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