Mud Creek Read Online Free PDF Page B

Albert was grateful. He wasn’t about to stand on the train platform, arguing with her.
    “Let’s round up your bags,” Albert told them, “and I have a few errands to attend, then we’ll head out. I’d like to put in some miles before nightfall.”
    “How many days will it take us to get there?” Helen inquired.
    They were finally at a point where he couldn’t continue to prevaricate. She was about to learn the meaning of the phrase wide open spaces.
    “Four or five.”
    Violet gasped. “Five days?”
    “More than that if we hit a storm and have to hunker down.”
    Violet spun on Helen. “Are you listening, Helen? Five days in a wagon.”
    “It’ll be fun, Violet. It will be an adventure. Don’t be such a grouch.” She gazed at Albert. “I apologize for our low spirits, Albert. We’re tired from the journey, and Violet’s been ill. She’s nervous about marrying Arthur. It’s been ages since we’ve seen you two.”
    “How is Arthur?” Violet queried.
    Albert carefully shielded any reaction to her question. “We’ll talk about him once we’re on the road. First, I need to finish my chores.”
    He wasn’t about to tell them the truth. Not until they were out on the prairie, and it was too late to turn back. Violet was flighty as a mockingbird, and she might seize any excuse to trot off. If she refused to climb onto the wagon with him, Helen wouldn’t, either.
    Down at the end of the platform, some men had heaped a large pile of personal possessions. Helen and Violet were the only passengers who’d disembarked, so it had to belong to them. There were numerous trunks and boxes, as well as the small organ that had set in Mildred Pendleton’s parlor in New York.
    Albert had instructed them to pack light. How could they expect him to transport all that rubbish out to the ranch? He’d traveled in just the one wagon, and it was already filled with supplies.
    “Looks like your bags are unloaded,” he said, fighting the urge to scold.
    “We brought more than we should have”—Helen must have noted his dismayed expression—“but it’s the last of my mother’s things. We couldn’t bear to part with any of it. You don’t mind, do you?”
    “Not at all.”
    The train whistle blew, and it jerked and clanged and chugged away. They stood, observing, as it rolled on down the line, the sole sign that it had ever been there a slight rumble under their feet. As the noise abated, it was very quiet, the only sound the roar of the wind rustling the grass.
    Helen studied her stacked luggage. “Is there room in your wagon?”
    “No, we’ll have to leave most of it here.”
    “Can we come back for it?”
    “Sure,” he fibbed, having no intention of ever retrieving the worthless trash.
    When he made the arduous journey again, it would be to fetch things that mattered: seed, flour, salt, lumber. It wouldn’t be to pick up her mother’s old books and hats.
    “Could we bring the organ for now?” she pressed.
    “I suppose—if it’ll fit.”
    It wouldn’t be so bad to take it with them. Helen played quite well, and his mother, Florence, played a bit, too. Recently, she’d been feeling terribly disheartened, and music in the evenings might lift her spirits.
    “I tell you what,” he said, “there’s a hardware store across the tracks. Why don’t you go over and see if there are any items you forgot. Once we depart, it will be some time before we return.”
    “We packed carefully,” Helen replied, “and we followed the suggestions Florence sent. I think we’re prepared.”
    “Why don’t you check anyway? I need to speak to the blacksmith. I’ll ask him about storing your belongings.”
    “Would you? Oh, Albert, that’s very sweet.”
    “After I’m done, I’ll find you, and we’ll try to tie the organ onto the rear of the wagon. Then…we’ll be on our way.”
    “I can’t wait,” Helen claimed, but her lack of excitement was clear.
    She stared out at the horizon, and for just a