Come Back Page 2

  Becca blew at a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid and settled the canteen strap diagonally across her chest, then bent down and grabbed two cloth sacks full of edible roots. Her arm muscles strained and her back protested the weight. The game knife she’d praised for helping her dig, she now cursed.

  Oh, well. She’d find a way to make do. The others waiting back at camp would thank her for the fresh potato soup.

  She balanced her load and walked on, lifting her eyes to the west, to the mountains in the distance with their jagged, snowcapped peaks. Each day, fear and elation warred in her chest. Leaving her home in Missouri for the dangers of the long trip west was the scariest thing she’d ever done. Even three months later, being out in the middle of nowhere gave her shivers.

  The opportunities that awaited her and her family in California had made them all face their fears. Making a new home would take months of hard work. Years, really. But settling new land would be worth it. They would be blessed beyond their wildest dreams.

  As she followed the occasional rock piles on her way back to camp, she had to set the sacks down to catch her breath and get a better grip from time to time. She’d hoped Nathan might come looking for her and help carry the load, but that was a foolish wish. His parents would never allow him to be out here with her alone—hers either.

  A wistful smile crossed her lips. She’d have to content herself with what little contact they had, and with the fact their families had chosen the same destination. They’d live miles apart for a time. But then, one day, he’d come for her.

  With fond thoughts of her beau lightening her steps, she followed the last of the rocks and rounded the large copse of trees that marked the edge of the clearing. At the sight of the empty prairie that stretched out before her, she set down the bags and shielded her eyes to look around. Where was everyone? Thirty wagons and six times as many oxen and people didn’t just disappear.

  She glanced down again at the rocks. There must be more than one path. Yes. That had to be it. She’d gotten confused and followed the wrong one back.

  “Great,” she muttered. “Now supper really will be late.”

  Lifting her bags, she turned to go back the way she’d come and froze. Her heart took flight, and shock stole the air from her lungs. Crates, chests, and other discarded belongings lay strewn along the edge of the clearing—the exact same ones she’d seen earlier that day.

  The bags of vegetables slipped from her hands and hit the ground with a sickening thud. She clutched her stomach with one hand and covered her trembling lips with the other. She hadn’t lost her way. They’d left. They’d gone and left her behind!

  Becca bolted down the wagon trail, crying.

  “Ma! Pa! Wait! Don’t leave me! I’m here!”

  She ran as fast as she could, ignoring the full canteen banging her hip and coughing from clouds of interminable dust. She was young and strong. And fast. The wagons moved slow, barely gaining fifteen miles in one day. If she kept running, she’d eventually catch up.

  Fear surged higher as she came upon the site of the avalanche. A jagged bluff rose up to the right, and the cascade of rocks it had poured onto the trail lay parted like the Red Sea.

  Her legs tangled in her skirts and she fell, but she pushed to her feet, hiked up her hem, and ran even faster. Tears streamed down her face and sharp pains seared her side, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She was alone in the wild. She couldn’t let them get away.

  About a mile later, the ruts in the earth formed a Y and veered in two different directions. Becca whimpered and dropped to the ground. Anguished sobs tore through the ragged breaths that heaved from her chest. Running was useless. She’d heard the men arguing over which route they would take, but she never heard which one they chose.

  She lay in the dirt, weeping. What would become of her now? She couldn’t survive on her own. If the loneliness didn’t kill her, the lack of shelter and food would. She rolled to her back, swiped at her eyes and stared at the sky.

  “Why, God? Why did you let this happen to me?”

  Silence was her answer—a hot breeze blowing a few high clouds across the sky.

  Becca sat up and dried her cheeks on her sleeves. Sniveling like a child would do her no good. She was a woman; Charlotte was right. It was time to start acting her age.

  As she rose, she brushed the dirt and grass from her clothes and considered her options. She could choose a path and keep going, but night would fall soon. If she chose wrong, she would be stranded with no food and no shelter.

  Winded by exertion and calmed by logic, Becca trudged back up the trail and returned to the spot she had left. Staying put was the best thing to do. When someone’s child or ox wandered off, horse-mounted scouts were sent out to search. Surely they would do no less for her.

  After dragging the bags of vegetables under the shade of some bushes, she perched on one of the crates and took a long pull of water from her canteen. Her brow furrowed. Her parents would have known she went for a walk. Wouldn’t they have sent scouts to search for her before they even left camp?

  Maybe they did and the men couldn’t find her. She had gone a long way from the wagons.

  She took another drink and capped the canteen. There had to be an explanation. Her parents wouldn’t just leave her behind.

  At the snort of a horse in the distance, she leapt to her feet to go flag down the scout, but her blood ran cold when he came into view. It was a scout all right—a fierce-looking Indian scout sitting atop a huge stallion—and she dared not wait around to see if he was Apache or Sioux.

  Becca crept back into the shelter of the trees before she could be spotted—at least that’s what she hoped. The scout had turned his head in her direction just as she’d felt the cool shade of the leaves.

  Body tingling with alarm, she turned and fled as fast as she could go, scraping past brush and leaping over rocks and fallen trees. Wind whipped her hair and branches stung her face. Her heart pounded and every muscle in her body burned, but she kept running, farther and farther, through groves of trees and over expanses of bare, rocky terrain.

  Something cracked in the thicket behind her.

  Becca whipped her head around and looked over her shoulder. Was he there?

  Her foot struck something solid, sending her tumbling into a ravine. Sharp sticks bit her skin and her skull landed hard on a rock. Pain shot through her head and white light streaked her vision.

  Lying amidst a clutter of boulders and dust, she curled into a ball and groaned.

  “Ma... Pa,” she whimpered as darkness swallowed her. “Come back.”

  Something cold and wet dripped on her face. Becca raised a hand to her cheek and wiped it away. Another drop hit. Then another. She opened her eyes to swirling gray clouds moving across an angry sky.

  She lifted her head and promptly lowered it again. “Ohhh.” A crippling ache gripped her from the back of her neck all the way to her temples. Pain and nausea racked her whole body. She didn’t want to move.

  Lightning flickered across the sky and more drops of rain struck her face. She had no choice. She had to find shelter.

  Becca sat up and looked herself over. Something dug into her thigh—her knife. The point of the sheath, to be precise, attached by a tether to her waist. She wiggled it free and slid it to the side, thankful the blade hadn’t come loose and cut her on her way down. She bunched up her skirts and rolled back her sleeves, then ran her fingers over her face and her scalp. Other than a large bump on her head and several scrapes and bruises on her limbs, she seemed to be all right.

  As she rose to her feet, a chill rippled through her. Where was the Indian? The last thing she remembered was him and running away. Listening, she glanced around.

  Nothing. Just wilderness, ripe with the heavy scent of rain and alive with the rustling and creaking of a coming storm.

  Wrinkling her nose at the way she smelled, Becca brushed the dirt from her clothing and straightened the canteen strap
that still hung around her chest, then opened it and took a long drink. Despite the queasiness, her stomach growled as if she hadn’t eaten in a week. How long had she been out?

  Long enough she needed to relieve herself. Now.

  She scrambled up the side of the ravine and hurried to the nearest thicket. Once she’d seen to her needs, she climbed onto a boulder and turned a slow circle to survey the land. Except for mountains and an occasional grove of trees, there was nothing but miles of scrubby, rocky terrain in every direction.

  With a sigh, she slumped onto the rock. She was lost. She’d run so fast and so scared, she hadn’t paid any mind to where she was going. And now, she didn’t even have the aid of the sun.

  Thunder cracked overhead, then rumbled and echoed across the land with an ominous sound. Rain pelted her with increasing measure. Finding her way back would have to wait. For now, securing safe shelter was far more important.

  She glanced around again, then headed for a thick copse of bushes that was up on a hill and woven with vines. Becca knelt down and crawled inside the protective mass of vegetation. She tucked her skirts around her legs and clutched her knees to her chest, then drew the last biscuit from her pocket and choked the crumbs down as rain fell along with her silent tears.

  Becca shivered and hugged herself with her arms. The rain had stopped sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Cold, damp clothes clung to her skin, and her braid lay like wet rope down her back. She shuddered and yawned. The night had been long and sleep had been scarce, but she’d managed to drift off now and then.

  She drew aside the rain-speckled leaves in front of her. A pair of does across the clearing dipped their heads, drinking from puddles. When the breeze shifted, one doe lifted her head and perked up her ears. Seconds later, they bounded into the trees with a white flash of their tails.

  Becca untangled her legs from the mass of damp skirts and wiggled her way out. The sky was surprisingly clear. Bright morning light filtered down through wispy clouds and reflected off newly-formed streams. She smoothed errant strands of hair from her face and breathed in the clean, moist air.

  Standing on the same large rock as before, she scanned her surroundings. Then, using the position of the sun and the mountains to the west as her guides, she made up her mind and set her sights on her goal. It was time to find her way back to the trail and wait for the scouts the train captain would send. Ignoring the damp clothes clinging to her body and the growl of her empty stomach, she set out with a determined pace.

  By what must have been at least an hour later, her early morning confidence was gone. She’d walked in the direction she thought led to the trail, but all she found was more untouched land. Pausing to rest on the trunk of a fallen tree, she took some sips from her canteen and mused her misfortune. If she didn’t find her way back soon... Her heart sank and her stomach clenched. She didn’t want to ponder her fate if that happened. She was growing hungrier and weaker by the hour. The only food she had, she’d left at the side of the trail.

  Becca took one last sip and worked the stopper back into the canteen. A faint sound made her cock her head and perk up her ears. Water. It was the sound of rushing water.

  The stream!

  She shot to her feet. If she could find the stream, she could find the strange rocks, and if she found those, she could follow them back to the site of the camp.

  She hurried toward the familiar sound until she stood on the banks of the small creek. Now which way? Upstream or down? She lifted her gaze and tried to recall how close the mountains appeared before. They had been smaller. Definitely smaller.

  Downstream it was.

  As she trotted along, Becca shook her head and let out a rueful laugh. How ironic. The very same sound that drowned out the noise of the wagon train leaving would be her salvation today.

  She nearly shouted with joy when she saw the vegetable patch and the first pile of rocks. If she kept a brisk pace, she’d make it in time to flag down the scouts. She stopped long enough to dig two potatoes and rinse them in the stream, and then she peeled them, sliced them, and ate them as she followed the path.

  When she neared the clearing, Becca slowed to a stop. What if the Indian was there? He apparently hadn’t seen her, but that didn’t mean he’d left or, if he had, that he wouldn’t return. She’d have to watch for the scouts and stay hidden at the same time.

  After making sure her stash of vegetables hadn’t been found, she crouched down behind a large hutch that had been dumped. Having nothing better to do, she busied herself picking the lock of a leather-bound trunk sitting nearby. Her conscience niggled her a bit, but the trunk’s owner was long since gone and—whether grudgingly or not—had willfully left it behind. Maybe she’d find something to help pass the time.

  When the lock finally gave way, she sheathed her knife and lifted the lid. Musty odors of leather, cloth and paper rose out as sunlight rushed in. Becca ran her hand over the marbled paper lining, fascinated by the swirled hues of blues, grays and purples. Compared to this, her family’s trunks were plain. Some weren’t even lined at all. With the care and reverence instilled in her from an early age, she inspected the contents and began to lift items out.

  Beneath several pairs of shoes and stacks of folded clothes lay a generous assortment of books, including poetry, works of Shakespeare and tales by Dumas. She opened one of the covers and found the name Victoria inscribed in a looped and flowing hand. How strange it was to be sifting through someone else’s life.

  A gasp escaped her lips as she delved farther into the stack. Jane Eyre... Pride and Prejudice. Many settlers were forced to lighten their loads or risk failure on the trip. Still, she bemoaned that anyone would throw such treasures away. Becca lifted out a copy of Wuthering Heights, and then replaced the other items and closed the lid. After glancing around at the silent, deserted prairie, she settled herself with her back against the trunk and started reading.

  Ten chapters later, the prairie was still silent and the sun was directly overhead. Hair heating and stomach complaining, she marked her place with a blade of dry grass and went in search of food and shade. She grabbed two potatoes and took shelter at the base of a tree. As she peeled them and munched on the crunchy raw roots, she wondered again about the scouts and how much ground they could cover in one day.

  Men on horses could travel five times as fast as the wagons. Even if she’d missed them, they could double back a second day. And they would, wouldn’t they?

  Yes. Even if the others refused or gave up, Nathan would come. He was more than smitten. She wasn’t blind to his guardian behavior toward her.

  Sending a prayer heavenward for his protection and her safe return, she washed down the last of her lunch with some water and turned her attention back to the book.

  When the sun slid lower in the sky, she peeled and ate two more potatoes. Then, when it slipped below the horizon, she crouched down behind the hutch and spread an old wool coat on the ground.

  Becca blinked back tears as she bedded down for another lonely night.

  Chilling dreams disturbed her sleep all night long, made worse by the blinding darkness and the damp air. Becca awoke as unsettled as she was unrested. And cold. She had no way to start a fire. She shook the dirt and grass from the coat she’d used as a bed and pulled it on. It was tattered and moth eaten, but it was warm.

  As more silent hours ticked by, the hazy, disjointed images of her nightmares took on fearsome clarity. No one had come for her because something had stopped them. It was horrid to even imagine, but it was the only thing that made any sense.

  Nothing was certain on the trail. Every traveler took the chance of a mishap—broken wheel, broken bone, the occasional wild animal attack—but once in a while, an entire train would be wiped out. Often by illness, but sometimes by Indians.

  Maybe the brave she’d seen hadn’t been alone.

  Becca couldn’t stand the uncertainty any longer. Ignoring the rising fear twisting her insides and choking off her a
ir, she ventured into the open and headed for the cliff that had poured rocks onto the trail. Its peak would raise her high enough to see for miles and learn what she needed to know.

  Digging the toes of her boots into the red, rocky earth, she trudged her way up the back of the hill, tripping on her skirt several times as she went. Her muscles burned and her fingers rubbed themselves raw as the incline grew steeper and steeper, but she kept climbing and dragging herself upward. Sucking in great gulps of air and wincing in pain, she pulled herself the last few feet up and plopped onto the edge of the plain that formed the top. She sat for several minutes, catching her breath.

  Becca stared toward the harmless east, postponing the inevitable moment of turning around. What if her parents and Nathan were strewn about the prairie, mutilated and rotting?

  The more troubling question was what would it mean if they weren’t?

  Legs quivering from nerves and exertion, Becca rose to her feet. She waited until her muscles stopped twitching, and then she turned around and walked to the opposite edge.

  A slow breath blew out between tense lips as her eyes took in the countryside. She focused on the point where the trail split, the place she’d stopped running the first day. Then she followed the upper fork west, as far as she could see.

  Nothing but empty land.

  Refilling her lungs, she turned her gaze south, praying for peace yet hoping for carnage.

  There was no one... nothing. Not even a broken-down wagon.

  Becca lowered her head. As she worked to accept the meaning of what she’d seen, her eyes were drawn to the piles of rocks that lay below. Their jagged edges combined with the dizzying distance to the ground would normally have set her stomach to twitching and flopping. The only sensation inside was the raw, disturbing twinge that came with being abandoned.

  She lingered a few moments more. Then, numbly, she turned back and began her arduous descent.