Lilac pulled Starbright up beside Lark and dismounted. “Want to ride awhile?”
“Where’s your other half?”
“Robbie? He found a friend two wagons up.”
“A week into the journey, and you’re already deserted.” Lark gave her sister a teasing grin.
Lilac smiled back. “I’m glad for him. You should go see. They’re having so much fun.”
“I will. I want to speak to the wagon master about a hunting party. Interested?”
“Sure. Great country for rabbits.” Lilac handed over Starbright’s reins.
“That’s what I thought.” Lark swung up onto the mare. Trying to skirt the worst of the dust clouds alongside the rows of plodding oxen, she trotted past wagons until she found Mr. Hayes near the front of the train.
“Morning, sir.” Lark tipped her hat, making sure to keep her voice low. She had to be especially careful about her disguise now that they were surrounded by so many people. “Have you thought about organizing a hunting party?”
“Already sent a couple out earlier this week.” The wagon master eyed her. “I figured you needed to stick around for your sisters.”
“I told you all of us could hunt.” Lark fought a surge of irritation. And she’d thought dressing as a man would avoid these prejudices. “Would you mind if I gathered another?”
“If you like.” He gestured with a nod. “Take Little Bear with you. He’s a good hand at snares.”
“So is my little sister.” At Hayes’s raised brow, Lark lifted her chin. “Best hunter in our family, sir.”
“If you say so. Make sure everyone has returned before dark.”
Blowing out a breath, Lark rode back to her wagon, stopping to invite a couple of men she recognized along the way. After finding her first interested hunter, she reached the wagon where Robbie had made a friend.
Sure enough, Robbie perched in the crammed back of the wagon, enthralled in a game of wild horses with a pigtailed, freckle-faced little girl of about four. With a carved wooden animal apiece, the children whinnied and snorted their horses into a corral of wooden crates and barrels.
“Having fun, Robbie?” She smiled at him. It was nice how little being male or female mattered at that age. Not so for grown-up folk.
He raised his horse high with a whinny. “Mr. Jesse made us these horses! He said he’d make a cow next.”
Mr. Jesse? She’d solve that mystery later. “Is your father around, young miss?”
The little girl nodded hard, flapping her pigtails. “He’s driving our oxen.”
The father proved eager to join the hunting party.
Lark stopped to mention the idea to Thomas Durham, but as she’d suspected, he didn’t want to leave Alice. She promised to share the game and headed back to tell Lilac. That made four for their party so far, including her and her sister, five with Little Bear. Maybe she should ask the doctor. She didn’t see him when she stopped at his wagon, but his nephew walked alongside their two span of oxen.
“Morning. Dr. Brownsville around?” she asked.
“No, sir—I-I mean, he’s t-tending somebody. Little boy got his toe run over by a w-wagon wheel.”
“Oh dear.”
“H-he’ll be all right, my uncle says.” The young man smiled with a warmth that would make anyone forget his stutter.
“That’s good news. Sorry, tell me your name again?”
“Jesse, sir.”
“And I’m Clark.” She shook his hand. “You wouldn’t be making wooden animals for those children a few wagons up, would you?”
In response, Jesse reached into his pocket and pulled out a half-carved cow. Already she could see the skill of the carving.
“You have quite a gift.”
“M-makes the children happy.”
“So it does.” What a tender heart in this often hard world. “I don’t suppose you’d want to join a hunting party, Jesse?”
“I’m supposed to d-drive the oxen. But my uncle might. I’ll t-tell him when he gets back.”
“Do that if he’s back within an hour. Otherwise he can come another time.” They parted with friendly nods.
All told, they gathered seven people for the excursion: Lilac, Lark, Little Bear, Dr. Brownsville, Martin Wheeler—the father of Robbie’s little friend, Sarah—and two other men. Some of them looked askance at Lilac joining the group, but soon she and Little Bear were comparing snares and swapping tricks of the trade.
Letting Little Bear and her sister set the snares, Lark took Starbright and rode ahead of the wagon train into the woods along the Kansas. They’d be crossing this river tomorrow, according to Mr. Hayes—their first big river crossing.
The cooler air amid the trees caressed her face, and Lark lifted her hat to let the breeze through her cropped hair. Lord, you’ve brought us this far. Take us safely across the river. And if you’d bring us some good meat today, that would be mighty fine.
A squirrel darted across a branch, and Lark raised her rifle and fired. The small animal dropped like a rock. Thank you, Lord. A good squirrel stew might bring some strength into Alice Durham’s bones.
When the party gathered back at the wagons that evening, they counted nearly a dozen rabbits—mostly thanks to Lilac and Little Bear—plus a number of squirrels and pheasants. No deer, but perhaps another time.
They divided the game, and Lark took a skinned squirrel and rabbit to the Durhams’ wagon. She found Forsythia there talking with Thomas.
“Brought you some meat.”
“I appreciate it.” Mr. Durham took the carcasses, then stared down at them. “Now if only I knew how to cook ’em. Alice always did that.”
“Why don’t we cook the rabbit for you, Mr. Durham?” Forsythia suggested. “We’ll make a big stew of it along with ours, then bring you some.”
Lark said nothing until they were out of earshot by their wagon. “Sythia, we can’t do everything for them. One of these days that man is going to have to step up.”
“I know. But Alice is even weaker today. She’s got to regain some strength. If us making extra stew helps toward that . . .
