Her husband seemed unable to move, as if overwhelmed into inaction. "We must pray first-"

"No!" she shot up at him through chattering teeth. "I shall pray when I'm not cold and shivering and wet. Now get that piece of canvas and get down here."

To her surprise, Jacob complied without argument. The three of them lay together in a tight bundle, shivering, thoroughly soaked, sharing what warmth there was. After a time, the hail stopped, but the rain kept pelting the canvas, and the wind did not let up. Tired as she was, she found sleep impossible. She could only hope poor little Noah could sleep despite their misery and that he wouldn't catch pneumonia. As for Jacob ...

Bitterness welled within her. Up to now she'd seen him as a pillar of strength, but tonight, for the first time, she had detected weakness. How indecisive he'd been! How helpless against the frightful storm! She seriously wondered why she married him. Father had warned her about the weakness he sensed beneath Jacob's facade of strength. Sarah, too. No, she wouldn't listen. She knew the reason. She'd been so anxious to escape the clutches of Pernelia, she took the first escape route that came along. Now, as a consequence, she found herself in the midst of the most miserable night of her life. Lying on the soggy mattress, her tears mixed with rain, she pictured her warm, snug bed back in Boston. Oh, how she missed it! Oh, how she wanted more than anything in this world just to be home. She wasn't home because she was trapped in the middle of nowhere with no place to go, trapped with a husband she wasn't sure she loved anymore. Oh surely not! Appalled, she wondered how she could even think such a thing. Of course she still loved Jacob. In the morning, when the sun shone again, she'd see all his wonderful qualities that tonight seemed to elude her. Then she'd remember all the good reasons why she married him, and all would be well.

Morning finally arrived but brought no sunshine. Instead, throughout the day, a steady, dreary rain fell upon the soaked, cold, wretched members of the Schneider wagon train. The muddy trail made continuing their trek impossible. They couldn't even build a fire in the heavy downpour. Everyone huddled in their wagons, subsisting mainly on cold biscuits and beans. What Lucy wouldn't give for a hot cup of tea! She spent part of the day sewing patches over the tears in the canvas, not easy when her fingers were numb with cold. The rest of the time she spent hunkered down in the wagon, trying to keep herself warm and Noah warm and entertained. Jacob arose early and left to make the rounds of the other wagons to see how everyone fared after the horrendous hailstorm. She should be proud of her husband, the fearless leader doing his duty, but she wasn't. The memory of his indecision the night before, and his helplessness, hung heavy on her mind.

The next day the rain stopped, but they still couldn't travel. Deep mud bogged the trail. Everyone in camp, all still cold and miserable, had to drag their soggy belongings from the wagons and lay them out to dry. Not an easy task, considering that scattered clouds hid much of the sunshine. As a result, the following morning when they rolled again, the wagons still smelled damp and musty. Lucy spent much of the day comforting Martha, who still fought nausea. Lucy didn't feel so well, either, musing miserably that being pregnant in a smelly, rocking wagon wasn't the easiest of fates.

Mid-morning, Jacob and Abner received a visit from the council, plus Clint and Charlie, after their wagons repeatedly got stuck in the mud. "Either lighten your load or get left behind," demanded Agnes' blunt, strapping husband, William Applegate. The other men of the council, including Elija Richards, Nathaniel Benton, John Potts, and Stanley Helmick, stood behind William Applegate in strong support.

John Potts, recently recovered from typhoid, proved especially loud, as well as crude. "p.i.s.s on your wagons, Captain. I'm done."

Mild-mannered, always gentlemanly Nathaniel Benton said, "We simply cannot spend our time hauling your wagons out of the bogs. I, for one, refuse to give you one more push."

After heated debate, Abner gave in, self-righteously a.s.serting that G.o.d knew who was right and who was wrong. Finally, Jacob gave in, too. "All right, you've forced me." He scowled. He ordered Benjamin and Henry to remove the barrels of whiskey from the wagons. "Bury them. We'll come back later and dig them up."

Charlie Dawes guffawed. "You think the Indians ain't gonna find them? You've got to pour out every last drop. If you don't, you'll have every Indian twixt here and Fort Laramie so drunk they'll come and scalp us all."

William Applegate glared his contempt at Jacob. "Pour the f.u.c.kin' whiskey out."

Given no alternative, Jacob watched while his hired men hauled the barrels from the wagon and dumped his precious whiskey. He couldn't have looked more anguished had it been his own life's blood spilling on the ground.

Two days later the worn and weary members of the Schneider wagon train arrived after dark at the Platte River and set up camp. Next morning, Lucy awoke to bright sunshine. Her spirits rose as the day progressed. She bathed in the river, the "muddy Platte" they called it, and it certainly was. Even though the water wasn't crystal clear, it was more than welcome to one who hadn't been able to bathe for days. She washed her hair, loving its bouncy, clean feel. She donned a fresh calico dress and starched white ap.r.o.n. When she was finished, she felt as good as she had back in Boston after she'd primped and preened for a fancy dress ball.

In the late morning, Jacob and some of the other men went hunting. Before he left, she wished him luck, although so far all his hunting expeditions had been abject failures. So far he hadn't returned with so much as a rabbit. She'd heard Charlie Dawes remark, "Farmers aren't meant to be hunters." Well, she certainly agreed.

Now, sitting upon the wagon seat clutching a rolling pin, she listened intently to Bessie, who stood below, giving her a lesson on how to bake a pie when stranded in the middle of nowhere.

"You take your dough and lay it right out upon the wagon seat. Just make sure there ain't no splinters before you roll it out."

Bessie's words made Lucy burst into laughter, the first time in days she'd found anything to laugh about. "All right, no splinters in my pie. What's next?"

"Then, after you get the apples in, you cook it in your Dutch skillet over the fire. 'Course, if it's raining, you might just want to dig a hole in the ground. You jam in a hollow ramrod what serves as an air shaft, and then you fill the hole with small rocks and bake the pie on those."

"That's a lot of work," Lucy replied. "What if I don't feel like digging a hole in the ground?"

"Then you won't get your pie."

They laughed together companionably, Lucy thinking she felt almost her normal self again, and almost pretty, too. Or as pretty as a woman could look when pregnant.

Suddenly, Bessie quit laughing, pressed her hand to her side, and moaned.

Lucy was alarmed. "What's wrong?"

"I've been having these pains, but the baby ain't due yet." Bessie leaned heavily against the wheel and gave a choked, desperate laugh. "What am I going to do? I don't want to have this baby by the side of the road. What if something goes wrong? What if-?" She started to cry, covered her face with trembling hands, and whispered, "Oh, G.o.d, I mustn't let the children see."

Lucy swiftly climbed down from the wagon and put her arms around her friend. "There, there, it'll be all right. My goodness, you've already had six, and didn't you tell me not a problem in the world? Well, the seventh will be the same."

Bessie laid her head on Lucy's shoulder. "My feet and legs are all swollen. That never happened before. What will the weather be like? What if it's pouring down rain like the other night? Or worse, we aren't going to follow this river all the way, so what if there's no water at all? Can you

imagine-?" she pulled away and looked at Lucy with desperate eyes "-no water to wash the newborn in, no water for me! Then afterward, how long do you think the men will let me rest?"

"Well, I suppose a couple of days-"

"Ha! Don't fool yourself. Your husband, my husband, all of them, what do they know? They're so all-fired anxious to get to California, what would they care I just had a baby? They'll want to start again, soon as I pop it out, and there I'll be, lying in the back of that hot, smelly wagon, bouncing 'n rolling, so sick I'll probably die, if I ain't dead by then already."

Bessie's words sent a chill through Lucy's heart. How could she comfort her friend when she harbored the same fears? Bessie had every right to worry. Bad enough to be pregnant, but what could be worse than having your baby by the side of the road? At least they had Inez, but that was small consolation.

Hannah arrived, then Agnes and Inez. They gathered around Bessie. With clucks of sympathy, they soon had her drying her tears. "Sister, you just come with me," said Hannah, "You need to rest, so don't be worrying about that baby."

Agnes chimed in. "It's the seventh, isn't it? Then it's practically going to drop out."

"Besides," Hannah added, "you've got Inez here to look out for you. Ain't that right?"

The midwife firmly nodded her head. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about, my dear."

Lucy liked Inez. With her matronly manner, she acted as a mother figure to them all. When she dispensed her herbal and medicinal advice, she gave the impression of great confidence, almost to the point, Lucy had to admit, of being a bit smug, as if she did indeed know all the answers. Did she really? Did Bessie have absolutely nothing to worry about? Several women in the wagon train were with child. So far, none had delivered, so Inez had yet to demonstrate her midwifery skills. Lucy could only hope she was competent, because the time might come ... no, don't even think it! She would be in California long before her own baby was born. She would never need Inez.

After the women left, Lucy climbed up to the wagon seat again. She was sitting, soaking in the sunshine, when Clint rode up. Thank G.o.d she looked her best, and felt her best, too. So did he, judging from his smile and the twinkle in his eye. After a greeting he inquired, "So, what do you think of the Platte?"

She tossed her head. "You call that a river? After all I heard, I thought it would be ... well, majestic. Instead, it's full of mud. Not only that-" she pointed toward a cow standing in the middle of the sluggish current "-I thought the Platte was supposed to be swift and deep. Then I saw that cow. Look, the water's hardly above her ankles."

"What! It's up to her knees, at least."

She smothered a grin. "Her knees then, but that river's shallow no matter how you look at it. I'm so disappointed."

He grinned. "The Platte may not look like much, but it doesn't have to be beautiful. We follow it, and it gives us a clear road west."

"For how many miles?"

"Never mind miles. If you start in April, you get to California by October, if you're lucky."

"Will we be lucky?"

He shrugged. "No telling."

"Oh." Her spirits dipped. Would her baby be born on the trail? Without thinking, she touched her hand to her stomach. "Such a long way."

His tone was gentle. "You may very well have that baby before we get there. Better be prepared."

She felt herself blush crimson. Certain subjects were never discussed, even within the family, Jacob included. Only once had she tried to express her concerns to him, but he'd stuffily countered with, "Lamentations three, Verse thirty-two, 'Though He cause grief, yet will He have compa.s.sion.' "

It was nice to be reminded she had G.o.d's support, but she hardly felt comforted. Now here she was, chatting about her delicate condition with a man she hardly knew. To be honest with herself, she shouldn't be shocked. She'd known from the day she met Clint that he said what he pleased, and she shouldn't expect otherwise. Perhaps ... was his honesty the reason she found him so fascinating? Well, she didn't live in Boston anymore where manners mattered, so she wouldn't act like a ninny. If he could be honest enough to speak his mind, she could, too.

She glanced at her bulging stomach, then at him again. "I worry a lot." It felt good, openly discussing the forbidden. "I don't want my baby born somewhere in the wilderness."

He nodded with understanding. "We'll get you there if we can. If not, you'll have lots of help. I'll see to that."

"Thanks, that's rea.s.suring." His words gave her a sense of comfort she'd never received from Jacob.

Just then Benjamin came trotting by on one of Jacob's horses. Bessie's daughter, rosy-cheeked Roxana, sat behind him, arms tight around his waist. "Going for a ride, Mrs. Schneider." Benjamin spurred the horse, and off they went toward the river, both laughing.

Clint looked after them, amused. "Young love. Benjamin and Roxanna. Lately Benjamin's been acting like a lovesick calf. Looks like your husband won't get much work out of him for a while."

"Still, love is a wonderful thing."

"Yes, it is." His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. Here it came again, that look between them loaded with ... what? Was she crazy? Was he just being friendly, no more interested in her than any other woman in the company? Or did his eyes reveal forbidden feelings between them that could never be expressed? Here came that jarring, tingling feeling in the pit of her stomach. Oh, he was so disturbing, sitting so easy in the saddle, his every movement so full of grace. Each time she saw him, the pull was stronger.

She forced herself to break their gaze. Frantically, she searched for the first subject that came into her head. "Benjamin's such a nice young man."

One corner of his mouth pulled into a slight smile. "That he is, and Roxana's a fine young lady. They make a good couple. Good day." He picked up the reins he'd rested across the saddle horn and was about to start away when he paused, let the reins drop again, and peered at her intently. "You're a remarkable woman, Mrs. Schneider."

Her pulse leaped. She searched wildly for an answer. "There are a lot of remarkable women in this wagon train."

"None like you." Tipping his hat, he rode away.

She sat on the wagon seat, heart pounding, and faced the truth. This was what it was like to want a man. She had never known before, but now she realized the desire she'd once had for Jacob faded to nothing compared to the searing, nonstop longing she felt for Clint. A desperate shiver of want ran through her. She shut her eyes and instantly imagined his arms around her, his kiss, and then somehow they were entwined together, in bed, and she was beneath him, only it wasn't like with Jacob. It was like Sarah said ...

"Lucy, why are you just sitting there?"

Jacob. She opened her eyes. "Uh ... how was the hunt? Did you shoot anything?"

"What's for supper?"

Fool. "I'm baking a pie, and we're going to have beans and bacon."

"Better get to it. After supper I'll need your help greasing the wheels."

She climbed down from the wagon seat, thinking she ought to feel guilty about her foolish daydream, but she didn't. Maybe she was a terrible person. Maybe she'd rot in h.e.l.l, but Jacob would never know she wasn't the perfect wife. No one would know, so she'd allow herself her futile dreams. After all, aside from her baby, and a family she'd never see again, she didn't have much else.

True to his word, that night after supper Jacob informed Lucy he needed her help greasing the wheels.

"Can't you ask Benjamin or Henry to help?" She was highly annoyed. She had many ch.o.r.es to complete before bedtime.

"They're busy with the cattle. I want you to hold the grease bucket for me."

"Oh, very well," she said none too kindly.

Jacob had finished one wheel and was lying under the wagon, starting the second, when a shot rang out, followed by two more. "What was that?" He rolled out from beneath the wagon.

"The d.a.m.n fools!" Charlie Dawes came charging up to the wagon. "This foolishness had got to stop."

"What were those shots?"

Charlie gestured toward the nearby woods. "Some of the young nincomp.o.o.ps in this camp thought they saw a bear and took off after it. Now they're running around the woods like a bunch of idiots, shooting blind, bullets flying all over the place. n.o.body's safe."

Jacob drew himself up. "This must stop at once. Come on, Mister Dawes." He glanced back at Lucy. "Keep hold of that bucket. I'll be right back." Lucy watched the two men head toward the woods. Jacob had better not be gone long. She had better things to do than stand around holding a grease bucket.

Before Jacob and Charlie got to the woods, another volley of shots rang out. Charlie is right, those young men are fools, shooting their guns off so close to the camp ... but something is wrong. Jacob was clutching his chest and staggering. Why? Her hand flew to her heart. She watched in disbelief. Jacob staggered again, fell to his knees, slowly keeled over, and lay face down on the ground.

"Jacob!" Lucy threw down the bucket, gathered her skirts, and started running across the open field. Halfway there, she tripped and fell hard, but she picked herself up, hardly noticing, and continued to run. By the time she reached her husband, Charlie had knelt by his side, grasped his shoulders, and rolled him over to his back. She flung herself down beside him. "What happened? What-?" It was then she saw the gaping hole in the middle of Jacob's chest, blood oozing out, staining the front of his shirt. "Oh dear G.o.d, Jacob!" Her gaze traveled to his face. His open eyes stared, still and sightless, at the sky.

Charlie laid two fingers on the side of Jacob's neck. For a moment, suspended in time, he felt for a pulse. When he finally withdrew his fingers, he shook his head. "He's gone."

"You mean ... Jacob's dead?"

" 'Fraid so, ma'am. Danged if one of those stray bullets didn't go straight through his heart."

Jacob's dead.

Jacob's dead.

The words kept ringing through her head, yet she could hardly believe that in one stunning, incredible moment she'd lost her husband. She vaguely recalled the cries of shock as people crowded around, little Noah shouting "Father!" running toward his father's body, stopped in time by Clint Palance who scooped him up in his arms and carried him away.

She remembered Abner arriving, kneeling beside his brother's body, tears streaming into his long, black beard. Finally, he thrust a fist into the sky and roared, "G.o.d, why did you let this happen?"

Charlie Dawes spoke up. " 'Twas just one of them mindless, stupid accidents. One that only G.o.d knows the reason for, and he ain't telling."

She vaguely recalled Hannah and Bessie leading her away from the scene, murmuring words of comfort, their strong arms around her. The next hours pa.s.sed in a blur. She had a vague recollection of people coming and going, of Cordelia bringing a cup of tea, of Hannah quieting a sobbing Noah and taking him off to her own wagon to care for.

Sometime during the evening, John Potts, hat in hand, visited Lucy's wagon where she sat by her cooking fire surrounded by her friends. "We're all truly sorry, Mrs. Schneider. The captain was a good man and will be sorely missed. If it's all right, we'll bury him first thing in the morning."

"That would be fine." She heard a hollow voice that wasn't her own. As if it mattered. As if Jacob wouldn't be just as dead no matter when they buried him.

John continued, "We don't know who fired that shot, ma'am. We tried, but-"

"It was an accident, wasn't it? Then I'm sure whoever shot him is very, very sorry, and we should just let it go." Why lay blame? What good would it do?

"I'm sure he is, Mrs. Schneider. Sorry, that is, if he even knew he's the one who done it. But that's water under the bridge now." John fumbled with the brim of his hat. An odd expression came over his face, as if he was about to say something he didn't want to say. "You might like to know the committee has elected its new captain."

"Oh?" She couldn't care less.

"Abner Schneider volunteered. We thought it was only fitting, him being the captain's brother and all."

How very odd. She remembered when Jacob was elected, how he'd told her the committee definitely didn't want Abner. Now, no doubt sympathy had played a part in their decision. "Well, I think that's fine."

Agnes spoke up. "It won't matter to Lucy who's elected captain. She can go home now."