A Hero's Heart (8 page)

Becky’s eyebrows rose. “I would have thought he’d want to spend the morning in his wife’s arms.”

“Unfortunately, time didn’t permit that,” Rachel lied.

Becky watched Rachel swirl the diapers, her mouth pinched tightly. Finally she asked, “So how was it, sister dear?”

The blood pounded in Rachel’s veins, rushing to her face. Appalled, Rachel replied, “That is none of your business.”

Becky laughed shrilly, a wicked smile on her beautiful face. “Maybe so. But I still wonder why my pious sister would marry such a wicked man.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, “Does he possess some hidden charm that makes you lose all control?”

Rachel’s face flamed in embarrassment. “That is also none of your business.”

Becky scoffed. “The real question is why in the world would a man like Wade want to marry you? You’re an old maid, and he’s the most virile thing we’ve seen east of the Mississippi.”

Rachel gripped the wash stick fiercely in her hands. “I don’t have time to listen to you criticize me.”

“I’m trying to help you, Rachel. The man is using you.”

If she hadn’t been so angry, Rachel would have laughed, since Becky had the situation backwards. She was using Wade. Using him to reach Oregon.

“No matter what he says, he doesn’t love you Rachel.”

“Leave it be, Becky,” she warned.

It didn’t matter that Wade didn’t love her. That she knew and accepted. But she was tired of being told how homely, colorless and dull she looked. And now, like a pot over the campfire, she was close to boiling over.

She stirred the diapers, trying to soothe her wounded pride, trying to ignore Becky’s spiteful remarks, wondering when her sister had become so hateful. With the wooden wash stick, she pulled up another wet diaper.

“He’s probably in town right now saying good-bye to one of his whores,” Becky jabbed.

The words reminded Rachel of the scantily-dressed woman standing next to Wade the night she’d asked him to marry her. The memory cracked Rachel’s resolve to remain calm. As with a teapot, her pressure reached the boiling point, but instead of whistling, she watched her hand pick up the sopping diaper from her paddle, and with a flick of the wrist, send it flying through the air.

With a smack, it hit Becky’s face.

Becky squealed, her voice full of outrage, as she peeled the dripping cloth from her nose and mouth. “A diaper! You hit me with a diaper!”

Rachel was almost as shocked as Becky. Never before had she reacted so quickly without thinking.

“I have tolerated your sharp tongue and your hateful remarks for the last time,” Rachel stated her voice shaking with anger.

“Just look at me! You ruined my dress, my hair.” Becky dropped the diaper in the dirt as if the clean cloth would give her leprosy. Disbelief radiated from her blue eyes. “What is the matter with you? Has Papa’s death driven you crazy?”

“Of course not! But I will no longer tolerate your viciousness to myself or anyone else. Grow up, Rebecca. We’re on our own now!”

Becky gazed at Rachel as if she’d lost her mental capacities. “Since Papa died, you’ve changed.”

“I didn’t have much choice,” Rachel replied, annoyed. “Someone had to take care of us.”

As Becky stood beside the wagon, tears welled up in her eyes. “I miss Papa. I want to go home.” Tears ran down her already wet face. Her spun-gold hair hung in shambles.

A long, pent-up sigh escaped Rachel. “I wish Papa were here, too, but he’s not.”

“Why do we have to go on? Why can’t we go back? With Papa dead, there’s no reason to continue,” Becky whined.

“My husband is going to Oregon.” Rachel said the words quietly, but their effect was evident.

Becky’s sobs quieted, turning into soft hiccups. With the back of her hand, she swiped her tears away. “Nobody cares about what I want.”

“It was Papa’s will that we continue on to Oregon,” Rachel said.

“No, Rachel. It was your will. You didn’t have to marry Wade. We could have gone home.”

Rachel picked up a wet diaper and wrung the water from it, twisting it into a tight rope. “We’re going on to Oregon, Becky.”

Becky sniffed loudly. “Speaking of the devil, here he comes.” She picked up her sodden skirts and stalked off, her shoulders squared, her head held high as she marched to the tent.

Rachel glanced up from her laundry. Wade ambled across the prairie, his horses trailing him, Mr. Jordan beside him. She couldn’t contain the smile of relief.

The corners of Wade’s mouth lifted in greeting.

Rachel went forward, wiping her hands on her apron. “Hello, Mr. Jordan.”

The man cleared his throat, obviously nervous. “Miss Cooke. I’m sorry. Its Mrs. Ketchum now, isn’t it?”

“That’s all right. I’m not used to being called Mrs. Ketchum quite yet either.”

“Frank wanted to come by and talk to you, Rachel,” Wade announced. “He wanted to ask you if we were really married.”

The man stammered in obvious embarrassment. “That’s not exactly why I came by, Mrs. Ketchum.”

“It’s okay, Mr. Jordan” Rachel pointed back to the wagon, hoping he wouldn’t call her bluff. “I can get you the certificate if you’d like?”

“No. That’s not necessary. I mainly wanted to stop by and say congratulations. And let you know the wagons leave at daylight. You folks will need to pull in as soon as possible.”

“Frank, you wouldn’t know of anyone interested in buying an organ would you?” Wade asked.

Rachel cut in before Frank could answer. “The organ is not for sale.”

The man glanced from Wade to Rachel. “Ma’am, you’re not thinking of pulling that organ across the mountains, are you? I’m surprised you’ve made it this far with that heavy thing.”

“That organ was my mother’s. I will take it across the Divide, even if I have to leave behind every ounce of food we have,” Rachel said with determination.

“Ma’am, I’m advising everyone to lighten their wagons as much as possible. From here on, the trail gets rough. We’ll cross Laramie Peak in the next few days.”

“I understand but, I need that organ and those Bibles for a church in The Dalles.”

“If your oxen die, that organ and those Bibles won’t do you a bit of good,” Frank warned.

“I’ll not leave the organ or Bibles behind.”

Wade shook his head. “Our first day of married life, and already my wife is more stubborn than any mule I’ve ever owned.”

Mr. Jordan smiled in understanding.

“Rachel, you can take the organ and the Bibles, but the first time we get stuck or the oxen are overworked, we leave everything,” Wade said, flatly.

“I disagree, Mr. Ketchum. People are waiting for those Bibles in Oregon. And that organ will bring lots of joy during the long winter months.”

Wade sighed, a sound of frustration if ever Rachel had heard one.

“Sweetheart, my horses are not pack animals, and I won’t walk the rest of the way to Oregon. If the wagon gets bogged down, the cargo is gone.”

“Well, at least you’re not throwing them out yet,” Rachel answered.

The wagon-train master shook his head. “You folks are going to be dumping that stuff further up the trail. I guarantee it.”

“You’re probably right, but at least I’ve tried to make my little bride happy,” Wade said with a wink.

Rachel resisted the urge to throw a wet diaper at Wade.

“I’ll see you folks in the morning,” Frank said as he walked out of their camp, toward his own wagon.

Rachel ignored Wade and went back to wringing diapers and hanging them on the wagon. She could feel his eyes on her, watching her every movement, yet she resisted the magnetic pull.

Wade strolled over, his thumbs hooked in his belt. He stopped mere inches from her, and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. He stood so close she could smell his musky scent, feel his breath upon her face.

His fingers felt rough as he brushed a stray lock of hair back from her jaw. Bewitching emerald eyes sparkled with amusement. “Sleep well last night, Mrs. Ketchum?”

“Like a lamb,” she lied.

He laughed. “Lambs need protection from big bad wolves.” His fingers lifted her chin even higher. “I’ll be sure to sleep close by your side tonight, to protect you.”

Before Rachel could reply, his lips brushed hers in a gentle kiss that left her aching for more. When he broke away, she took a deep breath, gasping for air.

Rachel stared dumbly after him, as he strolled off. If this was how seduction felt, how in the world was she ever going to resist?

* * *

For the next two weeks, they followed the Platte River, the trail ascending slowly as they traveled parallel to the Laramie Mountains.

Time seemed to pass in a blur of sunrises and sunsets. Three weeks had passed since the Indian attack. Three weeks since her father’s death. A mere two weeks since she and Wade had agreed to their ‘pretend marriage.’ During which she had seen little of her husband. It seemed he was always busy taking first or second watch.

The wagon jostled a sleepy Rachel on the seat beside Becky.

“Yah! Get a move on,” Becky yelled to the oxen.

Rachel opened her heavy eyelids and noticed they’d stopped in the knee-deep water of a shallow stream. The oxen bellowed in fright as Becky snapped the whip, cracking it across their backs.

“Get on, Elmo,” she called to the lead ox. The wagon swayed from the animals’ efforts, but the wheels didn’t budge.

The huge beasts strained, the wagon rocked, its wheels sinking deeper in the mud. With rising alarm, Rachel knew her worst fears were about to be realized.

Wade had promised the first time this happened he would leave the organ and Bibles behind. Panicked, she started unlacing her boots as quick as her nimble fingers would unhook the lacings.

Becky glanced at her in shock. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to help them,” Rachel replied as she slid over the side of the wagon, trying to hold her skirt up with one hand. The water came almost to her knees, the muddy stream swirling from the oxen’s efforts.

The slippery ooze squished between her toes, as she crept to the back of the wagon. The rocking chair was tied to the feed trough, which Rachel leaned against.

“Now, Becky. Get the oxen moving now.”

At Becky’s command, the animals strained and pulled at their yoke. Rachel pushed with all her strength, but the wagon only rocked back and forth.

Toby sloshed through the water to Rachel’s side and put his back against the wagon. Together, the two of them shoved, but the wagon only sank deeper.

Rachel let her skirt drop and reached into the swirling water, to feel for the wheel. With her bare hands, she tried digging the wagon wheel free—anything to keep Wade from finding them in this dilemma.

Scooping the mud away from the wheel, she yelled to Becky. “Try again.”

Becky snapped the whip. “Get on, Elmo.”

“Push, Toby, push!” Rachel cried. The two of them strained while Becky called to the oxen.

The sound of a horse splashing through the creek sent Rachel’s heart plummeting. Instinctively she knew the rider was Wade and refused to acknowledge him.

“Having trouble, Mrs. Ketchum?” His mocking voice sent a chill up her spine.

Rachel glanced up to see Wade sitting astride his sorrel mare, his green eyes twinkling with I-told-you-so amusement.

“No. We’re just trying to get the wagon out of a little hole it sank into.”

Wade laughed. “Admit it, Rachel. You’re stuck.”

“I’m not stuck,” she denied.

“Okay, you’re not stuck. Your wagon is.”

Rachel stood up and sighed. Her voice heavy with resignation, she admitted, “Just a little. But I think we can get it free.”

Sliding off his horse into the stream beside her, Wade reached down and pulled her upright to face him. Gently, he wiped a spot of mud off her cheek.

Rachel took a deep breath, trying to control the butterflies that took flight in her lower body.

“Move over and let me help,” he said as he nudged her aside. He called to Becky, “Okay, give’em the signal.”

“Giddyap,” Becky yelled.

Wade put his shoulder to one side of the wagon, and Toby took the opposite side. Rachel slogged through the water to combine her weight with Toby’s. Together, the three of them pushed the wagon forward until the back wheels rocked fruitlessly.

Finally, Wade yelled, “Stop. We’re only sinking deeper.”

He stood up, pulled his hat off, and wiped the back of his arm across his slick forehead. The muscles beneath his shirt rippled with the movement and Rachel swallowed the knot building in her throat.

He gazed at her, his expression serious. “You know what’s next, Rachel.”

“No. Wade, please. Let’s try again,” she pleaded.

“I told you the first time the wagon got stuck, the organ was gone.”

“No!” Rachel cried. “Not my organ, Wade. Let me go through the trunks. I’ll get rid of some of the household goods before I’ll let my organ go.”