Chapter Seventeen
The camp was eerily quiet as Angela kneeled beside Lucy, her heart aching at the sight of the little girl lying so still.
Her face was pale, streaked with dirt and sweat, her small chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Thomas sat on her other side, his large, calloused hands trembling as he dabbed a damp cloth against Lucy’s forehead. His eyes, usually so stoic, were red and glassy with unshed tears.
“Lucy, honey,” Thomas murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Papa’s here. You’re going to be all right.”
Angela’s throat tightened as she wrung out another cloth in the cool water Rosie had fetched, gently wiping the dust and grime from Lucy’s tiny arms and legs. The little girl didn’t stir, her small body frighteningly still.
“She’s strong,” Rosie said softly, kneeling beside Angela. Her voice was calm and soothing, but her eyes betrayed her worry. “She’s a fighter. She just needs water and rest.”
Angela nodded, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. They’d been working in silence for what felt like hours, tending to Lucy as best they could, but the memories clawed at Angela’s mind with every passing moment.
The stillness of Lucy’s body, the frailty of her form—it was too much like she’d always imagined David would look lying in his coffin.
Her little brother’s face flashed, the screams as she stood outside the burning ruins of their home, unable to save him.
The familiar weight of guilt and grief pressed on her chest like a vice, stealing her breath.
“I need a moment,” Angela whispered, her voice trembling as she stood abruptly.
Rosie looked up, her face full of worry. “Angela—”
“I’ll be fine,” she said quickly, forcing a shaky smile. “I just need a moment.”
She turned and walked briskly away from the circle of wagons, the cool night air biting at her skin. She didn’t stop until she was far enough from the others that she couldn’t hear their voices. Her breathing came fast and shallow, her hands trembling as she clutched at her apron.
The memories overwhelmed her, vivid and relentless. The fire. The smoke. The sound of her parents shouting. The feeling of being trapped, helpless, unable to save them—or David.
She pressed a hand to her chest, willing herself to calm down, but the air felt too thin, too heavy all at once. The same questions plaguing her thoughts. Why had she survived and not them? Why had God chosen to save her?
“Angela?”
She turned sharply at the sound of Elias’s voice, startled to find him standing a few feet away, his face full of concern. He must have seen her leave the camp and followed.
“I—I’m fine,” she stammered, wiping at her eyes hastily. “Really, I just needed a moment to breathe.”
“You don’t look fine,” Elias said gently, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
The kindness in his voice broke through her fragile defenses, and the words tumbled out before she could stop them.
“She is just so small, so helpless. Just like my brother…” Her voice cracked, and she turned away, trying to hide the tears that spilled down her cheeks.
Elias hesitated for a moment before stepping closer, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly. “It’s all right. She will be all right.”
Before she knew it, he had pulled her into a gentle embrace, his arms wrapping around her as she trembled. Angela stiffened at first, unsure how to respond, but the warmth of his presence and the steadiness of his voice soothed her.
“You’re doing everything you can,” Elias said quietly. “And Lucy’s got a whole camp full of people looking out for her. She’s not alone.”
Angela nodded against his chest, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. She closed her eyes, letting herself take comfort in the moment, even if just for a second.
“Am I interrupting something?”
The deep, familiar voice made her pull away abruptly, her face flushing as she turned to see James standing a few feet away, holding a tin cup of water. His eyes flicked between her and Elias, his expression unreadable but tight, his jaw set.
“No,” Angela said quickly, stepping back from Elias. “We were just… talking.”
“Right,” James said flatly, handing her the cup. “I thought you could use this.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
James nodded curtly, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before turning to Elias. “You might want to check on the horses,” he said, his tone brisk.
Elias hesitated, glancing at Angela before nodding. “I’ll do that,” he said, his voice calm as he tipped his hat and walked away.
Angela stood there awkwardly, the cup of water cool against her hands, as James turned back to her. His eyes were sharp, searching hers as if he wanted to say something.
“I should get back,” Angela said.
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and headed back to the wagon.
***
As the night deepened, the camp was quiet except for the soft crackling of a few dying fires and the occasional restless stir of the animals.
Inside the wagon where Lucy lay, the air was heavy with worry.
Angela sat by the child’s side, Rosie by the other, their quiet prayers filling the small space as they tended to the little girl.
Thomas was beside himself with worry, his strong hands trembling and his gaze never leaving his daughter’s face.
Minister Sam stood at the back of the wagon, his Bible tucked under his arm.
“Thomas,” he said gently, his voice low but firm.
Thomas didn’t look up right away.
“I can’t lose her,” Thomas said at last, his voice breaking.
His hands fidgeted, clenching and unclenching as he stared at his daughter.
“Lucy’s all I’ve got left. If she… if anything happens to her, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Angela placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I know you’re scared, Thomas,” Minister Sam said. “And I know this kind of fear feels unbearable. But remember, you’re not walking through this alone. The Lord sees your pain, your worry. He’s with you, even now.”
Thomas let out a heavy breath, his eyes glistening as he looked up at the stars.
“It doesn’t feel like He’s with me,” he admitted. “Not since Mary…” He trailed off, his voice faltering.
“What happened to her?” Minister Sam asked gently, giving Thomas the space to speak if he wanted to.
Thomas swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. “It was fever,” he said at last, his voice barely audible. “It swept through our town a few years ago. Mary… she was always strong, always taking care of Lucy and me. I thought if anyone could fight it, she could. But…”
He shook his head, his voice breaking.
“She didn’t make it.”
He covered his face with one hand, his shoulders shaking slightly. “I prayed. I prayed so hard. Begged God to spare her. But He didn’t. And now… now Lucy’s all I have left of her. I can’t lose her too. I just can’t.”
The pain in his voice was so raw, so familiar. Angela understood it all too well—the desperate prayers, the aching guilt, the feeling of abandonment that lingered long after the loss.
Why didn’t You save them, Lord? she thought, her chest tightening. She could still hear the echo of her own voice, sobbing into the darkness after the fire, begging for answers that never came.
Minister Sam let the silence stretch for a moment before speaking, his voice quiet but filled with conviction.
“Thomas, I can’t pretend to know why some prayers are answered in the way we hope and others aren’t. But I do know this: the Lord doesn’t abandon His children. He’s with you, even in your sorrow, and He’s with Lucy now, holding her as surely as you hold her in your heart.”
At that moment, something inside Angela stirred. She had clung to her faith after the fire, but it had been out of desperation more than trust, a lifeline she couldn’t let go of for fear of sinking completely. But had she truly believed that God was still with her? That He hadn’t abandoned her?
She swallowed hard, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the cloth on Lucy’s brow.
Do not fear, for I am with you.
The words resonated, cutting through the haze of her thoughts. She didn’t know if she believed them fully—not yet. But listening to the reverend, seeing the strength he offered Thomas, she found herself wanting to.
Thomas wiped at his eyes roughly, his breath unsteady. “I want to believe that,” he whispered. “I do. But it’s hard.”
“It is hard,” Minister Sam agreed. “Faith doesn’t erase our pain or make life easy.
But it gives us strength to keep going, even when we feel like we can’t.
In Isaiah 41:10, God tells us, ‘Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.’”
Thomas closed his eyes, his head bowing as he let the words sink in.
“Lean on Him, Thomas,” the minister continued, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to carry this alone. Let Him share your burden. And let the rest of us help, too. We’re all in this together.”
Thomas nodded slowly, his breathing evening out. “Thank you,” he said after a long pause, his voice steadier now.
Minister Sam gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, his expression kind. “We’ll keep praying for Lucy. And for you.”
Angela nodded, silently praying for Lucy’s recovery. Her own exhaustion was heavy, but she refused to leave Lucy’s side.
***
The first light of dawn crept over the prairie, painting the horizon in soft hues of pink and gold.
The camp began to stir, the low murmur of voices and the occasional clatter of cookware breaking the stillness of the early morning.
Inside the wagon, Angela sat slumped against the side, her body aching with exhaustion. She hadn’t slept all night, her focus fixed entirely on Lucy, whose small, fragile frame now seemed stronger, her breathing deeper and more even.
Angela smiled faintly as the little girl stirred, her eyelids fluttering open for a brief moment before closing again. Thomas, who had finally drifted into a restless sleep beside the cot, let out a long breath, his worry easing into cautious relief.