Page 72 of A Rugged Beauty
She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the edges of a piece of folded paper inside. She brought it out, needing the comfort from her brother's letter. She'd found it tucked in one of the books Evangeline had lent her, still in Abigail's wagon. The letter was one of the only things of Abigail's that hadn't been destroyed or lost when the twister had decimated the wagon she and Felicity had shared at that time.
She unfolded it and ran her fingers over the artful script. Her brother had always had an affinity for learning. She could remember him sitting at the table in mama's work kitchen, practicing his letters.
Longing gripped her. When would she see her beloved brother? Surely his presence would provide the stability she had been aching for since her boss’s betrayal.
Hollis strode across the expanse between the fort and wagons. Alone.
The set of the wagonmaster's shoulders radiated tension. Abigail's stomach knotted as she waited for his approach.
He took the dipper from her and paused in the wagon's shadow, expression grim.
"No one is coming to help," she guessed.
His eyes were shuttered. He handed back the dipper. "They won't let any of us come in the fort, not with typhoid among our group." He looked so defeated. "And they won't send their doctor—or anyone else—to help."
She felt breathless fear, worry that must be an echo of his own.What will we do?
He glanced down at her hand, where she still clutched the letter. "What's that?"
Did he need a distraction? She could provide that. “Joseph’s last letter to me." She pressed it against her chest, wishing it was her brother himself. “I don’t know how he managed to send money for my passage. God’s providence, I suppose. Joseph didn’t know about Mr. Smith.”
Hollis’s brows drew together. “What about Mr. Smith?”
The old betrayal sliced through her. “Mr. Smith promised to help me save for the trip since I couldn’t open a bank account. He stole my money.”
She felt Hollis’s stillness beside her. Pushed on to finish the story. “He didn’t want me to leave. Didn’t want to have to find another cook for the family, I suppose.” The feeling that he’d wanted to trap her still made her insides clench tight.
“It wasn’t right,” Hollis said, his nostrils flaring. “Did you tell the authorities?”
“No. I just… left. And found Joseph’s gift waiting for me.”
Hollis’s eyes watched the horizon now. “Joseph saved me once too. On that first journey I took across the prairie.”
He blinked, stirred. As if he hadn’t meant to say that. "I saw him the last time my train reached the Willamette Valley. He was hale, and..." His eyes shadowed briefly. "He couldn't keep his eyes off a young woman from a neighboring village."
Joseph? He'd always been more interested in his books than in young women.
Hollis shifted his feet. "I wouldn't be surprised if you arrive to find them married."
Unease slithered through Abigail. Hollis glanced behind her, as if to check on the camp, unaware of the turmoil his words had caused.
Joseph had sent for Abigail, had painted a grand picture of the new business he'd help her get started out in Oregon. A cafe, where she could put her skills in the kitchen toward crafting her own future.
She wanted it. A business that was hers to run. The stability of building a clientele of repeat customers, always knowing she'd have an income. No Mr. Smith to steal from her. She would be her own boss.
But if Joseph had a new wife, what if that woman didn't want him to spend their money helping Abigail get her business off the ground?
Maddie ducked out of the Carters’ wagon and caught sight of them as she climbed down the wagon wheel. She headed their way. Hollis moved to intercept her, speaking urgently.
Abigail should go and check on the next family. The Wards? Or someone else? It was difficult to order her thoughts. The sun was on its descent. Did it feel hotter out here?
She was pushing off the wagon when Maddie reached her.
"I was just going to check on Mrs. Madigan," Abigail said.
A sadness showed in Maddie's expression. "She's gone."
For a moment, Abigail felt nothing. And then a rush of grief. Mrs. Madigan had been a lovely older woman who had been like a grandmother to many folks on the wagon train. She’d always had a kind word to say.
