She wouldn’t need to go far, especially if she hurried and caught up with the creature before it had a chance to run off.
Picking up her pace, she passed through the wagons and strained to see. Ahead, she glimpsed the moving outline of a horse, its picket dangling in front of it, likely having pulled it loose from the muddy ground.
She raced after it, only to have it dart farther ahead. “Come on, now,” she crooned, hoping the horse could hear her above the rainstorm. If only she’d thought to bring along an apple or carrot to tempt it closer.
A few feet from the creature, she halted and held out her hand. The horse bent its head into the grass as though to graze. She tiptoed closer, brushing first its flank and then skimming her hand toward its head and the picket. As she reached for the dangling cord, the horse lifted its muzzle, sniffed the air, and darted away.
She picked up her wet skirt and chased after it. Several more times, she crept close enough to almost capture the creature, only to have it move out of range. She finally blew out a frustrated breath and halted. She could no longer see the horse and didn’t know which direction it had gone.
With a final glance around, she spun and retreated the way she’d come. The rain continued to splatter hard against her coat and hood, and her toes squished inside her shoes, her thick woolen socks wet and cold.
Disappointment churned inside. Her efforts had amounted to naught. Now they would be delayed until well after the break of dawn in searching for the lost horse, and Flynn would be frustrated.
Though he’d kept to himself the previous evening after they set up camp, he stayed busy tending the horses, servicing the wagons, and repairing one of the oxen yokes that had cracked. She’d wanted to ask Ivy what had caused Flynn’s limping gait, was surprised the girl hadn’t yet told her since she was so forthcoming with private information.
Ivy had told her all about her family, that the McQuaids came from southwestern Pennsylvania and that their farm had been stolen from them by their stepfather. Her oldest brother had invited them to come live with him, but long-standing animosity existed between Flynn and Wyatt. Flynn hadn’t wanted to move West but had agreed to it in order to keep Brody and Dylan from joining the war efforts, only to have Brody run off anyway.
Linnea pressed onward through the rain, shivering underneath her coat. The night air was colder than she’d realized. And the distance she’d traveled away from camp was farther than she’d realized too.
Had she really gone so far?
She stopped and searched the landscape, only able to see a few feet ahead of her. The grass was bent under the weight of the rain, the same as it had been since she’d started. She wished for daylight and to be able to examine the wet grass. She always found plant resiliency fascinating. A leaf could wilt so thoroughly, almost to the point of dying, but then with a little watering, the central vacuole could regain its turgor pressure and restore firmness and shape.
Though the darkness prevented her from studying the Andropogon gerardii, she fingered one, the waxy, grooved stem that was bent but not broken. One of her favorite Scripture verses came to mind: “Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to day is, and to morrow is cast into the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith?”
Whenever she considered God’s exquisite design of something so small as a blade of grass or the petal of a flower, she was always able to put her own life into better perspective. If He cared so much about the plants and their challenges to grow and remain strong, then surely He cared even more about the challenges and struggles she faced as a woman—at least that’s what she tried to remember when her grandfather and the other scientists didn’t take her as seriously as they did each other.
She whispered another prayer of gratefulness that Grandfather had allowed her to continue on the expedition. His tenuous support of her ambitions had slipped with every passing day, and she needed to regain his confidence, not lose it even more.
She straightened and peered through the rain. Surely the wagons were only a couple paces ahead. She simply needed to trust her instincts to take her in the right direction.
Pushing onward, she wiped the droplets from her face, straining harder to make out her surroundings. She strode first in one direction, then changed course, guessing she’d somehow veered the wrong way. She stopped several more times, hoping to glimpse the camp or even Flynn’s cattle. But every time, she saw only more of the same barren landscape.
Finally, panic began to break through her confidence. Shaking from the cold, she hugged her arms across her chest. She could no longer avoid the truth.
She was lost.
CHAPTER 5
“Linnea’s gone.”
Ivy’s call slammed into Flynn with the power of a two-thousand-pound bull charging at full speed. He reined in his horse with a jerk so hard, the momentum nearly bucked him from the saddle.
At predawn, the rain had finally stopped, and he could make out Ivy standing at the rear of Dr. Howell’s wagon. Several lanterns were lit, and the drenched camp was alive, the scientists frantically attempting to saddle their horses.
His blood, already sluggish from the past hours of doing guard duty, slowed even more. “Linnea’s gone? Where?”
Ivy jogged toward him, her expression a mask of worry. “Nobody knows. One of the horses is gone too.”
Reining in behind him, Dylan gave a soft whistle. They’d taken over for Nash and Jericho and hadn’t noticed anything wrong when they’d left the camp. As far as Flynn had been able to tell, everyone had been asleep—at least resting as best they could through the downpour.
“There you are!” Dr. Howell rushed toward him, breathless and harried, his top hat askew, bow tie off center, and vest unbuttoned. “Have you seen her?”
“Haven’t seen a thing.” Flynn’s muscles tightened, and he glanced over the prairie starting to lighten with the coming of the day.
Dr. Howell pressed a hand to his chest as though to stave off pain there. “This is terrible. Just terrible.”
Last thing they needed was Dr. Howell getting worked up enough to have a heart attack. “Ivy, you go on and take Dr. Howell and get a fire started so he can have some tea.”
She opened her mouth—likely to demand joining the search—when Dr. Howell swayed. She grabbed hold of his arm. “Come on, now. Let’s get you that tea.”
“No, young lady. I do thank you for the offer, but I need to search for Linnea.” Even as he spoke, he leaned in to Ivy.
“Now, don’t you go worrying none.” She started leading him away. “Flynn’s gonna find her in no time. He could find a shadow in the shade if you asked him to.”
“Please, Mr. McQuaid.” Dr. Howell paused to peer up at Flynn. The desperation in the gentleman’s eyes yanked on Flynn’s heart. “Please find her.”
“Ivy’s right. You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about.” He prayed to the Lord Almighty he was telling the truth, that neither Indians nor Confederate Irregulars had gotten a hold of her.
With a few instructions to the other men—namely to keep their guns loaded, stay in pairs, and hightail it away from any Indians—he started out. Dylan had wanted to search with him, but he’d paired the boy with Dr. Greely.