Read Online The Man from Shenandoah by Marsha Ward - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Marsha Ward
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sideways through the trees when Rod sighted the meadow. A small stream ran through it, and oak limbs were blown down in the surrounding woods. They didn’t need anything else for a campground.
The wagon came even with the edge of the forest and Rod pulled his team off the road. He drove on a ways, back into the meadow where the forest put out a feeler into the grassland. Hauling on the lines, Rod stopped the wagon close to the stream. The others followed, stopping their wagons alongside his. Rod jumped down from the seat and helped Julia climb down from the seat as the men from the other wagons gathered.
“We’ll make our first camp here, with two small fires, and two guards out toward the road.”
“You’re not still in the Army, Rod,” interrupted Rand Hilbrands.
“Caution pays, Rand. We don’t know who might follow us, or when they’d come.”
“Not for a couple of days. You must be joking,” Rand scoffed.
“I burned my house,” Rod reminded him. “Most of us are paroled soldiers. There may be someone who’ll object to our leaving.”
“There’s still soldiers going north,” Chester said. “Some I’ve seen are hungry and mean. You can’t trust them not to take what little we’ve salvaged. I’ll take the first watch, Rod.”
Rod laid his hand on Chester’s shoulder and gripped it. “Thank you. Rulon will join you. Somebody will bring your supper, so don’t get spooky and shoot them.”
Carl got down from the last wagon and helped Ida Hilbrands to the ground. “Now you, Missy,” he said, and swung down Eliza, her youngest sister. The girls gave their thanks, and walked off in the direction of their family wagon.
Even though their wedding had been postponed, Ida had insisted that she should ride on the seat of the freight wagon with Carl so they could “get to know each other better.” Her mother agreed, as long as she took small Eliza along for “company.”
Carl stretched, then shook out his tired arms. He hadn’t driven a team in nearly three years, and today’s trip had been extra long. He took his Spencer rifle from under the wagon seat, sought out his father, and volunteered to get firewood. Being still unused to the company of women since his war service, he was a little shy of Ida, with her head tossing and giggles, and was anxious to be off by himself in the woods for a while.
He jumped across the creek and strode into the trees. Carefully, he circled back toward the road and scouted the area, checking for signs of other travelers or pursuit. When he was satisfied that the group was alone, he returned to the vicinity of the camp and began to gather deadfalls and dried limbs for fuel. He arranged his load to leave his right hand free to carry the Spencer, and turned back to the camp. As he came out of the woods, he noticed Ida standing on the bank of the stream, waiting for him.
“Yoo-hoo,” she called. “I’ve come to help you gather wood.”
Carl approached the bank and grinned. “Seems you’re on the wrong bank. I’ve got plenty, thanks.”
“Oh-h-h,” Ida pouted. “I couldn’t get across this river.”
Carl laughed. “Well, I can’t let you go back empty-handed.” He shifted his load to get a chunk of wood into his other hand, then awkwardly tossed the piece across the creek. It hit the bank and bounced into the water, and Ida scrambled after it, lost her footing on the slick bank, and landed in the water with a little cry.
Carl dropped his load and waded into the creek to retrieve her, struggling to stifle his laughter. Gathering her up in his arms, he became conscious of how the wet bodice of her dress accented her shapely form. His body reacted, and uncomfortable, he looked away from Ida and hurried to get her out of the stream.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, placing her on the bank. He stepped back and linked his hands together in front of his body.
She sighed. “Only my pride.”
“You’d best get back to camp and dry off.
The wagon came even with the edge of the forest and Rod pulled his team off the road. He drove on a ways, back into the meadow where the forest put out a feeler into the grassland. Hauling on the lines, Rod stopped the wagon close to the stream. The others followed, stopping their wagons alongside his. Rod jumped down from the seat and helped Julia climb down from the seat as the men from the other wagons gathered.
“We’ll make our first camp here, with two small fires, and two guards out toward the road.”
“You’re not still in the Army, Rod,” interrupted Rand Hilbrands.
“Caution pays, Rand. We don’t know who might follow us, or when they’d come.”
“Not for a couple of days. You must be joking,” Rand scoffed.
“I burned my house,” Rod reminded him. “Most of us are paroled soldiers. There may be someone who’ll object to our leaving.”
“There’s still soldiers going north,” Chester said. “Some I’ve seen are hungry and mean. You can’t trust them not to take what little we’ve salvaged. I’ll take the first watch, Rod.”
Rod laid his hand on Chester’s shoulder and gripped it. “Thank you. Rulon will join you. Somebody will bring your supper, so don’t get spooky and shoot them.”
Carl got down from the last wagon and helped Ida Hilbrands to the ground. “Now you, Missy,” he said, and swung down Eliza, her youngest sister. The girls gave their thanks, and walked off in the direction of their family wagon.
Even though their wedding had been postponed, Ida had insisted that she should ride on the seat of the freight wagon with Carl so they could “get to know each other better.” Her mother agreed, as long as she took small Eliza along for “company.”
Carl stretched, then shook out his tired arms. He hadn’t driven a team in nearly three years, and today’s trip had been extra long. He took his Spencer rifle from under the wagon seat, sought out his father, and volunteered to get firewood. Being still unused to the company of women since his war service, he was a little shy of Ida, with her head tossing and giggles, and was anxious to be off by himself in the woods for a while.
He jumped across the creek and strode into the trees. Carefully, he circled back toward the road and scouted the area, checking for signs of other travelers or pursuit. When he was satisfied that the group was alone, he returned to the vicinity of the camp and began to gather deadfalls and dried limbs for fuel. He arranged his load to leave his right hand free to carry the Spencer, and turned back to the camp. As he came out of the woods, he noticed Ida standing on the bank of the stream, waiting for him.
“Yoo-hoo,” she called. “I’ve come to help you gather wood.”
Carl approached the bank and grinned. “Seems you’re on the wrong bank. I’ve got plenty, thanks.”
“Oh-h-h,” Ida pouted. “I couldn’t get across this river.”
Carl laughed. “Well, I can’t let you go back empty-handed.” He shifted his load to get a chunk of wood into his other hand, then awkwardly tossed the piece across the creek. It hit the bank and bounced into the water, and Ida scrambled after it, lost her footing on the slick bank, and landed in the water with a little cry.
Carl dropped his load and waded into the creek to retrieve her, struggling to stifle his laughter. Gathering her up in his arms, he became conscious of how the wet bodice of her dress accented her shapely form. His body reacted, and uncomfortable, he looked away from Ida and hurried to get her out of the stream.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, placing her on the bank. He stepped back and linked his hands together in front of his body.
She sighed. “Only my pride.”
“You’d best get back to camp and dry off.
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