Where the Trail Ends: American Tapestries by Melanie Dobson Page A

left Ohio.
    Samantha dragged her pail through the stream and took another long sip from it.
    Even if Mama had joined them on this journey, there would be no running alongside her or cooking over the stove together. The fifteen or twenty miles of walking each day would have been impossible for her, and the toll of a wagon ride, jostling and bumping for hours upon hours, would surely have taken her life.
    Micah jumped from rock to rock in the stream, and Lucille sat down on a smooth rock beside Samantha while her mother and younger sister continued downstream a few yards.
    Lucille dipped her ladle into the water, drinking like the others. “Oh, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
    Samantha nodded, the breeze gently tangling her skirt around her knees. “The best water I’ve ever tasted.”
    Then Lucille eyed Boaz lapping the water. “The captain said to leave the dogs roped up for now.”
    She shrugged. “Boaz was just as thirsty as the rest of us.”
    Lucille splashed her face with the water. “I know Loewe isn’t always the nicest man, but Papa says we have to listen to him since we voted for him to be captain.”
    “I didn’t vote for him,” Samantha muttered.
    “No, but your father did.”
    He had; all the men had voted for Loewe back in Missouri, though some of them seemed to regret it now. She petted Boaz’s wet fur. “It’s not fair for Boaz to suffer because the other dogs were barking.”
    “This isn’t about what is fair, Samantha. It’s about keeping everyone safe in our company.”
    “And appeasing that man.”
    “Perhaps, but what is so wrong with keeping the peace?”
    Another small herd of animals hurried to the water, and Captain Loewe’s whistle sounded to gather the men for a meeting, as it didevery night before he announced the evening plans and schedule for the night guard. No one could fault the captain for his leadership abilities. It was his temperament that got him into trouble.
    Boaz bounded through the water with a giant splash, soaking her dress and bonnet. Micah laughed from the other side of the stream and then, with his blue eyes focused on her, trailed one of his arms through the water and doused her face.
    “Oh—” she sputtered.
    He laughed again. “You needed to be cooled off.”
    Water trailing down her cheeks, she returned his splash with her foot.
    “Samantha!” he hollered at her as if she’d started the battle.
    Lucille shook her head. “Sometimes, Miss Waldron, I think you are more eight than eighteen.”
    She put her hands on her hips. “I’m two months older than you.”
    Lucille shook her head again, like it wasn’t possible.
    Samantha winked at her friend and then splashed Micah again. This time her hem tore, and she sighed. She’d have to fix that after the evening meal.
    She glanced over at her friend; Lucille was still shaking her head.
    Lucille probably wished she could join in their fun after sweltering in the sun today, but she was much too refined to join in the splashing, no matter how hot she was.
    Samantha turned slowly toward Lucille, a grin stealing up her face. Her friend’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you even think about it.”
    But Samantha couldn’t help thinking about it. It was her father in her, the part that couldn’t resist a golden opportunity.
    With a swift kick, she splattered water across Lucille’s pale green traveling dress.
    For a moment, the sounds of nature around her seemed to still. The rustle of the leaves quieted, and she no longer heard the gentlelapping of the stream as it flowed over the river rocks. Lucille’s mother and her sister and all the women turned, watching to see how Lucille would react, to see if the water would crack the calm.
    Lucille didn’t crack.
    Words, as useless as they were, didn’t form on her lips. Instead she slowly scooped up a ladleful of the stream and she flung it at Samantha. She ducked, and Lucille gasped.
    Turning, Samantha saw the elderly Prudence Kneedler behind her—gray hair