtub, Alice supporting the weight on its other side. He'd hurt Abigail with his callous words, by pushing her away.

Was it too late to mend things?

Distant thunder rumbled. Abigail opened her eyes to the fire crackling with warmth that felt stifling in the dry morning air. This morning seemed the hottest so far, summer nearly upon them. She'd dreamed?—

For a moment, she closed her eyes, sinking back into the dream where Hollis had curved his body behind hers, his arm heavy and secure around her waist, his solid presence filling her with warmth and care.

She opened her eyes again, throwing back the blanket.

It didn't matter how real the dream had felt. It was only her imagination.

Hollis hadn't spoken to her once since she'd woken from the fever. She'd caught a long look from him last night, but he'd been busy with some of the men when she'd fallen into her bedroll in exhaustion.

He probably hadn't slept.

Another ripple of thunder. She squinted against the rising sun. The sky was clear?—

No.

Stretching her neck had revealed a line of dark clouds building on the far southern horizon. They seemed so far off. A warm wind blew strands of her hair into her face. It'd been so dry and dusty. Just imagining the cool air that hit right before a rain, the drops of moisture that might hit her face...

Or would it be another flash flood like the one she and Hollis had endured together?

She couldn't bear to dwell on thoughts of those days. She stood. Best to ready herself for today's work.

The sticky heat made it uncomfortable to cook over the fire, but she persisted in making biscuits, wiping sweat with her wrist. Felicity appeared in the quiet campsite on the leading edge of the circle.

"Hollis and Owen have agreed that we'll strike out after the funeral."

Felicity had regained some of her color, but she was winded and tired from carrying the two pails of water she'd brought with her. "Hollis rode off with Owen and August a bit ago."

The funeral.

Abigail wasn't sure she could stomach attending the funeral. The grave had been large. They'd lost a dozen pioneers. None had been safe. Not men, women, or children. Young or old. And thinking about standing at that graveside reminded her too pointedly of standing beside her mother's grave.

No doubt it would be expected for the wagonmaster's wife to offer comfort to those who'd lost loved ones. But she had none to give. She felt empty, scraped raw.

"What's the matter?" Felicity was closer than Abigail had realized, offering the dipper from the pail.

Abigail took it, parched but not yet finished with the biscuits and the fire. "Nothing." She lifted the dipper to her lips, wishing she could hide from Felicity's scrutiny.

"You came to help us when you'd barely recovered, but this seems more than exhaustion."

Abigail turned her face away as she handed the dipper back to her friend. This morning it seemed too difficult to find a tune to hum, to find a smile for her friend. "I'm fine."

But Felicity didn't relent. "You don't seem yourself. A newlywed is supposed to be?—"

"I'm fine," Abigail snapped. Instantly, she regretted taking that tone with her friend.

"Abigail—"

She whirled at Felicity's hesitant word. "I'm not a newlywed," she blurted. "It isn't a real marriage between Hollis and me."

She'd thought saying the words would be a relief, but she felt only guilt at the shocked confusion on her friend's face. And sadness that it was true.

Felicity shook her head, her brows coming together. "I see the way he looks at you."

She couldn't know how harsh a blow her words were. I have nothing to give you .

"And the way you watch him," Felicity went on.

"Hollis married me to keep the peace in camp. To save my reputation. It isn't real. The farce will be over the moment we reach Oregon."

Felicity watched her face too closely. Abigail was afraid of what her friend saw there. And then the stubborn twist of Felicity's lips. "You love him," she stated clearly.

Despair flowed over Abigail as another roll of thunder boomed in the distance. "I wish I didn't."

The words hung there between the two of them, both true and awful.

"He's lost so much," Abigail whispered. "He won't open his heart again. I tried?—"

She couldn't allow the emotion out now. Not when folks were already gathering for the funeral. When she was needed to help pack up and move out.

Hurt dawned in Felicity's expression. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Abigail swallowed hard. "I should've. Just... everything hurt. And I've tried so hard to smile through it. To keep working, keep my chin up."

She was startled by the sudden tears that slipped free. "I'm so tired," she admitted. "Tired of being frightened of the future and what it holds. I've been holding on so tightly since Mam passed, years ago. But out here, there's no safety to be found."

Compassion lit Felicity's eyes. "There are no promises in life," she said. "Except the ones given by our Father in Heaven."

Abigail shook her head. Where had God been when Mam had grown sick and died? When Joseph had left? When Mr. Smith had tried to steal her future when he'd stolen her money?

Abigail had been left alone. Left to her own devices to find a new way through.

When she said as much, Felicity's expression showed pity.

Felicity couldn't understand.

"Everything in my future changed," Abigail said. "God took Mam, took Joseph."

Felicity clasped her hand. "Maybe He was giving you a new future."

The words dropped into Abigail's mind like a stone in a smooth pool. Causing ripples all the way down.

Was Felicity right?

Abigail had been desperate and penniless when she'd arrived in Independence. She hadn't known what her future would hold. But Joseph had already provided. Hollis had taken her on, accepted her into the company.

Hollis, who didn't want her.

She swiped at new tears with her apron. Her emotions felt at war.

God had provided for her, kept her these many years.

But she'd wanted a future with Hollis.

"Hollis doesn't want me for a wife." Admitting it made more tears flow.

Felicity had tears in her eyes, too. Her lips pressed together before she spoke. "God has a plan for him, too. Maybe you are meant to be the healing he needs."

These wise words from Felicity settled deep inside Abigail's heart. Hollis was burning up from the inside out. Lost to his grief. Could Felicity be right that Abigail was meant to bring him healing? How?

Abigail had gone into this marriage intent on helping him. Her motives had gotten muddled as her feelings for the enigmatic man had deepened.

Loving someone meant wanting the best for them, didn't it? Hollis had suffered—and deserved every good thing he could have.

Could she give selflessly, knowing her heart would be broken at the end of this journey?