A Dream Beyond the River by Harmon Sloan

Author:Harmon Sloan [Sloan, Harmon]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, War & Military, Women's Adventure, Teen & Young Adult, History, Americas
Amazon: B00ZWILE5A
Publisher: Harmon Sloan
Published: 2015-06-17T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

A feeling of optimism overcame George as he crossed the state line into Kentucky. Houses were not plentiful, but fields along the road had produced crops the previous year. Relaxing, he began thinking about the distance to Lexington. Somewhere along the way, it was possible they’d find a reliable train line. From that point, having to suffer the hardships of riding in a wagon on bumpy roads would be over for Selma and Tilly.

Looking at the overcast sky, he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Five minutes past four o’clock, give or take a couple of minutes. A wide stretch of open land beside the road looked inviting. The creek nearby made up his mind.

Feeling the wagon beginning to turn off the road, Selma crawled up behind his seat and looked around.

“It’s a little early for stopping, but after all the mud they’ve been through, the team needs a good night’s rest,” George said.

Seeing the swift flowing stream not far from the road, Selma turned to her daughter. “After supper is over, we’re heating water and taking a dishpan bath.”

Regardless of how much the blankets covered the hay, sleeping in the wagon had left Selma feeling dusty and rank with body odor. The experience had become revolting. During the years that she lived on Oak Street, there had been few times that she missed taking a bath. After marrying Walter Lowe, she tried getting him to bathe more than once a week. The big man usually fanned his armpits and mentioned that he wasn’t ripe enough.

“I like the spot over by the tree, George said, swinging the team wide in a half circle and facing the wagon toward the road. Climbing down, he removed the horse’s heavy harness and led them to the other side of the stream. The big animals waited patiently while he removed their bridles. Within a minute, they were busy grazing the tender grass that winter had not turned brown.

Tilly and Selma were already out of the wagon and gathering pinecones and dead wood from trees on the other side of the road. Fifteen minutes later, they had a fire going near the wagon. Then both women walked to the stream and filled their buckets with water.

George made coffee and watched the road. Out there somewhere, men were looking for John Scott. If they stopped and questioned the blacksmith in Browerville, it wouldn’t take more than a minute reaching a decision, once they provided a description of John Scott. Knowing what he was riding narrowed the hunt considerably, but they would not forget John’s associate who drove the wagon. On the road and headed north with colored women, the wagon driver looked like an immediate source of information.

Stuffing both pockets of the bearskin coat with shotgun shells, George cradled the double barrel in the crock of his arm, and walked over to the large oak tree. The tree’s large diameter offered safe protection, if anyone stopped and things became violent. Picking up

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