A Place Called Harmony by Jodi Thomas

Author:Jodi Thomas [Thomas, Jodi]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 2014-10-06T13:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

BETWEEN DALLAS AND THE TRADING POST

By the third day on the road north, Clint Truman decided the smartest thing he ever did was hire a cook. He couldn’t pronounce half the food, but it tasted great. The two regular drivers from Buford’s livery, Jack West and Harry Woolsey, said they’d make a haul anytime Truman needed drivers. One even claimed that the reason the man Buford fired last week drank was that he couldn’t stomach the bad food on the trail.

Momma Roma was a worker, Truman would give her that. She was up making coffee before the others crawled out of their bedrolls. After breakfast she’d pack up a snack for each man while her mother scrubbed the pots. When they stopped at dusk her little boy would make the fire while she cooked up food that seemed far too fancy to serve on a campfire menu. When she wasn’t busy trying to teach her sons to speak English, she sang.

Truman could hear her voice from a mile away. Though he couldn’t understand the words, he smiled, thinking how nice it sounded.

Her sons made up in effort what they lacked in skill, and the old dog they brought along barked at everything that moved near the wagons.

On the fifth day, they stopped by a stream a few hours before dark. The day was sunny, the air still. Everyone needed a break.

Clint took a bath and switched into his other set of clothes, the ones Karrisa had mended. He ran his hand along her fine stitching and thought that she’d cared enough about him to sew up all the tiny rips he’d simply gotten used to. She’d altered the new clothes she’d bought too. He was a big man, slim in the waist and wide in the shoulders. The new clothes fit him better than any he’d ever had.

With the good weather and steady progress, they’d be home in three days, ahead of schedule. He wasn’t sure he’d thanked her for the clothes, but he’d remember to do that when he got back to her.

Neither of the regular drivers had brought along extra clothes, so they simply pulled off their boots and waded into the water with a bar of soap. Without taking off a stitch, they washed body and clothes at the same time, then lay in the grass to dry.

Momma Roma and her mother rigged up a tent between two of the wagons. She boiled water in her pots, and then the women washed in privacy.

The Roma boys didn’t move toward the water. Apparently they’d just gotten their winter coat of dirt and didn’t plan to wash until spring. Truman did his best to communicate with the young men using hand signals and the few words they knew. North, south, right, left. Hello. Thank you. They were good boys who earned their pay and respected their mother. That went a long way in Truman’s book.

The next afternoon he rode away from the camp, planning to shoot a few rabbits and take a good look back.

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