SeventeenThe wagons creaked and groaned, wheels jabbing into potholes, the ground rutted and iron-hard. Up on the driving board, Richard Morris struggled to prevent his pair of horses drifting from the trail. The sun beat down relentlessly. Upon his head, an old, beaten up straw hat kept most of the rays from searing into his brain, but his shirt, soaked in sweat, clung to his back, causing him to shift position, the discomfort like a second skin. The heat drained him, made him weary, forcing him to struggle in order to keep his eyes open.
Behind, inside the covered wagon, his wife Arabella peeled and diced vegetables, imaginatively preparing a range of stews from the meagre ingredients varied enough to satisfy everyone's appetite. Next to her, Millie, her fourteen-year-old daughter, help
