Chapter Fifteen
James’s scream tore through the camp. Angela froze as her head snapped up. That’s when she saw it—the wall of swirling, choking darkness rolling toward them, blotting out the horizon.
It was enormous, stretching as far as she could see, a monstrous, roiling wave of dust and debris that seemed to devour the prairie itself.
The wind hit first, tugging at her skirts and whipping her hair into her face.
The air turned dry and hot, carrying a gritty taste that made her throat tighten.
“Take cover!” James’s shout cut through the rising chaos, his voice sharp and commanding.
Angela stood frozen for a moment, her heart hammering in her chest as the chaos unfolded around her.
Wagons groaned under the strain of the gusts, their canvas coverings snapping like angry whips.
Animals whinnied and brayed in panic, their hooves pawing at the ground as they fought against the ropes that tethered them. People shouted over the cacophony, their voices fragmented and swallowed by the roaring wind.
Angela could feel the storm’s power in the air around her, a pulsing, electric energy that made her skin prickle. The gusts were colder now, biting at her exposed skin, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat that had gripped them earlier in the day.
A piece of debris hurtled past her —a loose bucket that bounced and clattered before vanishing into the swirling chaos. She ducked instinctively, her heart pounding as the storm seemed to close the distance in seconds.
The sky rumbled, a low, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath her. Thunder cracked in the distance, its deep voice a warning of what was to come.
“Get everything secured and get under cover!” Toby shouted, his voice raw but commanding.
The wind ripped the words from his mouth, scattering them into the chaos, but he pressed on, motioning to the others as they fought to prepare.
Dust swirled around Angela in thick, suffocating waves, reducing visibility to mere feet.
Her heart pounded, her limbs unwilling to move.
But then, James was suddenly there, his tall figure appearing out of the chaos like a force of nature.
“Angela!” he shouted, his voice barely audible over the howling wind.
Before she could respond, he grabbed her hand, his grip firm and grounding. “Come on!” he commanded, pulling her toward the nearest wagon.
But they didn’t make it.
The storm slammed into them with a roar so loud it drowned out everything else, a deafening wall of sound that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Angela staggered, her free hand flying up to shield her face as the dust enveloped them, choking and blinding.
The air was so thick with grit that every breath burned her throat, and her eyes watered despite being clenched shut.
“Stay with me!” James’s voice was muffled but steady, his grip on her hand tightening.
Before the storm could rip them apart, James yanked her toward him, his arm going around her shoulders as he pulled her close.
He shrugged off his coat in one swift motion and threw it over them, hunching down to shield her from the worst of the storm.
Angela gasped, her face pressed against his chest, the coarse fabric of his shirt scratching her cheek.
The wind screamed around them, tearing at the coat and tugging at her skirts, but James held firm, his body a solid, unyielding barrier between her and the chaos.
The storm was relentless, the dust stinging her exposed skin and finding its way into every crevice. She could hear debris pelting the wagons and feel the earth trembling beneath them as the wind clawed at everything in its path.
The smell of dirt and dryness filled her nose, mixing with the faint, warm scent of James—leather, sweat, and something that was uniquely him.
Her breath came in short, panicked bursts as she clung to him, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. She could feel his chest rising and falling steadily, a stark contrast to the wildness surrounding them.
His arm around her was strong and steady, the heat of his body bleeding into hers, grounding her in a way she couldn’t explain.
For a moment, she forgot the storm.
All she could think about was James—his body shielding hers, the way his heart beat steadily against her cheek, the way his presence wrapped around her like a lifeline.
It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, a rush of emotions that left her breathless for reasons that had nothing to do with the storm.
“Keep your head down!” James shouted, his voice muffled but close.
Angela nodded, though he probably couldn’t see it. She pressed herself closer to him, her face buried in the crook of his neck.
The wind screamed louder, a wild, unrelenting force that seemed determined to tear them apart, but she stayed where she was, anchored by his strength.
Minutes passed, or what felt like hours—it was impossible to tell in the storm’s chaotic grip.
The dust pressed against them, the wind howled, and the world shrank down to just the two of them, huddled together under the coat.
At last, the wind began to ease, the deafening roar softening to a dull, constant rumble. The air was still thick with dust, but it was thinning, allowing faint outlines of the wagons to reappear through the haze.
James lifted his head slightly, his grip on her loosening just enough to look around.
“It’s letting up,” he said, his voice hoarse but steady.
Angela nodded again, her face still pressed to his chest, reluctant to move. Her legs felt weak, her body trembling from the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.
“You all right?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost gentle.
“Yes,” she whispered, her voice muffled.
He nodded once, his usual stoicism returning as he adjusted his hat against the dying wind. But his eyes lingered on hers for just a moment longer, and Angela felt her chest tighten.
She wanted to say more, to tell him that his strength had been a lifeline, that his presence had been a strange kind of comfort in the chaos. But instead, she took a step back, fear twisting in her stomach.
The same fear that had haunted her since the fire.
Don’t get attached, a voice whispered in her mind. Don’t let yourself care. It only leads to pain.
James let go of her, stepping back as he surveyed the damage, his expression sharp and calculating despite the layer of dust clinging to his skin and hair.
After a moment, she turned her head, her arms still wrapped protectively around herself, and blinked through stinging eyes at the wreckage around them.
The storm had passed, but the camp bore its scars—a chaotic jumble of disorder and exhaustion.
She pushed strands of hair from her face, her fingers gritty with dust, and took a moment to steady herself, her legs still shaky from crouching through the storm.
The wagons were in disarray, their covers flapping limply in the faint breeze.
One had lost its canvas entirely, leaving its wooden frame exposed and its contents—a mishmash of pots, blankets, and tools—strewn across the ground.
Supplies lay scattered everywhere: barrels had toppled, spilling dried beans and grain into the dirt; a bucket rolled lazily by, pushed along by the remnants of the wind.
People emerged cautiously from their makeshift shelters, their faces streaked with dirt, their clothes rumpled and caked with dust.
Rosie was the first to step out; her usually neat hair was loose and wild, and when her eyes met Angela’s, they were full of weariness but still managed a flicker of warmth.
“Thank the Lord that’s over,” Rosie said, her voice hoarse as she adjusted Lucy in her arms.
Nearby, Rachel stumbled out of her wagon, coughing into her sleeve. Her fiery red hair was dulled with a layer of dust, and she was trying to wipe it from her face with little success.
“That’s a storm I don’t care to see again,” she muttered, her tone laced with irritation as she straightened her hat.
Angela turned toward the animals. The horses huddled together in their makeshift pen, their sides heaving as they recovered from their terror. One of them—a young mare with a streak of white down her face—stamped nervously, her ears flicking back and forth.
The oxen were calmer, though one of them bellowed softly, shaking its head as if to rid itself of the clinging dust. A dog padded through the camp, its tail low as it sniffed warily at the scattered debris.
James opened his mouth, but before he said anything, another voice cut through the fragile quiet.
“Lucy! Lucy, where are you?”
Angela’s heart dropped as she saw Thomas staggering out of the haze, his face pale and frantic. He was scanning the camp, calling his daughter’s name with rising panic.
“Lucy!” he shouted again, louder this time, his voice cracking.
Her eyes darted across the camp, searching for Lucy. Families were gathering, children clutching their parents’ hands, but the little one was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did you last see her?” James asked, already moving toward Thomas, his voice sharp and commanding.
“She was with me at the service,” Thomas said, his voice thick with desperation. “The wind came so fast, I thought she was right behind me!”
Angela’s chest tightened as a surge of dread washed over her. Lucy was so small, so vulnerable. If she’d been caught out in the storm…
“She could’ve gotten turned around,” James said, his expression grim but focused. “The wind and dust make it hard to see. She might not be far.”
Angela stepped forward, her fear momentarily eclipsed by determination. “We have to find her.”
James nodded, already issuing orders to the others.
“Everyone spread out! Check near the wagons and any shelters. Look for tracks or anything she might’ve dropped!”
Angela didn’t wait for more instructions. Hiking up her skirt, she broke into a run, her heart pounding against her ribs as she called Lucy’s name into the settling dust.
The air was still thick with grit, stinging her throat and eyes with every breath, but she pressed on, weaving around scattered barrels and overturned crates.
“Lucy!” she shouted, her voice hoarse but urgent.
Her boots slipped slightly on the uneven ground, crunching over broken branches and splintered wood. She glanced frantically from side to side, her pulse racing as she scanned every shadow, every corner of the disheveled camp.
Behind her, the camp erupted into motion.
Rosie’s panicked voice rang out, sharp and trembling, as she pleaded with others to help.
Thomas barked orders, his usually calm tone cracking under the weight of fear.
People darted between wagons, their movements erratic as they searched beneath tarps, behind barrels, and around the perimeter of the camp.
“Check over there!” Toby shouted, pointing toward the edge of the camp where the grazing animals had been tied earlier.
Angela’s foot caught on a loose piece of canvas, and she stumbled forward, barely catching herself before hitting the ground.
She brushed the dust from her hands and pushed herself upright, her breaths coming fast and shallow as she steadied herself.
“Lucy!” she cried again, her voice breaking.
The horses in the makeshift pen whinnied nervously, their hooves stamping at the dirt as the lingering tension from the storm still hung heavy in the air. Angela ran toward them, her eyes scanning the ground near their enclosure.
A flash of movement caught her attention—a small, pale blur near one of the overturned crates.
For a moment, hope surged in her chest, but as she got closer, she realized it was only a discarded doll, its painted face smudged and its dress torn.
She stooped to pick it up, clutching it tightly as she turned back toward the center of the camp.
“Lucy’s favorite doll!” she gasped, holding it up for the others to see.
Thomas rushed toward her, his face pale and drawn. “Where did you find it?” he demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of desperation and hope.
Angela pointed toward the crate, but before she could answer, another shout cut through the chaos.
“Angela!” James’s voice was sharp, commanding, rising above the din. She turned to see him striding toward her, his face set in grim determination. His boots kicked up dust as he moved, his sharp eyes scanning every corner of the camp.
“What did you see?” he asked, his gaze locking onto hers.
“Just her doll,” Angela said, holding it up again. Her voice wavered, but she straightened, meeting his intense gaze. “I don’t know where else to look.”
James’s jaw tightened as he turned toward Toby and Thomas. “We fan out,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Check the outskirts of camp—every tree, every ditch. If she wandered off, she can’t have gotten far.”
Angela nodded, her heart pounding as she gripped the doll tightly. She refused to let the fear creeping into her thoughts take hold. Lucy had to be nearby. She had to be.
As the search party splintered off, Angela ran toward the edge of the camp, the doll clutched tightly in her hand.
The prairie stretched out before her, vast and shadowed in the dimming light.
The wind had stilled, leaving an eerie quiet in its wake, broken only by the distant calls of Lucy’s name echoing into the emptiness.
“Lucy!” Angela shouted again, her voice straining against the silence. She scanned the ground desperately, her eyes darting to every tuft of grass, every hollow in the earth.
Her chest heaved as she slowed for a moment, the weight of fear pressing down on her. The doll felt heavier in her hand, its small, lifeless eyes a painful reminder of the little girl they were all searching for. Angela closed her eyes briefly, whispering a prayer.
“Please, Lord,” she murmured, her voice shaking. “Help us find her. Don’t let it be too late.”
Please let us find her.