Free The Ruby Brooch (The Celtic Brooch Trilogy) by Katherine Logan

grew intense. Her heart beat faster than normal. The pencil in her shaking hand tapped lightly on the page. “What’d you say about dreams? If a man’s dreams could be painted…”
    “You’re looking at a masterpiece.”
    She wrote the word dream, then drew a faceless woman. “All those folks on the wagon train are filled with dreams, aren’t they?”
    “Just like you and me.”
    “I wonder how many will give up on theirs.”
    He took a long, slow pull and blew out the smoke. “We’ve got close to a hundred strong-willed folks traveling with us. If they stay healthy, most will make it to Oregon. But some of their dreams will be shattered along the way.” He rolled the cigar between his fingers. “Don’t let one of them be yours.”
     
     
    THE VAST EXPANSE of the landscape stretched out before Kit in rolling swells. A carpet of bluestem grass peeked through the prairie thatch. The occasional turkey buzzard gliding through the air broke up the repetitiveness of the plains. From the eye of an artist, beauty abounded
    The wagon train’s destination for the day, the Blue River, lay only twelve miles from their starting point. They had to do better than that if she was going to reach South Pass in time.
    When they stopped for the nooning, she unsaddled Stormy to let him graze. She had promised Frances they would read, and she didn’t want to disappoint her.
    As Kit and Sarah repacked the buckboard with kids and lunch supplies, Kit watched a little boy jump from his family’s wagon. “That’s so dangerous.” Out on the trail, mistakes and stupidity killed people. “Have there been any accidents you know of?”
    “Every day fingers or toes go missing,” Sarah said. “Folks are careless. John’s on the boys all the time to pay attention, but they’re children. Tend to get distracted. Why?”
    “Guess I’ve seen too much bad stuff.”
    Sarah let out a hefty sigh. “The girls are my biggest worry. They’re still innocent. Don’t know about death and dying. I’ve tried talking to them, but—”
    “Hold on a minute. I have an idea. I’ll be right back.”
    “Don’t go riding off now. It’s time to leave,” Sarah said.
    Kit rushed back to her wagon and rearranged boxes until she found her guitar. A few minutes later, she put the case in the buckboard.
    Frances’s eyes lit with anticipation. “Can you play the guitar?”
    “I thought we might sing this afternoon,” Kit said. “Would you like that?”
    Frances rubbed her small hands along the black guitar case. “Yes, ma’am. What songs do you know?”
    Kit did a quick rat-a-tat-tat on the case with her fingers. Then with a final tap on an imaginary ride cymbal, she said, “I thought we might write our own.”
     
     

Chapter Six
     
     
    THE SUN SAT low in the western sky by the time Sarah pulled the buckboard into camp with the wide-eyed von Barrett children singing the song they wrote to the tune of Yankee Doodle .
     
    Little boys and little girls from wagons never jump.
    We turn around and climb to ground to safety on our rump.
    Caution always on our mind so carefully we leap,
    and stay away from rocks and caves where creatures go to sleep.
    We wash our hands and eat our food that we prepare and cook,
    and stay in sight of ma and pa for us they never have to look.
    We pick up twigs out in the sun and never fire a big bad gun,
    and stay on watch all through the day until the evening’s done.
    When dark announces time for bed, we gladly go along,
    for rest is what we need tonight to get to Oregon.
     
    Kit couldn’t help but feel that beneath each line a disaster waited to happen. Could she keep the Barretts from becoming victims? Could she even keep herself safe?
    After unloading Sarah and the children at their campsite, Kit drove the buckboard to hers to unhitch the team. The men had already pulled the wagons into a circle then fastened them together with ox chains creating a corral to protect the animals. Tents and campfires would