earn my keep, but I’ll have to be told what to do.”
Eli grunted. “Ya think ya know how to take orders, huh?”
It sounded more like a challenge than a question. She couldn’t imagine anything he could tell her to do that would bother her, except handle the oxen. Their yokes and harnesses looked too complicated to ever understand, and the beasts themselves seemed enormous. Eli watched her, probably taking her silence as hesitation. “Try giving a few orders, sir,” she said.
Her answer seemed to satisfy him; at least he said nothing more. Sarah was free to enjoy the countryside and think about her future. But the future was too uncertain, and the past always hovered in her mind.
The past seemed to consist only of Daniel Harrison. She wondered how six years had changed him. No one back home would tell her where he had gone, but then few had been willing to tell her much of anything. Her former jailer had had some information, even some newspapers, but had been quiet about Daniel. That was probably the way his family wanted it.
She guessed he was doing well. With his father’s money it would be hard not to. Perhaps he was running a branch store or had found something else to interest him, with Papa’s approval.
She watched storm clouds gather in the southwest, their changing shapes fascinating her. They rolled over one another much as her own memories did. Soon they would become too full of anger and pain to hold it inside any longer.
She quickly shook off the illusion. She couldn’t start to cry now, not while she sat beside Eli!
Near a deep ravine where a spring-fed creek watered a stand of cottonwoods, Milburn gave the signal to stop. Eli turned his team in a wide arc and pulled up behind the last wagon, turning again at the last moment to put the oxen outside the circle.
Eli sent Sarah to gather firewood. She had found only a few skinny sticks when a woman near her gave a cry of alarm. She had tried to balance too much wood in her small arms and was now clutching at the pieces as they tumbled out of her grasp. She stomped her foot in exasperation and threw one last stick after the rest.
“Let me help you,” Sarah offered.
The woman brushed at the bits of dirt and bark that clung to her sleeves. The thin fabric of the much mended dress stretched tightly across her round middle. She bent awkwardly to retrieve her load, and Sarah knelt beside her. “Such little pieces of wood will burn quickly, and I didn’t want to make two trips.” When her arms were full and Sarah had helped her to her feet, she added, “I’m Martha Williams.”
“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.
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