Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3) (7 page)

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pleased at the progress made. They were right on schedule. His first concern was the large river that would soon need to be crossed; if conditions remained as they were, they would reach the ford in four days' time. He was sure that the river would be down, making the crossing an easy one. Heavy rains were the only obstacle that would sometimes hamper the crossing, Mr. Blake said, and they had been particularly blessed with sunny, clear days. Once across the Big River, as it was called by the local Indians, they were well on their way.

Everyone seemed to rejoice at Mr. Blake's news, but deep down inside, Missie knew that she did not. Within her was a secret wish that the river would not be fordable and that Willie would decide to turn around and go back home.

Willie did not share her wish. At the wagon master's encouraging announcement, he had cheered as loudly as any of the travelers. Only a few of the womenfolk had remained silent; Missie, Becky, Sissie Collins and Tillie Crane were among them.

Missie was quiet on the way back to the wagon, but Willie was too excited to notice.

"Jest think," he enthused, "only four more days an' we cross the Big River, an' then--then we'll
really
start to roll!"

Missie nodded and tried to coax forth a smile for Willie's sake.

"Are ya still worryin"bout Becky?" Willie queried, seeking some reason for Missie's restraint.

"Sorta," Missie responded, feeling that the answer was both safe and, in a measure, truthful.

"But there's something else, too--isn't there? I've been feelin' it fer a long time. Aren't ya feelin' well, Missie?"

It was asked with such concern that Missie knew somehow she must attempt to put Willie's mind at ease. This wasn't the way that she would have chosen to break the news to Willie. She had pictured the closeness of their shared bed, or the intimacy of their own fireside; and here they were walking over a rutted, dusty path, with people before, behind and beside them. There seemed almost no way for her to speak low enough so that she wouldn't be heard by others. Yet she knew that she must speak. "I been wantin' to tell you, but the time never seemed right,"

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she said quietly. She took a long breath. "Willie--we're gonna have a baby, too."

Willie stopped walking and reached for Missie. His face was very sober.

"Ya aren't joshin'?"

"No, Willie."

"An' yer sure?"

"Quite sure."

Willie stood silently for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm not sure thet wagon-trainin' an' babies go together."

For a brief minute Missie hoped that maybe this would give Willie a reason to head for home, but she quickly pushed the selfish thought from her and managed a smile.

"Oh, Willie, don't fuss. We'll be in our own place long before our baby ever arrives."

"Ya sure?"

"Of course. How long you think we're gonna be on this trail, anyway?"

The look on Willie's face suddenly changed and he let out a whoop. Missie reached out to hush him before he shouted his news to the whole wagon train. Willie stopped whooping and hugged Missie tightly. Relief flooded over her. He was excited about it--there was no doubting it.

Suddenly Missie wanted to cry. She wasn't sure why, but it was such a joy to tell her news to Willie, to see his exuberance and to feel his strong arms about her. She had been wrong to withhold it from him. A great wave of love for Willie washed over her; at the moment she would have gone to the end of the earth with him if he had wanted her to.

They laughed and cried together as Willie held her in his arms and kissed her forehead and her hair. Their fellow travelers had passed on by them and returned to their campfires.

When Willie could speak again, he stumbled over his words, trying to say so much, all at one time.

"So this is why ya haven't been yerself. We gotta take better care of ya. Ya need more rest an' a better diet. I'll have to git fresh meat oftener. Ya shouldn't be doin' so much. Ya'll overdo. I was so scared, Missie, thet maybe you'd changed yer mind, thet

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ya didn't want to go out West--or thet maybe ya didn't even love me anymore--or thet ya had some bad sickness--or--oh, I was scared. I jest prayed an' prayed an' here--here. . . ."

Missie had not realized what her long days of listlessness and homesickness had put Willie through. She must not hold back from him again.

"I'm sorry, Willie," she whispered, "I didn't know that you were feelin'--were thinkin' all those things. I'm sorry."

"Not yer fault. Not yer fault at all. I'm jest so relieved, thet's all. Still sorry thet yer not feelin' well--but we'll take care of ya. After all, it be fer a
very
good reason!"

"I'm glad that you're happy--" but Missie didn't get a chance to finish her sentence. Willie stopped her as he drew her close.

"Everything is gonna be fine now, Missie. Ya should be feelin' better soon. We'll have a chat with Mrs. Kosensky. We'll make sure thet ya git lots of rest. An' 'fore ya know it, you'll be fine, jest fine."

"Willie? Willie, there's somethin' else, too. True, I've been feelin' a mite down. But I think the true reason for me--myah-- well, the way I feel is--just lonesomeness, Willie. Just lonesomeness for Mama an' Pa an'. . . ." Missie could not continue. The tears ran freely.

Willie pulled her close against him. He stroked her hair and gently wiped the tears from her cheek.

"Why didn't ya tell me, Missie?" he said at last. "I woulda' understood. I been missing those left behind, too. Maybe I couldn't have eased yer sorrow none, Missie, but I'd a shared it with ya." He tipped her face and gently kissed her. "I love ya, Missie."

Why had she been so foolish? Why had she hugged her hurt to herself, thinking that Willie would not understand or care? She should have told him long ago and accepted the comfort of his arms. Missie clung to him now and cried until her tears were all spent. Surely there was some healing in shared heartache, in cleansing tears. At length she was able to look up at Willie and smile again.

Willie kissed her on the nose and gave her another squeeze.

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"Hey," he said suddenly, "we gotta git this little mama off to bed. No more late nights fer you, Missus. An' not quite so much walkin' an' doin', either."

"Oh, Willie," protested Missie, "the walkin' is a heap easier for me than that bumpy ol' wagon."

"Ya reckon so?"

"I reckon so. It's not exactly a high-springed buggy, you know."

Willie chuckled as he led Missie carefully across the clearing to their wagon.

"Mind yer step, now," he said earnestly as he boosted her up.

"Oh, Willie," Missie laughed in exasperation. But she knew that she was in for a lot of babying in the future. Well, maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he just wouldn't overdo it. She smiled to herself and ducked to enter through their canvas doorway.

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Chapter 8

Rain

The next morning Willie was still in his state of happiness as he awoke to begin a new day.

He pulled his gray, woolen shirt over his head and did up the buttons from waist to neck, then tucked it into his coarse denim pants. He promised himself that if the day again got too hot, he'd change the shirt for a cotton one. He raised his suspenders and eased them over his shoulders, snapping them into place. At the entrance to the wagon he stopped and pulled on his calf-high leather boots. As he shrugged his way out of the canvas doorway and headed out to get the team ready for the day's journey, he went with an even jauntier step and cheerier whistle than usual. Missie knew that he was pleased about the coming baby. She also knew that he was thinking,
four more days to the Big River!
To Missie, it meant four more days to the point of no return.

She tried to shake off the melancholy for Willie's sake and went about her morning chores with a determined cheerfulness. Today, if she had the opportunity, she
might
reveal the good news of her coming baby to Becky. They could plan together.

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Willie stopped the team often that morning to give Missie breaks for walking--and then to check that she hadn't already walked far enough. She humored him by walking for awhile and then welcoming a ride when he suggested it. She actually could have walked for almost the entire morning. The walking bothered her less each day, but there was no use worrying Willie.

In the afternoon, dark storm clouds appeared and the whole wagon train seemed to be holding its breath in unison. It was soon apparent that this storm would not pass over with just a shower. Still, the team drivers and their apprehensive womenfolk entertained the hope that the rain would not last for long. The animals seemed to sense the approaching storm too, and by the time the thunder and lightning commenced, they were already tense.

The rain came lightly at first. The women and children scrambled for cover, but the men wrapped themselves in canvas slickers and drove on through the storm.

As the day wore on, the intensity of the storm increased. The dark clouds overhead seemed angry and invective as they poured down their waters from a sodden sky. Soon the teams were straining to pull the heavy, high-wheeled wagons through the deepening mud. Those fortunate enough to have extra horses or oxen hitched them also to their vehicles.

The wagon train guides ranged back and forth, watching for trouble along the trail. It came all too soon. One of the lead wagons slid while going down a slippery, steep slope and bounced a wheel against a large rock. The wooden spokes snapped with a sickening sharpness. The wagon lurched and heaved but did not tip over. Mr. Calley somehow kept the startled horses from bolting.

The teams following had to maneuver around the crippled wagon, slipping and sliding their way down the rocky hill and onto even ground. As soon as the last wagon was safely down the badly rutted hillside, Mr. Blake ordered a halt. They should have done many more miles of traveling before stopping, but it was useless to try to go on. The Big River would have to wait.

The wagons gathered into their familiar circular formation and the teams were unhitched. Some of the men went back up

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the hill to help the unfortunate Calley family. Their wagon could not be moved until the broken wheel was mended. The men labored in the cold rain, trying to raise the corner of the wagon piling rocks and pieces of timber underneath to level it. The Calleys would have to spend the night in it, in spite of its location.

While Willie and Henry were gone, Missie wrapped a heavy shawl tightly about her and went in search of firewood. The other ladies and children were seeking dry material for their fires as well, and there was very little to be found. Missie felt cold and muddy and cross as she scrambled for bits and pieces of anything that she thought might burn. At one point she heard a commotion and then a hoarse voice shouting, "You tell Jessie Tuttle thet once a body is headin' fer a stick of firewood, thet body is entitled to it." Missie smiled in spite of herself. They were at it again!

Only Mrs. Schmidt did not have to join the searchers. Her ever-abundant supply of dry wood was unloaded from under the wagon seat. Missie wondered why she hadn't had the presence of mind to plan ahead as well.

Missie finally had what she hoped would be enough to cook a hot meal, then sloshed her way back through the wetness to her wagon. The fire was reluctant, at best, but Missie finally coaxed a flame to life. It sputtered and spit and threatened to go out, but Missie encouraged it on. The coffee never did boil, but the reheated stew was at least warm, and the near-hot coffee was welcome to shivering bodies.

Missie cleaned up in a quick, half-hearted manner, with Willie's help, and they crawled into their canvas home to get out of their wet clothing and into something warm and dry. It was far too early to go to bed, even though the day had been a strenuous one. Willie lit a lamp and settled down beside it to bring his journal up-to-date. Missie picked up her knitting, but her fingers were still too cold to work effectively. At length she gave up and pulled a blanket around herself for warmth. Willie stirred, noticed her shivering, and started fretting again.

"Ya chilled? Ya'd best git right into thet bed--don't want ya pickin' up a cold. Here, let me help ya. I'll go see what I can find for a warm stone fer yer feet." He bundled Missie up, right to the chin and reached for his coat.

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"Don't go back out in the rain--please, Willie. My feet aren't that cold. They'll be warm in no time. I'll just slip on a pair of your woolen socks." And Missie did so immediately so that Willie could see that she meant what she said.

It was too early to go to sleep, Missie knew. She also knew that it was unwise to protest being tucked in, so she snuggled under the blanket and gradually the chill began to leave her bones. She even began to feel drowsy.

Willie finished his journal entries and picked up a leather- covered edition of
Pilgrim's Progress
which had been a wedding gift from Missie's school children. Missie murmured, "Iffen you don't mind, would you read aloud?"

Willie read and the long evening somehow passed by.

The rain continued to fall, splattering against the canvas of the wagon. Before laying himself down to sleep, Willie checked carefully all around the inside of their small dwelling to make sure that there were no leaks. He then crawled in beside Missie and pulled the warm covers close about himself. In a very few minutes Missie knew by his breathing that he slept. She wished that she could fall asleep as easily, but she instead lay and listened to the rain. Again her thoughts turned to home.

She used to love to listen to the rain pattering on the window as she snuggled down beneath the warm quilt her mama had made. The rain had always seemed friendly then, but somehow tonight it did not seem to be a friend at all. She shivered and moved closer to Willie. She was thankful for his nearness and his warmth.