Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.”
Rosie joined in next, her voice soft at first but growing stronger as the others chimed in. Then Rachel, her lighter, higher voice wove through the melody.
Toby didn’t sing so much as hum along, his gruff baritone grounding the harmony. Minister Sam sang loudly, smiling around the group. The sound swelled, each voice distinct but blending seamlessly.
“Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.”
Then Elias joined in, his voice slightly off-key but filled with enthusiasm, followed by Angela and James. Lucy clapped her hands as the music carried on, her small voice ringing out with the pure innocence of a child’s faith.
James leaned toward Angela. “You never told me you could sing,” he said quietly, his grin widening as she laughed mid-verse.
Angela’s cheeks flushed, but she kept singing, her voice blending effortlessly with Rosie’s steady alto and Rachel’s fluttering soprano.
The warmth of the hymn spread through her, a balm to the weight she often carried. The words painted a picture of beauty and creation that she hadn’t seen since she came on the trail, their simplicity both humbling and profound.
Thomas’s fiddle danced around their voices, weaving a melody that seemed to draw everyone closer together. Rachel swayed gently, her arm brushing against Rosie’s, while Lucy leaned her head against her father’s side, her voice softening as the hymn continued.
“The tall trees in the greenwood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes by the water,
To gather every day.”
James’s gaze lingered on Angela as her voice rang clear, her joy unguarded in this moment.
“All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.”
The final verse was quieter, softer, as the group’s voices mellowed in the night air:
“He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell,
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.”
The last notes of the fiddle drifted into silence, the hymn’s echoes lingering like a comforting embrace. For a moment, no one spoke, the quiet reverence of the hymn settling over them.
“That was beautiful,” Rosie said softly, her voice breaking the silence.
Rachel grinned, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Even Toby hit the notes.”
Toby snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t expect an encore.”
Laughter rippled through the group, breaking the solemnity of the moment and replacing it with warmth and camaraderie.
Angela smiled, looking around the circle of faces illuminated by the firelight. For the first time in years, she felt truly connected—not just to the people around her, but to something greater, something bright and beautiful.
“How about a story?” Rosie suggested. “Before we all go to bed?”
Rachel nodded, turning her head toward Toby. “You must have a million stories, Toby. Care to share one?”
Toby’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, I’ve got stories, all right. Some might even be true.”
The group laughed.
“Well, go on, then,” James prompted.
Toby shifted in his seat and then looked around the group before clearing his throat.
“Well, this was back when I was first guiding a wagon train. We had ourselves a greenhorn—a young feller fresh from the city, didn’t know a plow from a shovel.
Name was Henry, but we all just called him ‘Hank the Tenderfoot.’ Couldn’t tell his left boot from his right most days, but he had a big heart, I’ll give him that. ”
Angela chuckled softly as Toby continued, leaning in a little closer to the fire.
“Anyway, one evening, the whole camp’s settin’ up for the night, and Hank comes runnin’ up to me, lookin’ about as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. Says, ‘Mr. Toby, sir, I found me a little critter! It’s lost, poor thing, and I’m gonna keep it safe.’
“Well, I look down, and what’s he holdin’? The fluffiest black-and-white kitten you ever saw. Only problem was, that ‘kitten’ had a stripe down its back and a smell you could catch from three wagons over.”
The group burst into laughter, Rosie covering her mouth with her hand as Rachel slapped her knee.
“Oh, no,” Angela said, grinning. “Please tell me you stopped him.”
“Course I tried,” Toby said, holding up his hands. “I said, ‘Hank, you put that critter down right now, or you’re gonna be smellin’ worse than the backside of a mule.’ But Hank—bless his tenderfoot heart—just beams at me and says, ‘No, sir, I won’t abandon it. This kitten needs a home!’”
Even James cracked a smile as Toby shook his head, the memory clearly as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.
“Well, the little feller didn’t even make it two steps before that skunk let him have it. Right in the face. Poor Hank screamed so loud he scared the horses half to death. Dropped the skunk and ran for the creek like his britches were on fire.”
Lucy giggled, her hands over her mouth. “What happened next?”
Toby leaned back, his grin widening. “He spent the next three days campin’ downwind of the rest of us, scrubbing himself raw with every bit of soap we could spare. Didn’t make much difference, though. That smell clung to him like a bad debt.”
“What about the skunk?” Rachel asked, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.
“Oh, that little rascal just waddled off like nothin’ happened,” Toby said. “Probably went to find another greenhorn to pester.”
The group erupted into another round of laughter, the sound carrying into the quiet prairie night. Even Angela, who rarely let herself laugh so freely, couldn’t hold back, her shoulders shaking as tears pricked her eyes.
“Well, what happened to Hank?” Elias asked, grinning.
Toby shrugged, his expression turning mock-serious. “Oh, he stuck around. Finished the trail and all, but he couldn’t shake the nickname we gave him after that.”
“What nickname?” Angela asked, still chuckling.
Toby smirked. “Stinky Hank.”
The group dissolved into laughter once more, the firelight reflecting their mirth as Toby leaned back with a satisfied grin.
“Moral of the story, folks,” he said, “is sometimes it’s best to leave nature’s critters where you find ’em—especially if they’ve got a stripe down their back.”
As the laughter subsided, Elias got up. “I’ll go and check on the horses before bed.”
As he left, Rosie leaned closer to Angela, nudging her playfully.
“You’ve been quiet tonight,” she said. “What’s on your mind?”
Angela hesitated, her gaze flicking to James before she shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, though the blush creeping up her neck betrayed her.
“Uh-huh,” Rosie said, grinning knowingly.
Angela couldn’t help but smile, the moment so light and easy that she felt almost giddy. For the first time in years, she wasn’t weighed down by grief or fear. She felt… happy.
But that happiness was short-lived.
A sudden shout shattered the peace.
“Fire!”
The word cut through the camp like a blade, and Angela shot to her feet, her heart leaping into her throat.
“The corral’s on fire!” Elias yelled, his voice ringing out as he sprinted toward the blaze.
Chaos erupted as everyone scrambled to their feet. Angela turned, her breath catching at the sight of the corral engulfed in flames, the orange glow lighting up the night. The horses inside were panicking, their high-pitched whinnies cutting through the air like screams.
“Get the horses out!” James bellowed, his voice firm and commanding.
The men rushed toward the corral, shouting orders and grabbing ropes. Thomas was the first to reach the gate, his strong hands fumbling with the latch as the flames crackled and popped around him.
“Angela, stay back!” James called, his voice sharp with urgency.