Ten Thousand Charms by Allison Pittman

arms, chest, and back. He allowed the last of the night air to dry his body on the walk back to camp. Once there, he took a clean shirt from the satchel lashedto the side of the wagon and pressed an ear against the canvas to see if there was any stirring inside.
    There were no sounds coming from within, save for the deep steady breathing of Gloria and the babies. He vaguely remembered hearing a few muted cries and whispers sometime during the night, but the depth of his fatigue kept him from rousing fully Gloria slept in a nest of quilts, Danny and Kate within an arm's reach. John William had never been invited into that sanctuary but every night he peeked in to see that they were settled comfortably.
    Now he stood outside the canvas and whispered, “Gloria?”
    No response. He cleared his throat and spoke again, a little louder.
    “Gloria? Are you awake?”
    When there was still no answer, he opened the flap at the back of the wagon and peered into the warm, dark space. He saw the tangled mass of blond curls just inches away and debated whether to reach in and nudge the shoulder hidden beneath it.
    “Gloria. It's almost daylight and—”
    “Shhh.” The sound was almost imperceptible.
    “You need to—”
    “Shhh!”
    Now the blond mass was moving as Gloria raised herself to one elbow and turned to look at John William. Her hair was loose and covered her face at such an angle that only one eye, barely blue in the dawning light, could be seen. He got just a glimpse of a bare, white shoulder and quickly turned away.
    “If you say another word and wake up those babies I'll kill you,” Gloria said, no hint of humor to her whispered tone. “Danny just went back to sleep.”
    “Those babies can sleep as long as they like,” John William said, “but the sun's near up and we got to get breakfast and hit the trail before the day's gone.”
    “I don't cook, remember?” Gloria said, burrowing into her nest.
    “Maybe you don't cook it,” John William said, “but you sure do eat it and you sure will clean up the mess, so you bestget yourself out here before I start bangin’ the skillet till those babies holler.”
    He dropped the tent flap, wishing he had a door to slam, and wondered, as he had just about every day since that first morning when Gloria climbed up on the wagon seat with her little green case, just how his life had taken this turn.
    He strode to the front of the wagon, hauled the cook box off the front seat, and rummaged through it. There were biscuits left from last night's supper wrapped in the blue tea towels that had been a wedding gift from Katherine's sister, a few slices of salt pork, and three eggs. This meal would just about exhaust their food supply, leaving just a few apples and a hefty wedge of cheese for lunch. He fully expected to make Fort Bridger before sundown.
    The coffee was simmering on the little cookstove on the campfire when Gloria emerged from the wagon. Her hair was pulled back in a single loose braid that dangled to the small of her back. She wore a white cotton chemise, loosely laced, with a heavy green shawl draped over her shoulders. Her eyes were still half-closed, and her steps unsteady She took a tin cup from the hook where it dangled, drying after last night's washing.
    “Coffee,” she mumbled.
    John William answered with a rough gesture toward the pot. Gloria remained, immobile, holding her cup in front of her. After a moment, she gave up, huffed, and reached for the pot herself.
    “Use a towel,” John William said. Burning her fingers on the coffeepot handle had become an almost daily ritual.
    “I know,” Gloria said, her voice tinged with resentment. She reached for the blue tea towel, and the leftover biscuits tumbled into the dirt. She whispered a curse and squinted up at John William.
    “Sorry.”
    “Not a problem,” John William said, his voice a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “We can just dust ‘em off.”
    He watched Gloria blink and shake her