Chapter 2

Cecil watched Hazel as he’d done many times over this journey. A young widow with a child triggered his protective response. She nibbled on her biscuit and seemed to have forgotten the cheese she held. He could almost feel sadness coming off her. He’d observed it before and done his best to cheer her up. But he studied her more closely. Dark shadows under her eyes. Pale skin. Was it worse than usual? What was normal under her circumstances? Being alone with a child to raise had to be almost as difficult as being two years old and motherless. However, her mother and sisters helped. As did Louise.

He shifted his attention to the woman beside Hazel. She, too, studied the younger woman. Was she seeing the same things he was?

Petey finished his biscuit. He clutched a fragment of cheese in his fist as his head bobbed.

Cecil shifted so the child rested against his arm and let him sleep. Slowly, he lifted his gaze to the woman across from him. Her knees touched his. But her smile did not. And her soft brown eyes held no welcome. Why did she always seem to push him away?

Well, apart from having said she was going West to find a nursing position. He assumed she meant at the fort or in some remote settlement. Add to that her friendship with Hazel, whom she was very protective of. Besides, why did it matter to him? They were fellow travelers. Nothing more. When he got to the fort, he had plans. Oh, nothing solid. But he was a good blacksmith and could likely find work anywhere. Maybe even in one of those remote settlements.

Or he and his friend, Carson Woods, might work together. Carson would soon be finished with his time as a NWMP.

There were miles and miles of land to explore.

A sigh eased past his lips.

Her brows went up. Hazel slept with her head against a box.

“It’s still raining.” Yes, his was an unnecessary comment, but being confined in a tiny space with nothing to do gave him an itch he couldn’t scratch. “What are you reading?” He nodded toward the book Louise had put down beside her.

She picked it up and turned it over in her hands. “It’s The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper. Have you heard of it? Or read it?”

“No to both. What’s it about? I couldn’t help but notice it holds your attention. In fact, you might be still out there, sitting in the rain as you read, if I hadn’t warned you to get into the wagon.” He chuckled to let her know he was teasing and held his breath to see if she’d enjoy it or object.

She laughed. “I might have noticed when I got soaking wet.”

Pleased at her response, he let his smile widen.

“It’s the story of two young women, Alice and Cora, who are being taken to a safe place at a fort. They are guarded by a frontiersman and two natives.”

“Sounds a little bit like us.”

“I know. The Woods sisters, you and your brother, and our scout, Joe.”

“Would you mind reading me a bit of it?”

“I don’t mind, but I should start at the beginning.” She turned the pages back, cleared her throat, and started to read, her voice clear. The words were so real he felt like he’d joined the other trek.

Sometime later, she stopped and looked toward the end of the wagon. “I can’t see any longer.” She closed the book. “What did you think of the story?”

Somehow,it had grown dark. The rain continued slashing down the sides of the wagon like a waterfall.

“I liked it. Thank you for reading it to me.” Now, he wanted to hear the rest. Would she lend him the book? Or better yet, read more to him?

But before he could put his bold thoughts into words, Hazel stirred. She groaned. “I need to go outside.”

Louise caught her hands. “It’s still raining.”

“I need to relieve myself.” Hazel stood, eased toward the back, wrapped the blanket over her head, and loosened the drawstring.

Rain pelted down, dampening her where she stood.

Louise hauled her back. “We have a pot. Use it.”

Hazel’s gaze jerked to Cecil.

“I don’t suppose it would help for me to tell you that near the end of her life, I helped my grandmother use the chamber pot.”

Both women shook their heads.

“Do you want me to go out in—?” He jabbed his hand toward the rain.

Again, both women shook their heads. The three of them stared at each other.

Louise gave a quick nod. “We’ll make the best of it. Cover your head and promise not to look.”

“Fine.” He tented the blanket over his head. “It’s hot in here.”

The women whispered together. He couldn’t make out their words but could hear the protest in Hazel’s voice. There came shuffling and more whispering.

Knowing they were uneasy with him hearing them, he began to sing loudly. He could only hope it wouldn’t wake Petey. Nevertheless, he continued.

Someone touched his shoulder.

“We’re done. And thank you.”

He lowered the blanket, sucked in air, and met Louise’s smile.

“You’re welcome.” He avoided looking directly at Hazel. “It looks like we’ll be here for the night. Might as well get as comfortable as possible.” He pulled his legs closer to his body. “The two of you might fit between the boxes and crates.” They could at least lie down.

“What about you?” Louise asked.

“I’m fine here.” He rearranged the boxes so he could rest his head on one. He’d have to be careful not to lean against the canvas and cause it to wick. A protest flared in Louise’s eyes. He tipped his head toward Hazel and lifted his eyebrows. Would she understand his silent message that the woman needed to rest properly?

She eyed Hazel, then nodded. “I’ll fix us a spot.” She moved boxes, stacking things another row higher until there was enough room for a body to stretch out. “Do you mind?” Her gaze sought an answer as she jabbed her finger toward the box he sat on. “We need more blankets.”

Holding Petey as steady as he could, Cecil pushed to his feet and leaned to the side so Louise could gather quilts and other bedding.

A black, gray, and dark-green quilt went on the floor. She put another quilt to the side.

“Come on, Hazel. Let’s get as comfortable as possible.” Catching her friend’s hand, she urged her to her feet.

“I’ll take Petey.”

Cecil shifted the child to his mother’s arms, then settled back as far into the corner as possible, his feet jammed between a crate and a trunk. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but he’d make do.

The two women lay on their sides, Petey tucked in by his mother.

Cecil held back a comment that they were so cramped it looked like they’d have to take turns breathing.

“Good night,” Louise murmured.

Was it for him? Or Hazel? Or both?

“Good night,” he whispered into the growing darkness that provided a degree of privacy. The rain offered nature’s lullaby.

Soon, deep breathing suggested at least one of them had fallen asleep.

He let his muscles relax. Not that he’d be able to sleep in this position.

But faint gray light illuminated the wagon when the roar of water jerked him awake. One breath brought awareness of where he was and why he sat cramped up. A second made him sit up as straight as was possible and listen. Was it still raining hard enough to make that sound? He eased his feet to the side, hoping to relieve the cramping in his legs. When he bumped into something that moved, he stopped.

The sound of water demanded his attention. It wasn’t rain slicing against the canvas. It was?—

He pushed to his feet, shoving aside the legs in the middle, careful not to step on the ladies and baby, and made his way to the front of the wagon. Dawn peeked through the keyhole opening. With deft, hurried fingers, he released the drawstring and peered out.

Rain no longer fell. The roar came from the river. Pale light revealed it had overflowed its banks and flooded the gully before them. The water was deep and wide and ferocious.

They were in no danger unless it rose a great deal more. But there’d be no crossing the river to join the others until the waters receded.

He was stranded here with two women and a child.

Louise wokewhen something touched her feet. She drew in a breath. Cecil was moving forward. Watery light spilled through the opening at the front. She eased to her feet, careful not to disturb Hazel, who moaned much of the night, perhaps because of their crowded quarters.

Slipping forward, Louise peered out past Cecil and gasped. Her stomach knotted.

“The river’s in flood.” The whispered words were sharp. “We’re stranded here.”

“Yes, we are.” His whisper was calming as if the thought held no worries for him.

“Are we safe?” What if the water rose more? Where would they go? Should they abandon the wagon?

“If it rises more, I’ll hitch the oxen and move to higher ground, but we’re safe for now.” He scrubbed at his neck. “We’ll have to stay here until it’s safe to cross.”

Her breath whooshed out at his solution and froze again at the idea of having to be here, away from the others. The thought died. “We have food and water.” She chuckled. “Lots of water.”

Cecil looked over his shoulder to meet her gaze and laughed. “More than we want, I suspect.”

“Very true.” For a heartbeat, their gazes held. His breath brushed her cheek.

She drew back, though the limited space allowed her only a few inches.

Petey’s demanding cry gave her an excuse to turn away and pick her way to the little one.

Hazel barely opened her eyes. “I didn’t sleep much.” She yawned. “I’ll feed him now.”

Louise changed him before putting him into his mother’s arms.

Cecil remained at the front, staring out at the scene. Perhaps he purposely kept his attention turned away, providing Hazel some privacy.

Louise studied her friend a moment longer. I don’t like the way she looks. Granted, she hadn’t slept well, but she’d been struggling with fatigue for a few days—hadn’t she? I’ll be keeping my eyes on her. Thankfully, Louise’s limited medical supplies were in the wagon. She returned to the front of the wagon.

“Everything outside is sodden. Will we be able to start a fire?”

“The extra wood underneath should be dry.” Doubt edged into his words.

“But?”

“We’ll be hard-pressed to find a dry spot to put our feet on.”

“I see that.” Puddles stood everywhere. Water glistened off every blade of grass and leaf. “But Hazel needs a hot meal. So does Petey.”

“And the rest of us.” He perched one foot on a crate as he continued to study the world outside the canvas-covered enclosure.

Her stomach rumbled. “I can survive on cold biscuits and dried meat. Though I crave a cup of hot coffee.”

Cecil sniffed. “I smell the brew. They’ve got a pot over the flames.” He tipped his head to indicate those across the swollen river, then jerked upright. “That does it. Hazel, I’m going to make my way to the endgate.”

Hazel scooted to the side, tugging her dress closed.

Petey played happily on the floor as Cecil squeezed by.

He lowered the gate and dropped to the ground, splashing in the puddle at the back. “I’ll start a fire. I might have to stand in water, but I mean to have my coffee.”

Banging under the wagon indicated he pulled wood out. He tromped a few yards away. “It’s drier here,” he called as he squatted.

Soon, flames danced and sizzled. Steam rose from the damp ground.

Louise held out her hands, wishing for the warmth of the fire.

Cecil checked on the oxen and his horse, moved them so they still had grass to eat, and filled containers with water. Then he trotted back to the wagon and unearthed more wood before taking it to the fire. But rather than add it to the flames, he positioned pieces like stools.

“Ladies—” He swept his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Your dining room awaits.”

“You don’t have to invite me twice.” Louise jumped to the ground, ignoring the water that splashed at her feet. “Come on, Hazel. I’ll help you.” Hands steady and firm, she assisted her friend to the ground, then took Petey. The three of them hurried to the fire.

“That warmth feels so good.” Hazel, clutching a blanket around her shoulders, stood close enough to put her skirts in danger.

Louise studied her, assessing the symptoms.

“Coffee.” Cecil trotted back to the wagon, grabbed the coffeepot, and dipped it in the river.

Louise lingered at the fire. The heat was heavenly. Then, she forced herself to return to the wagon to grind the beans. A hot drink, warm food, and sunshine would set Hazel right. If only the sky would produce something besides the watery sun. “Please, God, You who make mountains and rivers, give us some sunshine and help the waters go down.”

“Were you talking to me?” Cecil stood nearby holding the coffeepot, waiting for the makings.

“No.” Her laugh was short and mirthless. “I was talking to God.” She often murmured her prayers aloud. A habit born of frustration, fear, uncertainty, desperation, and so many things in her younger years. A habit that persisted. Hearing the words she prayed made them seem…well, more real.

“Sorry to eavesdrop.” Not a crack of a smile or hint of mockery from him.

For which she was grateful.

“Would you like me to wait by the fire?”

Was he really being understanding? And yet, she detected not a hint of anything but kindness.

“No. I’m done now.” She held out the ground coffee, and when he lifted the pot to her, she dumped it in and breathed deeply. “Coffee is one of the best aromas in the world.” She didn’t care if he thought her a bit dramatic.

“Only one thing better, in my opinion.” He carried the pot to the fire and set it to boil. “Fresh, hot, strong coffee.”

“No argument there.” However, her interest was on Hazel, who slouched forward from the block of wood where she sat, staring at the flames. She seemed to have forgotten Petey, who played in the wet grass nearby. Not that getting damp would hurt him. But Hazel’s disregard of her son did concern Louise. It was so unlike her.

She brought her gaze around to Cecil to see if he’d noticed anything. But he stared at the coffeepot as if willing it to hurry up.

Louise relaxed. Maybe coffee and food would put her friend right.

The coffee sputtered. She hurried to find cups for each of them and the makings for breakfast. Thank goodness, each wagon carried rations. They had eggs, both salted and dried meat and plenty of dry goods. They had options. Eggs and fried pork and the last of the biscuits would make a nourishing breakfast. She’d simmer some of the dried meat along with pot barley for the noon meal. She’d make more biscuits if Hazel didn’t beat her to it.

While the meat cooked, she sipped her coffee. And studied Hazel, hoping to see the strong brew to perk her up. But after two sips, the cup was forgotten.

“I’m worried,” she murmured to Cecil.

“About what?”

“Hazel. She doesn’t seem herself.”

Cecil looked at Hazel. “She’s maybe a little pale. She likely didn’t sleep well.”

“I suppose that could be it.” Louise turned the meat to cook on the other side.

“You don’t sound convinced.”

She drank two mouthfuls of coffee before she answered. “I’m hoping she’s better after she’s eaten.” The meat was done. She pushed it to one side of the griddle and broke half a dozen eggs into the heated pan. As soon as they were cooked, she dished up a plateful.

Cecil pulled off his hat. “Pa usually asks the blessing, but since he’s not here, I’ll do it if no one objects.”

“Please do.” She bowed her head while he prayed.

“Lord, bless this food and grant that we may thankful for Thy mercies be; teach us to know by whom we’re fed. Bless us with Christ, the living bread. Amen.”

The words settled deep in Louise’s heart. The Lord’s blessing on every aspect of her life. That’s what she needed. What Hazel needed. What they all needed.

“That was nice,” she murmured as she handed the plate of food to her friend. Hazel took it but didn’t seem interested unlike Petey, who trotted over.

Cecil scooped him up and fed him off his own plate. “It’s a prayer my grandfather often said. After he passed, Gramma would ask for one of us to say it. It was usually me because I was the one who tended to her needs until the end.” His voice might have deepened, but he showed no embarrassment.

As Louise ate, she watched Hazel. She should have devoured her food as eagerly as the others did instead of poking at it.

“Hazel, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you eating?” Louise spoke gently.

“I’m not hungry.” Hazel abandoned the plate of food on the log beside her. “I’m going to lie down. Can you watch Petey for me?” Without waiting for an answer, she climbed into the wagon and, sighing heavily, lay on the quilt where they’d spent the night and tugged the blankets over her.

Louise hurried after her. “I’ll get dry clothes for the baby.” She selected items from the satchel holding Petey’s things. When Hazel didn’t respond, Louise’s chest muscles clenched. Maybe some sleep was all her friend needed. But as she turned away, the niggling tension wouldn’t leave Louise.

Something was wrong with Hazel.