Cassandra Austin - Trusting Sarah

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.