Chapter Eleven
The next morning, the ground had finally dried enough for the wagon train to move on. The camp buzzed with activity as the wagons were reloaded and the animals hitched up.
The air was crisp and fresh after the storm, the prairie shimmering with dew that glinted in the morning sun. Angela helped Rosie pack the last of the cooking supplies before climbing into the wagon where James sat, reins in hand, his face as unreadable as ever.
They set off in silence, the wagon creaking softly as it rocked over the uneven trail. Angela glanced at James a few times, hoping to break the awkward tension that lingered between them, but his eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead.
Eventually, she gave up trying and let her gaze drift to the landscape instead.
The prairie was alive with the aftermath of the storm, the tall grasses bending in the light breeze and the wildflowers brighter than before, their colors deepened by the rain.
She could hear the faint trill of birds returning to their nests, their songs weaving through the sound of wagon wheels crunching over the hardened earth. It should have been peaceful, but something about the heavy silence between her and James left her restless.
When they stopped for lunch, Angela climbed down quickly, eager to stretch her legs and escape the strange weight of his quiet presence. She spotted Elias nearby, leaning against his horse, chatting with a few of the other men.
His face lit up when he saw her, and he waved her over.
“Miss Angela,” he said, tipping his hat in a playful gesture. “Care to stretch your legs with me? I was just about to scout ahead a bit.”
“I’d like that,” she replied with a small smile, falling into step beside him as they walked away from the wagons.
The sun was higher now, its warmth cutting through the coolness of the morning. Angela smoothed her skirts as they walked, the fabric swishing softly around her ankles.
She wore one of her simpler dresses today, a pale blue cotton one with a high neckline and long sleeves, her apron tied neatly at her waist. The hem was already stained with mud from the storm, but out here, no one had time to worry about such things.
Elias, in contrast, wore his usual well-worn trousers and a simple linen shirt with suspenders, his hat shading his bright, curious eyes. He carried himself with an easy confidence, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
As they walked, Elias gestured toward a patch of wildflowers blooming in bursts of bright yellows and purples.
“See those? That’s goldenrod and prairie coneflower,” he said, his voice animated.
“The goldenrod’s good for teas, helps with colds and fevers.
Prairie folks swear by it. And those coneflowers—sometimes the local tribes use them for medicine.
A scout I trained with said he tried it once for a bad toothache.
Swore it worked better than anything he’d ever had. ”
Angela smiled, listening as he pointed out other plants along the way—a cluster of sage, the sweet, clover-like smell of alfalfa—and told her about the prairie dogs they’d passed earlier.
“They’ve got these whole underground towns,” he said, his hands moving as if to draw a map in the air. “The scouts call ’em ‘dog towns.’ Hundreds of little tunnels, all connected. You’d think they’d get lost, but somehow, they don’t.”
His voice carried a sense of awe, and Angela couldn’t help but be drawn in by his enthusiasm. He clearly loved the prairie, seeing it as more than just an obstacle to be crossed. It was alive to him, full of stories and wonder.
He paused suddenly, glancing at her and chuckling. “Listen to me,” he said, tipping his hat back and running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been talking your ear off. You’re probably bored out of your mind by now.”
Angela shook her head quickly, her smile widening. “Not at all. It’s… nice, actually.”
“Well, thank you for humoring me,” he said with a grin, his gaze warm. “But it’s only fair I stop rambling and let you get a word in. Tell me something about yourself.”
The question caught her off guard, and her steps faltered for just a moment. She blinked, staring at him as though he’d asked her something in a foreign language. When had anyone last cared to ask about her? About her, not just what she could do or what was expected of her?
Elias’s easy grin faded slightly as he noticed her hesitation. “Sorry, didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” he said, his voice softer now. “I just figured there’s got to be more to you than what little I’ve seen. You’ve got that look—like someone who’s seen a lot but still carries hope.”
Angela swallowed hard, looking down at her hands as she twisted the edge of her apron.
“It’s not that,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… I don’t think anyone’s asked me that in a long time.”
Elias’s brow furrowed, his expression turning thoughtful. “Well,” he said gently, “then it’s about time someone did.”
Her chest tightened, a mix of gratitude and sadness swirling inside her. She glanced away, focusing on the horizon, the endless stretch of golden grass and blue sky. “I’m not sure I have much of a story to tell,” she admitted. “At least, nothing anyone would want to hear.”
Elias tilted his head, his eyes searching her face. “I’d want to hear it,” he said simply.
The sincerity in his voice struck her deeply, and she looked at him, startled by the kindness in his gaze. She couldn’t bring herself to share much—her past felt too heavy, too raw—but something about Elias made her feel seen, if only for a moment.
But just then, as they rounded a small rise, her attention was drawn to a figure in the distance. Silas stood leaning against a tree, his dark coat flapping slightly in the breeze. He wasn’t doing anything—just standing there, watching them. Angela’s stomach tightened.
She nudged Elias lightly.
“Do you know much about him?” she asked quietly, nodding toward Silas.
Elias followed her gaze, his smile faltering slightly. “Not much,” he admitted. “He’s polite enough when you talk to him, but he keeps to himself. Doesn’t really mix with the others.”
Angela frowned, her unease growing.
“What is it?” Elias asked.
“I don’t know,” Angela admitted. “There is just something about him that feels… off.”
“Well, out here, you learn to trust your instincts,” Elias advised.
Angela nodded, her eyes lingering on Silas a moment longer before she forced herself to look away. She wasn’t sure what it was about him—maybe it was the way he seemed to appear silently, always watching, always just out of reach—but something about him unsettled her deeply.
As they walked on, the tension eased when Lucy came bounding up to join them, her cheeks flushed with excitement as she chased after a butterfly that flitted just out of her reach.
“Miss Angela! Mr. Elias! Look!” she called, pointing to a bright orange monarch as it landed on a wildflower.
Angela smiled, her heart softening as she watched Lucy twirl through the tall grass, her small boots kicking up little puffs of dust.
The child’s dress, a cheerful yellow calico, was already streaked with dirt, but she didn’t seem to care. Her giggles filled the air as she darted after a grasshopper, her braids flying behind her.
“Ah, to be young,” Elias joked, tipping his hat back with a grin. “Nothing to worry about but catching butterflies.”
Angela tried to smile, but it came out wistful.
Watching Lucy, she couldn’t help but think of her own childhood—running through the fields with David, their laughter mingling as they played hide-and-seek among the haystacks.
Her chest tightened with the memory, the ache of his absence settling like a stone in her heart.
She turned away quickly, not wanting Elias to see the tears that threatened to spill. She busied herself adjusting her apron, forcing herself to breathe deeply until the moment passed.
Elias noticed her quietness but didn’t press. Instead, he gestured toward Lucy, who had managed to catch a grasshopper in her hands and was showing it off with great pride.
“You’ve got the spirit of the prairie already,” he said warmly.
Lucy giggled as she crouched down and freed the hopper, who took off, disappearing into the long grass once again.
Angela gave Lucy an encouraging smile before turning her gaze back to the horizon. The open sky stretched endlessly before them, dotted with wisps of white clouds. It was beautiful, but it was also vast and lonely, much like the thoughts she carried.
As they made their way back to camp, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, no matter how far she traveled, the past would always find a way to follow her.
***
The wagon creaked and swayed gently as it rolled along the trail, the afternoon sun high in the sky, bathing the prairie in a golden light.
Angela sat beside James on the driver’s bench again, her hands resting lightly in her lap, the hum of wagon wheels and the distant lowing of cattle filling the silence between them.
She wasn’t sure if the tension from the previous days had eased or if she’d just grown used to it. Either way, she didn’t expect him to say anything—he hadn’t all morning.
So when James cleared his throat and glanced at her, the sound broke the quiet so abruptly that she jumped slightly, startled.
“Look,” he began, his voice low and gruff, as though the words were costing him something. “About the other night. During the storm.”
Angela turned to him, her brows lifting in surprise. He didn’t meet her eyes, his gaze fixed firmly on the trail ahead.
“I wasn’t exactly… sympathetic,” he said, the words slow and halting. “I’ve been on this trail long enough that storms don’t faze me anymore. But that doesn’t mean I should’ve acted like your fear wasn’t real. So… I’m sorry. For how I handled it.”
Angela blinked, her surprise deepening. She hadn’t expected an apology, especially not from someone as guarded as James. For a moment, she didn’t know what to say.
“Thank you,” she said at last, her voice soft.