Glory by Lori Copeland

Jackson Lincoln was different from other men. Why, he was almost presidential.
    Regardless, he shouldn’t feel bad toward his mother. Glory didn’t know what had taken place to anger him, but whatever it was, it couldn’t be bad enough to cause a parting.
    “At least he had a mother,” Harper murmured.
    “One that didn’t give him away,” Mary said, shifting and adjusting her blanket. “If I have a child with a cough, I’ll love it no matter what. I’ll never give it away.”
    Ruth glanced at Mary. “Perhaps there was a reason your mother felt she couldn’t keep you, Mary. I suspect that if she could have, she would have kept you. It can’t be easy for a mother to part with a child. I’ve never known anyonewho did things without a reason, and I’m sure your mother had a very good reason.”
    “Maybe,” Mary conceded. “But I would never leave my child.”
    “Never say never, Mary. None of us knows what lies around the corner.”
    Scooting closer to the fire, Glory thought about the girls and their lives. She’d never once felt bad toward her real folks. She’d thought about them once in a while, wondered where they were and if they were sad about losing her. But Poppy had treated her well and given her enough love for two parents. She guessed a woman didn’t have to carry a child in her stomach and birth it in order to love it as much as her own.
    “Guess we all wish for things we can’t have.” Patience stood up and stretched. “I feel like Ruth. I wish my pa would have lived and my ma could have kept me, but since that didn’t happen, I’m thankful for people like Mr. Potter and the others at the orphanage. They were kind to us, gave us a home when we had none.”
    “Amen,” Ruth seconded. “I wish my parents hadn’t died so young, but they did. Our lives could be a lot worse.”
    “A lot worse,” Glory conceded, her thoughts returning to Squatter’s Bend. Hers would likely get a lot worse if Amos or the man from Squatter’s Bend caught up with her.

Chapter Seven
    When Jackson returned to camp, Glory was putting dishes in the dry box. He noticed the other girls were clustered upwind. He shook his head. There was no getting around it; something needed to be done about the stink. You’d think after a near drowning in the river she’d smell a sight better. If anything, she smelled worse. Without soap, wet only made things worse.
    He busied himself checking the harness for damage from the river crossing, grinning when he heard the girls dropping hints Glory should be able to catch.
    “You know, Glory,” Mary began gently, “after all the bruises you got in the river today, a pleasant bath in the stream with some nice castile soap would feel mighty soothing. We have an extra one-pound bar that could be yours.”
    Glory shook her head. “I’m fine.”
    Ruth smiled warmly. “Why, I haven’t seen such a lovely stream in a long time—nice pools, not too deep.”
    Glory shook her head tightly. “Seen enough water today to last me for a long time.”
    Locating a tear in the leather harness, Jackson bent over his box of tools, looking for the right one, trying to appear as if he wasn’t listening.
    The girls sighed as they knelt for evening devotions. This evening someone made mention that cleanliness was next to godliness, but Ruth didn’t bother to correct her. Jackson noticed the subject seemed to be lost on Glory.
    A moment later, he left to check on the animals. When he returned to the campfire to turn in for the night, he noticed that the girls had their bedrolls tucked under their arms. Once again, the girls were reluctant to lay them out. They’d given Glory her bedroll but were waiting for her to pick a spot first.
    “Go ahead, dear,” Ruth said. “You pick wherever you’ll feel comfortable. We insist; you first.”
    Glory looked around uncertainly. “I don’t rightly know where.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t make any difference to me. Wherever you girls like to be is