The morning of their third day out, Fortune was sitting next to Aaron in her accustomed spot at the front of the wagon. They had traveled about thirty miles so far, and she was astonished by the vast emptiness of the land around them.
She glanced at Jamie, who was riding his horse just off to their right, and felt a surge of gratitude for all he had accomplished during the last few days.
Rolling along on the far side of Jamie was another wagon, drawn by a team of six oxen. Fortune noticed and shook her head. “I can’t believe there are so many people on this trip!” she said to Mrs. Watson, who was sitting in the wagon behind them.
She was used to traveling alone, as they had done for so long. Now when their wagon bounced its way over the ruts and bumps of the prairie, it was merely one of a crowd. Whether Fortune looked ahead, or behind, there were wagons as far as she could see, a great writhing snake of them. And each had the same goal—the golden dream of California.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a lurch and a thump, followed by a terrible cracking sound.
“Whoa!” cried Aaron, drawing up on the reins. “Whoa!”
The team jerked to a stop.
“What is it?” asked Fortune.
“We’ve broken an axle,” said Jamie. His face was grim.
Fortune said one of those words that always made Mrs. Watson turn white, then sprang off the wagon to look.
It was a miserable sight.
The troupe gathered around her.
“Oh, Minerva! What do we do now?” cried Mrs. Watson, wringing her hands.
“We fix it,” said Jamie simply.
“I suppose you know how,” snorted Aaron.
Jamie looked at him darkly. “As a matter of fact, I do. But I’ll need help.”
The others settled down to wait as Jamie and Aaron went to work. After a moment Jamie called Walter over and asked him to hold something. The giant gladly obliged, happy to be helping.
Watching the way Jamie took charge, Fortune realized that he was a born leader. She almost wished he had been with them from the start. She could have used someone like him.
She chased the thought from her mind. She didn’t want any help. The troupe was hers and she would lead it in her own way!
Other wagons rolled by as they sat waiting. Most of them slowed, as if to offer help, but continued on when they saw the three men hard at work. Fortune was pleased. She didn’t like to accept any more help than was necessary.
She reminded herself that she was accepting Jamie’s help, then told herself it wasn’t the same thing, because he was one of them. The thought shocked her. She examined it again and decided it was true. Somehow Jamie Halleck had managed to make himself a part of Plunkett’s Players.
The spring sun was hot, and after a while Jamie and Aaron stripped off their shirts. Fortune couldn’t help but compare their bodies as they worked: Aaron’s was lean and wiry, his skin fair and smooth; Jamie’s solid and muscular, with broad shoulders and a light dusting of chestnut-colored hair across his deep chest.
They’re nice to look at, she said to herself, almost uncomfortable with how much she was enjoying the view.
To her surprise she noticed that Mrs. Watson was also watching them intently.
She surprised herself again by thinking, Well, we’re both women.
She let it go at that.
Her drifting thoughts were snapped back to the present by an angry shout from Jamie. “Dammit, Aaron, hold that tighter!”
Fortune was astonished by the dark look that twisted his usually cheerful face. Aaron shouted back, and for an instant she feared they might actually start to fight. Then Walter placed himself between them, his towering bulk a virtual living wall, and after a moment the tension simmering between the younger men began to subside.
When the axle was finally fixed, it was clear to all of them that without Jamie they would have been delayed a great deal longer.
“By gum, young man, I’m sure glad you were along,” said Mr. Patchett, clapping him on the shoulder. “Turns out trying to make this trip without you would have been like trying to put on Hamlet without—”
He cut himself off, glancing nervously at Fortune.
“Jamie is worth his weight in gold,” said Aaron, his voice bitter with sarcasm. Slinging his shirt over his shoulder, he retreated to the back of the wagon.
Fortune hurried around to talk with him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Aaron shrugged himself into his shirt. “Nothing. I just hate wasting time. The sooner we get to California and build our theater the better.”
He spun away and stalked to the front of the wagon. Springing into the seat, he shouted for the others to get ready to roll. “We’ve lost enough time today. Let’s move!”
Fortune decided to walk for a while. Almost unconsciously, she found herself falling into place beside Jamie. Soon he slid from the saddle and walked beside her, leading his horse.
“Don’t be upset with Aaron,” she said after a moment. “It’s hard for him to have someone do things he can’t.”
Jamie laughed. “I’m not upset. It’s his problem, not mine. I feel sorry for him.”
“Well, you needn’t!” cried Fortune, her temper flaring. “There’s plenty he can do, too! He’s a fine actor, for one thing.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” said Jamie coldly “Sorry if I offended you.”
The conversation was hopeless after that. In a little while she drifted over to walk beside Walter, who was always happy to have her company. He entertained her with a story about his childhood in England and soon lifted her out of her dark mood.
When she rejoined Aaron at the head of the wagon, he was silent for a long time. When he finally spoke, it was to ask in a malicious tone, “Well, did you tell our Jamie how proud you were of him?”
“Oh, be quiet and drive,” she snapped.
Then she crossed her arms and said nothing else for the rest of the day. It wasn’t worth the risk.
The evening was better, for after they had cleaned up from their supper, Walter and Fortune hauled out their instruments, which attracted several of their fellow travelers. Fortune noticed one in particular, a quick, bright-eyed girl who stayed at the edge of the firelight but looked at her with a kind of hunger that she had come to recognize long ago. The girl was struck by the glamor and strangeness of a troupe of players.
The gathering broke up when Abner Simpson came striding by and reminded everyone that he expected them to be ready to roll early the next morning.
“I’m beginning to hate that man,” said Fortune when he had disappeared into the darkness.
“I think he’s very handsome,” said Mrs. Watson.
“I’ll tell you the one I hate,” said Edmund. “It’s the one who blows the bugle.”
The chorus of groans from the others indicated that Edmund had managed to say something they all agreed with, a rarity for him. The troupe was used to both late nights and late mornings, and the discipline of the wagon train, which required everyone to rise at six, was difficult for them. Only Jamie was unaffected by it, since, as he said, he was used to his mother waking him for his day’s chores at five.
“I’m enjoying the extra hour’s sleep!” he had said with a grin that only made the others feel even more sour about their schedule.
Since no one wanted to cook in the morning, they tended to start their days with bread and coffee left from the night before. The cold coffee in particular tasted vile. So Fortune was delighted when she woke the morning of the fourth day to the smell of fresh-brewing coffee.
“Howdy,” said Jamie when she stepped from the wagon. “Woke up on my old schedule and figured I might as well make myself useful.”
“Seems to be a habit of yours,” she said.
It was a good start to a good day. About halfway through the morning, when Fortune was walking beside the wagon, the girl she had noticed the night before dropped back to walk beside her. When Fortune greeted her, she smiled shyly, but didn’t say anything. Indeed they walked in silence for such a long period that Fortune began to wonder if the girl was a mute. Finally she asked the girl’s name.
“Rebecca Hyatt,” she replied, looking up shyly from under the brim of her sunbonnet. “But people call me Becky. And you’re Fortune, right?”
Fortune smiled. “That’s right.”
“My pa saw you once,” said Becky. “When he was in Charleston on business. He said you were very good.”
“Give your pa my thanks,” said Fortune.
“Is it wonderful?” asked Becky suddenly. “Being an actress, I mean? I think it would be wonderful.” She gasped at her own boldness. “My ma would skin me alive if I ever said that in front of her! She says actors are—” She broke off and began to blush furiously. “Never mind what she thinks. I think it must be wonderful.”
Fortune didn’t answer right away. She didn’t think much about whether it was wonderful to be an actress or not. She had never known anything else. But the longing in this girl’s voice, like the longing that Jamie had shown to join the troupe, made her remember that other people saw it differently.
“It’s hard work,” said Fortune at last. “And I do get tired of all the traveling.” She stopped, looked around, and laughed. It was absurd to complain about traveling to a fellow member of the wagon train. They were all travelers now, and would be for months to come.