Passage West Read Free Page B

…”
    “What does that mean?”
    Violet touched her handkerchief to her flushed cheek. “It means that I will have to give the matter some thought.” In a brighter tone, she added, “We must make dinner tonight for your father and Abby. The poor thing will be too exhausted to cook when we make camp.”
    “I can bake biscuits,” Carrie said, feeling a sudden wave of sympathy for her older sister. What must it be like to sit on that hard seat all day beneath the searing sun and handle an unruly team?
    “And I’ll make a stew with the last of that venison,” Vi said, rummaging through the sack that held dried vegetables.
    It was nearly dusk, and Mordecai knew the travelers were exhausted. When the first wagon reached the banks of the swollen river, he decided to get the train across before making camp for the night. That way, the morning could begin with ease. Signaling Thompson, he waited by the water’s edge.
    “Where’s Rourke?” he called as his partner approached.
    Thompson pointed to a horse and rider high on a ridge.
    “Bring him down,” Mordecai ordered. “He can help get the wagons across.”
    “Maybe we ought to wait until morning to cross.”
    The old man shook his head. “They may as well learn the rules of the trail. When there’s a river to cross, we do it before dark. Besides, I don’t like the looks of that weather. I’d like to cross before we get more rain. The water’s already deep enough to be a problem.”
    “These drivers are pretty green,” Thompson reminded him.
    “I know. And tired. But the sooner we cross this river the better.”
    Thompson wheeled his horse and urged him into a gallop toward the far ridge. Half an hour later, Rourke and Thompson joined Mordecai at the river.
    Several wagons were halted at the edge, their occupants staring in fright at the rushing water.
    There were big, cumbersome Conestoga wagons, their white canvas bleached by the sun. Many of the families had outfitted farm wagons for the trip. They were easier to haul and repair. Several of Reverend Coulter’s families had painted their wagon boxes blue, the wheels red, and stretched white canvas over the bent hickory bows. On this, their first day, they looked like a festive parade.
    “I’ll cross first with the cook wagon,” the old Scot said. “Thompson, you tie a lead rope to each team and tow it across to the other side. Parker and I will tie it to that tree over there, so the horses and wagons can’t be swept downstream.” He jabbed a finger in the air. “Rourke, I want you to ride alongside each wagon as it crosses. If the driver panics, you’ll have to take over.”
    The men nodded at his terse instructions. Climbing from his horse, Mordecai took the reins from his cook and urged the team into the swirling water. While more wagons eased toward the riverbank to watch, the old man firmly guided his team toward the center of the stream. Water reached clear to the floor of the wagon, but the horses never paused or stumbled. With a crack of the whip, the horses strained, making straight toward the opposite bank.
    A cheer went up from the crowd as the wagon creaked slowly up the steep embankment and came to rest in the tall grass.
    As soon as the cook wagon was clear, Thompson tied a lead rope to the next wagon. While the driver whipped and cursed his team, Rourke rode alongside, offering encouragement. One of the mules stumbled and the wagon tilted dangerously. While the onlookers gasped, the wagon tipped further and flopped onto its side in the water. Children screamed and cried. Boxes and bundles fell loose and floated downstream. The mules twisted in their harnesses, brayed frantically and churned the water, trying to right themselves.
    From her vantage point, Abby watched the scene with a mixture of horror and fascination. They were going to die. That entire family. Swept away in the current. And the same thing would happen to her family when they were forced to cross. She could swim, at