Chapter Twenty-Four
That same night, the camp was quiet, the fires burning low as most of the group settled in for the night.
Angela sat just inside the wagon, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
The fight with Silas had left an air of unease lingering over the camp.
Conversations that were usually lively around the fire had grown quieter, hushed murmurs replacing the usual laughter.
Even the children seemed more subdued, sticking closer to their parents and glancing nervously at the shadows just beyond the circle of wagons.
Angela glanced outside, where Thomas was checking the lock on his supply chest for the third time, his expression grim.
Nearby, Toby and James stood by the horses, their voices low and serious as they discussed the best way to keep watch overnight.
Even the animals seemed restless, their movements jittery and their snorts cutting through the tension-laden air.
The camp had always been a place of resilience, even in the face of hardship, but now it felt different.
It was as if Silas’s actions had splintered some of that hard-won trust. Angela bit her lip, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap as she thought of Silas’s hollow smile and the venom in his words.
Just then, she glanced toward the edge of the camp, where James had gone after everything had unfolded. He hadn’t come back to the wagon since, and though she told herself he could handle whatever he was dealing with, worry gnawed at her.
Angela exhaled softly, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. The night air was cool, and the stillness made her restless. She was about to turn in when she heard the faint crunch of boots on dirt.
Looking up, she saw James approaching from the direction of the horses, his silhouette illuminated by the faint glow of the nearest fire. He walked with his usual purpose, his shoulders squared, but there was a stiffness to his movements, as if the day had taken more out of him than he’d let on.
As he drew closer, Angela’s eyes caught on the small cut above his eyebrow, dark against his skin.
The firelight highlighted it, a faint smear of blood trailing down his temple.
“You’re hurt,” she said softly, rising to her feet.
James waved her off, his tone gruff. “It’s nothing.”
Angela ignored his protest and turned toward the water basin near the wagon. She wet a cloth, wringing it out before walking over to him.
“Sit,” she said firmly, nodding to the log by the fire.
James hesitated, his brow furrowing as though he was about to argue, but then he sighed and sat down heavily.
Angela sat beside him, the cloth cool and damp in her hands.
“Hold still,” she murmured, reaching up toward his face.
James flinched at the first touch of the cloth, his muscles tensing under her gaze. She paused, her hand hovering uncertainly.
“It’s just water,” she said gently, her tone teasing. “You’ve been through worse, haven’t you?”
His lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smirk, and he relaxed slightly. “I suppose I have.”
Angela smiled to herself as she carefully dabbed at the cut, wiping away the dried blood. The fire crackled softly beside them, the warmth easing the chill of the night.
As she worked, she risked a glance at him, catching his gaze. His eyes were softer now, the hard edge he so often wore tempered by exhaustion and something else she couldn’t quite name.
“Quite a day,” she said, her voice light as she tried to break the tension.
To her surprise, James let out a low chuckle, the sound rough but genuine. “You could say that.”
The unexpected warmth in his voice caught her off guard, and for a moment, she forgot what she was doing. She looked at him, really looked, and the faint curve of his smile took her breath away.
It softened him, made him seem younger, less burdened. She realized then how rare it was to see him like this—unguarded, almost at ease.
Angela finished cleaning the cut, lowering the cloth as her hand brushed against his cheek. She felt the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers, the roughness of stubble along his jaw.
Her breath hitched as James reached up and took her hand gently, his thumb tracing over her skin in a way that sent a shiver through her.
Her heart raced, her mind spinning as she tried to process the moment. The way his touch lingered, the way his gaze locked onto hers, steady and searching. She felt the weight of everything that had happened—the kiss, the river, the way he’d looked at her earlier—and it was too much.
She pulled her hand back quickly, standing and taking a step away. “You should rest,” she said, her voice shakier than she intended. “You’ve had a long day.”
James’s eyes flickered with something—confusion, maybe disappointment—but he nodded.
“You too,” he said simply, his voice low.
Angela turned and walked toward the wagon, her hands trembling as she climbed inside. She settled onto her bedroll, pulling the blanket around her shoulders as she stared at the canvas above her.
Her heart was still racing, her mind replaying the moment over and over again. The warmth of his hand on hers, the way he’d smiled at her.
And the fear that had crept in, sharp and sudden.
She closed her eyes, her lips moving silently at first, forming the words she could no longer keep inside.
“Lord,” she whispered. “I don’t know what to do. My heart feels like it’s being pulled in so many directions, and I’m afraid. Afraid of what I’m feeling, of what it could mean.”
Her hands tightened around the edge of the blanket, her knuckles pale in the faint firelight.
“You know the grief I’ve carried, the guilt. You know how hard it’s been to open my heart again, to even dream of feeling something more. And yet, here I am, feeling… something. I don’t even know what it is. I don’t understand it.”
Her voice broke, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if she could steady the ache inside.
“Please, Lord, give me clarity. Give me strength. If this is something You mean for me to have, then show me the way. And if it’s not… if I’m meant to guard my heart, then help me to let it go.”
A tear slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly, her jaw tightening.
“Help me to trust You, even when it’s hard. Even when it feels like I’m walking blind. Because I know You have a plan for me, even if I can’t see it yet.”
Angela exhaled shakily. Her fingers brushed the worn leather cover of her Bible beside her bedroll, and she opened it to a random page, her eyes falling on the words:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.”
The verse calmed her, its familiar cadence like a balm to her troubled spirit. She whispered it softly, her voice steadying.
“Make my path straight, Lord,” she murmured. “I’ll trust You, no matter where it leads.”
With that, Angela pulled the blanket tighter around her and closed her eyes, letting the weight of her prayer carry her into an uneasy but hopeful sleep.
***
The faint light of dawn was just beginning to creep over the horizon when Angela crouched beside the fire, the warmth licking at her fingers as she worked.
The scent of woodsmoke mingled with the earthy aroma of the coffee brewing in a battered tin pot.
Beside her, Lucy sat cross-legged on the ground, her small hands carefully peeling the skin off a potato with a dull knife.
The air was cool and fresh, the promise of a new day hanging in the quiet of the camp as a few others stirred in the distance.
“Like this?” Lucy asked, holding up a lopsided slice of potato.
Angela smiled. “That’s perfect,” she said, patting the girl’s arm. “Now just add it to the skillet.”
Lucy beamed at the praise, tossing the potato into the cast-iron pan where a few others were already sizzling in bacon grease. The smell was mouthwatering, a comforting reminder of simpler moments amidst the grueling journey.
Angela stirred the pan with a wooden spoon, the potatoes browning as bits of bacon crackled and popped around them.
Beside the fire, a small stack of cornmeal cakes cooked on a flat griddle, their golden edges crisping in the heat. Coffee, potatoes, bacon, and corn cakes—it wasn’t much, but it was the kind of meal that gave a person strength for the miles ahead.
“You’re really good at this,” Lucy said, her voice warm with admiration.
Angela chuckled softly. “I’ve had a lot of practice,” she said wryly, remembering all those meals she’d had to cook for the Baxters over the years.
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like cooking that much. I’d rather ride horses or go hunting like Papa.”
“Well,” Angela teased. “Not everyone gets to do the fun jobs. Sometimes, you’ve got to do what’s needed.”
Lucy sighed dramatically, but her grin told Angela she didn’t mind too much.
Just then, Rachel appeared. Her red hair was pulled back into a loose braid, and she had a tentative smile as she approached the fire.
“Morning,” Rachel said, her tone unusually soft.
Angela looked up from flipping the last of the corn cakes.
“Morning,” she replied, her smile easy but curious.
Rachel hesitated for a moment, then stepped closer.
“I, uh… I wanted to thank you,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. “For what you did. Out there in the river.”
Angela paused, the spoon in her hand stilling as she met Rachel’s gaze. “You don’t have to thank me,” she said gently.
“No, I do,” Rachel insisted, her eyes bright with emotion. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone as brave—or as stupid—as you.”
Angela let out a soft laugh, the tension easing as she shook her head. “I’d say it was more stupid than brave,” she joked.
Rachel laughed, too, and then, to Angela’s surprise, she stepped forward and pulled her into a tight hug. Angela froze for a moment, startled by the sudden gesture, but then she relaxed, her arms wrapping around Rachel’s shoulders.
“Thank you,” Rachel murmured again, her voice quieter this time.
Angela nodded, her throat tightening as she thought about how close they had both come to not seeing this morning.