Wagon Train Sisters. Shirley KennedyЧитать онлайн книгу.
meal mush, and soda biscuits, all to be washed down with a big pot of coffee. After they finished, Jack said, “Thanks for the breakfast, Mrs. Bryan. It’s time for us to leave.”
Luzena gazed at Jack with grateful eyes. “I shall be forever indebted, Mr. McCoy. How can I ever repay you?”
Jack took a final gulp of coffee before he spoke. “You can repay me by giving up this fool notion that you’ll stay in this godforsaken place until your daughter comes back.”
His abrupt reply caused Ma to sit back in surprise. “But…but…I can’t do that. Florrie’s coming back, and I shall be here when she does.”
Jack shook his head. “You know that’s not so. I doubt she got lost in the woods. I’d wager someone knows where she is. You’d have a better chance of finding her if you keep going and search as you travel along the trail.”
Ma bit her lip. She examined her fingernails and looked into space. Obviously she held a deep respect for the man who’d helped her through the asthma attack. She could easily ignore all the fervent pleas from her family, but Jack McCoy’s blunt opinion had made a profound impression. Finally she spoke. “I do believe you’re right. Hitch the oxen, Frank. We’re leaving. Sarah, let’s pack the wagon.”
After an astounded silence, Pa got to his feet and placed his battered hat on his head. “That was a wise decision, my dear.” He set out for the spot where their four oxen were grazing.
Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. Out of Ma’s hearing, she said, “I owe you another thanks, Mr. McCoy. You worked a miracle.”
“Not a miracle, just common sense. Come on, Ben, let’s pack up.”
He was leaving. Part of her was glad, but another part of her wished he would stay. Just ridiculous. The man hardly looked at her, and anyway, why should she care? For the next few minutes, she busied herself helping Ma pack pots, pans, and dishes back in the wagon. Ordinarily, Hiram took down the small tent where she slept. Now Pa must do it all himself. But maybe that wouldn’t be so easy. Every time she looked, he was struggling to herd the animals to the wagon, not making any progress at all. She was starting to take the tent down herself when Jack appeared behind her. “I’ll do that.” In no time, the tent was down and packed away.
Pa continued to struggle. He’d managed to drive the oxen to the wagon but couldn’t position the animals in the right place. No sooner had he got one lined up, another would run off. Finally he slammed his hat to the ground. “These damn, stubborn animals won’t do what I tell ‘em!”
Poor Pa. How sad to see an old man of sixty so bungling and inept in this alien world. He ought to be home sitting in his library, cup of tea by his side, reading a volume of Shakespeare or his favorite, The Vicar of Wakefield.
Jack and Ben had mounted their horses and were about to leave, but upon hearing Pa, Jack dismounted. “Looks like you need help. Stand back, Mr. Bryan.” He led the animals to the front of the wagon where he tied them about the same distance apart. “You’ve got to position them so their heads will go in the yoke.” With practiced skill, he placed the yokes over the oxen’s backs, slid in the oxbows, and fastened the ends with iron pins. “Nothing left but to hitch them to the wagon. See?”
Pa scratched his head, uncertainty written all over his face. “Yes, I see. Thank you, Mr. McCoy. It should be easy.” His voice wavered with uncertainty.
“You’re welcome.” Jack returned to his horse, placed one foot in the stirrup, hesitated, and then took it out again. “Ben, you ride on if you want. I’m staying another day.”
* * * *
Following the Bryan’s wagon, Ben uttered a near inaudible, “Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat.”
Riding beside him, Jack slanted a sardonic glance. “I told you to ride ahead. You could have caught up with Josiah and the boys by now.”
“I know why you did it.”
“That old man needs help.” Jack shook his head in disbelief. “Couldn’t even yoke the oxen. He has no business in the wilderness.”
“Most of us don’t, but that don’t stop us from going for the gold. You stayed because you’ve got a hankering for that girl.”
“You mean Sarah? I hardly noticed her.”
“I caught you watching her when you thought she wasn’t looking.”
“She’s a fine looking woman.”
“Why is it you never married?”
“Never thought about it.”
“Maybe you haven’t been around women very much, and you’re woman shy.”
“Woman shy?” Jack threw his back head and let out a great peal of laughter. He nudged his horse and moved forward. Ahead of the wagon, Sarah was riding Rosie, the chestnut mare. Those hips. The view of their luscious curve caused a stirring inside him, a stirring he would ignore. Woman shy? Jenny, oh, Jenny.
* * * *
That day they traveled a good twenty miles. Sarah had hoped they’d catch up with the Morehead Train, but there’d been no sign of them. Along the way, they’d encountered a family that had given up the hard journey and were returning home to Pennsylvania. “We run out of money and patience,” the father said. And no, they hadn’t seen a young woman of twenty-three with gray eyes and brown hair.
They stopped for the night by a pretty grass-filled meadow with a creek not far into the woods. Sarah unsaddled Rosie and led her to the water for a drink. It looked so inviting she removed her boots and stockings and thrust her feet into the stream. She leaned back on her hands, kicked, and splashed. Ah, that felt good.
Jack McCoy appeared, leading his big bay gelding. She pulled her feet from the creek and hastily reached for her boots. He broke into a leisurely smile. “Don’t bother. I’m not filled with lust over the sight of your feet. You’re safe. Put them back. Get some comfort while you can.”
No man ever spoke to her so honestly before. In her family, lust was a forbidden word. The same with sex. She wouldn’t let him know she was the least bit taken aback, though. She slid her feet into the creek and watched while his big bay drank its fill. “What’s his name?” she called.
“Bandit.”
When the horse finished drinking, Jack carefully went over him with a soft-bristled brush. Obviously, he loved his horse. She could tell from the gentle way he handled him. So he wasn’t all bad. “Join me, Mr. McCoy.” She waved to the grassy spot next to her.
As he sat beside her, she searched for something polite to say, but he spoke up first. “So where are you from?”
She was glad he asked and found herself eager to talk. “I was born and raised in Fort Wayne, Indiana. Until I got married, I lived in the same house all my life. When my husband died, I moved back. I would have never moved again except for this.” Frowning, she waved her hand toward the creek, woods, and mountains beyond.
“So you wish you’d stayed home?”
“Of course. I had a well-ordered life before my father had some financial difficulties. He lost just about everything, including our house. So here we are, headed for California. Not for the gold, mind you. He’ll work with his brother who owns a general store in a place called Mokelumne City. It’s near Sacramento. I can hardly wait to get there. More than anything, I want to feel secure again, read my books, go to church, do good works for the sick and poor—just lead the quiet life.”
Jack glanced at her, a twinkle in his eye. “It sounds quiet all right, and boring.”
She raised her chin. “It’s not exciting at all, and that’s the way I like it.”
“Tell me about your husband.”
He was getting personal, but somehow she didn’t mind. “We were