Rexanne Becnel by When Lightning Strikes Read Free Book Online Page A

should be a private conversation, so she went on before he could speak. “I do not seek a husband, Father. I wish to be a teacher. And a writer,” she added, deciding not to hold anything back. “You have uprooted me and forced me to this move, and so here I am. But you shall not force me into a union I cannot want. When we arrive in Oregon, I shall claim my half share of land as the Donation Act allows to women. I will be a good daughter and a good teacher, I hope. But I am twenty now, no longer a child. If you would but accept that …”
    She trailed off as her emotions spent themselves. But she fully expected his words to rain down on her now, righteous and filled with fury. To her shock, however, his shoulders slumped. Then a sudden fit of coughing overtook him.
    “Papa?” When his coughing did not abate, she hurried to his side, wiping her hands on her apron. “Papa, are you all right?”
    He nodded his head and gestured her away with one hand as the last of his hacking coughs died down. “The dust—” He coughed again, then took the dipper of water she had hastily gotten. He drank deeply, coughed once, then cleared his throat and drank again. “It’s this infernal dust,” he finally said, wiping his face and mouth with his handkerchief. “Don’t worry. I’m fine.”
    Despite his words Abby pressed the back of one hand to his brow. “I don’t know,” she began. “You could be a trifle warm—”
    He shoved her hand away and stood up. “If I am warm, it’s from worry over you, miss.” But the righteous tone he strove for did not quite ring true, and even he knew it. With a sigh he shook his head, and his entire body seemed to droop.
    “I only want to ensure the best future for you, Abby girl,” he said, using his childhood name for her. “You need a husband. Every woman does. I just thought the reverend …”
    He trailed off and they stared at each other across the width of their little campsite. Then he moved back to his chair and sat down, and she returned to her biscuit dough.
    “I’ll tell Reverend Harrison not to call on you again,” he said curtly. “But you shall not take that to mean you are free to cavort with just any fellow who smiles your way. You’re a beautiful woman, Abigail, the very image of your mother. The men you meet on the wagon trail will not be like the fellows you were accustomed to in Lebanon. We knew all of them, and their families as well. But these men heading west—some of them may be good enough sorts, but others … others of them will say anything to gain the confidence of a woman like you. You must promise me you’ll not speak to any of them without my permission first. I would not have you hurt as that other young girl was hurt.”
    Abby rolled the dough out and with a glass began to cut it into biscuit rounds. Her father thought her as beautiful as her mother. His warning was forgotten as that surprising admission sank in. He thought she was as beautiful as her mother, and that knowledge warmed her as nothing else could.
    She gave him a shy, self-conscious smile. “I’ll be careful, Papa,” she promised earnestly. “But I will not be rude to people either. You must begin to trust me a little more. I am your daughter, after all. I hope my father has not raised a fool,” she finished, trying for a lighter tone.
    Her father, however, did not smile. He only reached for his pipe and began to tap it, muttering, “I hope not as well.”

4
    T HE CANTEEN INSIDE THE fort was probably cleaner, Tanner speculated. But the impromptu saloon that had been built outside the walls of Fort Kearney since his last trek west would provide him with a hell of a lot more information.
    He leaned his back against the bar—probably the sturdiest part of the makeshift saloon, since it protected the liquor—and stared out at the noisy gathering. Farmers, most of them. Snatches of conversation—good rainfalls, deep topsoil,
bumper crops—attested to their one overriding