Trusting Sarah

“Sarah Tanton.”

“I wish I could help you now,” she said as Sarah began to gather sticks for herself.

Sarah smiled. “I can manage.”

“I’m just glad there’s wood. I’ve heard out on the prairie we’ll have to burn—” Martha leaned closer, whispering “—buffalo dung.” She wrinkled her nose.

Sarah eyed her skeptically. They walked back together, parting at the supply wagon.

“Took ya long enough.” Eli was directly behind her.

Sarah jumped and dropped the wood, her reaction startling Eli into a hasty step backward. As she gathered the sticks, she stammered, “I’m s-sorry.” She was too embarrassed to look at him.

“There you go, Eli, frightening women and children again.” Milburn put a hand on her elbow, helping her to her feet.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and hurried to put the wood where Eli had told her. She wished she had more control over her reactions, but Eli’s tone had sounded too familiar.

* * *

The next morning the camp woke to a cold drizzle. Sarah wrapped her blanket around her shoulders and helped Eli begin breakfast. Several of the emigrants had hung tentlike structures from their wagons to shelter their fires. Eli scoffed, saying he would save his for a real rain.

When breakfast was finished and the wagons hitched, Rice asked, “Miss Sarah can ride with me today, can’t she, Eli?”

Eli shoved the iron skillet into its place at the back of the wagon and scowled at the grinning boy. “Well now, I guess so. That is if she wants to ride with a no-account boy.”

Neither the tone nor the words dampened Rice’s spirits. “You do want to ride with me, don’t you, Miss Sarah?”

Sarah was delighted but tried not to show it for fear of insulting Eli. “I think that would be nice,” she said.

Milburn rode toward them and drew up near Eli. “No hurry,” he said. “Half the train’s not ready yet.”

“I’d give ‘em five minutes,” Eli declared.

“Eli, if it was up to you, you’d leave the whole dad-gum train back in Missouri.”

Eli chuckled as Milburn rode away.

Even before Milburn gave the signal, Sarah was enjoying the pleasant company. Rice told her about Milburn’s organization of guards and hunters, and how he was the best person to travel west with. “He even tries to see that there’s a doctor with us,” he told her. “That’s why River’s going to meet us at Fort Kearny. Mr. Milburn heard from a doctor wantin’ to go, but he hadn’t showed up yet, so River’s gonna wait for him. River’s another reason this here’s the best train. He’s worked for the army and for a stagecoach line and knows all about Indians. He’s gonna get me a rattlesnake skin for a hatband. I’m his best friend.”

Sarah smiled at the boy’s enthusiasm. “You’re part of Mr. Milburn’s team, too. How did he find you?”

Rice grinned proudly. “I’m an orphan, but Mr. Milburn and my grandpa were real good friends. When I lost everybody, Mr. Milburn came. He was going to put me in some sort of school, but I knew all kinds a stories about Mr. Milburn and Grandpa in the war with Mexico, and in the mountains, and I reminded Mr. Milburn about all them times.” He grinned again, and Sarah could imagine how he convinced Mr. Milburn.

“Anyway, I got to call him Mr. Milburn and do my job the best I can, or he’ll send me off to that school.”

Sarah looked at the earnest face. “I don’t think you have to worry,” she said.

* * *

That evening, while Sarah was peeling potatoes for the stew, a loud voice announced, “I’m Amy. I’m four years old!”

A little girl with dark curls working their way free from short little braids was standing in front of her. “My mommy’s peeling ‘tatoes, too. Do you have any candy?”

Sarah smiled. “I’m afraid not, but friends are almost as good, Amy. I’m Sarah. Won’t your mommy be worried?”

“No,” she said simply.

Sarah set aside her knife and, wiping her hands on her apron, got to her feet. “I think we better tell her where you are, anyway.” She took the little girl’s hand and let her lead the way to her wagon. Stirring a pot at the fire was the woman Sarah had met gathering wood. “Hello again,” Sarah greeted her.

“I see you’ve met Amy,” Martha said.

“See? She’s not worried. I’m big.” Amy skipped to a wooden box and cooed to its contents.

This earned a quick response from the mother. “Amy! Don’t wake the baby.” With a sigh she turned back to Sarah. “I’ll have to have Tom fix a harness for her, too.” She nodded toward a small boy on the ground, a leather harness and string keeping him within three feet of the wagon wheel.

Sarah assured her that Amy was welcome to visit anytime but reminded the little girl to tell her mother first. After saying goodbye, she returned to her own wagon.

“While ya was off socializin’ I had to finish the taters.” Eli kept his eyes on the pot as he spoke.

Protests formed in Sarah’s mind, but they all sounded like excuses. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Eli scowled at her. She had already turned and was unpacking the tin bowls. There was something peculiar about a woman who hardly talked at all, especially when she had an opportunity to argue.

* * *

“It’s just perfect ‘cause there was more rain here and it’s early in the season and we’re one of the first trains,” Rice reported in one breath. They always rode together now, except for two or three times a day when they would walk, with Rice driving the team from near the rear left ox’s shoulder. The days with the exuberant Rice made up for the evenings with Eli.

“Rice, what are you talking about?” Sarah asked, smiling.

“This is Saturday!” Rice explained. At Sarah’s puzzled expression, he continued more slowly. “If there’s enough grass to feed the stock a whole day, we’ll rest tomorrow. Mr. Milburn said we oughta make it to Walnut Creek early. When we camp early, especially on Saturday, there’s a dance!”

Sarah could tell he thought she was extremely slow, but he had gone from rain to dance in one leap of logic. “Is there one girl in particular you’re hoping to dance with?” she asked.

He grinned at her. “Naw. I dance with all the girls. I’m good at it. River taught me. He dances with all the girls, too. Can you dance, Miss Sarah?”

“I used to, but your dancing tonight might be different.”

Rice shrugged, and Sarah tried to keep her mind from recalling the dances of her past and Daniel’s warm arms around her.

As Rice had hoped, it was early when Milburn led the train to a grassy area near a creek. As soon as the livestock was turned loose, banjos and fiddles were unpacked, and a small band was formed.

The dancing began almost immediately. Rice left Eli to grumble over the meal preparations. ”Weren’t you ever young, Eli?” Milburn asked.

“I can’t say as I was,” Eli replied.

Sarah watched the dancers. The twirling calico dresses looked like elegant gowns in the waning light. Daniel had loved to dance and had bought her pretty dresses to dance in.

Milburn pointed a finger at Sarah. “Don’t think you’re going to be left out. There’s always more men than women, and someone will come get you sooner or later.”

It turned out to be sooner. A man whose wife was already in a round needed a partner and, seeing Sarah, hurried over. While Eli tried to protest, Milburn waved her away.

The dance sent everyone spinning from one partner to the next with a momentum greater than the music warranted. The music grew louder as the dance brought Sarah closer to the players and faded at the other end of the circle. The campfires seemed to flash by. When she came to Rice, he grinned and whirled her into the arms of her next partner.

When the music stopped, Sarah found herself standing next to her last partner. “My name’s Gaines,” he said, taking her elbow and pulling her out of the crowd. He was of less than average height but broad and heavily muscled. “Folks call me Bull.” He drew himself up in a way calculated to impress her.

“Sarah Tanton,” she said. Even in the uncertain light she recognized him as the man who had objected to stopping on Sundays. It was silly since she had just danced with him, but she didn’t want to shake his hand.

The musicians started again, and he reached out to pull her into the dance. She stepped away. “I have to get back.”

“Anyone that wants you will know where to find you, missy.” He caught her arm and forced her toward him.

The tune had no established steps, leaving the dancers free to improvise. Bull kept Sarah on the edge of the crowd. “You traveling with Milburn’s bunch?” If it was a question, he didn’t wait for an answer. “I seen you with him and that old man.” He was leaning closer to be sure she could hear, and Sarah drew away. “You that old man’s daughter or somethin’?”

Sarah thought of saying she was his wife. It wasn’t natural for her to lie, however, and she told him Milburn had hired her. Seeing his leering face in the light of one of the fires, she regretted her honesty. When the dance was over, she stepped away. “I have to get back.” She wanted to run, but hesitated. The dancing had ruined her sense of direction.

“I’ll walk you to your wagon, missy,” he said. Again he didn’t wait for a reply but took her elbow and started away. “I’m traveling with my friend, Herman Kirby,” he told her. “Him and my brother’s boy, Nathan. He’s alone now ‘cept for me.” He led her slowly around the circle of wagons, tipping his hat to the folks they passed. “We’re gonna take land in Oregon,” he went on. “Each of us will take a piece, but I’ll have to run it all, ‘cause they ain’t exactly up to it.”

Sarah gave no answer, but he didn’t seem to expect one. “That’s my wagon,” she said when she saw Eli. She was actually glad to see the grumpy old man. Without looking back for fear Bull would take it as encouragement, she went directly to the wagon and climbed inside.

“Who’s that?” she heard Eli ask in his usual gruff tone.

“Oh, his name’s Gaines,” Milburn said. “He’s a little hard to get along with, but I guess he’s all right.”

In a few minutes Sarah climbed out carrying her sewing basket. She wouldn’t have time to do any mending until after supper, but getting it was an excuse for hiding in the wagon.

“I don’t like his looks,” Eli said, scowling at Sarah.

Sarah stared. How could he blame her?

“Well, Eli,” said Milburn, “I don’t reckon he likes your looks, neither.”

Chapter Two

“We thank the Lord for leading us to this grassy meadow,” Reverend Fleenor shouted with outstretched arms. “As long as we are faithful, He will lead us safely to our new homes.”

The dance floor of Saturday night had become the church of Sunday morning. Nearly all the travelers had left their work to listen to the reverend and add their voices to the hymns.

“Chances are I’ll hear it all from here,” Eli had said. “But ya go on, Sarie, if ya want.”

Noticing the disdain in his voice and certain his humor would be even worse if he had to do the baking alone, she decided to stay and help. He turned out to be right; they didn’t miss a word. The effect of the sermon was somewhat changed, however, by Eli’s continual comments.

He thought, for instance, that Milburn should receive the credit for leading them to the meadow. When Sarah pointed out that Milburn had found it, not made it, Eli grunted and told her to knead the dough.

Emotion made Fleenor’s voice crack. “Everything, from the fall of a leaf to the birth of a child, is God’s will.”

“I reckon ya go along with that, too,” Eli said, reaching for the flour to mix up a second batch.

“I guess so.” How had she gotten herself into this kind of discussion, and, more important, how could she get herself out before she made Eli impossibly angry? She had been working for Eli for five days, and this was the first time she had dared to disagree with him.

“Ya guess so,” Eli repeated slowly. He slammed his spoon into the dough. “What about death?”

“Every sorrow,” Fleenor said, as if in anticipation of Eli’s argument, “is God’s will.”

Eli grunted. “Then He wills more pain than He’s worth.”

Sarah looked at Eli, shocked by what he had said and by the fact that he had said it so loudly. She didn’t have the nerve to see if anyone else might have heard.

“Let me ask ya this,” Eli went on, trading the dough he had finished mixing for what Sarah had kneaded and motioning her to continue. “Yer life weren’t all parlor games and gay-las back home or ya wouldn’t be moving west. Am I right?”

Sarah was sure her expression held a mixture of disbelief and fear. She quickly looked away.

Whatever Eli read in her expression didn’t discourage him. “Well, do ya think ya deserved whatever it was that made ya want to start over?”

The reverend’s shout seemed to be directed at her alone. “God punishes us for our sins. If we did not sin, there would be no sorrow.” She swallowed but couldn’t make her voice work. Finally she nodded.

Eli grunted in disgust. “Well, too often the sorrow goes to someone other than the fella committin’ the sin.”

When both batches of dough were shaped in cloth-covered pans and set in the sun to rise, Eli found other work for Sarah, all of which kept her near the wagon where he could bait her with questions she couldn’t answer.

When he finally sent her to the creek with a bag of clothes to wash, she wanted to run. Sheltered by the trees, she dropped the bag on the ground. How had Eli guessed she was running away? What could he further guess from what she had said? Nothing, she hoped.

When she heard a twig snap, she jumped. Grabbing the laundry, she tried to look busy. In a moment Martha Williams joined her.

“I saw you come this way and thought it would be more fun to do this with a little company,” she said. She upended her basket, letting the clothes spill to the ground. Kneeling on the bank, Martha wet the first garment and rubbed it with her cake of soap. Sarah followed her example. “You look kind of pale, dear. Are you feeling all right?”

“I’m fine,” Sarah said, afraid to look at her companion.

“Please don’t worry,” Martha said. “You can talk to me. I saw how that old man made you work all morning and miss the service.”

This time Sarah did look up. Would deception be this easy? Letting Eli take the blame for her uneasiness wasn’t a lie, anyway. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, realizing how easily the quiver in her voice could be misinterpreted.

Martha looked sympathetic. “Where you from, honey?”

“New York.” Sarah braced herself for more questions, but Martha just wanted an opening to talk about herself.

“We’re from Tennessee,” she began. “We’re moving west because Tom’s afraid there’s going to be a war. Tom says with the three babies, and one more on the way...” She stopped working long enough to pat her damp waist with an even damper hand. A dreamy smile formed on her face before she continued, “Tom didn’t want to risk leaving us alone if he had to fight.”

“Surely they wouldn’t take young fathers.” Sarah had heard talk, but it had seemed far away from her and her own problems.

“To tell you the truth,” Martha confided, “he’s wanted to go west for a long time. Now he can say he’s protecting his family instead of endangering us with the trip.”

The two women finished their washing and walked back to the camp together. Sarah imagined Eli waiting to pounce on her, having spent her absence thinking of new ways to upset her.

“Got a string twixt the wagons for the clothes,” Eli said.

Sarah eyed him suspiciously; he sounded almost pleasant.

“The hunters came in whilst ya was gone,” he said. “Got us a big chunk of deer to roast for dinner.”

Sarah offered no reply.

Around the circle, several wood-burning stoves had been unloaded. Their owners were doing a brisk business renting them to travelers who hadn’t brought their own. Eli, however, was baking his bread in a Dutch oven in the fire. “I’ve seen a lot a stoves just like ‘em,” he said when he noticed what Sarah was watching. “Most was lying along the trail farther west.”

The recollection made Eli happy. When he smiled, his face looked like the cracked leather cover on her grandmother’s Bible. What would Eli think of that image? she wondered.

Secretly, she thought the stoves would come in handy when the families built their new homes. She kept quiet while she helped Eli rig the spit for the venison, peeled potatoes and sliced a loaf of the fresh bread. She was glad when she saw Milburn and Rice coming.

Rice found a place to sit near the wagon. His hair was mussed more than usual. He had a smear of axle grease on his cheek and another on his shirt, which Sarah realized she would be expected to wash out. “That smells good, Eli,” he said.

“Ya think any food smells good,” Eli grumbled.

Rice turned to Sarah. “If River’d been here last night, he wouldn’t’a let that Gaines fella walk you home.”

“Now, it’s none of yer affair who walks Sarie anywheres, boy,” Eli scolded.

Rice continued as if he hadn’t heard. “Me and Mr. Milburn helped everybody check their wagons, and Gaines didn’t let us check his. He—”

“Ya needn’t tell everything that happens,” Eli interrupted.

“Aw, the boy’s not talking to you,” Milburn said. “Rice saw Sarah and Gaines last night, and he wants to tell her what he knows about him.”

“I guess I don’t like him much myself,” Eli conceded.

“River wouldn’t like him, either, Eli,” Rice insisted. “He’s mean and grumpy, and he called me a `no-account boy.’”

Eli took a thin knife and tested the potatoes. “I call ya a no-account boy all the time.”

“But he ain’t got no right to,” Rice said reasonably.

Milburn laughed. “Go wash your face, boy.”

“Yes, sir.” Rice cast Sarah a questioning look. She gave him her most reassuring smile and was rewarded with a grin.

Milburn took off his hat and rubbed his sleeve across his forehead. “I best join Rice and get cleaned up for supper.”

Eli was watching Rice walk toward the creek. “Funny to see that kid wantin’ to look after somebody else, ain’t it, Pete?”

Milburn studied Eli for a long moment. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Eli. You’re almost cheerful. Did you find someone willing to fight with you all day?”

“Oh, just get outta here.” Eli threatened Milburn with the knife. He glanced at Sarah before becoming busy at the fire.

* * *

Five days later, the wagons stopped at a clear stream some sixty yards wide, by far the largest they had crossed. “That’s the Big Blue,” Rice told Sarah. He had proudly shared all the place names with her. “Mr. Milburn’s makin’ sure it’s safe. If River was with us, he woulda done it.”

Sarah clung to the seat as the wagon rocked down the ford into the water. Rice didn’t seem nervous. “We’re real close to a trail crossing,” he told her. “There’ll be wagons all over and not near as much grass. We might see Indians, too.” He looked at Sarah with childish anticipation. “You don’t need to worry about them, though. These around here ain’t much trouble, and by the time we get to where the bad ones are, River’ll be with us.”

Sarah smiled at the boy’s attempt at reassurance.

The wagon rocked again as it climbed onto dry land. “You’re the best guide anybody could hope for, Rice. You’re willing to explain things everybody else thinks I should already know.”

“That’s just ‘cause I only learned it a while ago, and I know how you feel,” he said, blushing at the compliment.

“Sort of like repeating a lesson,” Sarah suggested.

Rice wrinkled his nose, and she laughed.

* * *

“Breakdown! Breakdown!” Milburn brought the word to the front of the line. Rice set the brake and jumped down, craning his neck to see where Milburn had headed as he helped Sarah. By the time her feet were on the ground, Eli had joined them.

“Will we circle and stop here?” the boy asked. Sarah didn’t miss the hopeful note in the young voice.

“You don’t have to tell me it’s Saturday,” Eli responded.

A large crowd had gathered around a wagon halfway down the line. As Eli elbowed his way through, Rice and Sarah followed in his wake. “It’s not too bad, but we’ll have to remove the wheel to fix it,” Milburn was saying. “Another hour and a half and the sun’ll set. Let’s circle up. It’ll be a hike to the creek, but we can manage one night.”

When the teams were unhitched, Eli took the heavy jack and went to help Milburn. As Sarah started a fire with wood from the possum belly, a sling that hung under each wagon, Rice began the quarter-mile walk to the creek to replenish the supply.

A shout of alarm caught Sarah’s attention. People ran toward the broken wagon, and Sarah found herself moving with them. Over their heads, she could see the top of the wagon, twisted at an awkward angle. Pushing through the last of the crowd, she found Milburn on the ground, Eli kneeling beside him. Sarah’s mind rebelled, and she looked away, seeing instead the smashed jack under the corner of the tipped wagon box. She turned from that, as well; it looked too much like Milburn’s legs.

“I sent a couple fellas to unload the supply wagon,” Eli said.

Sarah watched a distant figure move toward them for a full minute before recognition penetrated her foggy brain. “Rice!”

“Don’t let him see Pete till he’s under a blanket.”

Sarah nodded and started across the prairie. Rice’s long legs carried him toward her with alarming speed. She walked slowly, stalling, if only a few minutes.

“Hey, Miss Sarah, what are you doing out here?”

“I have to talk to you,” she said.

“Sure,” he replied, expecting her to follow as he continued toward the wagons. When she didn’t, he stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Rice,” Sarah began. “There’s been an accident.” She had to tell him; blunt seemed the best way. “Mr. Milburn was hurt.”

The boy stared at her, his mouth shaping his boss’s name. Suddenly he dropped the wood and turned to run. Sarah caught his arm, aware that manners stopped him, not the strength of her hand.

“Give Eli some time to make him comfortable.”

Face white with horror, the boy whispered, “How bad?”

Sarah swallowed. “Bad.”

“He’ll want to see me,” he said.

“Of course, but give him a few minutes. And we’ll still need the wood.” Together they gathered up the sticks and walked silently to camp.

Reverend Fleenor and Mr. Williams were climbing out of the supply wagon as they approached. Nodding to Sarah and Rice, the reverend said, “We moved Mr. Millburn inside. Mr. Eli is with him now.”

His grim face wasn’t encouraging.

“Better call out before you go in,” Sarah said, nudging Rice forward.

She watched Rice make his way through the clutter of unloaded supplies and turned her attention to the meal she had started, not so long ago. She wished Eli would come and scold her for spoiling the supper, tell her there wasn’t enough wood, anything to make things seem normal again.

Rice came out and sat by the fire. At her questioning look, he shook his head. Supper was ready, but neither wanted to eat. The camp was as quiet as midnight by the time it was fully dark.

Finally Eli left the wagon. He went directly to the fire and dipped up a bowl of stew. “Eat,” he said, handing the bowl to Rice. “Both a ya.” He didn’t speak again until they had begun to eat. “I give him some laudanum, and he’s asleep. Soon as ya finish eatin’, turn in. Ya’ll be walkin’ back and forth to that crick most all day.”

“Yes, sir,” Rice responded between mouthfuls.

When Sarah began to clean up after the meal, Eli told her to leave the coffeepot and went to check on Milburn. He returned in a few minutes and refilled his cup. When the rest of the dishes were put away and Rice had fallen asleep under the wagon, Eli suggested Sarah turn in, as well.

“It’s your chance to sleep while Milburn does,” Sarah said. “I can wake you if he stirs.”

Eli shook his head. “I wouldn’t sleep.” Sarah knew he spoke for her, as well. Silence stretched between them before Eli spoke again. “He won’t make it, ya know.”