“I’m heading up the creek. Anyone with me?” Otis asked.
“I’ll go with you.” Dr. Brownsville gave Lark a look that said he’d keep an eye on Otis.
She nodded, grateful. She’d just as soon not have Otis along. He’d certainly be of no help whenever they found Thomas.
“There’s the trail.” Little Bear bent over a matted patch of grass. “He stumbled here. Not far now.”
Moving quickly, she and Martin followed the young Pawnee man into the trees skirting the creek. The bubbling of water reached their ears.
Little Bear paused on the creek bank, examining the damp earth, then headed south, following the stream. His moccasins swift and silent, he climbed onto a couple of boulders, then paused at the top, gazing at something on the other side. He turned and motioned to Lark. “Here.”
Lark followed, leaping over stones in her path. She scrambled up beside Little Bear, then froze.
Thomas Durham lay facedown in the creek.
“Oh no. Lord, no.”
Lark and Little Bear clambered down into the water and hauled Thomas up onto the bank. With Martin’s help, they flipped him over. Blood and creek water soaked Thomas’s head and shirt. One look at his face, and Lark knew he was gone.
“Is he dead?” Otis crashed through the bushes, leading his horse. The doctor followed.
“I’m afraid so.” Lark swallowed. How much heartache could this family endure? Or rather, how much could Robbie? He was the only one left.
Dr. Brownsville came forward and checked Thomas for a pulse, looked in his eyes. He shook his head. “He’s been dead several hours.”
“What, killed hisself?” Otis spit into the creek.
“Hit his head.” Little Bear touched the gash on Thomas’s head, then motioned to a nearby rock smeared with blood. “Stumbled, then fell in the water.”
Had he been drinking, found liquor somehow? Or was he just crazy and exhausted with grief? He’d talked about not being able to go on without his wife, but Lark hadn’t known . . . She pushed back the guilt trying to clamp her chest. This wasn’t their fault. They’d done all they could.
“We’d better get him back to camp.” Martin closed Thomas’s eyes and stood. “He deserves a decent burial.”
“Hope we can make it quick.” Otis swung onto his horse. “The sun’s climbing, and the wagon train’s been delayed enough already with this nonsense.”
Lark shot to her feet and leveled a glare at him. “A man has died, Mr. Bane. Have a little respect.”
“Respect, eh? Guess you never heard of respect for your elders, young fella.” But he fell silent after that.
“Put him on my horse.” Dr. Brownsville rose and helped Martin and Lark haul Thomas’s waterlogged body over his saddle. Then they started a sober procession back to camp.
Little Bear touched Lark’s arm. “I’ll go ahead and tell Mr. Hayes.”
“Thanks. For everything.” Lark thought of something else. “Warn my sisters, too, would you? I don’t want his little boy to see.”
Little Bear nodded, understanding in his eyes, then darted ahead.
Mr. Hayes met them at the outskirts of camp, shaking his head. “Such a shame. I’ve set some men to digging another grave.”
“Thanks.” Lark swallowed, her throat aching. “I’ll go see about his son.”
Del met her before she even reached the wagon. Wordless, her sister held out her arms, and Lark walked into them. They held each other tight.
“How are we going to tell Robbie?” Del stepped back and wiped her eyes.
“I really don’t know.”
In the end it was Forsythia who told him, holding Robbie on her lap in the shade of the wagon while the others stood nearby. The midmorning sun already burned hot.
“Sweetheart, you know how we couldn’t find your pa this morning?”
“Uh-huh.” Robbie turned his wooden sheep in his hands. Jesse had been busy.
“Well . . .” Forsythia looked up at Lark, tears in her eyes.
Lark shook her head. She didn’t know how to do this either. Lord, give her the words.
“Well, your pa was missing your ma an awful lot. So he went to heaven to be with her.”
“Pa’s gone too?” Robbie twisted to look up into Forsythia’s face.
“I’m afraid so, little one.”
“I wanna go see Ma.” Robbie’s lip trembled.
“I know.” Forsythia held him close. “But your ma asked us to take care of you until someday when we all get to go to heaven and be together. So we’re going to do that, all right?”
Robbie sniffled, staring up into her eyes. Then he dropped his gaze back to his sheep. “Okay.”
Well. Lark drew a long breath. Maybe the child was too full of grief to endure any more. Or his father had wandered away too much lately. Or this was simply God’s mercy in the moment.
The sun had passed well beyond noon by the time the burial was ready. Once again, Reverend Green spoke over the grave.
“Thomas Durham follows his wife and child far sooner than we would like. In these times, we are reminded that ‘our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; while we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal.’ As we move forward into the unknown on this journey, may we fix our eyes on what lasts for eternity.”
Standing beside Forsythia and Robbie, Lark breathed in deeply through her nose, keeping back the unmanly tears. So much loss already. What had she brought her family into?
The reverend said a final prayer, and shovelfuls of dirt hit the wrapped body in the ground.
“Now can we get movin’, Mr. Hayes? We’ve already wasted the better part of a day.”
She didn’t need to look to know who was speaking.
“I’m afraid it’s a bit late for that.” Ephraim Hayes squinted up at the sun. “Not enough hours of daylight left to reach another good campsite with water. We’ll wait until tomorrow.”
More grumbling voices joined Otis this time.
“We’re already late in the season, you said it yourself,” said a man Lark didn’t
