He still watched her, waiting for her answer. He wasn't pushing, not insisting she go where he told her to. He'd simply given her all the details and was letting her decide. Had anyone ever done that for her?
Before she could allow herself to second-guess the decision, she nodded. "You bury him, and I'll pull what I need from the wagon."
She should offer to help with Mr. Driscoll, but laying Neil's bloodied body to rest still plagued her dreams. She couldn't bury another, not if there was someone else to do it.
Aaron Long had come just in time.
CHAPTER3
Aaron couldn't summon the energy to re-hitch the mules, climb back on the bench, and ride another hour or two, then have to set up camp. In truth, it wasn't as much the energy he lacked as the fortitude to press forward amidst the throbbing in his foot.
Burying Driscoll had been hard on both body and heart. He'd not had a decent shovel to dig with, so he brought rocks to cover the man. And so much walking had rubbed the raw spots on his foot until the entire limb felt like he held it in the midst of a blazing fire. Mrs. Barlow had tried to help carry stones after a while, but he'd waved her off. He'd crawl with a rock strapped to his back before he'd allow a woman so near childbirth to hoist something that heavy.
Thankfully, the physical toil helped distract him from the melancholy of the task. Did Driscoll have family who would mourn him? How could Aaron let them know? There’d been no papers on his person to mention kin, so Aaron would need to search the wagon. Perhaps Mrs. Barlow would know.
Besides that, the man had died in the exact line of work Aaron performed. It could as easily have been him covered over with rocks, one by one.
Would he have wanted that? There was a time less than a year ago he would have welcomed leaving behind his miserable life. But God had changed him, had pulled him out of that miry pit. Given him purpose. Yet escaping this painful body meant meeting the Lord face-to-face. How could he not wish for that welcome event?
And so, with body and mind and heart exhausted, he motioned to a flat spot near the wagon still tipped on its side. "Let's camp here tonight. We’ll start out first thing in the morning."
Mrs. Barlow straightened from folding a blanket and turned to him. "Camp here?" She lifted her gaze to the gray clouds covering the sky above them. "Shouldn't we go as far as we can before dark?"
In truth, she looked as weary as he felt, with the way her shoulders stooped. Tired lines fanned away from her eyes, far more than when he’d met her earlier.
He shook his head. "I think we both need rest. We’ll start fresh tomorrow." He wouldn't normally have admitted his exhaustion, especially to a woman as pretty as she, but that bit of honesty might be the only thing that made her give in.
She shrugged and turned back to the blanket. "What should we do to make camp?"
Shouldn't she already know that? Surely she'd helped Driscoll set up and break down camp. Or perhaps the man hadn't allowed her to lift a hand because of her condition.
Aaron’s pride might want to do the same, but his body wouldn’t be able to manage it. At least not without scenes that would be far more injurious to his pride than simply allowing her to do a few of the easier tasks.
He turned toward where he’d tied the mules to graze. "I'm going to settle my team for the night. You'll find a pot of beans under the bench of my wagon and an oilcloth wrapped around blankets for bedding. There’s dry kindling under there, too, and a tinderbox if you want to start the fire."
He had to lock his jaw to keep from groaning with every step as he hobbled to the grassy area where he'd tied Cain and Abel. He’d left their harness on because he'd assumed he'd be hitching them to the wagon again today, but now he could relieve them of the load and walk them down the slope to water.
What of Driscoll's team? Had the wildcat gotten the best of them? Two mules would be too large of a meal for one mountain lion, but the damages might have been deadly for them both, from the scene Mrs. Barlow had described. Whatever the cat didn't eat, wolves would surely be thankful for.
He gave Abel a pat on the neck. "I'll do my best to keep you from that fate, boy. It's mostly in the Lord's hands though."
The mule shook its head and snorted, then rubbed its muzzle against Aaron's arm.
As much as he would've liked to accommodate his faithful friend, he pulled back so Abel’s weight didn't knock him off balance. "Sorry, fellow. You can't push on my bad leg like that."
Doing everything required for the mules took nearly an hour, and he had to lean on Abel’s shoulders like a walking stick to help him back up the hill. This mule was the older of the two brothers and definitely the steadier one, like his namesake. Cain possessed greater strength but a much more ornery spirit.
As they crested the rise to the level area where the wagon sat, he could nearly taste the beans he'd cooked the night before. Mrs. Barlow should have the fire going by now and the pot warmed. He'd be just in time to eat.
His gaze found the woman, perched in the spot where he'd pointed out to make camp. Where was the fire? She just sat there, legs sprawled out in front of her and arms propped behind. The position made the babe look even bigger than when she stood. She wasn't doing anything though, just watching his approach.
He led the mules toward her, and as he neared, he could see the blankets laid out into sleeping pallets. And there was the pot of beans and a few sticks of kindling, but still no fire.
He halted Cain and Abel in front of her. "Did you not find the tinderbox?" He kept it in the same bundle as the blankets, so she couldn't have missed it.
"It's here." She nodded to the metal case tucked behind the sticks. "I'm not very good at starting a fire from a spark though."
So she hadn't even tried? The wood wasn't arranged to light, just stacked to the side. How could any person live to adulthood and not be able to start a fire from a tinderbox? Especially in this remote territory.
