"He'll come to no harm," Joe assured her.
"Well, if your father thinks it's all right, you may go."
"Oh gee! Good!"
Emma put little Emma to bed and washed the dishes while Barbara took
care of the other children. Barbara sat alone, dreaming, and for a
little while Joe and Emma sat side by side before the dying fire. Their
hands met, and they did not speak because speech was unnecessary. Joe
was thinking of Oregon, of good land, free for the taking. And Emma was
thinking how good it felt to be camped in this one place, and to know
that they would be in the same place tomorrow evening again. The live
coals cast a bright glow over them.
The next morning, shortly after sun-up, Joe left for the corrals. A half
hour later, with Mike on a leash, Tad set out to explore Independence.
Emma worried, but reassured herself. If Joe had said that Tad would be
all right, he would be. She heated water in her dish pans, emptied it
into a tub, and scrubbed the clothes they'd been wearing. This was a
fine opportunity to catch up on all chores such as washing and mending.
Emma wondered how she would do her washing on the trail ahead. But there
had to be a way and she would find it. Barbara, brushing out the wagon,
leaped lightly to the ground and unwrapped the cloth that bound her
hair.
"There was dust half an inch thick," she grimaced. "I don't see how we
picked all of it up in this short time."
"It will gather," Emma said thoughtfully, "and I don't know what we can
do except clean it out."
"What are you going to do now, Mother?"
"There doesn't seem to be anything." Emma, who must always be busy, knew
a feeling of disquiet because there was no task at hand. "Let's take the
children for a walk."
Joe and Alfred scampered ahead, overturning stones and picking up worms
for what was probably the best-fed frog in Missouri. Little Emma
gathered daisies, wove them into a chain, and proudly presented it to
her mother. Carlyle stared, wholly entranced, at a horde of bright
orange butterflies that clung to a wet place on the ground. Barbara
strolled gracefully beside her mother while they talked of events to be.
Then it was time to get lunch. Joe came, but there was no sign of Tad.
He'd been permitted to explore the town on condition that he be back for
lunch.
"Do you suppose he's in trouble?" she asked worriedly.
Joe muttered, "He just forgot. Doggone that kid! I'll--Say! What the
dickens!"
Across the meadow came a large and determined woman whose right hand
had a firm grip on Tad's right arm. Mike sulked behind, ears flattened
and tail drooping. Emma gasped. Blood crimsoned Tad's upper lip and had
spattered from there onto his shirt. His nose was still bleeding. The
woman approached the group at the table and pushed Tad toward them.
"Is this your little beast?" she said fiercely.
Joe knew a rising concern and a quick flash of anger, but he controlled
himself. "This is my son."
"Keep him here or I'll have him jailed for assault!"