Free Prairie Wife by Cheryl St.john

vain to find a comfortable spot on
the hard ground, and made sure her rifle was dry and within reach. "I'm
fine."
    "You have gumption, Amy. Aren't many women who'd come out
here in the off chance that they could help somebody they don't know."
    "I have a good life, Daddy," she told him, softly
calling him the name she reserved for when they were alone. "I know the
hardships out here. Nearly every week I see women torn from everything safe and
familiar, living out of wagons, risking danger just to find what they hope is a
better life for their families. Sometimes I don't know how they do it."
    "They do it just like you and your mama did when we first got
here. You've had some hard times, too."
    She didn't reply.
    Rain struck the tarpaulins covering the wagon beds and poured off
in sheets to the hard-packed ground, the sound loud and steady. Amy tried not
to think of her comfortable home and soft, dry bed back at the station.
    After several minutes Sam said, "Either you or Jesse is gonna
have to make some changes soon. The two of you can't go on with things the way
they've been."
    Her heart constricted painfully. Of course her father knew. But
now her private troubles were out in the open, plain as day.
    "A bottle of whiskey is a poor substitute for a lovin' wife
and a warm bed," he added.
    Her father had seen Jesse's drinking. Her shame grew. "Has he
said anything to you?"
    "Not about you. He respects you too much."
    "Don't worry yourself about it."
    "Well, I do worry. The man is your husband. We're a family.
At least, we used to be. Don't feel like it much anymore."
    Amy turned on her side away from her father, away from his probing
words. She didn't need her glaring imperfections pointed out to her. Talking
only made her feel more and more like a failure and less like the woman
everyone expected her to be.
    "Good night, Daddy."
    Sometime later, a soft snore told her he slept. And when she was
sure he couldn't hear her, she let her ragged breathing escape and struck the
ground several times with a fist.
    Later, much later, she slept.
    ***
    Rain continued to pour through the night and into the early-morning
hours as they harnessed the teams and headed east. The sky cleared temporarily
as they came upon the derailed train a half hour later. The area was littered
with flimsy tents constructed of soggy blankets, tarpaulins and piled trunks.
Seats and bunks had been removed from the railcars to provide beds for the
injured.
    Fortunately for the passengers traveling the Union Pacific, a
doctor had been among them, and those hurt had been cared for. There were at
least fifty who needed transport. Riders had gone ahead and behind to alert the
railroad officials and delay any scheduled trains.
    While Sam was thinking through the options, another caravan of
wagons found the site, so the drivers met to discuss which travelers each would
take.
    Amy helped Hermie take care of their horses while the gathering
divided and collected belongings. Amy couldn't remember ever being so wet or
physically miserable. Trunks and valises were loaded as thunder again echoed
across the heavens.
    Ready to join them for the trip back to Shelby Station were twelve
adults and six children. Two of the adults had been injured—William Hunter, an
elderly gentleman with his arm in a sling, and Eden Sullivan, a pretty brunette
with her foot in splints.
    Sam carried Eden to the back of his wagon and settled her as
comfortably as possible. By the time everyone was situated among the trunks,
they barely had time to get moving before another rain shower drenched them.
    Amy again pulled her slicker over her head and shoulders. Instead
of stopping for meals that day, they ate hard tack and jerky, but with the
added weight and on increasingly muddy ground, travel was slow. When night
fell, they were forced to camp. Amy helped her father rig tents out of
tarpaulins and poles, then she strung ropes as close as possible to the fire to
dry their clothing.
    "Will those