Hattie's Heroes by Ginger Simpson

Author:Ginger Simpson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: historical, missouri, timetravel, nebraska, pioneers, ginger simpson, books we love, wagontrain
Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.

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The train stopped next to the Missouri River for the night, the wagons circled for protection. Kneeling at the riverbank in the fading sunlight, washing dirty diapers and a few of her own undergarments, Hattie heard music coming from across the camp.

Like sparks from a fire, lightning bugs rose from the thick prairie grass and put on a wondrous show of color. The dinner Billy had shot earlier now filled Hattie's belly and her mood toward him had improved dramatically. A half moon crept from the horizon, exchanging places with a weary sun. Hattie hurried to finish and get back to the wagon. Her nerves were on edge, and had the children not needed fresh swaddling, she wouldn't have ventured from camp. Billy stood uphill, his rifle in check, awaiting her return. An occasional glance back at him calmed her fearful heart.

Word had spread that tomorrow before the wagons moved onward, a short church service and funeral would be held for anyone interested. Hattie loved hymns, having learned them in the orphanage, and recognized the distinctive tune of Amazing Grace being rehearsed for Sunday morning. She hummed along while she wrung water from the cotton squares, trying to soothe her jangled nerves. She hadn't known the Miller girl at all, but Billy's declaration that she'd been killed next to water sent a quiver down Hattie's spine. She jerked around to the sound of approaching footsteps.

"You almost done here?" Billy stood over her, a piece of straw dangling from his full lips. "It's gonna be dark soon, and we should stick close to the wagon."

She hadn't even heard his approach and imagined how the Miller girl's assailant had sneaked up on her. Hattie's shoulder's tensed, but relaxed with the realization she had her own armed guard. Viewing the jaunty set of Billy's hat and the stray curl that hung on his forehead made her heart skip a beat. She took a moment to compose then smiled at him. "I'm on the last flannel. Thanks for looking after me." After gathering the wet pieces into a basket at her side, she dried her hands on her apron then stood. She tilted her chin and peered up at him. "I owe you an apology."

"Fer what?" He dragged the straw from his mouth, his brow arched.

"This morning…when you came riding up with the prairie hen, I wasn't very nice."

"I was a little confused about why you were so dang mad at me."

She crinkled her nose, not wanting to admit the truth. Her gaze fixed on the ground.

"You were mad, admit it." Billy nudged her with his shoulder. "But tell me why. I still don't have a clue what I did that ruffled you so."

Her sigh sliced the lingering silence. "I wasn't mad as much as I was worried. When I heard the gunshots and didn't see you, I immediately thought the worse. I pictured some Indian brave waving your scalp with a bloodied hand."

Billy peered down his nose. "You ever seen an Injun?"

"No, but that doesn't mean I haven't heard stories.

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