Glory Read online

The wagon master’s smile slowly faded. “Glory?”

  “That’s right. Name’s Glory.” The kid looked straight ahead.

  “Glory.” Jackson took a sip of coffee. He hadn’t expected this. “What’s your last name?”

  “Don’t have one. Name’s just Glory.”

  Lily burst into laughter. “You’re a girl?”

  “Of course I’m a girl,” Glory spit out. “What’d you think I am?”

  Mary blushed. “Well, your trousers—”

  “And the way you look … all dirty—”

  “Harper!” Ruth scowled.

  “You thought I was a boy?” Glory sprang to her feet, ready to fight, until Jackson calmly reached out to restrain her. The waif’s eyes moved to the simple gingham dresses the others wore, and she frowned. “I ain’t no boy.”

  “We can see that now.” Patience smiled. “We just didn’t expect to find a girl alone on the trail.”

  Glory glanced at Jackson, then back at the girls. “Well, I didn’t expect to see a covered wagon with five girls and a man in it either, but I recognized a wagon when I saw one.”

  Lily giggled, and Mary smothered a cough. The tense moment passed, and Jackson poured himself a second cup of coffee.

  “How come you don’t have a last name?” Lily asked.

  “I’ve been trying to get one. Poppy tried to find me a husband, but that didn’t work out.”

  Jackson choked on a swallow of coffee that went down the wrong way. Glory leaned over and whacked him on the back until the spasm passed.

  “Married?” he choked.

  Glory nodded. “Been trying to get married, but men are fickle. They keep bringing me back.”

  Patience’s eyes widened with surprise, and the other girls snickered.

  Jackson pinned them with a stern look. “Ladies.”

  Glory shrugged. “Poppy found three likely candidates before he died, but each one brought me back home before the day was out. Almost made it to supper with one, but Ralph didn’t like it when I told him he didn’t know beans about turnips. So I’ve got just Glory for a name.”

  She pulled off the battered hat and thrust her hands into the released mass of curly, cinnamon-colored hair. Jackson frowned. If she’d taken off her hat earlier, he’d have realized that she was a female. She was a comely young woman, perhaps a bit older than Ruth, with slightly tilted gray green eyes in an oval face. Despite the dirt, Jackson noted a few freckles sprinkled across a finely carved nose above a neatly defined mouth. If only she didn’t smell so bad. Poppy clearly hadn’t emphasized regular baths and clean clothing.

  “Well, far as I know, there’s no law about not having a last name.” Jackson finished the coffee and pitched the grounds into the fire. “Best we get supper over with early. We leave at first light.”

  Weary from the day’s journey, the group ate supper and washed dishes. Each girl took a bedroll from the back of the wagon but seemed hesitant on where to spread her blanket. One waited for the other to make a decision. Jackson spread his bedroll at the front of the wagon, giving the girls privacy.

  Standing upwind, Ruth glanced at Glory. “You get first choice on where to sleep.”

  Glory’s eyes surveyed the possibilities, and she shrugged. “Don’t rightly matter.”

  Lily licked one finger and held it up in a clear effort to determine the direction of the slight breeze. Then the girls spread their blankets upwind from Glory.

  Glory wondered if she’d done something wrong. She’d been real polite, answered all their questions best she

  could, and she thought they were getting along right well for strangers. But clearly nobody wanted to sleep near her.

  Jackson issued a gentle reminder from the front of the wagon. “Ladies, it’s getting late.”

  Tucked in her bedroll, Ruth opened a leather-bound book and smiled at Glory. “We were reading in Psalms last night. Psalm 23.”

  Glory listened to Ruth’s melodic voice as she read words that Glory had never heard before, beautiful words. She didn’t understand what they meant, but they kept her attention. She’d seen a book like that once. Poppy had brought it home and said a lot of people put store in the words, but since neither she nor Poppy could read, they didn’t know what it said. She glanced at Jackson, who lay listening to Ruth read. Did he know what the strange words meant? Did he count them useful? He must, she decided, because he didn’t make Ruth stop.

  When Ruth finished reading and closed the book, the girls bowed their heads and Patience began to speak. “Lord, we thank you for a safe journey today and for food tonight. We thank you again for Jackson, who is taking us to a new life in Colorado. And we pray for a restful night of sleep and a good day tomorrow. Amen.”

  The other girls echoed, “Amen.”

  Ruth started to put the book back into its waterproof pouch.

  “What is that?” Glory asked.

  Ruth turned. “This?”

  Glory nodded. “It has pretty words.”

  “Why … it’s a Bible. Haven’t you seen a Bible before?” Mary asked and then dissolved into a fit of wheezing and coughing. Glory noticed that Mary coughed more as the sun went down. She seemed to have a powerful affliction.

  “Don’t reckon I have… . Poppy had something like it that he’d found on the trail.” She looked away. “Couldn’t neither one of us read.”

  Patience looked shocked. “I thought everyone knew about the Bible and read it.”

  “Well, I didn’t. And I ain’t read it,” Glory admitted softly.

  Harper’s head popped out of her bedroll. “You can’t read? Even I can read. Some.”

  Ruth leaned closer to Glory. “Don’t pay any attention to Harper. I’d rather hear someone read the beautiful words that God has given us than read them myself.”

  “Dawn comes early,” Jackson called. “Time to turn in.” He doused the lantern, and the girls settled down for the night.

  Poppy had said that same thing every night before blowing out the lamp. “Time to turn in.” The familiar phrase reminded her of her loss as she rolled into her blankets. She lay on her back and stared up at the stars and wished that she could have Poppy back. Knowing that she couldn’t, she wished she were already in “town” starting her new life.

  “Good night,” Patience whispered.

  Rolling to her side, Glory smiled. “Good night.”

  For the first time in weeks, she wasn’t alone, and it felt good. So very good. And she’d learned a few things this day. Not all people were as bad as Amos; and if she tried, she could walk a long, long way.

  Oh, Poppy, I wish I was back home in my own bed and you were sleeping across the room. Her eyes stung, and she rubbed them. The wind must have kicked up some dust. She coughed, mumbling under her breath.

  Jackson’s gentle voice drifted to her. “Go to sleep, Glory.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for giving me a ride. I’m much obliged.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  If nothing else, Poppy had taught her manners, but she suspected there was a lot Poppy hadn’t, or couldn’t have, taught her.

  Closing her eyes, she listened to the fire crackle and burn lower. It was good that she’d run away. If Amos had followed her, maybe he’d given up by now and gone back to wherever he’d come from.

  And it was good that this wagonload of girls and Jackson had come along when they had. Real good. She didn’t feel so alone now.

  She fell asleep thinking how nice it felt to be with people—people who talked and laughed and knew about places called “town.”

  Chapter Three

  The sun was below the tops of the trees when the prairie schooner rolled into Squatter’s Bend the following evening.

  Glory was dumbfounded by the bustling activity; she couldn’t do anything but stare openmouthed at the wide, dusty street and all of the funny-looking buildings. She’d only gone with Poppy when she was a young child, before she could be left alone at the shanty. She didn’t remember the buildings being
so tall and odd looking, as if they were more of an afterthought than an honest-to-goodness intention.

  Mary leaned over to tap Glory’s mouth shut. “You’ll catch a fly. Haven’t you ever seen people before?”

  “I’ve seen a few, but never this many in one place.”

  Glory couldn’t get enough of the strange sights. She was reminded of the picture Poppy had of all those men standing at a graveside, all those women crying. She had thought it was really something and had stared at those bawling folks for hours on end. But gawking at a picture full of people had been nothing like the spectacle playing out before her today. In her eyes, Squatter’s Bend bested a burying scene any day of the week.

  If she and Poppy spotted a passing wagon twice a year, they were lucky, leastways she’d thought so. Then there’d only been a ma and pa and a few young’uns in it, never this many people and never all bunched in one place. Fact was, she hadn’t known there were so many people in the world! On second thought, she decided that there weren’t any more people; they all had to be here in Squatter’s Bend.

  Buggies and wagons pulled in and away from the fronts of buildings, their wheels rattling on the dirt road, kicking up dust. Men whistled to their teams and threw friendly shouts at each other as they rode off. Mamas, their arms full of fat bundles, herded small children across the street like protective hens. Glory strained to get a better look at the packages. What could they have bought? Probably most anything they liked. And the smells! She sucked in drafts of mouthwatering aromas, most notably that of baking bread, wishing with all her might that she could smell butter, too. Her mouth pooled at the thought of hot bread and butter, and she swallowed repeatedly, craning her neck to try to see everything at once.

  Mr. Jackson Lincoln sawed on the reins, and the wagon rolled to a stop in front of the tallest building, which sported a wide, white porch. After setting the brake, he carefully wrapped the reins around the handle before he turned to the girls. “Stay close. I don’t want to have to hunt you up when I’m finished.”

  “Yes, sir, anything you say, sir.” Harper’s dark eyes flashed back at him as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Glory wondered if the girl plain flat out carried a chip on her shoulder. This morning at breakfast, Jackson Lincoln had asked Harper to pass the butter, and she’d told him to get it himself—she weren’t his servant. Jackson had gone on eating like the butter wouldn’t add to the biscuit, but Glory had known it would. She had jumped up and gotten the butter for him herself. Even dug around in the box and found some apple butter to go with it. No, it just seemed to her that Harper didn’t like taking orders from a man—least of all Jackson Lincoln.

  “It won’t take me long to get staples ordered. We’ll pick up the supplies before we leave town in the morning.” He glanced at Glory. “You gonna be all right here by yourself?”

  “Yes, sir.” Glory swallowed the sudden, growing lump in her throat. “I’ll be just fine. Thank you, sir.”

  Leastwise, she sure hoped so. She’d never been away from the shanty, and she didn’t know what to expect. Fact was, nothing she’d ever known had prepared her for this, but she guessed now that she was on her own, she’d learn to handle it.

  The wagon master smiled, a right nice smile, and she noticed a dimple in his left cheek. She couldn’t say his age—hard to tell. But he was older than she and probably forty years younger than Poppy. As she watched, he jumped lithely from the wagon to the ground and disappeared into the general store. A bell over the door tinkled when he opened it, a sound Glory had never heard before but liked. It made a nice, welcoming noise that she thought sounded peaceful.

  Harper climbed onto the seat Jackson had vacated and sniffed the fragrant aroma of baking bread. Closing her eyes, she grinned, her even white teeth flashing in the early morning sun. “Now don’t that smell like paradise?”

  Glory thought it smelled better than anything she’d ever smelled before, especially since she hadn’t eaten much lately. With Poppy gone and supplies running low, she’d gone to bed hungry more often than not the past few weeks. And there hadn’t been an abundance of vittles since she’d left the cabin. Shooting game hadn’t seemed worthwhile, and then she’d accepted a ride with Jackson Lincoln and the girls, and she hadn’t wanted to be any more trouble than she already was. That thought reminded her of why she was here with Jackson Lincoln: Amos.

  A shudder leaked out when she thought of her narrow escape. Was Amos trailing her? Of course he was. Last night she’d told herself he’d give up, but she didn’t really believe it. The more likely question was how long would it take him to find her? And when he did, he’d take her pouch of gold and leave her with nothing to her name. She wouldn’t have the slightest means to start a new life. She didn’t know how to do anything but hunt and fish, and from the looks of things in Squatter’s Bend, there wasn’t much call for the like.

  Mary coughed, and Patience leaned over to gently arrange the shawl more snugly around her thin shoulders. “Put your handkerchief over your mouth, Mary,” she said softly. “The dust will make your cough worse.”

  Mary nodded and complied. Glory could see the two girls were fond of each other.

  Harper squirmed on the seat. “Shouldn’t we get out of the wagon? Mr. Lincoln might be a while, and I’d surely like to stretch my legs.”

  “Me, too,” Ruth agreed.

  The girls climbed out and Glory followed, her gaze drinking in the frantic bustle that didn’t stop. Up the street, fire billowed from the blacksmith’s pit, and the even rhythm of his hammer as he pounded the hot iron into shape echoed up and down the rutted street. Poppy had done what shoeing was necessary at the shanty; she’d tried her hand once but hadn’t been good at it.

  Glory edged closer to Mary, her bewilderment overwhelming at the moment.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Mary whispered, clutching the hankie over her mouth. “Towns are always noisy places.”

  Glory didn’t want the others to know how frightening the town was to her. She wasn’t a baby—she could hold her own. “Ain’t afraid. Just like to be near you.” To prove it, she joined hands with Mary. Only seemed proper, seeing how nice they’d been to her.

  Holding hands, two by two, the six young women ventured down the sidewalk, Glory gripping Mary’s hand tensely. The girls paused in front of a dress shop to admire the array of pretty store-bought dresses and other goods in the window.

  “Ain’t those pretty,” Harper breathed, and Glory thought maybe she’d forgotten her usual fierceness in the excitement.

  “I had a red dress once,” Ruth said softly. “It wasn’t near as pretty as this one, but I liked it, and it fit better than most.” She sighed. “I loved that dress.”

  Glory didn’t want to mention that she’d never owned a dress in her life. Dresses like her new friends wore seemed to be the thing most young women wore instead of trousers. Another thing she learned from being in town.

  “What happened to your red dress?” Lily asked Ruth.

  “Wore out,” Ruth replied wistfully. “Wore it until one day when I washed it, it fell clean apart.”

  A murmur of sympathy passed among the girls.

  “How come you couldn’t get another one?” Glory asked.

  “When you live in an orphanage, you get what other people don’t want,” Patience explained. “Sometimes folks pass on things that are better than others. Occasionally a dress or coat that still has a few wearings left in it will be donated, but not often. An orphanage depends on the goodness of others, except folks couldn’t afford much goodness at the one we came from.”

  “We learned to take what we got, make the most of it, and be grateful,” Ruth added.

  Glory studied the shiny material displayed on a form in the window and wondered how women could stand to wear such things. Why, getting through the brush with all that material dragging behind would be nigh to impossible. And the wind would whip up that skirt right smart-like.

  “Never had a dress,” Glory murmured,
almost before she knew she was saying it.

  “Never had a dress?” Lily moved to stand beside Ruth, upwind of Glory.

  “No.”

  “Not ever?” Harper frowned. “How come? I thought every girl had a dress.”

  “Not me. Never had much use for one.”

  The women on the wagons who had come by the cabin wore faded dresses that more often than not hung loose on them, the hems sometimes ragged. None wore anything like what she saw in the window or even like those the women in this town wore. This dress was a pure wonderment. All that frilly lace and rows of ruffles would choke a horse.

  Glory spied the boots sitting beside the dress in the window and grinned, pressing her nose against the cool glass. Now there was something she could use. Her boots had holes in the soles. She’d patched them with a bit of leather, but nothing lasted long, and the stitches let in water.

  If she was careful where she stepped, she could wear her old boots out in the woods, but thick briars punched through the patches and the leather was soon eaten away again. When the snows had come, she’d padded the soles with rags to make do, but that was powerful lumpy to walk on and caused hurtful blisters.

  Eyeing the durable leather boots, she thought about the gold in Poppy’s pouch hidden under her belt. She didn’t know how much it amounted to, but it was enough to get Amos riled. She could spend some of the money on a new pair of boots, but she didn’t dare show it. If Amos was so bent on getting the gold, then others would be too. Besides, if she were to begin a new life without any skills, it would take every bit of the gold she had to stay alive until she figured a way to make a living.

  “It is quite remarkable handiwork,” Ruth observed, her eyes fastened on the window display. “Look at the fancy stitching along the bodice, and the way the skirt hangs so beautifully from that point in front.”

  Harper made a disgusted noise. “Where would anyone wear something like that?” But Glory noticed Harper didn’t look away; she just kept staring at the pretty red dress like it was a pork chop bone and she was a hungry pup.

  Jackson Lincoln came out of the mercantile and whistled shrilly. Glory jumped at the sound, but the girls, apparently accustomed to this signal, turned immediately from their daydreaming and started back toward the wagon. Glory trailed behind.