Free Leaving Independence by Leanne W. Smith Page A

wiped her hands on a cloth and inspected the jewelry. “Not the cameo?”
    Abigail shook her head. “I can part with the pendant more easily.”
    The older woman looked at her a minute. “I’ll buy it.”
    She was so humbled she could hardly speak. “I’m not asking you to buy it; I was just hoping you could refer me to a jeweler.”
    “I have money. And I like it. If your circumstances change I’ll sell it back to you.”
    Abigail’s eyes burned as Mrs. Helton laid twice the amount Abigail had paid her for their lodging back in her shaking hands. She clutched the older woman’s fingers and whispered, “What if I’m making a mistake, Mrs. Helton? What if I lose more than my money?”
    The older woman studied her face before answering.
    “Come here, I want to show you something.” She led Abigail to a cabinet in the parlor and opened a drawer filled with letters.
    “These are postmarked from every territory west and south and north of here. And they don’t all have a happy ending. Sometimes people lose more than their money. But I am amazed at what they find.
    “I know it took courage for you to come here, and it’s going to take courage for every hardship you encounter on the way. I admire you for it. If I knew Edward was out there somewhere . . .” She looked out the window, in the direction of the cemetery. When she looked back at Abigail, her eyes brimmed with tears. “Or my boy? I’d walk two thousand miles to get to him.”
    Mrs. Helton brushed away the tears and smiled. “I don’t know what you’ll end up with, but don’t ever fault yourself for trying. And don’t let something like stolen coins stop you when you’ve still got the means to replace them.”

    At the five o’clock meeting Hoke spotted Abigail on the opposite side of the circle of travelers, sitting quietly on a hay bale with her children.
    So she hadn’t pulled out . . . not yet, anyway. Good for her . . . good for her.
    Since delivering the last of his horses that afternoon, Hoke had been wondering what he’d gotten himself into. He and James had made good from the sales off the herd. There was land aplenty right here in Missouri, and the offer of a job from a man who was like a father to him. So why go on this trip?
    His only answer was the memory of that regal yet exasperating woman rubbing the muzzle of his white filly. That was the moment he had decided to go, surprising himself.
    Or maybe it was when she leaned her head back at the corral.
    The thought that he might not have control of his own independent mind was infuriating. She was already a worry to him . . . her money stolen before she even left! It made sense she’d be a target, with her fancy clothes.
    He intended to give her back the five gold pieces she’d overpaid him—they were jangling in his pocket now—he just wasn’t sure of the best way to go about it. He didn’t want to embarrass her in front of anyone. The way she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin showed she had pride.
    He had no business worrying over a married woman, just like he had no business keeping the filly. No western man rode a white horse. It was too dangerous. But that filly had captured his heart somehow. She had fire and spirit! And he didn’t know when he’d seen a prettier horse. Keeping her was a foolish vanity and he knew it. He just hoped it didn’t prove to be his downfall.
    Hoke’s gaze fanned out over the gathering circle again. Who from this group would get buried along the road? It was said that for every hundred people that started down the Oregon Trail, five wouldn’t live to see the end of it.
    There were all kinds of folks here: educated and uneducated, wealthy and poor . . . and perhaps one who was a thief.
    Abigail Baldwyn and her children stood out in this crowd. The mere suggestion of money and pedigree didn’t just make people a target for stealing, it made them a target for mean talk, too.
    Irene McConnelly waved to him from across the