Free A Woman Named Damaris by Janette Oke Page B

shirt hung loosely over his thin shoulders. She was sure he had lost weight, and he had not been big for his age at the beginning of the trip.
    “Where’s Pa?” pouted Nina.
    “Gittin’ the horses,” Conrad replied. Then he put down his empty plate and turned to go.
    “It’s not fair,” Trudy flung after him, but he did not turn around or indicate in any way that he had heard her.
    Damaris began to dish up plates of the morning porridge.
    “I hate this stuff,” said Nina. “It tastes like—like slop.”
    “How do you know what slop tastes like?” asked Bella. “Did you ever eat it?”
    “I smelled it,” declared Nina hotly.
    Trudy began to giggle. “Nina’s eating slo-op. Nina’s eatin’ slo-op,” she said in a sing-songy voice.
    Nina reached over and slapped her and the fight began. Damaris knew they were in for a very long day.
    ———
    “I hear there’s been a change of plans?”
    The voice behind Damaris brought her quickly to an upright position. She had been bending over the porridge pot, scrubbing it with a handful of creek-bed sand. The wagon master stood there, his hat droopy with the morning rain, his shoulders seeming to sag under the weight of his wet shirt.
    Her dark eyes clouded and she nodded slowly in verification.
    “I’m sorry,” he said softly.
    Damaris swallowed hard and tried to straighten her slight shoulders. “I did have an agreement,” she answered in a barely audible voice.
    “Perhaps you’ll find an even better job in Dixen,” the wagon master tried to console her.
    Damaris reached down to brush sand from the skirt of her dress.
    “I’ve brought you a—a letter of reference,” he went on as he reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “I don’t know iffen you’ll even need this—but I thought it could do no harm.”
    Damaris was surprised at his consideration. He had been so kind to her—he who had not wanted her on his wagon train in the first place.
    “I—I thank you,” she fumbled as she accepted the bit of paper. “I—I most ’preciate it.”
    They stood in silence for a moment. She let her eyes study the toes of her worn shoes. She felt him move beside her.
    “Well—I must be going. We’re ’bout ready to push on.”
    Damaris looked up then. His broad shoulders had straightened and he lifted the hat from his head and shook the water from the dripping brim. She was surprised at the amount of gray in his hair.
    “I do hope,” he said sincerely, “thet all goes well fer you. Brown says he won’t leave you stranded. Will try to get ya located in town before he moves on to his homestead.”
    Damaris was surprised at the statement. The captain must have had a chat with Mr. Brown.
    “Thank ya,” she said in a whispery voice and lowered her eyes again.
    He reached out his hand to her. Damaris couldn’t remember shaking hands with a man before and she felt embarrassed. She brushed her soiled hands quickly on her skirts before she extended her hand to meet his.
    “God bless ya, miss,” said the man, looking directly into her eyes.
    Damaris had never heard such concern and sincerity in a man’s voice. She could not speak, so she just nodded and swallowed hard. Then the captain withdrew his hand, turned, and was gone.
    It was several moments before Damaris knelt again in the sand and continued cleaning the pot.
    As she worked, still pondering the captain’s parting words, she heard the familiar sounds of wagons moving out from camp. She turned to watch the smaller train wend its way through the morning mist.
    Sadness filled her heart, though she couldn’t understand why. She scarcely knew the captain. In fact, she was still afraid of him in some ways—but he had spoken kindly to her. Had even taken the time to find her a job—to write a letter of recommendation. And he had asked nothing in return. That was what puzzled Damaris. And she had never seen him drunk. Not once in the many days on the trail. Oh, true,