Glory (6 page)

And truthfully, she couldn’t imagine how Poppy could have gotten to Heaven, because he certainly wasn’t going anywhere the day she’d buried him six weeks ago.

She dozed, huddled against the blowing rain. Sometime during the night the music from both ends of the street stopped. Toward dawn, the rain slowed to a foggy drizzle.

It was full daylight when Glory awoke with a start, nearly dropping her rifle. Soaked to the skin, teeth chattering, her hair falling into her face, she crawled out of the crate. Stamping her feet, she tried to get the feeling back. She looked like a drowned rat and felt worse. If her new life was going to be anything like the past few hours, she hoped she would die young.

The town was strangely quiet, nothing like the day before. Creeping to the mouth of the alley, she watched from the shadows to see what was happening. Vapors of fog rose from the muddy streets, and the stillness was almost as frightening as the rowdiness of the day before.

Not many people were about. The few who stirred were shopkeepers removing shutters from store windows. The blacksmith’s fire was flaming up again, fanned by bellows pumped by the same big man who had worked there
yesterday. The thin man at the livery stable yawned sleepily as he scooped grain into a bin for the horses.

Glory turned at the sound of a lone wagon rolling into town. The prairie schooner appeared through the gray mist, and she almost cried out with relief when she spotted the tall form of Jackson Lincoln on the driver’s seat and Mary’s pale face peering over his shoulder.

A more welcome sight Glory had never seen. She longed to rush out to greet them, but she didn’t. Instead, she shrank farther into the shadows, wishing she could hide somewhere until the traveling party collected provisions and left town. She couldn’t bear for Jackson to see her like this: her boots sucking water, her clothes soaking wet and muddy, her hair stringing in her face and dripping inside her collar.

Frightened, Glory held on to the corner of the building and ignored the hunger gripping her belly.

“Glory?”

She recognized Ruth’s voice and quickly shrank farther into the shadow of the alleyway.

“Glory!”

But she wasn’t quick enough. Seconds later a strong grip lifted her to her feet. She peered up into Jackson Lincoln’s handsome face, and she felt faint with embarrassment.

He eyed her condition; his cleanly shaven jaw was set with anger. “What did you do? Sleep under a downspout?”

Before Glory could respond to his query, the girls arrived, all talking at once.

“Glory!” Ruth exclaimed. “Why, you’re wetter than an old hen!”

“Come, get out of those damp clothes before you catch your death,” Patience exclaimed.

“Girl? What’s
wrong
with you?” Harper’s hands sprang to her hips. “Don’t you know enough to get in out of the rain?”

Jackson interrupted the girls’ excited babble. “Girls, you can ask Glory all the questions you want later. Right now, she needs dry clothes and, by the looks of things, hot coffee, and some eggs and bacon are in order.” He turned back to eye Glory. “That won’t slow you down but an hour or so, getting on with your new life, will it?”

Glory nodded meekly. No use lying to him now. He could clearly see that the first night of her new life hadn’t exactly been a bragging success. “No, sir, hot coffee and eggs and bacon sounds real nice—thank you, sir.”

He leaned close enough that she could smell the scent of his shaving soap as he chided gently, “The name is
Jackson
.”

Glory glanced at the other girls. Mary nodded. “It’s all right—we all call him Jackson.”

Glory smiled between chattering teeth. “Yes, sir. Jack . . . Jack . . . Jackson.”

She allowed the girls to lead her to the wagon, which Jackson had hitched to the rail in front of the mercantile. The girls helped her into the back, and Patience wrapped a light blanket around her shoulders.

Ruth rummaged in the food box and handed Glory a biscuit and bacon. “Here, have these for now. You must be starving,” she said.

Glory’s stomach clenched with hunger, but she forced herself to accept the food without snatching it out of Ruth’s hand. “I’m all right,” Glory said.

“No, you’re not. You should have stayed with us.”

Glory folded the whole biscuit into her mouth and chewed. It wasn’t mannerly, but she wasn’t in a mannerly mood this morning. She was mad—plain mad that she couldn’t take better care of herself. What did Jackson think of her now? He probably thought she was a helpless, sissy female too foolish to get in out of the rain.

“My, it’s a wonder you didn’t catch your death last night,” Lily scolded as she fished inside a trunk, sorting through clothing. “We slept warm as toast in here.”

Patience toweled Glory’s wet hair while Mary stripped her out of her wet clothing.

“Why didn’t you come looking for us?” Lily asked. “We were camped just outside of town. You could have found us easily.”

“Didn’t need to find you.” Glory wedged a fat strip of bacon into her mouth.

Lily and Patience exchanged a look that Glory couldn’t make out.

Clearing her throat, Patience smiled. “Why don’t we go over to the hotel and get you into a hot tub of water? Cleanliness is next to godliness, you know.”

Ruth shook her head. Her penetrating gaze seemed to silence Patience. Glory wondered if Ruth knew she felt they were ganging up on her.

“Nowhere in the Bible does it say such a thing, Patience.”

“Oh.” Patience blushed. “I’d always heard—”

“Well, if it don’t, it should,” Harper grumbled.

Ruth gave her a stern look.

Lily reached for the dry clothing, and Glory shook her head and wadded another piece of bacon into her mouth. “Already had my bath.”

Lily’s face fell. “You did?”

“’Course.” Glory felt both resentful and puzzled.

“You did
not
.” Harper towered above her, hands on hips. “You slept in that alley in the rain. That’s how come you smell like a wet dog.”

Glory refused to look at her. She’d already decided they weren’t going to be friends, though Glory felt beholden to her for her help. “Did too—had one the day I buried Poppy, and before that I had my spring bath, same as usual.”

“Well . . . you can put these on.” Lily handed Glory a dry shirt and a pair of trousers. “I used to wear these when I helped in the orphanage garden. They should be about the right size.”

Glory hoped her eyes conveyed her appreciation. The last thing she needed was to fuss with one of those dresses on top of all her other troubles.

Jackson Lincoln emerged from the mercantile as Glory climbed from the back of the wagon wearing Lily’s trousers and shirt. They’d fit someone who ate more biscuits than she did, but Glory wasn’t complaining. The warm clothing was a heaping sight better than her wet ones. Harper intercepted the wagon master on the sidewalk, her dark eyes flashing.

“You know Glory slept in that alley last night? Sat there in the rain all night.”

“I suspected as much.” He fixed Glory with a tolerant look, setting his Stetson more firmly on his head. “You got a hankering to be a duck?”

Glory hastily braided her hair and stuck the braid under her hat. “No, sir, just don’t want to be a burr under your saddle.”

He patted the top of her head, then picked up a box of supplies and loaded it into the back of the wagon. “You let me worry about that, short stuff. The only burr under my saddle is getting these ladies to Colorado ahead of winter snows.” He stored the box and turned back to face the girls. “Mary, take Glory to the café and get a hot meal in her. Ruth, Patience, Lily, Harper? You help load supplies. It’ll take most of the day, so let’s get about it.”

Mary and Glory set off for the café, and the others started toward the mercantile.

“We tried to bathe her,” Lily whispered when she passed Jackson on the way into the store.

He frowned. “No luck?”

“Said she had her bath the day she buried Poppy and one last spring.”

A laugh started in Jackson’s throat and bubbled up into an amused rumble in his chest. The girls paused on the mercantile porch and turned to determine the source of his amusement.

“Ain’t funny,” Lily whispered, struggling to keep up with the wagon master’s long strides. “She just plain
stinks
.” She pinched her nose daintily.

“The dousing she took last night didn’t help?”

Lily made another face. “Made it worse—she smells like an old dog when he’s been out in the rain too long.”

“Well, we can’t hurt her feelings. If she doesn’t want to take a bath, we can’t make her. If she won’t join up with us, guess it won’t be a problem come morning.”

“Yes, sir, suppose it won’t. She’s right sweet—a shame she won’t agree to come with us. I’ll bet that nice Mr. Wyatt could find a husband for her, too. Can you talk to her, Jackson? She hasn’t got anywhere to go, and I think she’s afraid but too stubborn to admit it.”

“She’s a grown woman, Lily. She’s welcome to come with us, but I can’t force her.”

“Yes, sir. I suppose you’re right.”

Jackson opened the door to the mercantile and gave the young woman a lopsided grin. “But on the off chance that she changes her mind and decides to come with us, keep after her about that bath. Okay, Lily?”

Lily shuddered. “Intended to do that anyway, Jackson.”

Chapter Four

“Shove that barrel to this end!”

“There’s room for another pound of bacon over here!”

The Lincoln party worked until the sun hung like a red-hot globe over the town. Sweat poured off temples, and tempers cooled as quickly as they flared. At the end of the day, Lily collapsed on the general store’s porch step and declared that her back was near broke. Worn to the nubbin, the others agreed. Every last one of them.

Perched on the stoop, the travelers shared dippers of tepid water from the rain barrel and looked back on their long day. Bacon had been stored in boxes surrounded by bran to prevent fat from melting away. They’d packed fat slabs of pork in the bottom of the wagon to keep them cool. Flour had been stitched inside stout, well-sewn, double-canvas sacks, twenty pounds in each bundle.

Ruth had stood over an iron pot behind the store, preserving butter by boiling it thoroughly and skimming off the scum as it rose to the top until it was clear like oil. She’d placed it in tin canisters, and Jackson had soldered them shut. Mary had sacked sugar and put it in a dry place.

Dried and canned vegetables were stored in tins for travel. Lily said she would make pemmican later: buffalo meat cut into thin strips and hung up to dry under the sun or over a slow fire.

It had taken the better part of the day to prepare for their long trek from Westport, Missouri, to Denver City and eventually to the foothills of Pike’s Peak, where Tom Wyatt lived.

As far as Glory was concerned, it had been the most exciting day of her life. Helping out made her feel like she was part of a family. At times during the day she found herself daydreaming. She longed to go with her new family, to witness sights she hadn’t known existed until today. The women chattered as they worked, excited about the prospect of new lives, exhilarated at the thought of sturdy young men awaiting each of them at the end of the long, hard journey. Glory was tempted to forget about independence—especially when Mary and Lily kept after her all day to join them. She hadn’t mentioned a word about Amos, and she didn’t intend to. Wasn’t any use to upset anyone, and besides, Jackson Lincoln and the girls would be gone in the morning, and they wouldn’t have to know that she’d struck Amos, taken the gold, and run away. That was steal
ing to some folks, but the way she figured it, she hadn’t had much choice. It was Poppy’s money, and though she wasn’t his blood kin, Poppy had meant for her to have it if anything ever happened to him. Of course, Amos thought the gold belonged to him because he
was
blood kin—guess that’s where they had a fuss. She didn’t care a whit about the gold, but right now she was in no position to be giving anything away to Amos or anybody else. She was on her own, and she had to take care of herself first.

“There’s nothing keeping you here,” Mary had argued when they’d stored the sugar.

“Nothing but pride,” Harper had said.

Glory hadn’t let the remark rile her; pride had nothing to do with her feelings. If she left, she’d never see Poppy again—leastways, his grave. He might be gone, but right now she knew where she could talk to him if she needed to. She might buy a horse and ride the distance back to the cabin occasionally. Likely she wouldn’t do that for a good long spell because of Amos, but she’d go back sometime. If she traipsed off to Colorado, she’d never see the likes of these parts again, and it didn’t seem right to leave Poppy lying there, day after day, without her visiting. Especially considering the way he’d looked after her all these years.

“Pride don’t have a thing to do with it,” she’d argued. “I got to start my new life. If I went with you, before long I’d be depending on you, and Poppy raised me to fend for myself.”

“It’s going to get real lonely around here,” Ruth had
murmured. She carried a pan of bacon to the back of the wagon. “Once we’re gone, you’ll have no one to help you—no one who cares deeply about you.”