Wagon Train Reunion. Linda Ford
Cavanaugh pounded his fist on the table. “Seems to me you’re inclined to be a little hotheaded.”
Ben would sure like to know that boy’s name for future reference.
Apparently Mr. Cavanaugh did, too. “Son, what’s your name?”
The boy hesitated. His father stepped forward. “This here is Arty Jones, my son. I’m his father, Ernie. I say without a reliable witness, it’s jest my word ’gainst his.” He jerked his thumb toward Ben.
“I consider myself a reliable witness.”
Ben jerked about to see who spoke. Mr. Bingham and beside him, Abigail.
“Step forward.” Mr. Cavanaugh signaled them. “What did you see?”
Mr. Bingham kept Abby at his side as he pushed through the crowd. “I saw these young youths shooting wildly, as did my daughter. A couple of times I noted how they didn’t always make sure the barrel pointed skyward before they fired. I was about to say something when the baby screamed. I saw him shot. As did my daughter.”
Abigail nodded.
Ben stared. In his wildest dreams he’d never expected a Bingham to stand up for him. Yes, this was for the safety of all concerned, but still.
Mr. Cavanaugh turned to consult the other members of the committee, then nodded. “It is our decision that for the safety and peace of mind of all of us these pistols will be held in safekeeping until we are on the trail.” He gathered the guns, pushed to his feet and headed toward his wagon.
“Thank you for speaking up.” Ben spoke to Mr. Bingham, but his gaze darted to Abigail. Had she meant to defend him or was she only doing her duty? As if he needed to ask.
“It was clearly my duty,” Mr. Bingham said, and Abigail nodded answering his question.
They left to return to their wagon and he did the same.
Rachel and Emma jumped to their feet at his approach.
“What did they decide?” Rachel asked.
“There was some concern that I hadn’t actually seen the young fellas shoot the baby.”
“They called you a liar?” Rachel rolled up her fists and looked ready to defend her brother’s honor.
As usual, Ben found her attitude amusing and a little worrisome. He’d told her over and over that she must let him deal with his own problems. And warned her she shouldn’t be so ready to interfere in a situation.
“Mr. Bingham stepped forward and said he’d seen the whole thing. They accepted his word.”
Rachel’s mouth fell open. Emma stared. She was the first to recover her voice. “Mr. Bingham spoke up in your defense? What a surprise.”
Ben shrugged. “He was only doing his duty out of concern for safety in the camp.”
Emma nodded, her expression smoothed.
Rachel studied him for a long, silent moment. “Then why do you look so flummoxed?”
“I don’t.” Except he still couldn’t believe Mr. Bingham had spoken up on his behalf. With Abigail at his side.
But Rachel had her mind stuck on the topic and wouldn’t let it go unless he could divert her.
“The committee decided we will pull out first thing tomorrow. Those with cattle will go in one party. The rest of us will travel in another.”
“We’ll be ready,” Emma assured him, and immediately started to gather up odds and ends of kitchenware.
Rachel did not back down. “I wish the Binghams weren’t traveling with us.”
Ben lifted a hand in a dismissive gesture hoping Rachel would see how little it mattered. “I don’t see what difference it makes.”
“I remember when she dropped you,” Rachel said. “I saw how upset you were. I wanted to help.”
“I survived and am stronger for it. Besides, you were only thirteen.”
“And now I’m nineteen and I’m still not old enough to watch my brother get hurt.”
He shrugged. “Your big brother is quite capable of taking care of himself.” If Rachel took it in her head to fuss about this on a regular basis she would make it impossible for him to pretend the Binghams weren’t traveling with them. His stomach ached at the possibility.
“I hope so.”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I got over Abby years ago. I won’t give her the chance to hurt me again.” She was merely one of almost a thousand travelers, not anyone who would earn special attention from him. “All I care about is getting us safely to Oregon.” He jammed his fingers into his trousers pockets. He would not fail. Not in any of his responsibilities.
The next morning, he discovered how challenging his responsibilities could be. Trying to get these emigrants organized and on their way was like trying to hold water in a sieve.
A man couldn’t find one of his oxen and accused his neighbor of stealing it. Ben directed the angry man to search among the many loose cattle until he found his own.
A woman wrung her hands because her five-year-old son had disappeared. “I’ll never find him in this bedlam,” she wailed.
They were near the Bingham wagon and Abigail hurried over to see if she could help.
“What’s his name and what does he look like?” she asked.
The woman stammered out a reply.
“I’ll find him,” Abby said to Ben. “You get on with your work.” Without giving him a chance to say yay or nay, she started down the line of wagons, calling the child’s name and asking if anyone had seen him.
He couldn’t think if he appreciated her help or resented being ordered about by her. But he didn’t have time to decide.
Mr. Bingham struggled with his oxen and Ben assisted him and gave him a few instructions on handling the animals. Mrs. Bingham sat on an upright chair inside the wagon. She wouldn’t last long on that perch, but she would not look kindly at advice from him. He decided against suggesting she find a different place to sit.
He checked on the Littletons. “How is Johnny?”
Mrs. Littleton washed dishes with the baby on her hip. “He’s fussy. Won’t let me put him down.”
“I expect he’s frightened.”
“My poor baby.”
Ben was about to move on when Abby returned leading the missing child and turned him over to his mother who smothered him in kisses, then scolded him for running off.
Abby chuckled. Her gaze lifted to Ben’s, her hazel eyes piercing right through his defenses.
How often in the past had her gaze done this to him? There was a time he welcomed it. No more. He wasn’t good enough for her six years ago and nothing about his station in life had changed for the better.
He turned his attention back to his duties.
“The bank’s been robbed!” A young man rode through the crowd shouting, “Fifteen thousand dollars missing from the new safe.”
Men crowded around the rider. “Anyone hurt?”
“Did they find the thief?”
“Did he come this direction?” When the answers were no, the people were relieved to know the robbery would not involve them and returned to preparing for the journey.
The noise swelled with laughter, cries and shouts. Dust rose from the trampled ground. The smell of animals and woodsmoke tinged the air.
Mrs. Bingham had been riffling through a box of things at the back of the wagon.