“Weather out on the plains can be tricky any time of year. I traveled as far west as western Nebraska once, came back this way during the war.”
“Oh, were you in the war, Mr. Turner?”
Yeah, I was a gunrunner, Jake felt like answering, just to see the look on the reverend’s face. “Yes, sir,” he answered. “But I would rather not talk about it.”
“Oh, I see, I see.” A look of true concern came into Bishop’s gentle eyes, and Jake felt like an ass for having to lie to him. “Do you intend to try to find Mrs. Hayes? They are a good two or three weeks ahead of you, you know. They left May third.”
Jake looked past him at the open country beyond the church. “Yes, I’ll try to find her. As long as I know the party she’s traveling with, that will help. I’ll ride hard north to the Oregon Trail. I can probably be up there before another steamboat could make it, and I can inquire at some of the forts along the way. It won’t be easy catching up to them, but a man alone can also travel a lot faster than a whole family with wagons. Those freight wagons will slow them down even more.”
“Well, Mr. Turner, you’re welcome to come to my home for a good home-cooked meal first to send you on your way.”
Jake was dumbfounded at the offer. You don’t even know me, he thought. I could rob you blind! He was not used to being around such good, trusting people. He wondered if the reverend had ever known or witnessed any form of violence in his whole life. “No, thank you,” he answered. “If I’m going to catch up with Mrs. Hayes and the others, I had better get started right away. I appreciate the offer, though.” He remounted Outlaw. “You’ve been a big help, Reverend. I’m very grateful.”
“Well, I’m here to serve in any way I can, Mr. Turner. God be with you on your journey.”
“Thank you.” Jake nodded to the man and kicked Outlaw’s sides lightly, heading out of town, anxious to be away from civilized places. Thank you indeed, he thought. He could hardly believe it had all been so easy—the old woman telling him about Reverend Bishop, the reverend so willing to give out information. Again he felt controlled by fate. Maybe he was supposed to find Randy. Maybe someone was making it easy for him.
Someone? He looked up at a puffy cloud overhead, then rolled his eyes at what he had been thinking. Men like him didn’t give much thought to being helped by God. He only kept his mother’s prayer beads for sentimental reasons, not to pray with. Praying was not for the likes of him. Still, if he had prayed, he couldn’t have gotten a much quicker answer than what he had just gotten from Reverend Bishop. He thought finding Randy would be a lot harder than this, but then he hadn’t really found her yet. He only knew where to start looking, and she had a big head start.
He pulled a thin cigar from his shirt pocket. It was getting warm already, and he wore no jacket. He slowed Outlaw to a walk while he took a match from a little pouch on his saddle and flicked it with his fingernail to light it. He held it to the cigar and took a puff, then waved out the match and threw it aside, thinking again what big country it was where he was headed. His only hope was that the Jennings family and the traders would stick to the regular Oregon Trail. It was his only chance of finding Randy.
He spurred Outlaw into a faster gait, heading north.
***
Miranda walked beside the wagon, swatting at a fly that kept pestering her. During the day it was flies, at night mosquitoes. She was sure that both, along with the heat, the mud, the sudden drenching storms, the painful cramps in her calves, and the sores on her feet would be much more bearable if she could have kept Opal’s friendship, as well as the friendship of the Reverend Jennings and his brothers.
Clarence had seen to it that she was left an outsider. What was most frustrating was that she could not directly accuse the young man of anything solid. She simply knew by instinct that he had been talking to his uncles about her, had been planting ideas in their heads. She realized now that she should have known by the hostile look the young man had given her the day when she turned down his advances that he would find a way to get even.
He had apparently done just that. The first three weeks of their journey out of Omaha, he had hung around her incessantly, pushing his presence on her, making her talk to him when she didn’t want to, finding ways to help her, touch her. Then there were times when she would see him talking to his uncles, all of them stealing glances at her, whispering together. She had no doubt Clarence was telling the pious men that she was some kind of wanton woman who had been flirting with him, a man-hungry widow who seemed to have her eyes set on an innocent teenager.