Glory (22 page)

He’d mutely implored her to shoot the animal, motioning toward the rifle and pretending to pull the trigger.

She’d motioned back, shaking her head.

He’d scowled. “Why not?” he’d mouthed.

“Can’t kill anything—you’ll get upset.” She grinned, hoping the Lord wasn’t watching.

His scowl had darkened. “Kill the skunk!” he’d mouthed, jabbing the air with his finger to emphasize his demand.

She’d slowly wagged her head, pantomiming someone choking her around the neck, and her falling to the ground, dead. She’d lain there, pretending to be out cold.

A vein had pulsed in his neck. “Stop playing around and kill the skunk!” he’d mouthed.

Shaking her head, she’d gotten up and walked on. She’d been in enough trouble for shooting out of turn, thank you.

Of course, that skunk would leave a powerful smell, one they’d all have to suffer with for a few days.

“Glory.”
The voice of conscience boomed in her head.

Heaving a sigh, she’d turned around and fired the gun in the air. The skunk bolted and ran for safety.

“I was only funnin’,” Glory explained. She glanced at Jackson and grinned, noticing he wasn’t laughing.

They passed fewer wagon trains now. When they reached the fork in the road, Jackson explained that most travelers chose the large Indian trail that crossed the main creek and took a northwest direction toward Pike’s Peak. Jackson said the longer one would be safer, but he preferred the less traveled road because it had more water and better grass along it. He believed that his route would cut off some miles. Glory and the others were in favor of the shorter route.

Jackson pulled his horse to a stop and raised his hand to halt the wagon. “We’ve been pressing hard, following this stream for days, but I believe this route could save us a week or more. So if you’d like, we can detour a couple of miles and follow the Indian trail where I can show you the mineral spring that gives the Fontaine qui Bouille Creek its name: The Fountain that Boils.”

“Yes!” came a chorus of feminine voices. The girls were
eager to take a break from the routine for a little sightseeing.

When they arrived, they hopped out of the wagon and scrambled over large ledges to see two springs bubbling up out of solid rock. Following Jackson’s example, they scooped up a handful of water to drink. Though strongly infused with salts, it was fun to taste.

Glory giggled as the tiny bubbles tickled her nose as she tried to sip. She glanced up to catch Jackson watching her. The warmth in his gaze was more exhilarating than the bubbles tickling her tongue.

As they doubled back to the fork in the road, Glory watched Jackson’s handsome form riding ahead of their wagon. Their little excursion to the springs was a memory she would treasure in her heart. She savored the look in Jackson’s eyes, his pleasure in her delight.

The following Sunday dawned disagreeably. The October wind was blowing hard, and it was bitter cold. Large flocks of snow geese flew overhead, getting a late start for warmer climates. The women wanted to observe the Sabbath today, but the incessant rain had slowed them. They decided to walk on, only not so far today. Tonight they would have services and go to sleep early.

Jackson was keeping an eye out for signs of early snow. The worsening weather made Glory think it couldn’t be far off.
Please, God,
she prayed as she walked ahead of the wagon, winding her scarf tighter around her neck,
Jackson said we needed three more weeks, that’s all. Three weeks, and we’ll be in Denver City. Can you please hold back the snow until then?

They passed herds of buffalo and antelope grazing in the fields. The wind whistled across the expansive valleys.

Late one afternoon, the wagon came upon a crossroads trading post. The adobe building crouched beneath a watery sun looked lonely to Glory. Not having seen a fellow explorer in days, the girls were eager to stop.

“All right, ladies.” Jackson steadied his mare as he brought her even with the wagon. “We’ll make a brief stop. The animals need water.” He glanced back at the road they’d traveled. “Be careful now. Keep your eyes out for trouble.”

“We will!”

“Thank you!”

The inside of the trading post was a wondrous delight. Glory’s eyes roamed the crowded room, and the sights fascinated her. Eight or nine male Indians sat around a large woodstove fashioning crafts. Some wove colorful baskets, others strung jewelry using glass beads, and still others worked with a reddish metal.

“Copper,” Ruth whispered over her shoulder. “Isn’t it lovely?”

A beautiful young woman moved from behind a counter to wait on them.
“Je t’aide?”

Glory and Ruth smiled, moving on down the aisle. “What did she say?” Glory whispered.

“I believe it’s French for ‘help.’ She wants to know if we need help.”

“She’s so pretty.”

Ruth nodded. “Like someone you’d see in a picture book.”

Turning ever so slightly, Glory checked to see if Jackson was in the building. She was relieved to see that he was busy outside watering the animals. Her eyes traveled back to the beautiful girl wearing a beaded dress sewn from buckskin. That was the kind of woman Jackson deserved: large dark eyes; waist-length, raven black hair; a body slender and strong.

When Jackson came into the post, the girls had browsed through most of the merchandise. Everything was so pretty Glory couldn’t decide what she liked the most. Lily and Patience made a game out it, going through the rings and bracelets like excited children. Mary chose a shiny bracelet made from red beads and an eagle feather. Lily decided on a copper bracelet that fit around her tiny wrist. Patience liked the beadwork and chose a necklace. Harper favored the woven blankets, sorting through the colorful patterns several times before deciding on a favorite. Ruth fell in love with the pottery: vases and containers painted the colors of the desert.

Glory loved everything. Beads, bracelets, pottery, and blankets—it was impossible to choose a favorite, but she relished the game, thinking how wonderful it was to simply be in such a grand store.

“Do you like it?”

Glory jumped when she felt Jackson’s warm breath on her cheek. He stood looking over her shoulder, staring at the beaded mirror she was admiring.

“It’s very pretty.” She’d never taken a close look at herself in a real mirror. The image had surprised her. She had freckles across her nose, and her eyes sparkled like dew on a frosty morning.

“Then it’s yours.”

“Oh no!” She whirled, thrusting the mirror at him. “I couldn’t spend money on that.”

He grinned at her, his eyes softer than she’d seen them lately. “I’m buying it for you. A pretty girl should have a mirror to look at herself.” Turning to the other girls, he called, “Pick out one gift apiece, girls. My treat.”

The male Indians winced as the girls’ squeals of delight filled the adobe.

“Are you sure, Jackson?” Ruth asked. “This is so generous of you. . . .”

“I have nothing better to spend my money on than beautiful women. Pick anything you want—just don’t break the bank.” He winked at Glory. “Especially you.”

Glory felt a blush color her cheeks. She didn’t know how to take his teasing, but she liked it, liked it a lot. And he was doing it more often lately. The lovely clerk behind the counter smiled, coming over to help the girls make their selections.

Glory had never had a more exciting time. Why, it felt like Christmas when Poppy would put an orange and a peppermint stick in her stocking hung by the stove! The clerk wrapped the gifts in soft cloth for the girls.

When the wagon pulled away from the trading post half
an hour later, Lily held her wrist aloft, admiring her new copper bracelet; Patience preened in her beaded necklace. Harper had a red-, blue-, and black-striped blanket on her lap while she ooohed over Mary’s shiny beaded bracelet with the eagle feather. Ruth happily sat on the seat beside Jackson, cradling a large pottery vase painted like the desert.

Glory, too excited to sit still, walked behind the wagon, staring at herself in her new mirror.

All in all, it had been the best day of the journey, maybe the best day in her whole life. Certainly one she wouldn’t soon forget.

Days later, Mary’s condition took a turn for the worse; her deep, racking coughs echoed as the wagon lumbered between boulders. Her coughs were sometimes as painful to hear as they must have been to experience. Walking beside the wagon, Glory found herself wishing that she could accept Mary’s affliction for a few days so the poor girl would have a chance to rest and regain her strength.

Jackson rode past Glory without looking at her as he headed to the rear of the wagon. She turned her head to watch him canter by. He’d been circling the wagon for the past few hours.

“Whew,” Glory muttered, waving her hand in front of her face, “as if we don’t have enough dust flying, he keeps it stirred up. Mighty antsy today.” She wondered what was bothering him and then figured it must be his concern
for Mary as the girl fell into another fit of shuddering coughs.

Glory decided to spell Patience, who was caring for Mary today, and turned to walk to the back of the wagon. She was ready to climb inside when she spotted three riders down the road about a quarter mile. Surprised to see anyone out in the middle of nowhere, she raised her hand to shade her eyes and squinted through the dust. Three dark silhouettes loomed on the horizon.

“Hey, no gawking,” Jackson warned as he brushed by her on his mare. “You’re falling behind. Get in the wagon.”

“Look!” Glory pointed at the riders.

“I know,” Jackson said gruffly. “Been following in plain sight for two hours. Get in that wagon. Now.”

Glory reluctantly complied. Grabbing on, she swung over the tailgate. Once inside, she stared at the three figures who sat astride spotted horses. The horses walked steadily, keeping pace with the wagon.

At first she wondered if one of them might be Amos. She dismissed that notion quickly. None of the figures was large enough to be Amos, and to her knowledge, Amos had never ridden this far in his whole life.

As the prairie schooner topped a rise, Glory could see above the dust cloud and realized the figures were actually Indian braves. At that moment, she heard Jackson call to Ruth, his signal that it was time to pull off for the noon break.

When Ruth reined the oxen team to a halt near a stand of towering pines, Jackson pulled his mare up behind the
wagon. “Glory, change out the teams now. I want fresh mules harnessed and ready to go.”

Usually Glory swapped the teams at the end of their break, not the beginning. Her gaze shifted to the riders, who had stopped for a moment on the rutted trail, watching them. Without his saying it, she figured Jackson wanted to be ready to make a run for it if necessary.

“Who are they?” Glory asked as she dropped the tailgate and scrambled down.

“Shh,” Jackson replied, shaking his head. “Ladies, we’re taking a shorter break than usual. Just get out the leftover biscuits and what’s left of the water.”

Ruth joined Jackson at the back of the wagon. “I see them,” she said evenly, keeping her eye on the three figures on the road. “But we’re going to have to get Mary out of that stuffy wagon and into the shade for some fresh air, and we have to heat some water for her tea.”

“Okay,” Jackson conceded, “let’s make it snappy.”

He dismounted, tied his mare to the wagon, and pulled his rifle out of the scabbard. Handing the Winchester to Ruth without a word, he climbed into the wagon. “Okay, ladies, time for a short break.” He scooped Mary into his arms and carried her to a tall pine, where he gently settled her against the trunk.

The girls climbed out, squinting in the noonday sun, moving to their chores. Lily had gathered an armload of firewood when she glanced up to see the visitors. The sticks tumbled from her arms. “Who’s that?” she cried in shocked dismay.

“Indians,” Glory replied matter-of-factly, pausing with a towering red mule standing on either side of her.

“Indians!” Lily exclaimed, her jaw slack. Even Harper looked worried.

“Are they going to scalp us?” Patience whispered, her hands flying to the thick blonde bun coiled at the nape of her neck.