Passage West by Ruth Ryan Langan

for her to take the shot, Thompson aimed his rifle, prepared to back her up if she missed. Abby swallowed, fired, then watched as the antelope leaped up, scrambled several steps, then toppled.
    When they rode back to join the train at the end of the day, the pronghorn, a smaller, antlerless deer, and four jackrabbits were slung over their saddles. For a few more days the wagon train had more than enough food. And Abby had a clearer image of the men she rode with. Her minister grandfather had preached about a life divided into good and evil. But now she found herself wondering about those murky areas between the two extremes. She had no doubt that Violet was everything good. But Thompson, once a drunk and a fighter, was spending a lifetime atoning for his sins. Surely that made him a good man. And Lily, the aunt she’d never known, had been punished all her life for the sin of being beautiful. And so she had come to live out her family’s expectations. Did that make her evil? Or had the evil come from those who’d failed her? Abby wrestled with the timeless question. Who really were the good? And who the bad?
    The wagon train limped into Fort Laramie with two damaged wagons and a dangerously low supply of water. Morale was also low. Flint Barrows’s wife had been in labor for over thirty-six hours. Despite the ministrations of Violet and Evelyn Coulter, the baby had made no progress. And still her cries went on.
    “Brand said there would be a doctor at the fort,” Violet said, taking a respite from the Barrows wagon to walk with her family. “If he can’t do something soon, I fear for both mother and child.”
    Abby still felt a seething anger whenever she thought about Flint Barrows. But his pale, timid wife evoked only pity. The woman rarely spoke to anyone on the train, keeping to her wagon. Until she had gone into heavy labor, she had walked alongside the wagon, keeping pace under a scorching sun. Every woman in the train sympathized with her. And shared her prayers for an end to the pain.
    “How long will we stay at Fort Laramie?” Carrie asked, staring eagerly toward the cluster of houses.
    Though the fort could hardly be called a town, the houses of the traders and military men were a comforting sight.
    “Only a day or two,” Abby replied. “Unless they can’t get the Coulter wagon repaired in time.”
    “What about Mrs. Barrows?”
    Abby heard the shriek of pain and winced. “That baby has to come soon. She can’t hold on much longer.”
    Shielding her eyes, Abby studied the fort. Like all military outposts, there were the familiar barracks, the simple wooden houses for the married officers, and a few other buildings housing a fur trader’s, a post store, and a two-story boardinghouse. Unlike many forts, there was no fence or wall. Built on the Wyoming plains, it offered a view for miles in every direction.
    Brand had prepared the military for the arrival of the wagon train. After being directed to the far end of the fort, the families set up camp. While the women started fires and prepared supper, the men and children hauled empty buckets and barrels to a community well.
    “I’d better get back to the Barrows wagon,” Violet said, leaving Abby and Carrie to attend to the chores.
    When she was gone, Carrie whispered, “I don’t ever want to have a baby. I wouldn’t be brave enough to go through all the pain Mrs. Barrows is suffering.” She looked up from the fire. “Don’t you wonder how women ever have more than one baby?”
    Abby grinned. “Ma used to say a woman forgets the pain the moment that little one is placed in her arms.”
    Carrie made a face. “All babies ever do is wail, eat, and crap in their britches.”
    “Carrie. You watch your mouth.” Abby gave her sister a piercing look.
    “It’s true. I remember Belinda Moffet’s baby brother. After he was born, she couldn’t do anything except feed him and change his drawers. And her ma laid in bed for weeks before she died.”