Glory (15 page)

“Haven’t,” Ruth corrected.

“. . . haven’t,” she amended dutifully, “come across any more families who caught the cholera.”

Ruth passed Jackson the pan of biscuits and filled his coffee cup a second time. Her hand lingered a moment longer on his than what Glory thought was proper. Ruth smiled. “Jelly?”

Jelly?
Glory watched the exchange, assuring herself that she didn’t care. These new feelings were worse than having a shoe fit too tight. Ruth had been good to her, real nice, but Ruth clearly had her sights fixed on Jackson, and clearly he wasn’t complaining.

Glory didn’t like the hurtful twinges Ruth’s maternal clucking caused, partly because she didn’t understand them and partly because she wanted to be the one doing the fussing. Jackson didn’t seem to mind who clucked over him. He took the mollycoddling in stride, like it was his due.

Scooping a bite of eggs into her mouth, Glory wiped her
chin with the cuff of her sleeve. “What do you think we’ll see on the trail today, Jackson?”

Yesterday they’d spotted a big ten-point buck standing along a ridge. He’d stood there proud as a peacock, sniffing the air. Glory had studied the beautiful animal as Jackson rode to the back of the wagon and eyed her sternly before he spoke. “By the size of his rack, he’s been around a few years. Unless the meat is needed, nobody in this train kills for sport.”

Glory wouldn’t have shot the buck for any reason; Jackson didn’t need to look at her that way, as if she were loaded with evil. Poppy had said it was wrong to kill for sport, and she’d never dream of felling that magnificent creature.

The rest of the day she’d kept busy watching geese lifting off of ponds and colorful birds taking flight, wishing Poppy could see all the new wonders.

They’d stopped at Big Timbers long enough for Jackson to check the harness, and she’d watched Patience talking to a couple of bluebirds on a fence post. When she’d asked Patience if they’d said anything back, Lily gave her a weary look. Well, Glory didn’t talk to birds. How was she supposed to know if they talked back to some folks?

Jackson glanced up from his breakfast plate, disturbing her musings. “We’ll be at Apishapa Creek in a month. At that point, you’ll be able to see the Huerfano Mountains and Spanish Peaks in the distance.”

“Huerfano?” Glory asked awkwardly, trying out the different sound on her tongue.

Jackson nodded. “Means ‘orphan’ in Spanish.”

“Like us,” Lily murmured. The girls felt an immediate kinship with a range of orphan mountains.

“Yes,” Jackson said, lying back to rest. “The Cherokee Trail comes in from Arkansas near Bent’s Fort and leads to the gold diggings at Cherry Creek.”

“That’s in Colorado,” Ruth said.

“Wow,” Glory murmured in awe. She shook her head, marveling at her good fortune. She’d already been farther than she’d ever dreamed possible and seen things she never knew existed, and Jackson said they’d barely begun the long trip, and they were less than halfway there.

That day they walked only ten miles, but the trail had crossed high, broken terrain. The going was slow and difficult, and the wagon had gotten hung up several times.

For weeks, Jackson had warned them that there would be many tedious days like this one, not to let themselves be spoiled by some of the earlier days when the road had been flat and worn down by previous travelers.

Again, Jackson reminded them of what lay ahead. “The road is just as bad up ahead,” he told them as they gathered around the fire that night. “Don’t look for easy travel.”

Glory listened to the warning, bone weary tonight. Her sore feet agreed that the road had been hard today, though she had found previous days exhausting as well. She ladled lard into the skillet and set it on the fire to heat.

The others eyed the skillet bleakly.

Glory noted their leery looks and determined to make
them eat their uncharitable thoughts. Ruth had put her in charge of cooking tonight, and they were going to see that she was improving. She cut up an onion and threw it in the hot grease. The spicy aroma added hot fuel to the late August air.

Lily sniffed the pleasant smell, rubbing her swollen ankles. “I’m just too plain tired to eat.”

Glory smiled to herself as she mixed brown beans and potatoes in a bowl. Lily might think she was too tired to eat, but once she got a taste of Poppy’s recipe, she’d come alive. Poppy had fixed it twice a week—had vowed it was good for what ailed you.

Rummaging through the staples box, she located the bundle of hot peppers. There was nothing better than a dose of Poppy’s Blazing Fire stew to get the blood circulating. That should get them back on their feet.

While the others dozed before the warm fire, Glory added seasoning to the skillet, humming as she worked. The mixture in the pot bubbled merrily over the red-hot coals.

Ruth finally stirred and went to the back of the wagon. Glory glanced over her shoulder to watch Ruth climb into the wagon. She wondered if Jackson would follow, but he didn’t. He sat by the fire, hat tipped over his eyes, resting from the long day.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Glory went in search of Ruth. She found the young woman taking a sponge bath in the privacy of the sheltered wagon. Ruth glanced up when Glory rounded the corner.

“Oh!” She quickly drew her bodice back into place.

“It’s me, Ruth. Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Ruth smiled and returned to her nightly grooming.
I swear, she’s going to wear a hole clean through her skin,
Glory thought. But she envied Ruth’s scrupulous good habits . . . and even more, she admired the way Ruth was so happy and satisfied, so sure of what she wanted. Glory longed for Ruth’s peacefulness and inner beauty, and she had a hunch it had something to do with the Bible. Ruth understood life and what was expected out of a person more than most folks. Whatever it was that caused Ruth’s glow, Glory wanted it.

When Glory continued to stare, Ruth turned to look over her shoulder. “Thought I’d freshen up a bit while supper is cooking.”

“You’re not going to take a bath in the river?”

“No, it’s rather shallow here. I’ll just freshen up a bit in the wagon.” She flashed a wholesome smile. “Care to join me?”

“Can’t. Supper’s cooking.” But she would later. It was getting to where she didn’t sleep well unless she was spanking clean. As far as she could tell, the daily baths hadn’t hurt her skin.

When Glory continued to stand there, Ruth frowned. “Did you need something from the wagon?”

“No, needed to ask you something.” It was a thought that’d been going around in Glory’s mind for weeks. The only way she knew to get rid of it was to come right out and ask Ruth directly so she wouldn’t be thinking about it day and night.

“Ask away.” Ruth’s slender fingers refastened the front of her dress.

“You like Jackson, don’t you?”

Ruth’s brows lifted curiously. “Like him? Yes, he’s very nice.”

“No. I mean, you
like
him.”

When the implication sank in, Ruth’s smile gradually faded. “Don’t you like him?”

“I like him a whole lot, but he doesn’t like me.”

“Nonsense.” Ruth laughed. “He’s been very good to you, Glory. What a thing for you to say. He’s been kind and considerate and most thoughtful of all our needs.”

“He doesn’t like me like he likes you, Ruth.”

“Nonsense.” Ruth picked up the round basin and emptied her bath water in the bushes.

“But you do like him, don’t you?”

“I don’t think that’s a proper thing for you to be asking.”

“Why not?”

“Well . . . because. Whom I like and whom I don’t like is a private matter. Besides, Mr. Wyatt has arranged for me to be a mail-order bride. Even if I were to find Mr. Lincoln attractive—”

“And you do?”

Ruth glanced away. “Even if I did, he isn’t free to return my sentiments.”

Glory couldn’t let it go. It was like a worrisome hangnail that just got worse with too much handling. “But you want him to like you as much as you like him.”

Ruth feigned indifference, but Glory knew better. “I can’t say that I don’t find Jackson a desirable man, not only in appearance but in various other ways.”

Glory nodded. She knew the other ways. Confident, self-assured, powerful—he attracted Ruth all right, and Ruth’s feelings amounted to more than like.

Ruth turned to face her. “Seems to me he’s rather partial to you. After all, he entrusted his family Bible to your care.”

That was true, he had. And it still was hard for Glory to believe.

Ruth consulted a small mirror on the back of the wagon. “Does that answer your question?”

Nodding, Glory studied the brush Ruth was pulling through her hair. The thick tresses were shiny and as black as coal. “You’re in love with him.”

Didn’t matter, really. Glory figured most every girl on the wagon trip was in love with him, except Harper, who didn’t like men, period.

“But he can’t return my affection, so it doesn’t matter,” Ruth repeated, her tone gentler now. “Now, if I’m not mistaken, I smell supper burning.”

“Yes, probably so.”

When Glory returned to the fire, Harper was stirring the bubbling concoction with a large wooden spoon. Her dark eyes surveyed the pot curiously. “Girl, what in the world is this?”

Moving her out of the way, Glory replied, “Never mind. You’re going to like it.”

And like it they did. Jackson ate four servings, and Glory noticed with considerable satisfaction that even Ruth went back for seconds. When Lily scraped the skillet clean, Glory thought she would burst with happiness. Maybe cooking wasn’t so bad after all.

The moon rose high over the campsite. After some time, however, the girls left the wagon, one by one, and ran toward the creek. Eventually, Jackson staggered from his bedroll and beat a path to the bushes. By dawn, the whole party was lying on the riverbank, gripping their stomachs.

“What did you put in that devil’s brew?” Harper moaned. She rolled to her side and heaved.

Lily, Patience, Ruth, and Mary wet towels and put them over their eyes.

Lying prostrate on the ground, Glory mustered enough strength to reply, “Just some beans . . . potatoes . . . chilies . . . and grease.”

Grease—lots of thick, heavy lard. Guess she must have gone a lot heavier on the grease than Poppy did. She’d never paid much attention to how much of each ingredient he’d used.

Lily doubled over, holding her stomach like something was about to fall right out of the middle. “Oh, mercy!” She moaned in agony. “In all my life I’ve never felt so close to death.”

Patience groaned. “We may all be in heaven before too long.”

“Except for those of us bound for the alternative!” Harper’s glassy eyes burned feverishly in her head.

Glory felt the ground spinning beneath her as she contin
ued to lie belly down. Oh no. They couldn’t all go to Heaven tonight and leave her! She’d been sicker than this before, though it was hard to remember exactly when, but she knew she was nowhere near dyin’. And what was that alternative thing Harper was talking about? Glory didn’t even know what the word meant.

She winced when she heard Jackson struggle to his feet and make another dash for the bushes.

Well, she thought, closing her eyes against a wave of nausea, if they were so fired up about teaching her to cook, they’d have to suffer the consequences.

Jackson wasn’t talking. No one was, and no one wanted breakfast, even though Ruth offered to cook it. They sat around the fire, wrapped in blankets, making periodic sprints into the brush. The whole incident cost a day of travel, and Jackson wasn’t too happy about it.

Glory wasn’t any happier, but the way she figured it, she could have killed them all—almost did. She’d lain there on the riverbank, holding Jackson’s worn black book and looking up at the sky, where she’d pleaded with someone to please not let Jackson die.

And while you’re at it, I’d sure appreciate it if you’d spare the other girls’ lives, too.

Someone had answered her prayer, and Glory was truly beholden to the source.

On the other hand, Jackson didn’t miss the chance to tell her that it would be a cold day in August before he ate
that
stuff again.

Chapter Nine

In the next couple of days, the party recovered enough to eat solid food again.

But Glory was anything but a quitter. For the next few weeks, she watched Harper’s cooking methods attentively, followed her directions as well as she could, and prepared a few dishes under Harper’s close scrutiny.

Glory was itching to try something on her own without the teacher’s continual criticism. The others were leery about what she fixed, giving her recipes a wary eye. For that reason, she’d decided not to ask Harper for help. This time she’d try a tasty treat that she
knew
was one of Jackson’s favorites: apple pie. If she couldn’t make a simple apple pie, then she was a plain disgrace to womanhood.

During the noon break, she’d walked the horses to the stream to water them. On the way back, she’d discovered a
wild apple tree. It had reminded her of the autumns she’d shared with Poppy. Early September had always brought golden days, crisp nights, and delicious apples. She’d filled her apron with ripe, tart fruit and hidden it in the wagon upon her return.

That evening as they set up camp Glory peeled, cored, and sliced the apples the way she’d seen Poppy do so many times. Now for the crust. Poppy had let her help with the apples, but he’d always fixed the shell himself. Said it was easier to do himself than to teach someone how. Claimed you had to have a feel for it, an instinct that told you when to add more water, when to add more flour, when to let it rest, how to roll it out just so.

Glory shrugged. How hard could it be? Didn’t everyone say “simple as pie” when they thought something was easy? Poppy never measured ingredients, so neither would she. She began with a scoop of flour, a splash of water, a pinch of salt, and a generous handful of lard.

Everyone was busy setting up camp. Mary paused on her way to the stream, carrying dirty clothes to wash. She studied the mixture, brows arched. “What are you making?”