Glory (12 page)

Glory shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Ruth smiled warmly. “Why, I haven’t seen such a lovely stream in a long time—nice pools, not too deep.”

Glory shook her head tightly. “Seen enough water today to last me for a long time.”

Locating a tear in the leather harness, Jackson bent over his box of tools, looking for the right one, trying to appear as if he wasn’t listening.

The girls sighed as they knelt for evening devotions. This evening someone made mention that cleanliness was next to godliness, but Ruth didn’t bother to correct her. Jackson noticed the subject seemed to be lost on Glory.

A moment later, he left to check on the animals. When he returned to the campfire to turn in for the night, he noticed that the girls had their bedrolls tucked under their arms. Once again, the girls were reluctant to lay them out. They’d given Glory her bedroll but were waiting for her to pick a spot first.

“Go ahead, dear,” Ruth said. “You pick wherever you’ll feel comfortable. We insist; you first.”

Glory looked around uncertainly. “I don’t rightly know where.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t make any difference to me. Wherever you girls like to be is good enough for me.”

Ruth shot Jackson a pleading look, and all eyes turned to him. He was not one for shirking responsibility, but he was bone weary, and the last thing he needed was a bunch of feuding women on his hands.

An awkward silence developed as the girls looked expectantly at Jackson to lay down the law to Glory. He looked
back at them, figuring a delicate subject like personal cleanliness should fall to the women to discuss privately. The girls had tolerated Glory’s odor when she’d been a temporary guest; now that it appeared she’d be with them for the rest of their journey, they wanted relief.

He took a deep breath and slowly released it. He’d handled just about all the challenges he could stand for one day, and he was fresh out of tact. Not that he’d ever had much to begin with, he thought wryly.

Ruth sighed. “Well, someone needs to do something.”

The women prepared to take an evening dip before turning in, and Jackson discreetly moved to the other side of the wagon. Glory bounded to her feet and rushed to his side.

“Care if I join you?” She slanted her head and nodded in the direction of the others. “They’re going to the stream to bathe
again
.”

He stepped back, giving her room. “Look, Glory. You sure you don’t want to join those girls?”

“No, sir, I want to stay here, help you with chores and the like.” She smiled. “Remember? I took my bath a few months back.” Then she apparently remembered her manners. “But thanks for thinking of me.”

He looked at her, and for the life of him, he couldn’t think of a way to explain the situation. In short, there wasn’t one. “Well,” he said, rising to his feet, “we tried. Sorry, Glory, but you stink.”

Leaning forward, he grabbed Glory around the knees and tossed her over his shoulder like a feed sack. His long
striding gait covered the distance down the ravine, straight for the stream. “Cover up, ladies,” he announced loudly. “You’re about to have company.”

He kept his head down and his eyes shut as he flipped Glory over his shoulder and into the pool. Then he spun on his heel and trotted back to the safety of the wagon.

Glory broke the surface, spitting water, her eyes as wide with shock as those of the women who’d paused in their lathering to watch the spectacle. She slapped the water in fury.

“Jackson Lincoln! I’m sick of you grabbing me and throwing me around!” she shouted, sending a spray after his retreating back. “I’d like to throw you around—see how you like it!”

The girls stared at Glory in shocked silence.

Glory glanced at them. “What? No one ever dared to talk to Mr. Lincoln like that?” She glared at them, deciding they were probably in cahoots with the wagon master, since none of them looked sorry that she’d just been manhandled.

To retaliate, she splashed water at them in a big plume. A playful water fight erupted, and the tension dissolved into giggles. Soon, Glory was having a great time, feeling fully accepted into the group for the first time.

By the time Glory climbed out of the stream, tired but clean, the girls had persuaded her to strip off her dirty clothes, scrub from top to bottom, and rub her hair with soap until it squeaked.

Ruth had fetched a fresh outfit for Glory, and when Glory walked into camp, she looked like a different girl. Eyes aglow, freshly scrubbed hair falling to her waist—she was a sight to behold. Jackson ventured a glance from the far side of the wagon but kept his distance. He planned to give her overnight to cool off. Yet he had to smile at the transformation.

Glory looked lovely wearing one of Patience’s dresses, her skin radiant and glowing, her green eyes dancing as she laughed. Her mass of cinnamon-colored hair glistened as Mary carefully brushed it dry in the firelight. As he stared at her, something stirred in him—something he didn’t care to identify.

That night Glory noticed that the other girls moved their bedrolls closer to hers. When the light went out, she rolled to her side and whispered. “I have to admit,” she began, compelled to show her appreciation, “this is the best I’ve felt since Poppy died.”

“Tell us about Poppy,” Mary urged gently.

“Well, he was the closest thing I had to a family.”

“Was he like a real daddy?” Patience spoke in hushed tones.

“Poppy was good as gold to me, raised me from a youngster like I was his own. Fed me, taught me to hunt and fish, taught me everything he knew.”

“That’s nice,” Mary said wistfully. “I always wanted to be adopted by a nice couple.”

“Not me,” Harper declared. “I knew better. Knew better than to wait around for somebody to pick me out like a cur in a litter. All I ever wanted was for folks to leave me alone.”

It was the most Glory had ever heard Harper say at one time; there was a pent-up force behind her words, like a sudden thunderstorm. Glory shook her head in the darkness. “Poppy told me he found me in the road, figured I’d fallen off a wagon when the wagon train had passed through on their way west. Said he waited at that very spot for days, in case my family came back to find me. He figured they’d have come if they could.”

“He just took you home to raise by himself?” Ruth asked with a trace of amazement.

“Said he had a wife once, but she died giving birth. Baby died too. After that, he lived alone because he said no one could match her. I miss Poppy a lot, but it’s better now.” Better now that she felt a kinship with these girls, safe under the protection of Mr. Lincoln.

“So,” Harper hissed, “you fell off a wagon headed west, and now you’re in another one headed west.”

“Guess I’m meant to ride west in a wagon,” Glory said with a sigh.

“Well, try not to fall out this time,” Patience whispered so earnestly that the rest of them broke into giggles.

“Pipe down, ladies,” a gruff voice reprimanded from the far side of the wagon. “Miles to make up tomorrow. Get your rest.”

The group fell silent, and Glory snuggled down under her
fresh-smelling blanket. As she closed her eyes, she reached out to capture Mary’s hand in hers and give it a reassuring squeeze.

“Don’t worry, Mary. I know your ma loved you. And even if she didn’t, I do.”

The pleasant aroma of castile soap still clung to her clothing when Glory opened her eyes the next morning. Rolling to her side, she stared at Mary, who slept opposite her. Sighing, Glory realized that she’d gotten a mite upset last night—wasn’t used to being waylaid like a common criminal. A bath
this
time of year! Seemed a waste of good soap and water. Still, she had to admit it felt good to have the dirt off.

An unexpected thought popped into her mind. Had Jackson noticed? Guess he would have since he was partly responsible for the ambush. He’d said she stank. The words still made her cheeks burn. Well, someone could have told her something earlier if she smelled all that bad! She didn’t powder herself or wash with soap until her skin looked plumb raw like the other girls. She sniffed the air and decided they’d expect her to smell like this all of the time. Well, if it was so all-fired important, then she’d bathe every night like the rest of them and hope her skin didn’t wear out.

Mary opened her eyes and returned Glory’s sleepy smile. “Good morning.”

The sun was not yet up. Birds chattered noisily overhead in tree branches as daybreak rose over the camp. Glory shut her eyes and savored the smell of strong coffee perking. A smile touched the corners of her mouth. Jackson was up a full half hour ahead of the others every day. It was nice to wake to the sound of another person.

But Jackson and coffee weren’t the only things on her mind this morning. These were her friends, and she was putting them in the way of danger. She hadn’t mentioned Amos because until now there’d been no need to tell them about Amos or the man she’d killed in Squatter’s Bend. Now she was part of their group—a real part—and being part of someone or something meant you had to be honest. You had to share.

She wasn’t prone to lying. Poppy wouldn’t have it, but Glory could stretch the truth as well as anybody. Didn’t do it all that often, but she could when she needed to. However, this wasn’t the time for fibs. It was the time for truthfulness, painful as it might be. Jackson and the girls needed to know what she’d done.

She shivered deeper into the blanket, trembling when the voice that haunted her day and night echoed inside her mind.
“You killed Charlie! You killed Charlie Gulch!”
She’d never meant to kill anyone—wouldn’t kill anyone unless she saw no other way out, and she hadn’t seen another way out that night.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Glory opened her eyes to see Mary still smiling at her opposite the fire.

“They’re not good ones.” The others were still sleeping, oblivious to the girls’ softly spoken conversation. Glory could hear Jackson moving around the wagon, checking the harness for the long day’s travel. Her heart ached for what she was about to do.

Would Lily and Mary hate her once she told them the truth? Seemed like they would. Killing was wrong, no matter how a person tried to excuse it.