Jackson leaned down and kissed her once more. He gave her a wink, sitting tall once more in the saddle and tugged the horse’s reins, moving it towards the front of the group.
“Attention! Attention, please!” Pastor Collins scrambled onto the back of the wagon. He lifted his lantern, shining the light on the small crowd in the park. “Before our men go on this hunt, I think it prudent if we say a prayer of blessing.” He cleared his throat. The men shifted and the women lowered their heads.
Heather closed her eyes as the Pastor’s voice boomed over the crowd. When he was done, she heard the chorus of amens go through the crowd. Pastor Collins jumped out of the wagon and moved to where his sister, Beatrice was standing. He whispered something in her ear and Heather could see her nod.
She gave a little sigh and turned her attention back to Jackson.
“Move out!” he called to the men.
The women had gathered in the dark and Heather could hear the soft sniffles. She was used to Jackson leaving for a few days to either go hunting, or to track predators. But he was never gone for more than one or two days at the most.
The wagons slowly lurched forward and followed the group of men on horseback. As they made their way down the first block, Heather ran into the street and waved. She saw Jackson shift in his saddle and lift his hand to her.
She continued to wave until she couldn’t see the horses anymore. Lifting her lantern, she strained her eyes as she watched the last wagon disappear around the depot and onto the wooden ferry.
She knew the men would be safe. Jackson was an excellent tracker and Red Hawk knew the Plains better than anyone. Why then did she have a foreboding rise in her belly? She placed her hand against her stomach, willing the feelings to disappear. Jackson and Red Hawk had gone hunting many times before. Why was this time different?
Heather thought it was because they were responsible for all the men in the group. Many had never hunted before and Heather was sure there were several that hadn’t fired a rifle before either. She felt an arm reach around her shoulders, and she turned her head to see Millie Reed standing next to her. Millie had tears in her eyes. Her husband raised horses and was an excellent shot. It made sense that he joined the men on the hunt.
“I guess that’s it,” Millie said, staring into the dark. She cleared her throat. “I’m not going to sleep at all, so how about you come back to the house for a cup of coffee? You can head home in the morning.”
Heather nodded and allowed Millie to lead her back to a waiting buggy. Heather placed her lantern on the hook at the front of the buggy before climbing onto the hard, wooden seat. Millie climbed in next to her and spread a blanket over their laps. She picked up the reins and gave the horse a light slap on the rump.
The crowd was dissipating.
“I guess Autumn is really here,” Heather mused, rubbing her hands over her arms.
Millie laughed. She had a musical laugh that brought joy to everyone around her. “I know you are worried when you start talking about the weather.”
Heather chuckled. “I sometimes talk about the weather.” She fingered the blanket that was covering their legs. It was a wool covering that had been knitted with tight stitches. “When the weather needs to be talked about. Where did this blanket come from? It is very warm.”
“Altar knitted it. I saw it and absolutely had to have one. She did a beautiful job.”
Altar Pennington was known for her handiwork with thread and fabrics. She would sometimes sell her creations at the mercantile. Mr. Talley made sure that she got a fair price for her crafts. Heather fingered the edge of the blanket, the wool soothing to her fingers.
“It is beautiful.”
“I’m having her make scarfs for all the children for Christmas. I thought they would make nice gifts.”
“Will she have time to make twelve of them?”
“Thirteen. Mary Rose started school this year.” Mary Rose was Millie’s and George’s only daughter. Little Mary Rose was born ten months after they arrived in Last Chance.
“I didn’t realize she was old enough.”
“She’s four already. They grow so quickly.”
Millie chatted as they rode back to her house in the dark. Heather darted her eyes in the dark looking for the lanterns of the other wives as they traveled back home. As they pulled into Millie’s ranch, the sounds of a lone owl could be heard, its lonesome call echoing the feeling in Heather’s heart.
Chapter Three
September 1, 1878
Heather counted the days on her fingers. The men had been gone for five days. By now, they should be packing up and be on their way back to town. The time passed quickly, but Heather didn’t sleep well without her husband next to her. She prayed he would return soon. Having to make her rounds, in addition to Jackson’s chores and the regular household duties was making her a bit grouchy.
She’d wake up and take care of the farm animals—a milking cow, several chickens, and the few animals they had purchased for the butcher shop. Normally she had help on their small farm, but even Luke Keegan, their only ranch hand, went on the hunt. Luke lived with his widowed mother, younger brother and two younger sisters in town. Jackson didn’t want Luke to go on the hunt, but he insisted.
A man should provide for his family, Luke said.
Once Heather was done taking care of the homestead, she’d then start her rounds, visiting the expectant mothers around town. At some point
