straight with her head erect that it kept her from looking tiny. Her straight hair was a chestnut brown, red where the sun caught it, and smoothed back from a gentle face that seemed somehow at odds with her stiff bearing. Her soft brown eyes made him want to help her.
She turned to watch a flock of blackbirds, her face registering such delight the man glanced at the birds himself before eyeing her curiously. Why would a flock of noisy birds be so entertaining?
Pete Milburn considered himself a good judge of character, and this Miss Sarah Tanton looked like a stayer. He was sure she would make her request of other trains if he turned her down.
She brushed a strand of hair away from her cheek as she turned back to face him. “Well, Mr. Milburn?”
Milburn took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Miss Tanton, let me be honest. I’m afraid I will be shorthanded, but what I need is someone to drive the supply wagon. I got Rice pulling double duty till River catches up. Can you handle an ox team, Miss Tanton?”
Sarah didn’t miss the hopeful note in the question. She looked toward the grassy riverbank where the gentle beasts were grazing. They looked massive, and Sarah’s confidence slipped. “I don’t know, sir. That’s why I didn’t purchase a wagon and team. All I’ll need...”
“Are the supplies to cross the continent. Miss Tanton, this isn’t a passenger train.”
“Perhaps I could learn to drive a wagon, sir.” Her eyes were silently pleading.
Milburn sighed again. He adjusted the pencil and studied the ledger in front of him. Carefully he wrote “Sarah Tanton—May 3, 1859” on the topmost vacant line. Under the amounts paid by the other travelers, he wrote “Hired.”
“Mr. Milburn, I—” she began.
“Rice!” he yelled over his shoulder, startling her into silence. In a softer voice he asked, “Where are your things?”
Before Sarah could do more than stammer and point, a gangling young man, barely in his teens, hurried up to his boss.
“Rice, this is Sarah Tanton. She’s going to be helping Eli. Find room for her things in the lead wagon.”
“Helping Eli?” Rice glanced at Sarah before tilting his blond head toward Milburn. “But Eli—”
“Don’t argue, boy!” Milburn rose from his seat, smiling at Sarah. “If you’ll excuse me, miss, there’s a fella coming I need to talk to.” He tipped his hat and left them.
Rice stared dubiously after his boss, and Sarah felt apprehensive. “I only have one trunk,” she said.
Earlier, Sarah had caught a ride out from town. Now she found the trunk where the driver had left it. Rice was stronger than he looked, and the two of them had little trouble carrying it to the lead wagon.
“Thank you for helping me, Mr. Rice,” Sarah said.
“Shucks, ma’am. I ain’t no Mr. Rice. I’m just plain Rice.”
“Don’t you have a first name?” she asked, smiling.
“Yes, ma’am.” He blushed. “I’ll make room for this.” He scrambled over the tailboard so quickly he nearly fell in.
Sarah smiled after him. She sat down on her little wooden trunk. Everything she owned was inside. Somehow it seemed appropriate to perch herself on top of it. Here sits Sarah Tanton on all her worldly goods, in the middle of a meadow where the East ends and the West begins. She might have added, “where the past meets the future,” but her thoughts were interrupted.
An old man rounded the wagon and stopped in surprise when he saw her. “What are ya doin’ here?”
Sarah came to her feet as the man went to the wagon demanding, “What’s goin’ on in here?”
“Oh, Eli,” Rice mumbled. After some scraping and shuffling, Rice stuck his head out the back of the wagon. “Eli, this is Miss Tanton. Miss Tanton, this here’s Eli.” The boy grinned broadly at his display of proper manners.
“That don’t tell me nothin’,” declared the old man.
“Oh.” Rice sobered. “Mr. Milburn, he hired her to... uh...to help you.” His smile was more hopeful than happy.
Eli looked Sarah up and down. “We’ll see about that. Don’t ya move nothin’ in that wagon till I get back!” He hurried toward the supply wagon and Milburn’s makeshift office.
Sarah looked after him in horror. She hadn’t had a chance to say a word. He would never allow her to work with him. She turned to thank Rice for trying to help.
Rice hopped out of the wagon and unhooked the hinged tailboard. “Eli ain’t so bad.” He grabbed her trunk and hoisted it into the wagon.
“What are you doing? You’ll get yourself in trouble.”
“No, ma’am. Mr. Milburn’s boss. Eli, well...he’s Eli.” Rice nodded to punctuate his explanation. “Eli’s just Eli.”
Sarah was not reassured. “What does Eli do?”
“Whatever Mr. Milburn needs done,” was the boy’s reply. Perhaps realizing that was an inadequate explanation, he added, “Cooking mostly. Helping with breakdowns, stuff like that.”
Eli returned, obviously displeased. He told Rice to build a fire and stood by until the rocks and wood were placed to his satisfaction. Dismissed, Rice waved and trotted away. Sarah waved back, then turned to find Eli scowling at her.
“I guess Pete hired ya, a’right,” he said. “Ya ain’t what I had in mind when I said I wanted better help ‘an that boy.”
Sarah found herself tongue-tied again.
Eli lifted the tailboard parallel to the ground and fastened it to chains on the side of the wagon. Using it as a table, he took tins and utensils from a small cupboard that faced outward. “I guess I’m stuck with ya, long as ya last. We always meet a few wagons goin’ back. When ya give it up, ya can get a ride with one a them.”
Sarah felt she should say something. “Mr. Eli—”
“I ain’t gonna call ya Miss Tanton, so there ain’t no use callin’ me Mr. Eli,” he interrupted. “I’m Eli, and yer Sarie. If ya don’t like it, you best answer to it anyhow.”
“Fine, sir,” she lied. Sarie! It sounded terrible. “What would you like me to do?”
“Do? Don’t do nothin’. Just stay outta my way.”
Sarah watched his agile movements, wondering if he was younger than she had first thought. What hair she could see under the brim of his black slouch hat was dark, but his face was lined and tanned until it resembled leather. His gray eyes were clear and ageless.
The ingredients in his bowl had become a stiff dough. He stirred it vigorously with a wooden spoon. “Some city gal decides to go west, and Pete gets soft.” He shaped handfuls of dough into biscuits and crowded them into a heavy iron skillet. “Softheaded, if ya ask me. Stubborn as an old mule, and I ain’t got no use for mules!” His words faded to unintelligible grumbles.
Slamming an iron lid on the skillet, he shoved it directly into the fire. “Ya didn’t think I could just pop ‘em in an oven, did ya?” He was obviously hoping to have shocked her, and expressed his disappointment at her calm gaze by muttering again.
Eli added spices to his kettle and set tin bowls and cups out on the tailboard. First Rice then Milburn joined them. Sarah noticed other groups around other fires, taking their evening meal. A few had tables and camp stools, but most sat near their fires, balancing plates on their laps.
Sarah took her portion and sat on a crate near Rice. The stew was hearty, with a meat she couldn’t identify. She didn’t consider asking about it. The biscuit was a little heavy, but she wouldn’t mention that, either. She ate slowly, not wanting to show