Page 42 of Wagon Train Redemption
This plan had its flaws. But she didn’t see any way around it without putting her future at risk.
Ten
The wagon train moved out, and Carson joined Angela at the back of the entourage. He looked forward to resuming their talk of the four years he’d missed. Of course, he’d missed a whole lot more than that. Her first fourteen years as well.
“Can we talk about more than the time after I left home?” He watched for her reaction. Otherwise, he might have missed the way she sucked in air and pressed her lips together.
“I stayed at home with Father. Helped him garden and tend the animals. That’s about all.”
There was more. She hadn’t attended school. And from how she acted when she first came, she couldn’t have had much social contact outside of her father. And her mother before she died.
“How old were you when your mother passed?”
Again, a sharp intake of air and then stillness. She was silent so long he wondered if she meant to answer. Or was she lost in sad memories?
“I know how difficult it is to lose a parent.” His tone was pleading, full of sympathy.
Her eyes dimmed above her wobbly smile. “I know you do. We all miss your pa.”
Only the rattle of the wagons and the distant caw of a crow broke the silence as they padded along the trail.
Finally, she sucked in a breath. “You’re still waiting for an answer?”
“Is there some reason you can’t tell me? Just say so if there is, and I’ll let it drop.” Though not answering would raise even more questions.
“No reason except I find it hard to talk about. It was a difficult time.”
At the tightness of her words, he cringed over having started on this topic. But he couldn’t imagine any reason it should remain a secret. Though it could be that everyone knew the details except him. In that case, why was she so reluctant to tell him?
“I was eleven years old when my mama died.”
The quivering in her voice was his undoing. He caught her hand and squeezed it. “So young. It must have been hard.”
“More than you can imagine.”
Why the harsh tone? Death was hard, but it didn’t explain the way her eyes flashed almost suggesting anger.
“Something happened.” He was as sure of it as he was of the sun shining overhead. He stopped and pulled her to a halt as well. He studied her downturned face. Though losing one’s mother at that age was more than enough to cope with, especially when she had only her father left.
She tried to pry her hand free, but he held it tight. Her head slowly came up. The darkness in her expression sent a spasm through him. “I can’t talk about it.”
“Of course. I understand.” Except he didn’t. He’d grown up in a family where there were few, if any, secrets. Talking had always proven to be a balm. But she’d grown up in different circumstances, so he retained her hand as they resumedwalking. It was time to change the subject. “Watching Dobie and Cecil floating their wooden seacrafts reminded me of Pa.”
Her fingers began to relax.
“I’m sure he knew having Bertie around all the time made things difficult, so he would take me fishing and Bertie would stay with Ma. He taught me everything he knew about catching a fish. Many times we forgot about the rods, leaving them propped in the water, and we’d lay on the sandy shore and talk.” See, talk had always been a big part of his life.
“What kinds of things did you discuss?”
“Lots of things.”
“Can’t you remember anything in particular?”
He had to scramble to think of something specific. “What I recall mostly is how pleasant it was to be with Pa and to feel special. He’d tell me about growing up on a farm. About the calf he was given when he was six years old. He raised it, and it became their milk cow. I still remember how his words grew stiff as he said the cow had died after he and Ma married and moved to Manitoba.”
“Ahh.” Her fingers squeezed his. “What else?”
“Well, let’s see. Oh, wait. I know something else. He told me how his ma had taught him to pray at her knees. And how he’d prayed the Sinner’s Prayer there.”
