Chapter Nineteen
That next morning, the camp was quiet, the frantic energy of yesterday’s dust storm cleanup replaced by a sense of calm. But James wasn’t at ease.
Things were still missing—money, jewelry, even some supplies. At first, he’d hoped it was all just misplaced in the chaos of the storm, but as more people came forward, it was clear the losses weren’t random.
Someone was stealing.
James stood near the edge of the camp, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he scanned the wagons and the people milling about.
He hated this—this uncertainty, this gnawing sense that someone among them was taking advantage of the group’s trust.
It made his skin itch, his jaw clench. Trust was everything out here. Without it, they wouldn’t make it another hundred miles.
But for now, the thief would have to wait.
Ahead of them was a river—a wide, fast-moving stretch of water that carved through the prairie like a shimmering, untamed beast.
He’d seen rivers like this claim lives before—wagons overturned, supplies lost, people swept away by the relentless current. It was always a gamble, even on a good day.
James exhaled sharply, walking toward the edge of the riverbank where Toby stood, staring out at the rushing water.
The older man’s hat was pushed low over his brow, his boots caked with the dust and mud of the trail.
“Doesn’t look good,” James said, stopping beside him.
Toby didn’t answer right away, his sharp eyes fixed on the river. It was high, swollen from recent storms, the current churning angrily as it surged past.
“No, it doesn’t,” he said at last, his voice low.
James sighed, running a hand over his face. “We’ve already lost time. If we wait for the water to drop, we’ll fall further behind.”
“And if we try to cross now, we’ll lose a lot more than time,” Toby replied, glancing at James. “You know that.”
James nodded reluctantly. He did know. The river was too dangerous to cross right now, but every delay pushed them closer to winter.
The thought of being caught in the mountains with snow blocking the passes made his chest tighten.
He’d seen it happen before—entire wagon trains stranded, people starving, freezing.
“We’re cutting it close,” James admitted, his voice grim. “Winter will be at our backs soon enough.”
Toby scratched his chin thoughtfully, his gaze returning to the river.
“That we are. But a crossing like this? It’s no small thing. You lose a wagon or a horse, you’re not just losing supplies. You’re losing trust. Morale. These people look to you, James. You make the call, and if it’s the wrong one, they won’t forget it.”
James clenched his jaw. He didn’t need the reminder of what was at stake. Every decision he made felt like a gamble with lives hanging in the balance. But Toby was right—pushing the group into a dangerous crossing now could be disastrous.
“We’ll wait,” James said finally, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. “At least a day, maybe two. Let the water drop and the current slow.”
Toby nodded, his expression approving. “Smart call. Give it time. You might find it’s not as bad as you think.”
James glanced at the river again, his hands resting on his hips. He hoped Toby was right, but his gut churned with worry. Between the thief in their midst and the looming threat of falling behind schedule, it felt like the pressure was closing in on all sides.
“Get the wagons ready to move once the water’s low enough,” James said. “And let the others know we’re holding here for now. I’ll organize the scouting runs to check the depth.”
“Will do,” Toby replied, tipping his hat.
As Toby walked away, James remained by the river, staring out at the rushing water. The weight of the trail pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he pushed the worry aside. One challenge at a time, he told himself.
***
The same day, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the prairie. The river glinted in the light, deceptively serene at a distance, though James knew better. The current was still strong, its swirling eddies a silent warning to anyone foolish enough to underestimate it.
James was kneeling beside Thomas near the wagons, inspecting a cracked axle on one of the older vehicles. Thomas wiped his brow with a handkerchief, his face still pale from the events of the night before, though his movements were steadier now.
“How’s Lucy doing?” James asked.
“She’s holding up better than I thought,” Thomas said, his voice low and rough from lack of sleep.
“That’s good,” James replied.
Thomas nodded, folding the handkerchief and tucking it into his pocket.
“She scared me half to death,” he admitted, his voice trembling just enough to betray the depth of his emotion. “When we couldn’t find her… when I thought…”
James glanced up, watching as Thomas’s gaze drifted toward the campfire, where Lucy had been sitting just that morning, her small hands fiddling with the edges of her shawl.
“I thought I was going to lose her,” Thomas said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Just like her mother.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and raw.
James straightened, brushing dirt from his hands as he leaned back on his heels. He didn’t press Thomas to continue, but the man seemed to take the silence as permission to speak.
“She was everything to me, you know,” Thomas said, his eyes still fixed on the horizon.
“My wife. She had a laugh that could make the worst day seem brighter, and Lucy’s just like her.
Same smile, same stubborn streak.” He let out a shaky breath, his hand tightening around the handkerchief.
“When she passed… I didn’t think I could do it alone.
Raising a little girl. But I didn’t have a choice. ”
James felt a twinge in his chest, a quiet ache he couldn’t quite ignore. He’d never had children of his own, never even come close, but he could imagine the weight Thomas carried, the fear that came with loving someone so deeply.
“You’ve done a good job with her,” James said finally, his voice low but firm. “Lucy’s a good kid.”
Thomas smiled faintly, though the pain in his eyes lingered. “She’s my whole world,” he said. “That’s why last night…” He swallowed hard, his voice thick. “I prayed harder than I’ve ever prayed in my life. Begged God not to take her from me.”
James’s jaw tightened, his hands gripping the edge of the wagon. The words struck something deep within him, stirring memories he’d worked hard to bury
He could see her face in his mind, pale and still as she lay in their bed, the sickness robbing her of her warmth, her laughter, her very life. He’d prayed too—prayed until his throat was raw and his knees ached—but it hadn’t made a difference.
“This should hold for another week or two,” James said, tightening the bolts with a practiced efficiency as he changed the subject. “But after that, we’ll need to replace it. Keep an eye on it, especially with rough terrain ahead.”
Thomas nodded. “I’ll get it done,” he said, his voice gruff but grateful.
They were finishing up when Rosie’s voice rang out across the camp, sharp and urgent.
“James! James, come quick!”
James shot to his feet, his stomach dropping at the panic in her tone. Rosie was running toward him, her face pale and stricken, her bonnet askew as she waved her arms frantically.
“It’s Rachel!” she cried, her breath coming in short gasps. “She’s—she’s trying to cross the river!”
James felt a cold wave of anger and fear wash over him. “What?”
“She said she could make it,” Rosie said, her voice trembling. “She wouldn’t listen! You have to hurry!”
James didn’t wait for more. He sprinted toward the river, his boots pounding against the dry earth as his mind raced. He reached the riverbank just as a crowd of pioneers began to gather, their voices rising in alarm as they pointed toward the water.
There she was.
Rachel O’Malley, fiery and stubborn as ever, was chest-deep in the river.
Her wagon lurching sideways. The horses, their heads held high and eyes wide with panic, their powerful legs kicking against the force of the river to no avail.
Water surged up their sides, drenching their flanks as their hooves struggled to find purchase on the slippery, uneven riverbed.
Time seemed to stand still for a moment as James watched in horror.
“Come on!” Rachel shouted, her voice tight with fear.
But the current continued to push relentlessly at the wagon, tilting it sideways as the water swirled around the wheels.
The horses’ whinnies were sharp and frantic as they fought to stay above the surface. Foam and spray splashed over them, their bridles taut. The wagon creaked and groaned, its wooden frame bending against the pressure of the rushing water.
A sudden surge of the current hit the side of the wagon, rocking it violently. Rachel cried out as she was nearly thrown from her seat, clutching the reins tighter as the wagon began to shift downstream, the river pulling at it like a predator claiming its prey.
The wheels skidded and slipped, half submerged as the river pressed harder, and for a heart-stopping moment, it seemed as though the wagon would be swept away entirely.
“Rachel!” James bellowed, his voice cutting through the noise. “Get back here now!”
“I’m trying!” Rachel cried.
And then James saw her.
Angela.
She was in the water, too, farther upstream, her head bobbing as she swam desperately toward Rachel. The current pushed at her, spinning her sideways, but she didn’t stop. Her arms sliced through the water, her face set with a reckless determination that made James’s blood run cold.
“What is she doing?” James growled, his chest tightening.
“She’s trying to save her!” Rosie cried from beside him, her voice breaking.
The crowd on the bank grew louder, a mix of gasps, shouts, and murmurs of fear. Women clutched their children tightly, men shouted useless warnings, and James felt the tension rise like the roar of the river itself.
“Darn it, Angela,” James muttered, his fists clenching.
Angela reached Rachel just as the wagon bucked violently against the current, nearly tipping sideways. The water surged around them, pulling and pushing them toward the deeper center of the river.
“Hold on!” Angela shouted, her voice barely audible over the roar of the water.
Rachel’s eyes were wide with terror, her hair plastered to her face as she clung to the reins. “The horses—they’re losing their footing!” she cried, her voice cracking.
James turned his head, his stomach plummeting as he saw the team of horses straining desperately against the current. The water was up to their necks now, their heads tossing wildly as they whinnied in panic, the whites of their eyes flashing.
“They can’t hold much longer!” James yelled. “Get off the wagon!”
The wagon groaned ominously, its wooden frame creaking as the current pressed against it with relentless force. Then, with a deafening crack, the front axle splintered, the wagon tipping forward.
The horses screamed as the river claimed them, their bodies plunging beneath the surface. The wagon followed, the wheels spinning helplessly as it was dragged sideways into the rushing current. Rachel shrieked, her hand slipping from the reins as the force of the water wrenched her backward.
“Rachel!” Angela screamed.
The current surged, and water was everywhere—cold, suffocating, pulling them under as the force of the river dragged them along.
Rachel’s head went under, and Angela fought to pull her up.
The wagon careened wildly downstream, its broken frame barely visible as the river consumed it. Debris—planks of wood, sacks of supplies—floated past, spinning violently in the current.
For a moment, James stood frozen. It had all happened so fast. The scene before him was chaos incarnate—a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. The wagon lurched and groaned as the river battered it, the horses screaming in terror as the current dragged them deeper into the icy water.
“James!” Rosie cried.
Her voice snapped him back to reality, and he turned to Toby.
“Get me a rope!”
Toby was already moving, his hands deftly unspooling a long length of rope from the nearest wagon. James grabbed it, looping it around his chest and tying it off securely before handing the other end to Toby.
“Hold on tight,” James ordered, his voice sharp.
“Be careful,” Toby said, his eyes grim.
James nodded once, his jaw set, and turned back to the river. The icy water hit him like a slap as he waded in, the current immediately tugging at his legs. He pushed forward, his focus locked on Angela and Rachel.
James pushed harder against the current, the rope around his chest straining as the water surged around him. His muscles burned, his breath came in short gasps, but he didn’t stop.
He was almost there when it happened.
A sudden wave crashed over Angela, dragging her under. She disappeared in an instant, the water closing over her like a curtain.
“Angela!” James roared, panic surging through him.
He reached Rachel first, grabbing her arm and pulling her upright. She clung to him, her body trembling violently as she gasped for air.
“Hold on to me!” James commanded, his voice rough.
He tightened his grip on her, his eyes scanning the water desperately for any sign of Angela. Seconds stretched into eternity as the river churned around them. And then, upstream, he saw her—her dark hair breaking the surface for a brief moment before she went under again.
“Angela!” James cried, his heart pounding.
He shoved Rachel toward the bank, shouting for Toby and the others to pull her in. Then he turned back toward Angela, his jaw clenched as he fought against the current with every ounce of strength he had.
The river was relentless, its cold grip sapping his energy as he pushed forward. James’s chest burned, his legs screamed in protest, but he kept going, his eyes fixed on the spot where Angela had gone under.
And then, for the first time in years, he prayed.
God, please…
The words came unbidden, raw and desperate.
Please let her be alive. Please let me find her. Please don’t take her too.
His chest tightened as the memory of his wife’s face flashed through his mind, pale and still in the fever’s grip. He’d prayed then too, begged and pleaded until his throat was raw, and God had been silent.
But this time was different.
He couldn’t let it end like this. He wouldn’t.