She lifted her head at a barely heard sound. Had something woken her besides the dreams? There, again—a child’s whimper. Mournful, abandoned.
“Ma . . . Ma.”
Robbie. Her heart twisted. Forsythia got up and walked toward the Durhams’ wagon. Should she interfere? Thomas would have to learn to cope sometime. Perhaps comforting his son would be a step in that direction.
“Ma. Maaa!” Robbie’s voice rose in panic.
Forsythia stopped on the edge of their campsite and called softly. “Mr. Durham? Do you need anything? It’s Forsythia Nielsen.”
“I want my ma. Where’s my ma?”
“Robbie?” Forsythia peered through the darkness and crossed to the bedrolls beside the dying campfire.
Robbie sat up in a mass of tangled blankets. Mr. Durham’s bedroll, she could see now, was empty.
“Where’s your pa, little one?” She gathered Robbie in her arms.
“I want my ma.” Hiccupping, he clung to her neck.
“I know, sweet boy.” She pressed a kiss to his tousled hair. Thomas must have gone to relieve himself. “I’ll sit with you till your pa gets back, okay?”
Forsythia sat down and stirred the glimmering coals, then wrapped a blanket around both of them. Humming a hymn, she rocked Robbie till he fell asleep and her arms ached with his weight.
But Mr. Durham did not return.
Lugging the sleeping child, Forsythia walked back to their wagon. Lark was sitting up.
“Everything all right?”
“I’m not sure. Robbie was crying, and I can’t find his father. It’s been at least an hour.”
“That’s not good.” Lark stood. “Want to lay him down here?”
Forsythia tried, but Robbie woke when she released him, screaming.
“Ma, no, Ma. Want my ma, my ma!”
Fighting tears herself, Forsythia tried to comfort him, but Robbie arched and thrashed. Del and Lilac were up now, and Lilac took the little boy, but even her attempts at comforting were to no avail.
“Can’t you keep the kid quiet?” A grumbling call came from a nearby wagon. “Some folks are trying to sleep.”
Forsythia set her teeth. The child had just lost his mother. Couldn’t whoever Mr. Grump was understand that? She took Robbie back from Lilac’s arms.
Lark pushed to her feet. “I’ll go explain. We’ll need a search party come dawn if Durham’s not back.”
Holding Robbie close, Forsythia walked a bit beyond the circle of wagons into the cool of darkness. The breeze caressed their hot faces, and Robbie’s wailing quieted to sobs. He laid his damp cheek on her shoulder, little arms tight around her neck.
“You see the stars, Robbie?” she whispered into his hair. “So many stars, way up in the sky, see? The Bible tells us that God knows each of their names. And He knows each of our names too. He knows yours. And He loves you. He’s going to take care of you and your pa.”
“And Ma?” Robbie drew a stuttering breath.
“Yes.” Forsythia held him close. “He’s taking very good care of your ma too.” She swayed to and fro under the stars, humming snatches of hymns and lullabies until Robbie’s breathing evened and the limp weight in her arms told her he was finally asleep.
She returned to their campsite and lay down with Robbie under her blanket till the sky lightened toward dawn.
Lark came back with Little Bear following. “Little Bear will help us track Durham. We’ve got a few other men to help search also.” She checked and loaded the rifle. “Hayes has agreed the wagons won’t start out till we find him.”
“Go with God.” Forsythia sat up, blinking back exhaustion, and checked to be sure slumbering Robbie was warm enough. Please, Lord, don’t let this be another day of tragedy.
“I can’t abide a man who would just run off and leave his young’un.”
Lark gripped her rifle and bit her tongue, keeping back a retort. Otis Bane, the man from the wagon behind theirs who had complained about Robbie’s crying, certainly was free with his opinions. Too bad he’d joined the search party.
“We about ready to head out?” Otis spit a stream of tobacco juice into the grass where they’d gathered by the Durhams’ wagon. “I don’t want to hold up the wagon train any more’n it has been already.”
“We’re just waiting for the doctor.” Lark kept her voice steady. “If Mr. Durham is injured, it will be wise to have him along.”
“Have to say, that family’s had their share of bad luck. Should’ve stayed behind in the first place, wife ailing and all.”
Lark clenched her jaw. Hurry up, Dr. Brownsville, or you may have another injury to treat.
“Come now, that’s a bit harsh,” Martin Wheeler said. “They were just seeking a new start, like the rest of us.”
Lark shifted her attention to Little Bear, who was examining the ground by the Durhams’ cold campfire. “Find anything?”
“He crouched here awhile, then headed that way.” Little Bear tipped his head to the east and stood.
“Think you can find him?”
“We will see.” Little Bear nodded. “Here comes the doctor.”
With Dr. Brownsville added to their number, they set out, a couple of men on horseback, the rest on foot. Birds rose from the dewy grass around them, twittering morning songs. Scattered tufts of cloud were gilded and pinked in the east above them. Such a beautiful morning, if it weren’t for the weight of worry. Father God, be with us. Guide us to Thomas.
Little Bear led the way, tracking quickly over soft bare ground, then more slowly when they entered the tall grass. Lark marveled at all he could tell by a bent grass stem, a faint impression in the dirt.
Little Bear circled back to speak to them. “He’s tired. Heading toward the creek.”
“Maybe he’s resting down by the water.” Martin seemed to have taken the role of encourager, bless him.
“Maybe.”
“And leave his son like that?” Otis shook his head. “Terrible careless.”
Little Bear slowed, the trail harder to find as the grass thickened.
Otis grew impatient. “We should spread out, use our numbers.” He reined his horse. “Can’t tell if this Indian fella even knows what he’s doing.”
And he did? Lark kept her tongue in restraint
