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Page 285
try to accept her story, but even her sister, so trusting of Abby's oddities, would find this one difficult to believe. Plus she would have the additional strain of keeping it to herself, for if she told anyone, she would brand Abby as a lunatic or a witchand herself, too, should she profess to believe it.
Looking into Lucy's dear face with its upturned nose so like Mike's great-aunt Jess's, Abby lied, "I . . . I must have hit my head. I woke up all hazy, and now I can't remember."
As Lucy's eyes narrowed skeptically, others in the party joined them, calling, "Halt the wagons!" The cry, from the rear to the front of the caravan, echoed among the mountains.
As the train slowed, a grumpy voice shouted from the driver's bench of the four-oxen Wynne wagon, "What's happening? Why are we stopping?"
Lifting her skirt, Abby ran to the front of the wagon. The irritated expression on the wizened face of Lucius Wynne dissolved immediately. "Daughter!"
Abby climbed up and hugged her father. He seemed thinner yet stronger than when she had left. "Papa, I'm so glad to see you," she said.
Others on the train massed about, clogging the narrow path, and Abby climbed down for their greetings. She would have a difficult time getting used to seeing, as well as wearing, the clothing of this time: the men in wrinkled woven shirts, pants with suspenders, vests, heavy boots, and bandannas; the women in long dresses, bonnets,

 
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