Cassandra Austin

by Trusting Sarah

  “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 Milbur
n 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.”

  Sarah glanced at the shadow where she knew Rice slept.

  “Ol’ Pete’s been a friend long as I can remember,” Eli continued softly. “If I cut off his legs he might live, but probably not. I ain’t got the heart to do it.”

  Sarah didn’t trust her voice. Eli didn’t seem to expect an answer anyway.

  * * *

  With the first dim light of dawn, Sarah watched the camp come slowly back to life. Eli returned from one of his frequent trips to the supply wagon and made a fresh pot of coffee. Rice awakened and was sent to the creek for wood. Sarah tried to concentrate on breakfast preparations.

  Shortly after breakfast, Reverend Fleenor came, but Eli’s scowl discouraged him from asking to see Milburn. He mumbled his concern and hurried away. Sarah watched him try to get a gathering for Sunday service, but several families were slower than usual with their morning chores. Also, the pastor had competition. “What’s going on?” Sarah asked Eli, tilting her head toward a knot of travelers.

  Eli studied them with narrowed eyes and grunted. “I reckon they’ll be letting us know soon enough.” He sent Rice for water and went to the supply wagon. Sarah could only wonder if he knew something she didn’t.

  She had the first batch of bread mixed when Eli sent her to find Rice. Wiping her hands on her apron, Sarah ran to the creek. Rice barely gave her time to explain before he headed for the wagon.

  Sarah returned to camp just as Fleenor started his service. There were fewer attending than the week before. The reverend’s words didn’t carry so well this morning, and Sarah hoped Eli wouldn’t comment on what little they could hear. The other gathering, whose purpose was still a mystery, had grown during the few minutes she had been gone.

  At the fire, Eli sat watching this latter group. A deep scowl creased his leather face. He showed no sign of noticing her presence so she didn’t speak. She kneaded the bread, her mind following the words of the hymn.

  “Wouldn’t take no more of the laudanum,” Eli said abruptly. “Didn’t want to sleep through what was left of his life.” Eli glanced toward the supply wagon. “I suspect once he’s had his talk with the boy he’ll take some.”

  Presently, Rice came out of the wagon, pale and shaken. He seemed to want to say something to Eli, but the old man only clapped him on the shoulder as he hurried past.

  Sarah had quit working to watch him, and Rice took it as an invitation to join her. “He says he’s gonna die,” Rice said.

  Sarah slowly nodded and turned to her baking. She didn’t want Rice to see how much her heart ached for him.

  Rice paced near the wagons, squatting occasionally by the fire or standing close to watch her work. He came to quick attention when Eli climbed out of the supply wagon.

  “He’s asleep” was Eli’s reply to their unspoken question. He took the seat he had vacated a few minutes before and went back to staring at the travelers across the camp. When the benediction was pronounced, the group, swelled by a few of the worshipers, made its way toward them, Bull Gaines in the lead.

  “Say what ya come to say.” Eli stood like a watchdog prepared to protect its master.

  “We’re moving out in the morning.” Gaines put his hands on his hips, and Sarah understood how he got his name.

  “But, Bull, I ain’t so sure.” A man tugged at his sleeve.

  “Shut up, Herman. You ain’t never been sure about nothin'!”

  Herman looked hurt. The poor man was clearly slow-witted. Sarah wondered how he had gotten mixed up with Bull Gaines.

  “This wagon ain’t movin’ till I say so,” said Eli.
>
  “I don’t care about that wagon. It’s mine I’m thinkin’ of. And these folks’, too,” he added as an afterthought.

  Eli spoke to the crowd instead of to Bull. “Ya all paid yer money for a guide west. In a day or so, River’ll catch up. He’ll guide ya on. Ain’t no need to go strikin’ out on yer own.”

  “Well, I ain’t worried about a guide.” Bull raised his voice. “It’s the time we’re wasting that worries me. That man could linger for weeks. We gonna sit here that long?”

  A murmur rose from the crowd.

  “It won’t be weeks,” Eli said. “But if it is, we’ll sit.”

  The murmur grew louder, and Bull smirked. “You’d risk trapping us in the mountains rather than pull out? Now that don’t make sense. A lot of trains elect their own captains and travel without a guide. Just give back the money to those of us what want to pull out.”

  “Can’t,” said Eli. “It’s been spent on extra supplies.” Everyone but Eli glanced at the crates scattered haphazardly around the supply wagon. “Ya wanna take yer money in supplies, won’t bother me to see ya go.” He stalked to the back of the lead wagon, removing a metal box. Setting it on a stack of crates, he unlocked and opened it. He lifted out Milburn’s book, found the page and scowled at the crowd. Several people looked away, unwilling to be the first to abandon the train.

  Bull Gaines hesitated only a moment. “You’d overload our wagons with supplies we don’t need. I want mine in cash.”

  Eli’s scowl deepened. With a muttered oath, he lifted a leather wallet from the box. “It’s my own savings, but it’s worth it to get rid of ya,” he said.

  While Gaines pocketed the money, another man took a place behind him and a line formed, most willing to take their pay in blankets, flour and the like. Gaines approached Sarah. “You best come with me, missy,” he said. Sarah was too startled to speak. He took it as indecision. “That’s Herman and my nephew.” He indicated his companions at the edge of the crowd. “You’d be safer with us than that old man and his dying friend.”

  “No,” Sarah said, barely able to find her voice.

  Bull grinned, stepping closer. “You wanna come but can’t say so in front of the boss’s boy.” He touched her cheek with his rough knuckles. “You’ll wish you’d spoke up.”