Walks the Fire Read Online Free PDF

had, indeed, proven difficult. The horses’ ribs were beginning to show a bit, and their coats had lost the sheen Homer had taken such pride in. Groom as he would, he could not help noticing that his team was wearing down. He even mentioned the possibility of leaving the cook stove beside the trail.
    Lavinia refused to be sympathetic. “Tired?! Man alive! Aren’t you tired too?” she sputtered. “Goodness, aren’t we all tired! I swan, I’m so sore all over I can scarcely move.” Then, brightening, she added, “Well, dearie, the girls picked gooseberries today, so we’ll have gooseberry slump tonight. And you’re invited.”
    She hurried away to begin supper, adding over her shoulder, “and I suppose you can bring that varmint you call your husband along too. Maybe gooseberries with plenty of sugar will sweeten him up a little!”

Four
    The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. — Psalm 23:1

    The next day, Jesse and Lavinia walked together after breakfast. They didn’t talk much, sharing comfortable silence all morning. As noon approached, they began collecting buffalo chips for the campfire. After nearly an hour of collecting, the women noticed that two of the wagons had lumbered to a halt. The dust cleared, and the women noted with a catch in their throats that it was their own wagons that had pulled out of line. Then they saw that the entire train had begun to pull up. A cluster of people gathered around one wagon. Jesse dropped the pile of chips she held in her apron and began to run. As she ran, cockle-burrs shredded the hem of her dress. The wind and dust burned in her throat, but she ran on until, coming to the cluster of people, she saw him.
    On the ground lay Jacob, one arm thrown up over his head. By his side knelt Dr. Whitman. Seeing Jesse approach, he rose immediately and moved to her side.
    “Mrs. King, I am so sorry. There was nothing any of us could do. He is with God now.” The grave face of the missionary was lost in a mist of tears. Jesse looked about wildly, and her gaze settled upon Homer. Hunched over, his hat off, his shirt tail flapping, he approached her. His words were a groan. “My God, Jesse, my God. He woke up and came to sit by me… an’ before I knew what happened he fell. I tried to catch him… I tore his little dress trying to hold on… and I had a grip and then…” His voice trailed off. “… an’ then the wagon lurched, an’ I lost my hold… the wheels…” He could not go on, but just stood before her, turning the hat in his hands round and round by its worn brim.
    Jesse wanted to cry out, but the sounds caught in her throat. All these people, all these strangers watching… Her grief was too deep, too great to share with them. She took a breath and lifted her chin. Taking Homer’s hand she squeezed it. He dropped his hat and clasped both her hands in his. He held them so hard it hurt.
    “The wagon train must move on, Dr. Whitman,” Jesse heard herself saying. “How often have I heard you say, ‘onward… we must move ever onward.’ And we started late. Please, instruct these good people to leave us to our grief. We can follow later.”
    Dr. Whitman placed a hand upon her shoulder. “But, my dear Mrs. King, do you not want us to stay and offer our prayers over the final resting place?”
    Jesse croaked an earnest response, “No prayers will bring him back… you can all pray for us from the wagons as you move on.” Then, lowering her voice a little she pleaded, “Please, Homer… make them all go. We can say goodbye to Jacob alone. Homer, all these strangers...” Her voice failed her, but the pleading tones settled matters. The wagon train would move on.
    People began dispersing in small groups, whispering as they walked away. Only Lavinia remained.
    “Jesse, dear,” she whispered, “come look at Jacob. He looks just like he’s sleeping.”
    In the eternity it had taken for the crowd to disperse, Jesse and Homer had stood, heads down, waiting.