shark.
“What’s his name?” Pa asked.
“Goes by the name of Jack McCoy. A scoundrel and ne’er-do-well if ever there was one.”
Chapter 2
After the last wagon departed, Sarah spent the rest of the day in the woods calling for Florrie, listening for an answering cry that never came. By evening, her appreciation of her brother had grown by leaps and bounds. She had never realized how much of the workload fell on Hiram’s shoulders. Pa, who’d never done hard labor in his life, had little to no aptitude for the hard work involved in driving a wagon across the country. It was Hiram who yoked and unyoked the oxen on both wagons, greased the wheels, built the campfire, found feed for their eight oxen and two horses, pitched the tents at night, and so much more. During the day, Pa drove their wagon because he had to. Other than that, he’d been content to let his son attend to the chores while he sat around the campground with similar-minded neighbors, discussing such topics as “manifest destiny” and why the United States must extend across the entire continent. He frequently quoted his favorite poet, Henry David Thoreau, with phrases such as “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.”
Lately Ma greeted his remarks with a scornful sniff. “Right now the life I imagine is a soft bed and a roof over my head.”
With Hiram gone, Sarah assumed Pa would take over the tasks that needed to be done. Instead, when they returned from their search, he wearily sank to a seat by the campfire and waited for his supper. That they might need firewood never occurred to him. He looked so tired and drawn she didn’t have the heart to complain. Instead, she gathered sticks and branches herself, clumsily chopped them with an ax, and built the fire for their supper. Ma usually did the cooking, but tonight Sarah fixed biscuits, beans, and bacon while Ma sat silently by, occasionally throwing an angry glance at Pa. Not like her at all. Luzena loved her husband dearly, and he loved her. They never quarreled, but it was plain to see Ma was getting agitated. Each glance seemed angrier than the last until, while Pa was taking the last bite from his plate, Ma declared, “This is all your fault, Frank.”
Startled, he asked, “What’s my fault?”
Ma bristled. “All of this.” Her sweeping gesture took in the camp and surrounding forest. “You’re the one who insisted we come on this horrible journey. If it weren’t for you, I’d be sitting in my beautiful home in Indiana, and Florrie…Florrie…” She choked and could not go on.
“But that’s not so, my dear…”
Sarah shut out their voices. This whole disaster was her father’s fault, yet Ma wasn’t being fair. Never a good businessman, he couldn’t recover when his newspaper went bankrupt. Deep in debt, he was forced to sell the family’s home. Perhaps they could have stayed and somehow survived, but with unaccustomed firmness, Pa announced they were moving to California. Everyone assumed he, along with thousands of others, wanted to rush to the newly discovered goldfields, but his motive for moving was far less exciting. Mokelumne City was a small town in California, not far from Sacramento. When his brother offered a partnership in his general store there, Pa gratefully accepted. Others might get carried away by the prospect of picking huge gold nuggets off the ground, but he valued peace and security far more.
Like most of the women on the wagon train, Ma hadn’t wanted to go. Sarah didn’t either, although after her disastrous marriage, she would have been grateful to be back with her family, no matter where they went. No one suspected how awful her marriage had been. She’d never told. Even after Joseph died, she played the part of the grieving widow, fooling everyone. Well, not quite. Her perceptive brother guessed how miserable she’d been. Before they left Fort Wayne, Ma had wondered why she showed
“What’s his name?” Pa asked.
“Goes by the name of Jack McCoy. A scoundrel and ne’er-do-well if ever there was one.”
Chapter 2
After the last wagon departed, Sarah spent the rest of the day in the woods calling for Florrie, listening for an answering cry that never came. By evening, her appreciation of her brother had grown by leaps and bounds. She had never realized how much of the workload fell on Hiram’s shoulders. Pa, who’d never done hard labor in his life, had little to no aptitude for the hard work involved in driving a wagon across the country. It was Hiram who yoked and unyoked the oxen on both wagons, greased the wheels, built the campfire, found feed for their eight oxen and two horses, pitched the tents at night, and so much more. During the day, Pa drove their wagon because he had to. Other than that, he’d been content to let his son attend to the chores while he sat around the campground with similar-minded neighbors, discussing such topics as “manifest destiny” and why the United States must extend across the entire continent. He frequently quoted his favorite poet, Henry David Thoreau, with phrases such as “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.”
Lately Ma greeted his remarks with a scornful sniff. “Right now the life I imagine is a soft bed and a roof over my head.”
With Hiram gone, Sarah assumed Pa would take over the tasks that needed to be done. Instead, when they returned from their search, he wearily sank to a seat by the campfire and waited for his supper. That they might need firewood never occurred to him. He looked so tired and drawn she didn’t have the heart to complain. Instead, she gathered sticks and branches herself, clumsily chopped them with an ax, and built the fire for their supper. Ma usually did the cooking, but tonight Sarah fixed biscuits, beans, and bacon while Ma sat silently by, occasionally throwing an angry glance at Pa. Not like her at all. Luzena loved her husband dearly, and he loved her. They never quarreled, but it was plain to see Ma was getting agitated. Each glance seemed angrier than the last until, while Pa was taking the last bite from his plate, Ma declared, “This is all your fault, Frank.”
Startled, he asked, “What’s my fault?”
Ma bristled. “All of this.” Her sweeping gesture took in the camp and surrounding forest. “You’re the one who insisted we come on this horrible journey. If it weren’t for you, I’d be sitting in my beautiful home in Indiana, and Florrie…Florrie…” She choked and could not go on.
“But that’s not so, my dear…”
Sarah shut out their voices. This whole disaster was her father’s fault, yet Ma wasn’t being fair. Never a good businessman, he couldn’t recover when his newspaper went bankrupt. Deep in debt, he was forced to sell the family’s home. Perhaps they could have stayed and somehow survived, but with unaccustomed firmness, Pa announced they were moving to California. Everyone assumed he, along with thousands of others, wanted to rush to the newly discovered goldfields, but his motive for moving was far less exciting. Mokelumne City was a small town in California, not far from Sacramento. When his brother offered a partnership in his general store there, Pa gratefully accepted. Others might get carried away by the prospect of picking huge gold nuggets off the ground, but he valued peace and security far more.
Like most of the women on the wagon train, Ma hadn’t wanted to go. Sarah didn’t either, although after her disastrous marriage, she would have been grateful to be back with her family, no matter where they went. No one suspected how awful her marriage had been. She’d never told. Even after Joseph died, she played the part of the grieving widow, fooling everyone. Well, not quite. Her perceptive brother guessed how miserable she’d been. Before they left Fort Wayne, Ma had wondered why she showed
Similar Books
Ole Doc Methuselah
L. Ron Hubbard
Sweet Hell on Fire
Sara Lunsford
Anzac's Dirty Dozen
Craig Stockings
Riptide
Cherry Adair
The Life and Times of Innis E. Coxman
R. P. Lester
FriendlySeduction
Gillian Archer
Justice Falling
Audrey Carlan
Agent X
Noah Boyd
Savage Smoke
Kay Dee Royal
