Leaving Independence by Leanne W. Smith Page B

predawn light she couldn’t tell the time but thought she heard people moving around camp. Wagons were spread over several acres in no real order. Last night there had been introductions and laughter, dogs barking excitedly, children running, parents scolding, and continued packing in the wagons. Now all was silent but for a few soft stirrings.
    This was it. Tuesday. They would set out at sunup.
    The colonel and Christine had come to check on her last night after the meeting. No one else had reported missing money. They assured her that the money she had after the sale of her pendant should be enough to pay for incidentals along the way.
    “We’re all in this together,” said Colonel Dotson. But Abigail was determined that her family not be a burden.
    As she dressed and smoothed her hair, she wished for more light.
     
    I’ve nailed a round mirror at a downward angle at the top of the wooden slats, securing it with string to keep it from moving as we jostle. Beneath that sits an upturned wooden crate with a blue tin washbowl and pitcher. It is a poor substitute for the sideboard dresser with its beveled mirror and porcelain wash set I had in Marston, but I am resolved not to feel sorry for myself.
     
    Raising the back flap, Abigail eased out into the moist predawn air. Her long skirts made it hard to see where to step. She envied Lina and Corrine their shorter dresses but didn’t know how they were going to fare climbing in and out either, especially short-legged Lina, who would have a far hop to the ground.
    A couple of fires burned in the distance, but she could see little else. Feeling her way to the nearest wagon, she climbed up to check on the boys. Rascal’s head popped up. Charlie and Jacob had lifted him in during the night to quiet his whining.
    Charlie whispered, “That you, Ma? Time to get up?”
    She had asked the boys to sleep in the wagon this first night just to ease her mind. The feeling of having been watched in town, then having her money stolen, had made her uneasy. Hopefully the feeling would go away once they got on the trail.
    “It’s still dark,” she whispered. “Get a little more sleep if you can. I’m going to start breakfast.”
    As she stepped off in the dark, Abigail slapped into something hard—a body!
    “You all right, ma’am?” She recognized the deep voice as an iron-strong arm reached out to steady her.
    “Yes. Sorry. I can’t see a thing.”
    “Why don’t we fix that?”
    He moved off before she could thank him. She heard twigs breaking and the striking of a match. Soon a small fire crackled, the light dancing patterns on his face and hands. Abigail liked the hot smell of the wood burning—it helped cover the stench of manure that hung over the camp, trapped in the mist of the coming morning.
    She felt for the dish crate she had prepared the night before and pulled it from the boys’ wagon, nearly dropping it.
    “Need help with that?” Hoke was at her elbow.
    “No, I’ve got it. Thank you.” She didn’t want him burdened by her lack of a husband. Was that why they put her in his company? “You don’t have to look out for us, Mr. Hoke. We’ll get the hang of things.”
    “Just Hoke. You’re going to have a sore back if you pull that off there every morning. Here.” He took the crate from her hands and set it by the fire. “Mind if I put a pot of coffee on and share this fire with you?” He smelled like the dawn—like sod and the horses—like the wooden sticks now popping in the flames.
    “That would be fine.”
    Surely he wasn’t going to stand there and watch her! She couldn’t make herself stop rattling the dishes until he walked off into the distance.
     
    Mrs. Helton told me how to make skillet biscuits, saying that would be easiest, but she went through the directions fast, assuming I had some basic knowledge of cooking. I was too embarrassed to admit otherwise.
     
    Soon Charlie and Jacob were at the fire. Abigail handed Jacob the milk