Glory by Lori Copeland Page B

bedrolls closer to hers. When the light went out, she rolled to her side and whispered. “I have to admit,” she began, compelled to show her appreciation, “this is the best I’ve felt since Poppy died.”
    “Tell us about Poppy,” Mary urged gently.
    “Well, he was the closest thing I had to a family.”
    “Was he like a real daddy?” Patience spoke in hushed tones.
    “Poppy was good as gold to me, raised me from a youngster like I was his own. Fed me, taught me to hunt and fish, taught me everything he knew.”
    “That’s nice,” Mary said wistfully. “I always wanted to be adopted by a nice couple.”
    “Not me,” Harper declared. “I knew better. Knew better than to wait around for somebody to pick me out like a cur in a litter. All I ever wanted was for folks to leave me alone.”
    It was the most Glory had ever heard Harper say at one time; there was a pent-up force behind her words, like a sudden thunderstorm. Glory shook her head in the darkness. “Poppy told me he found me in the road, figured I’d fallen off a wagon when the wagon train had passed through on their way west. Said he waited at that very spot for days, in case my family came back to find me. He figured they’d have come if they could.”
    “He just took you home to raise by himself?” Ruth asked with a trace of amazement.
    “Said he had a wife once, but she died giving birth. Baby died too. After that, he lived alone because he said no one could match her. I miss Poppy a lot, but it’s better now.” Better now that she felt a kinship with these girls, safe under the protection of Mr. Lincoln.
    “So,” Harper hissed, “you fell off a wagon headed west, and now you’re in another one headed west.”
    “Guess I’m meant to ride west in a wagon,” Glory said with a sigh.
    “Well, try not to fall out this time,” Patience whispered so earnestly that the rest of them broke into giggles.
    “Pipe down, ladies,” a gruff voice reprimanded from the far side of the wagon. “Miles to make up tomorrow. Get your rest.”
    The group fell silent, and Glory snuggled down under herfresh-smelling blanket. As she closed her eyes, she reached out to capture Mary’s hand in hers and give it a reassuring squeeze.
    “Don’t worry, Mary. I know your ma loved you. And even if she didn’t, I do.”

    The pleasant aroma of castile soap still clung to her clothing when Glory opened her eyes the next morning. Rolling to her side, she stared at Mary, who slept opposite her. Sighing, Glory realized that she’d gotten a mite upset last night—wasn’t used to being waylaid like a common criminal. A bath this time of year! Seemed a waste of good soap and water. Still, she had to admit it felt good to have the dirt off.
    An unexpected thought popped into her mind. Had Jackson noticed? Guess he would have since he was partly responsible for the ambush. He’d said she stank. The words still made her cheeks burn. Well, someone could have told her something earlier if she smelled all that bad! She didn’t powder herself or wash with soap until her skin looked plumb raw like the other girls. She sniffed the air and decided they’d expect her to smell like this all of the time. Well, if it was so all-fired important, then she’d bathe every night like the rest of them and hope her skin didn’t wear out.
    Mary opened her eyes and returned Glory’s sleepy smile. “Good morning.”
    The sun was not yet up. Birds chattered noisily overhead in tree branches as daybreak rose over the camp. Glory shut her eyes and savored the smell of strong coffee perking. A smile touched the corners of her mouth. Jackson was up a full half hour ahead of the others every day. It was nice to wake to the sound of another person.
    But Jackson and coffee weren’t the only things on her mind this morning. These were her friends, and she was putting them in the way of danger. She hadn’t mentioned Amos because until now there’d been no need to tell them about Amos or