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Once they settled next to Sarah’s campfire, two other women from the wagon train joined them. Elizabeth and Abigail Preston were the wife and mother of Jeb Preston, a preacher who joined the wagon train to start his church in Oregon Country.
A tall and slender woman, Elizabeth Preston could almost be called frail. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head. In a large flowered bag, she carried mending with her as she settled next to Sarah. Her short and plump mother-in-law, her stature the very opposite of Elizabeth’s, always brought a smile to Emma. Abigail had a manner about her that put people at ease with her sharp brown eyes and rosy-cheeked smile.
“Emma, you’re looking a bit tired tonight.” Elizabeth searched her mending bag, finally pulling out the right color of thread to mend one of Jeb’s socks.
“You could say I’m a bit worn out.” Emma chewed on her lip. “Doesn’t all this ever get to you?” She waved her hand around the area.
“Oh, it does, at times,” Elizabeth said. “But Jeb is determined to spread the Word of the Lord in Oregon country and Mama Preston,” she smiled warmly at the older woman, “is such a help with my two girls. Once you get accustomed to the daily routine, it won’t be so bad, you’ll see.”
“How long does it take to be accustomed to the daily routine? It’s been three weeks, and I feel like we’ve been traveling for months.”
“My Jeb can offer you some counsel, if you want, Emma.” Elizabeth attacked the sock with needle and thread. “He’ll find just the right passage to calm your heart.” She reached out a slender hand with a gold band reflecting the firelight, and squeezed Emma’s fingers. “The Lord will always help, you know.”
Emma nodded, her shoulders slumped. A bible toting friendly man, Jeb Preston had already become the person most sought after by the travelers. Leafing through his well-worn Bible, he would read comforting words. Tall and reed thin, Jeb had startling black eyes that softened when speaking in his slow, quiet way. His wagon soon became the most visited one among the emigrants.
“Ladies,” Elizabeth began, looking around the circle of women, “did any of you hear Ezra had to get one of his scouts to break up a brawl last night?”
“No, I didn’t.” Sarah stared wide-eyed at her, smoothing back the curls falling over Stephen’s forehead. “We haven’t had any of those kinds of problems so far.”
When the two other women shook their heads also, Elizabeth continued. “From what Jeb told me, a few of the men got into a card game, and were drinking, and one of them called another one a cheat, and before you knew it, fists were flying.”
“Oh my goodness.” Sarah shook her head, lips pursed. “I wish Ezra had not allowed drinking on this trip, with all the children present.” She stabbed her finger with the needle she used to sew on a button. “Ow.” She stuck her finger in her mouth.
“According to Jeb.” Elizabeth leaned forward and lowered her voice. “After things quieted down, Ezra threatened to put off the wagon train anyone he found drunk.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that,” Emma said, “the last thing I want to worry about is traveling with a bunch of drunks.”
All of the women nodded their agreement.
“Who was the scout brave enough to step into the middle of drunken brawlers?” Emma wanted to know.
“That tall, rather good looking one.” Elizabeth tossed the mended sock into her bag. “He always seems to be at the head of the wagon train. You know, curly dark hair, always looks like he needs a shave? Let me see, Davis, I think Jeb told me his name is.”
After another hour or so of conversation, Emma took her leave of Sarah’s wagon. Abigail and Elizabeth joined in her departure, all of them promising to gather again the next evening.
The campfire burned low, and aside from the chirping of insects, silence greeted Emma as she arrived back at her wagon area. Placing her hands on her hips, she frowned and looked around the area for Peter. So much for him hurrying back so they could go for a walk. Shrugging, she grabbed a shawl from the wagon, and headed toward the animal pen to see if she could find him.
Most of the wagons had settled in for the night. She headed toward the outside of the wagon circle, listening to the sound of babies crying as their mothers attempted to sooth. A few women still washed dishes from supper, but none of the men seemed to be about. She smiled at two boys arguing over a game of marbles as they squatted next to the dim light of a wagon.
Still not having spotted Peter, or Ezra, she continued on, leaving the circle completely. She pulled her shawl tighter around her, and hurried to where the moonlight cast a glow on a group of men gathered around a few horses from the remuda. The animals in the makeshift pen stirred restlessly, their huge heads swinging back and forth as a large palomino bucked and jerked, trying hard to get away from the men who tried to control them. Peter and one of the scouts attempted to hold onto the horse while Ezra examined its hoof. Rearing up in a panic, the horse broke free of the strap the scout held and kicked out his back legs, dragging Peter to the ground.
The scout grabbed the dangling strap, but not before the horse’s front hooves came down on Peter’s chest. His scream rent the air, turning Emma’s blood to ice. Ezra and the scout attempted to pull the animal away, but his panicked strength dragged both men to the ground. Peter rolled to his stomach, and the animal came down on his back. This time there was no scream, and Peter lay still. The scout grabbed Peter by the collar to drag him away, and received a kick to his ribs. He went down in a cloud of dust.
Emma gathered her skirts in her fists and screamed Peter’s name, running toward the group. Ezra was back on his feet, but Peter and the scout lay crumpled and broken on the ground. Three men now had hold of the horse, and dragged the bucking animal away from the men.
Everything appeared in slow motion. Emma’s legs seemed to drag, even though she knew she raced toward the group. Spooked from the panicked horse, the other horses on the pen whinnied and stomped and pawed with agitation. Ezra shouted orders to the men, who moved the horses back, while two others raced to the fallen men.
Breathless, Emma reached the group just as Ezra joined the small group. She tugged at arms that attempted to hold her back. Someone wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her back from the pen area. “Let me go!” She tried to pry his hand free, but he held fast.
Several men stood in front of her, watching the ground, blocking her view. Emma brought her booted foot down hard on the instep of the man holding her. He cursed, and released her enough so she could run. She pushed her way into the crowd, using her elbow to move the men out of the way.
Several men now surrounded Peter and the scout. Ezra yelled for everyone to clear away. Her heart pounding, Emma watched in horror as one of the men turned Peter over. His eyes were closed and his dirt-filled mouth hung open. Blood ran from his nose, and covered his chest where the imprint of hooves dug into his body. His left arm and right leg were twisted in an odd position.
It was obvious he had been badly stomped. Emma fell to her knees and crawled toward her husband. More hands grabbed her shoulders, and struggled to hold her back. Panting, she wrestled herself feel just as the man holding Peter looked over to Ezra and slowly shook his head.
All the blood drained from her face and dots danced in front of her eyes. “Nooooo!” Emma tilted her head back and screamed to the star
s, just before everything went black.
