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tightly clenched, she watched as the clergyman grasped the reins. What had her father said to him—and why had it made no difference? She glanced over her shoulder to see that Asa was storming off toward his own wagon. He looked as frustrated as she felt. She could just imagine what he’d say to her mother.
    Elizabeth peered up at Mr. Taylor. “Can’t you please talk some sense into your wife?” she pleaded. “Before you injure your team with this overly heavy load?”
    He turned now, looking down upon her with surprisingly compassionate brown eyes. “I’m sorry, my dear, but my wife’s mind seems to be made up on this matter. Now, if you’ll please excuse us…” He gave her a weak smile as he released the wagon brake. “We do not want to keep the rest of the wagons waiting. Do travel safely, Miss Elizabeth.”
    How could he treat this so lightly? Too angry to respond in a gracious manner, she turned on the heel of her boot and marched back to her own wagon. As she climbed into the seat, untying the reins, she was thankful that her children had already left with Brady and Flax. They planned to walk up ahead, hunting for wild leeks and strawberries and collecting firewood for the evening meal.
    “ Dear Lord! ” Elizabeth spoke loudly. “I am so angry I could spit! ” Then, embarrassed at her unwomanly confession, she asked God to help her to control her unbridled anger toward the Taylors. Perhaps in time she’d be able to forgive them, but right now she was still too vexed. She knew she would be unable to pray for their safety as she’d been doing the past few days. But according to Mrs. Taylor, they didn’t need anyone’s help or advice—God would take care of everything for them. Maybe God would send a team of angels to carry the Taylors over the North Platte when it was time to cross too. Seeing the Taylors were several wagon lengths ahead of her, Elizabeth released her brake and snapped her reins. Thankfully tomorrow was Sunday, and they would change the wagon order in their unit on Monday…and then someone else could follow the foolish Taylors!
    She could hear the rumble of thunder in the distance as the usual afternoon clouds gathered on the western horizon. In a couple of hours, just like clockwork, there would probably be another downpour. Until then, she hoped they would make good time. Her father had told her that the first hour would be on fairly level ground, and then they would have a rather steep climb with some switchbacks alongside the river. But if all went well, by the end of the day they should reach the Red Buttes, where they would camp for the night. And the plan was that their unit should complete their final crossing of the North Platte River by tomorrow afternoon or Monday morning at the latest.
    Elizabeth knew that the North Platte was running fast right now due to the rains, but Matthew had assured them that this was normal for this time of year. “Nothing to be worried about,” he’d said last night. “Not as long as we do it right.” He’d pointed at his new bride. “And no jumping into the river this time.”
    Jess had simply laughed, but Elizabeth could see a trace of fear in her eyes. And truth be told, river crossings made Elizabeth nervous too. Ever since Jess’ frighteningly close call when she was swept down the South Platte River, Elizabeth had insisted that Ruth and Flax were to ride in the back of the wagon when fording even the smallest of streams. And although Elizabeth did the actual driving, Brady always rode next to her, ready to assist if needed. And always before crossing, a prayer for safe passage was said by her father.
    Elizabeth’s anger toward the Taylors had mostly evaporated by the time they began to ascend the switchbacks. Now she focused on her own team, patiently urging them forward as she maintained a safe distance from the Taylors. She was determined not to pay much heed to the wagon ahead of her. She obviously could do nothing about it