Chapter 8
Jacobhadbeendistractedall day. They could have brought back enough game for the entire train for all the opportunities they missed with him blundering his way through the thickets on the creek banks, scaring up game left and right. Seb grumbled something about a bull in a china shop.
He just couldn’t keep his mind on the task at hand. It kept coming back to that song and the memories tied to it, and it all swirled together in his mind until he could almost believe he was transported back in time. He had shoved it away again and again, his frustration and anger rising. He didn’t need this kind of distraction. It made him feel unmoored, adrift, like a boat tossed at sea with no sail or anchor.
He just needed to focus. He needed to get back to his work, pour all his energy into taking care of these people as they trekked across the wilderness. He had gritted his teeth, pushed the memories down deep inside, and they had finally bagged a few grouse and a pair of rabbits. What a relief. It felt good to prove to himself that he couldn’t be undone in a moment of weakness. He rode back to camp feeling like himself again, strong and capable. But something in the back of his mind still yearned to hear that song again.
“Who’s gonna get the meat?” Seb asked.
“Not sure. There’s a few families that be needin’ more than others,” Jacob said. They were almost back to the wagon encampment. The cook fires glowed their warm welcome in the failing dusk.
“Ya sure we can’t keep one or two of them prairie chickens for us?”
“Our job is to help these people, Seb. Not just skim off the top and get fat and lazy.”
“Who you callin’ lazy? We’re the ones did all the work.”
Jacob sighed and tossed him the smallest grouse. “Fine. Take it. But the rest is goin’ to the people who sorely need it.”
Seb grinned and broke off toward their own camp. “You go dole out your offerin’s. I’m gonna go get fat and lazy.”
Jacob rolled his eyes and turned toward the circle of wagons. He thought about which families needed a bit of help getting by. The Leightons for sure. That young family had nothing to their name but beans and bacon. Old Man Thomas too. Both their wagons were dark, though, so he left the game tied up out of reach of whatever curious creatures might have a go at it.
Where was everyone? Jacob furrowed his brow, mulling over the list of people in the train, trying to decide who to give the last pair of grouse to. The McGraths were doing well enough, and the Picketts too. Clayborn Paine would take offense at anyone offering to help his family, and Jacob would likely get a tongue lashing or worse to even suggest such a thing. The Schmidts though. They had the pride of folks with means far greater than theirs. The boys were always washed and the tears in their pants neatly mended, and Mrs. Schmidt always served coffee whenever he came around, but their clothes were so worn they nearly faded into the sky. Come to think of it, Jacob couldn’t remember them eating anything but beans and bacon either. Those four growing boys likely all had holes in their bellies. They were decent and kind people, but they were terribly proud. Would they even accept the meat?
The Schmidts weren’t at their wagon either, but Jacob heard lively conversation coming from the campfire just next to it. Everyone, it seemed, had stayed at the McGraths’ after services. Perfect. Trying not to draw the attention of the folks sitting around the campfire, Jacob hungthe pair of grouse on the ribs of their wagon cover. They wouldn’t be able to refuse a gift when they couldn’t be sure who had left it. Jacob smiled to himself in satisfaction. Then he turned to the welcoming buzz of conversation.
People were crowded around the fire, sitting on an impressive assortment of upturned buckets and milking stools or sprawled on the dusty ground. The Schmidts were there, of course, and the Leightons, and a whole host of others: the Stoughtons, the Mathenys, and the Lauderdales with an impressive nineteen children between them, all of whom were chasing each other on the fringes of firelight in a lively game of tag. Their giggles couldn’t help but tease a smile out of Jacob. Aaron McGrath was at the center of the circle as he usually was, his charisma and kindness a magnet drawing in whoever was nearby, his skill in storytelling just as likely to call for a laugh as it was to bring out a tear.
Jacob listened for a bit, enjoying the pleasant noise of amiable conversation, and looked for a spot to sit. A couple of the Schmidt boys got up and left their spot to join the children’s game, and Jacob grinned to himself when he saw the empty space next to Hannah. He might as well take this opportunity to talk with a pretty girl. Might be he’d find an eligible young lady who would settle for a roguishly handsome cowboy such as himself.
Putting on his most charming smile, Jacob swaggered up and settled himself beside Hannah. “Howdy, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat.
“Good evenin’, Mr. Munroe,” Hannah said with a demure smile showing off the pretty little dimple in her cheek.
“How are you likin’ the trail so far? Y’all survivin’?”
“Oh, we’re doin’ just fine, thanks for askin’.” She looked at him from under her lashes. “Say, is it true that you’ve done this trek ten times already?”
Jacob laughed. “I ain’t nearly old enough for all that. But I done it a few times, enough to know the trail like an old friend.”
“Have you met any Indians?” she asked in a breathy whisper. It warmed his blood a little, and he smiled.
“Oh, I met plenty. Shoshone, Crow, Blackfoot. But it’s the Pawnee you really gotta watch for.”
She gave a soft gasp. “Really? But aren’t we in Pawnee country right now?”
“True enough.”
Her blue eyes went wide. “Are we safe?”
“You’ll be safe as long as there’s menfolk like me around.”
Hannah tittered. “You are ever so brave, Mr. Munroe.”
“I better be, with pretty young ladies such as yourself to protect.”
She blushed, and that combined with her perfect golden curls made for a rather appealing picture. He couldn’t deny it was enjoyable to flirt with a girl like Hannah Schmidt. She was terribly talkative, and they continued chatting about all sorts of things. But he soon found his attention wandering. The thing was, flirting with Hannah Schmidt felt the exact same as flirting with every other girl; however agreeable it was, he couldn’t help but be bored. They were all the same: pretty and dainty and vapid. He had a hard time masking his disappointment. His vision of a girl dreamt up in his imagination who was interesting and strong and capable didn’t seem to exist.
