Her heart lifting, Lark swung up on Starbright again. Joining a wagon train just in time, and four letters from home. She sang softly as they trotted back to camp. “‘O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer’s praise . . .’”
She found their wagon and the Durhams’ just to the east of the circle of prairie schooners, the oxen grazing with others in the grassy field. Del and Forsythia stooped over a newly kindled fire, starting supper.
Robbie came running to meet her. “Guess what, guess what. There’s an Indian, a real one.”
“Is that so?” Lark chuckled and dismounted.
“A Pawnee guide the wagon master has.” Mr. Durham followed his son, shaking his head. “I don’t know how I feel about having him along.”
“No doubt he knows the territory better than even the wagon master.” Lark shaded her eyes to look across the circle of wagons where Robbie pointed. She could barely make out a slender young man talking with Hayes.
“Still. I’d rather not have a heathen skulking nearby, not around my wife and young’un.”
Her spine stiffened. “We’re all God’s children, are we not, Mr. Durham?”
He gave a noncommittal grunt.
As the sun slanted lower in the sky, Lark and Durham gathered with the other men around Hayes in the center of the circled wagons. Smoke from cooking fires and the aroma of mingled suppers spiced the air.
“You’re all here because you want to be.” Hayes raised his voice to be heard above the surrounding clatter of pots, chatter of women, and scamper of children. “You’re bound for Oregon or California, or points that direction. And you know there’s safety in numbers. I’m Ephraim Hayes, and I’m your captain. Just as if we were on a ship, what I say goes. No arguments.” He clapped a hand on the shoulder of the young Indian man beside him. “This here is Kuruk, our Pawnee trail guide. He knows these parts like the back of his hand. His name means bear in his language, so I call him Little Bear. You can too.”
Murmurs, curious glances. Little Bear leaned against a wagon behind Hayes, his expression neutral.
“This document lays out the rules and regulations for this wagon train all the way to our destinations.” Hayes held up a written paper. “I’m going to read through the articles aloud. Any objections or questions, speak your piece now or hold your tongue later. Understood?” He leveled a glance around the circle.
Nods, shifting of feet.
Hayes began to read, laying out regulations for decision-making, for adding or withdrawing members, against drinking and gambling—Lark’s cheeks heated at that—and regarding river crossings and private property rights. Some men started to lose interest, but the rules seemed fair.
“You may now sign if you agree to be bound by this contract.” Hayes laid the document on a rock along with a pen, and the men filed in to scrawl their names.
“You may have noticed we have an article against Sabbath-breaking.” Hayes raised his voice above the swelling murmurs, and silence fell again. “Whatever your personal convictions, the wagon train will not travel on Sundays. Tomorrow morning the Rev. William Green will hold a church service for the camp. Monday morning we move out.”
Lark stepped closer, waiting her turn to sign the contract. She passed near Little Bear and gave a friendly nod.
He nodded back, still reserved, but his eyes smiled a bit.
“You been on many of these wagon trains?” Lark ventured.
He looked no older than Anders, dressed in a woven hunting shirt and leather breeches. Under his shaved head and scalp lock, his face was young, unthreatening. He made her miss her brothers.
Little Bear shrugged. “A couple of times. I know the trail, though.”
“Where do you live?” She hoped she wasn’t pressing too far.
“My family is on the reservation north of here.” He dipped his head politely and stepped away.
Lark watched him slip behind the wagons, her heart tugging strangely. What must it be like to serve as guide for foreigners invading his people’s land? The thought cast a different light over her excitement for setting out. And yet he chose to go along with them.
“You going to sign, young fella?”
“Sorry.” Lark stepped up and added her signature to the document, making it as manly as she could.
Well. That was that.
She went back to the wagon.
“There’s really going to be a church service tomorrow?” Forsythia dished up beans and hot corn bread for supper.
“So Hayes said. Sounds like it’ll be a weekly occurrence.”
“Maybe they’d let us bring some of the music,” Del said.
“Not a bad thought.”
“Come on, eat quickly so we can read the mail.” Lilac reached for her plate.
After supper and washing up, Lark pulled the letters from her satchel, running her fingers over each envelope. Her sisters gathered close.
She opened the letter from Anders dated the earliest and began to read.
My dear family,
We have much news here, but first I want to thank you for the missives you have sent. Lilac, do you mind if we share your drawings with others? You depict life in a wagon so well that we could turn these all into a picture book. And Forsythia, Mrs. Smutly played the chords of the song you sent, and now we are singing it regularly. Josephine enjoys the piano so much, as do we all. Mr. Holt is a frequent supper guest. He says his ranch is so lonely, especially since another of his ranch hands is itching to head west. He said he wouldn’t be surprised if one morning he wakes up with one less employee.
Josephine and I missed you dreadfully at the wedding, which really wasn’t much of a wedding, but we did have our new pastor officiating at the service. Jonah was my best man, and her sister stood up for her. Her mother and aunt made a special dinner, and
