by Emily Woods
Neither Sarah nor her mother commented because they both knew Margie was only saying this out of envy. It wouldn’t do to rile Margie further. She found fault with everything and, with her quick mind and sharp tongue, never failed to voice her opinions
“There have been many surprises on the trail, haven't there?” her mother remarked. “It's interesting to note that George Lewis is actually a bachelor, isn't it?”
Sarah suspected that Margie had been so focused on the fact that Beth had attracted Michael's attention that she hadn't really thought about that.
“That's true,” Margie replied slowly, her brows lowering in concentration. “He's not much to look at, nor is he much of a conversationalist, but there are worse things in a man.”
A smile tugged the corner of Sarah's mouth. It didn't take much for her sister to be distracted. She didn't think her assessment of the man was very accurate, but she would never disagree with her older sister on such a trivial matter. In fact, she almost never disagreed with her at all unless it was something terribly important. Margie was a forceful presence, which was good in some scenarios, and she was loving and loyal to her family, so they forgave her quite a lot.
“And don't be setting your sights on him,” she suddenly said to Sarah with more emphasis than was necessary. “I'm older, so I should marry first.”
“I have no objection to that,” Sarah murmured honestly. She'd never given George much thought before last week when it was became known that he wasn't married to Beth. She had no intention of intervening in Margie’s plan to get his attention. “I hope he is worthy of you.”
The compliment was an attempt to soothe her sister, and it worked. Margie calmed down and gave her a prim, but satisfied, look.
“That doesn't matter,” she declared, standing and smoothing out her skirts. “A man can become anything under the direction of the right woman.”
Both Louise and Sarah looked at Margie in alarm. “You're not going over there, are you?” her mother asked. “That's too forward, my dear.”
Margie lifted one of her shoulders a little. “I won't interact with him, Mother. I simply want to see what he's doing. I need to study the man if I want to gain his attention. Don't worry. I won't be long, nor will I embarrass you.”
Without another word, she bounced off in the direction of the Lewis's wagon.
“I hope she doesn't humiliate herself,” Sarah remarked. “The way she did with Michael.”
She'd made such a spectacle of herself with the middle Morris brother that Sarah cringed when she thought about it. The man hadn't really noticed, but some of the other women had, and none of them were too impressed.
“I hope so too, dear.” Her mother sighed and put her sewing away. The two of them tidied up the campsite and got things ready for the morning meal the next day. They'd just finished when her father returned.
“Well, it's good news, I think,” the doctor announced quietly when he sat down and took the cup of coffee his wife offered him. “They've decided to let him continue if that's what he wants. Now it's up to Eugene to decide for himself.” He gave a little nod as though agreeing with himself. “Glad it turned out that way.”
Sarah adored her father. He was intelligent without being condescending, which was the reason he had a way of gaining people's trust and respect. She suspected that it was his contribution to the conversation that had swayed the other men, but since he was humble, he would never admit it, so she didn't even ask.
“I'm glad you went, Papa,” she told him.
He nodded again. “So am I. Men need to speak their minds on important issues.”
Not much more was said until he noticed that Margie was missing and enquired after her.
“She's, uh, just taking a walk,” Sarah replied quickly, making an excuse for her sister so as to avoid any unpleasantness. Her father had been very vocal in his opposition of Margie's blatant display where Michael was concerned. She didn't want a repeat of that. “She'll be back soon.”
Her mother was clearly in agreement with her. “Go see where she is, why don't you, Sarah?”
Nodding, she turned to go, making sure she walked in the opposite direction of the Lewis's wagon. No need to arouse her father's suspicion.
No need at all.
2
George tried to focus on the bird he was making, but something kept appearing in his peripheral vision. He turned his head slightly and saw that it was a woman who seemed to be pacing just beside him. Since he wasn't in the mood for conversation, he ignored her. It was unlikely that she wanted his attention anyway. More likely, she was looking for someone else.
Then the figure got closer.
“Sure is a nice night,” a decisive voice declared.
Slightly startled, he looked up into the face of Margie Taylor. He blinked a couple times and then nodded.
“Not too hot.”
Since it was mid-July, that was a blessing. The days were hot, and the nights weren't that much cooler. However, tonight was mild enough, so he thought it was an apt reply.
“No, it isn't. I usually sleep better when it's a little warm, though. How about you?”
George wasn't used to women talking to him and was a little thrown by Margie's interest in his sleeping habits.
“Not too bad,” he mumbled, keeping his eyes on the piece of wood in his hands. He didn't put his knife to it though because he was distracted. Why on earth was this woman here?
“I guess you didn't go to the meeting, the one regarding the Howards? I don't expect it matters. I'm sure the others will be in agreement that they should be left at Fort Hall. Is that why you didn't go?”
What could he say? It wasn't in his nature to disagree with anyone, but generally, no one asked him what he thought, so he didn't have to even think about it.
“Something like that,” he managed to reply.
The young woman would not move on. It was generally known that he was not much for chatting, so why was she still here?
After a few more attempts, she seemed to take the hint and muttered a good-bye of sorts. Then a quiet voice somewhere off to his right spoke.
“I'm sorry about that. She doesn't know how to take a hint.”
He turned to see Margie's younger sister, Sarah, standing at a respectful distance with her head slightly bowed.
“That's okay,” he mumbled back. “Just wasn't sure what she wanted.”
“I don't really know either,” she replied lightly. It seemed she was about to go, but then he heard a question. “Is that a hummingbird?”
He looked down at the bird, his eyes wide. “Uh, yeah, it is. How did you know?”
“The beak,” she answered. “And that's my favorite bird. I think it's a miracle how they fly and never seem to land. How wonderful would that be?”
Her voice was so wistful that he had to turn and look at her. She no longer had her head bowed, but was looking off into the distance, back in the direction they’d traveled today. He wondered if she was missing her home.
“Were there a lot of hummingbirds where you came from?” he surprised himself by asking, but he couldn't help himself. There was something so sweet, so nonthreatening, about her presence that comforted him, and he found himself wanting her to stay.
“Oh, yes, ever so many. I would put sugar water out for them and just sit nearby, quiet and still as a mouse.” The corners of her mouth tipped up in remembrance and he stared at her, completely mesmerized. It helped that she still wasn’t looking at him.
“What's your favorite kind?”
It didn't seem likely that she would know the different species, but he just wanted to keep her talking.
“I like the calliope,” she replied. “It's not as colorful as the broad-tailed or broad-billed, but it's the smallest breeding bird in North America. I think it’s amazing that such a tiny bird exists.”
The depth of her knowledge surprised him, but rather than rendering him speechless, it loosened his tongue.
“Yeah,
I agree, but I like red-throated one best. I got to see lots of them in Kentucky. I did the same as you, put out sugar water and waited for them to show up. I drew lots of pictures of them too.”
He was thankful for the darkness so she couldn't see the blush that rose from his neck. Aside from his sister, he hadn't spoken that many words to anyone since they left Missouri. It was quite possible that he'd never spoken that many to any woman ever.
Glancing at the slight woman from the corner of his eye, he wondered what made her different from the others.
“I wish I had your talent,” she murmured, casting her eyes at the sculpture in his hands as she took one tentative step forward. They were still more than eight feet apart, but his heart began to pound as though they were sitting side by side. “Do you ever paint them?”
He shook his head. “Not really my thing.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Do you paint?”
Although he couldn't be sure, he thought she looked embarrassed. “I'm not very good, but I like it,” she said humbly.
George turned the hummingbird over in his hands a few times, scraped away a few rough edges, and then extended the piece to her. “Would you be able to paint that?”
Sarah blinked a few times, hesitated, and then came forward to take the bird. “I would be afraid of ruining it,” she murmured, holding it so carefully that a passerby might think she was handling a real bird or a piece of fine crystal.
Shrugging a little, George shook his head. “Doesn't make no never mind to me. I can do up another one easy enough. In fact, I have a few set by.”
He saw her swallow hard and smile a bit. “If you're sure, I'd love to try.”
“Then go ahead. I'd like to see how it turns out.”
“There you are!” came an irritated voice. They both looked up to see Margie standing in front of them with her hands on her hips. Her eyes whipped back and forth between the two of them suspiciously. “What's that?”
Sarah was clearly intimidated by her older sister and tried to hide the small bird in the folds of her skirt. George felt a strong protective desire well up in his chest.
“I asked her to paint something for me,” he said evenly. He wasn't a coward, and he certainly wasn't afraid of Margie.
“Whatever for?” she asked, her brow crinkling in bafflement.
His boldness must have stirred some up in Sarah. “To make it look even nicer,” she answered softly. “If that's possible. I don't know, but George has offered to let me try.”
Margie gave her a cool look. “Well, if Mister Lewis wants to give away his carvings,” she started, a strong emphasis on the word mister, “then that's his business. Come along now, Sarah. Father and Mother are worrying about you.”
George rose a little out of politeness as they left, Margie with her back ramrod straight and Sarah throwing him an apologetic look. However, she smiled a little, held up the bird, and mouthed the words 'thank you' before they disappeared into the darkness.
That little smile turned George's insides to liquid, a feeling he didn't recognize. His mouth felt dry, but his heart was light. He blinked a few times and wondered at the feelings that besieged him.
What was going on?
“What were you thinking?” Margie hissed at her as they made their way back to the wagon. “You can't be seen talking to a man all alone. People will talk.”
Normally, Sarah would have conceded to her sister's opinion, but a tiny streak of rebellion coursed through her. “Isn't that exactly what you did?” she asked coolly, her eyes on her sister's face. However, when Margie fixed her with a withering glare, she dropped her gaze. “There was nothing in it. I was just saying how pretty the hummingbird is.”
“Give it here,” Margie demanded, holding out her hand imperiously.
Sarah shook her head and thrust it into her pocket. “He gave it to me, and I'm going to paint it tomorrow.” Her words came out more firmly than she expected, and Margie drew back a little in surprise. Then she let out a small, irritated huff.
“Suit yourself,” she declared. “What do I care about a stupid piece of wood?”
Her hand tightened around the small carving, but then relaxed. She knew the beak would be prone to breaking if she wasn't careful.
Back at the wagon, she rummaged through their belongings until she found a scrap of material to wrap up the hummingbird. She placed it carefully among her clothing and gave it a little pat. It would give her great pleasure to paint it tomorrow when she had some time. Thankfully, her parents had allowed her to bring her paints along. They didn't take up much space, and they had allowed her sister to bring her collection of porcelain dolls, so it only seemed fair.
She'd never given much thought to George Lewis. Just a short time ago, he'd been one of a number of married men on the train. Once it was known that he was single, nothing really changed for her. He was terribly introverted, and she'd never had any reason to interact with him.
Now, however, the thought of his generosity in allowing her to paint his carving sent a little thrill through her. Adding to that, he wasn't an unattractive man, no matter what Margie said. He had a somewhat morose look about him, but she’d seen another side of him tonight. When he'd handed her the bird, there was a softening in his face, and he smiled.
Her heart thumped at the recollection of his fingers brushing hers, and she blinked rapidly, trying to sort out her feelings. Was she attracted to George Lewis? She couldn't be! Her sister had set her sights on him, and she was never one to obstruct Margie's will or desires.
But there was no denying the small spark that had passed between them. She'd experienced that feeling a few times in the past with other men, but Margie had almost immediately dissuaded her from seeing any of them, claiming that each one was inferior for one reason or another. At the time, Sarah thought Margie was being protective of her, but now she wondered if there was something else going on.
Was it possible that her sister was jealous? She didn't like to think so, but there was evidence to suggest it.
“You don't need to look so happy,” Margie hissed as they took the lamp with them into the tent. “George couldn't be interested in a mouse like you. He needs a woman of determination to balance him out, so I hope you're not getting any ideas.”
Sarah drew back as though she'd been slapped. A few retorts came to mind, but she'd never be brave enough to voice them.
“I'm just happy to have something to paint,” she protested. “I couldn't care less about Mister Lewis.”
It seemed that was the right thing to say, even though her heart protested a little. However, she was glad to see Margie give a quick nod. “Just see that it stays that way. One way or another, I'll make him notice me.”
The next day, they all woke up at four in the morning as usual when the rifle was fired. Sarah got up with a smile on her face. She couldn't quite recall what she'd been dreaming about, but a pleasant feeling lingered.
“Your turn to fetch water,” Margie grumbled, turning over on her side, presumably to catch a few more minutes of sleep.
It was actually not her turn, but Sarah didn't care. She'd had such a good sleep that she was ready to start the day. The sooner the day was over, the sooner she could start painting the hummingbird. Maybe she would even have some time after lunch. The very thought of the fragile little creature made her smile.
Walking down to the side river in the morning air was refreshing. She splashed a little water on her face before dipping the two buckets in. She was about to bring them back when someone appeared at her side.
“You're cheerful this morning.” It was Hope, coming down to get water for her own family.
Sarah greeted her and then asked, “What makes you say that?”
“You're humming,” the young girl answered. “Not too many people feel that good at this time of the day. Something special on your mind, or should I say, someone?”
A wave of cold nausea swept over her. “Wh-what do you mean?” she asked, her voice coming out higher
pitched than normal.
Hope grinned. “I happened to see you chatting with George last night. The two of you seemed rather cozy.”
“What? No, I mean, I was looking for Margie and then I saw George. He was whittling. I asked him what he was making. That's all.”
Her words tumbled out so fast that they practically overlapped one another. Hope drew back a little and frowned.
“You don't need to explain yourself,” she declared, her tone of voice cooling considerably. “I was just joking.”
Hope was one of the few girls on the wagon who was around their age. She was one or two years younger, but she was very nice. Or at least, she seemed nice. Margie didn't think she was worth associating with, saying that she wasn't their ‘type of person.’ Sarah knew what she meant. The Riley family was not as wealthy as theirs, but she'd never cared about that kind of thing. However, she wasn't about to pit herself against Margie over it, so they’d mostly avoided the girl.
“Oh, well, of course not. I mean...”
“Have a nice day,” Hope said with a nod and moved away to fill her buckets.
Shame washed over Sarah. She had no reason to be so defensive.
“I'm going to paint a hummingbird,” she blurted to Hope's back. The younger girl turned and looked at her, clearly perplexed.
“You're going to...what?”
“The carving. A hummingbird. I mean, that's what George, uh, Mister Lewis was carving. I wondered if he ever painted them, and he told me I could do it if I wanted.”
Even in the early morning light, Sarah could see Hope’s expression warm a little. “That sounds fun. You brought paints with you?”
A hint of a blush stained her cheeks. “It must seem very frivolous, but it's my one of my few hobbies. My parents allowed us each to bring one nonessential item.”
Hope smiled a little. “You're lucky. We weren't allowed to bring anything, but I suppose that's because there are more of us, and Pa had to bring his books.”
