Sarah's Heart (6 page)

She patted her belly
and scanned the trail for wild berries or anything edible. Hunger gnawed at her
innards. Bending, she yanked a dandelion from the soil and chewed on it. Gritty
dirt caught in her teeth, and the acrid taste pulled the moisture from her
mouth. At that moment, the enormity of her situation slapped her in the face.
Food wasn’t as plentiful as she’d hoped, and the approaching sunset threatened
her. Where would she safely sleep? She was a veteran walker, but she couldn’t
imagine just opening her bedroll and sleeping in the open spaces; there were
too many scavenging animals lurking in the darkness for that. The horrid
rending sound of coyotes echoed in her mind, bringing with it the vivid images
she preferred to forget.

 
She shivered and turned her attention back to
finding something to eat. With several hours of daylight remaining, she'd give
her sleeping arrangements more thought once she had quelled the hunger that
rumbled inside her. She pushed onward.

Sarah sighed. Why
had she thought she’d find food so easily? For at least two miles nothing but a
sea of green prairie grass waved in the breeze. Not a berry bush in sight.
Countless rabbits skittered across the trail, but by the time she pulled out
her sidearm, they were long gone. If she held the gun in her hand for any
length of time, the animals became invisible. It seemed they anticipated
danger. If only they knew she posed a minimal threat to their lives with her
limited pistol skill. She lifted a canteen to her lips and took a huge gulp,
hoping to fool her complaining stomach for just a little longer. The lone
dandelion had only left a bad taste in her mouth.

 
Sarah felt light-headed and weak, each step an
effort as her legs turned leaden. It had been far too long since her last meal,
and she needed food to regain her strength.

 
Ahead, she spied a stand of trees. The
sheltering branches of three old oaks made it a perfect place to stop for a
rest. Maybe she could set a snare of some sort and catch one of the many
long-eared hares that taunted her, but she shook her head. The only kind she
knew to use required a box. She chastised herself for not tarrying longer at
the campsite to try to catch a fish, but she saved the idea for the time she
found water again. A flash of encouragement brightened the moment. The Kansas River wasn’t that far away. She smiled,
remembering when the train had crossed it.

Her shoulders
sagging, Sarah tossed her bedroll on the ground and dropped her valise. She
sighed with relief and rubbed the aching arm that had toted the load. She eyed
her belongings, trying to determine a way to turn the brocade bag into a
knapsack she could carry on her back. She missed having the wagon bear everything
for her while her only chore was keeping an even pace.

Dropping to the
ground, she leaned against the tree and took a deep breath. She surveyed the
area around her, and her eyes widened when she spied a bunch of familiar green
stalks growing nearby. She practically crawled to the plants and began clawing
at the soil, her mouth watering in anticipation. About three inches below the
surface, she found her treasure—prairie potatoes. Tearing the thin fibrous
covering from one, she didn’t waste a moment taking her first bite, followed by
a second and third, as she hungrily chewed and swallowed, savoring the
life-saving flavor. Crunchy and porous, it tasted a great deal like the turnips
her mother had grown in the garden. She felt so hungry, even if it tasted like
tree bark, Sarah would eat it. She unearthed several more and ate her fill, and
then moved back to where her belongings lay, carrying her bounty with her.
Sated for the moment, she worked on her earlier idea of a knapsack. She
unknotted the strips of her petticoat from her bedroll, and then shoved the
blankets through the handles of her valise. By edging the pieces of
undergarment through the handles as well, she created loops through which she
could put her arms, allowing her back to bear the weight of her load. She stood
and tried out her new idea—perfect. With her pistol in her boot, she had plenty
of room for the prairie potatoes.

She removed her new
creation and sat, patting the bulging bag, pleased that at least she wouldn’t
starve. After a drink of water, she wiped the corners of her mouth with her
hand, and reclined against a bark-covered backrest. With her gun in her lap,
she crossed her ankles and closed her eyes. She needed to rest for just a few
minutes before resuming her journey. The light breeze felt like caressing
fingers against her cheeks, and the sound of the leaves rustling above her
lulled her into momentary peace.

 
Sarah awoke with a start to a rumbling noise.
She immediately scanned the sky for storm clouds. To her surprise, she saw only
one piece of white fluff floating in a sea of clear blue. She shrugged her
shoulders, thinking that maybe her imagination played tricks on her.

Her gaze drifted to
the sun’s position, and she sighed. Evidently, she had dozed for a lot longer
than she’d planned. At best, she had only a few hours till dark, and she still
had to find some type of shelter for the night. She got to her feet and bent to
pick up her belongings, but she heard the thunderous noise again, only this
time it sounded real—so real that the earth trembled beneath her feet. Turning
to look behind her, Sarah's eyes widened at the billowing dust storm coming at
her. It stretched from one side of the horizon to the other, and fear
constricted her throat when she realized that the brown things dotting the
dirty expanse were
buffalo,
and lots of them—one of
the very things that Wagon Master Simms had warned about. As they neared, their
massive heads and shaggy-coated bodies became clearly visible, and their
pounding hooves and panting breaths were all Sarah heard. She couldn’t outrun
them, and with nothing but open plains beyond where she stood, she had nowhere
to go but up.

 
Sarah’s heart pounded in rhythm with the
racing animal’s hoof beats as she scanned the trees, deciding which one to
climb. The one she’d slept against had a limb within her reach. Sarah stood on
tiptoe and stuffed her belongings into the ‘v’ where the branches began, and
then with strength she didn’t know she had, she hefted herself up and onto the
lowest bough. Grasping the one directly above her, she stood and inched her way
over and up higher. She’d barely straddled the limb when a sea of furry beasts
passed beneath her, furrowing dust upward and carrying with it a musky smell.
She covered her nose and watched the wondrous sight through protective
half-lidded eyes. She’d never seen buffalo before, but knew they traveled in
huge herds. It wasn’t a lie. Had they been smaller, she would have thought she
watched a colony of eager ants scurrying in search of food. She laughed aloud
at her comparison. If only they were the size of ants, she wouldn’t be clinging
for life six feet above the ground. The tree swayed back and forth as the huge
animals brushed against it. Rough bark bit into Sarah’s back as she fought to
keep her balance. “How long can I hold on,” she mumbled through clenched teeth.

It took what seemed
like an hour for all the animals to pass out of sight. The prairie grass
beneath the tree and beyond
lay
trampled flat, and
buffalo chips littered the ground. Too bad they were fresh. She’d learned on
the wagon train that dried ones made great kindling for campfires, but wriggled
her nose in disgust at the idea of handling them in their present state. Still
clinging to the tree, she pondered climbing down, wondering if it was safe.

The orange sun had
drifted closer to the horizon. Sarah scanned the trail from her lofty perch and
grimaced. She saw nothing in the distance but endless prairie;
no
more trees or hills. At the thought of sleeping out in
the open, being easy prey for scavengers and in plain sight of possible
marauding Indians, she shivered. And she certainly didn’t want to catch up with
the buffalo.

 
She eyed the tree crotch where her belongings
were nested and thought of the possibility of staying put until daylight. She’d
never slept in a tree before, but given her choices, it seemed the best
solution. The weather was mild enough that her jacket would keep her warm, and
she could lean her head against her bedroll. She inched down, and while holding
everything, she tried to get into a comfortable position. With her feet resting
on one branch and her bottom supported by the trunk, she tucked her valise next
to her body and held her gun in her lap. The hard wagon bed had been more
comfortable than this.

The sun turned the
sky into a pallet of pastels before the blazing orange orb disappeared below
the horizon. She held her breath as the last thread of light faded and night
encompassed her. The breeze that had earlier rustled the leaves fell
still,
and the silence of the empty prairie sent a shiver
down her spine. Realizing isolation she’d never felt before, she sensed a lump
forming in her throat. The loneliness when her ma and pa had passed had been
horrid, but at least there were other humans around. Now, she felt like the
only person in the world.

* * *

Hours had passed,
and no matter how hard Sarah tried, she couldn’t sleep. Her legs had long ago
turned numb, and her bottom ached from being in the same position for so long.
She moved her upper body, trying to work out some of the kinks, wondering if
the night would ever end. Her eyelids were leaden, but still sleep evaded her.
Even nestled securely in the tree, her nerves were on edge. She heard noises
below her—creatures of the night rutting for food, and she prayed none of them
knew how to climb. After adjusting her bedroll beneath her head for the
hundredth time, she quietly hummed a lullaby. It helped drown out the
skittering sounds and brought back memories of her mother’s angelic voice.

Pain in her spine
woke her; she was surprised that she had finally nodded off. She dangled her
legs on either side of the branch and sat forward, arching her back. The half
moon sat high enough in the sky to filter though the leaves and light the ebony
night. The tree's shadow stretched out on the ground below, creating a
monstrous profile, but somehow the night didn’t seem so menacing. Sarah still
kept her pistol close and grumbled at her predicament. The illuminating slice
above her showed it close to midnight; another half of the night remained.
Frustration made her want to cry. She adjusted her position one more time and
leaned back into the hammock of limbs.

Fatigue won the
battle over discomfort, and Sarah slept. In her dreams, she walked with Molly,
telling tales, sharing laughter, and…Something summoned her back to awareness…
a slow and steady ‘clopping’ slicing through their gaiety. She opened her eyes
and tilted one ear upward to listen. The sound was real, not part of the dream,
although it did resemble the steady hoof beats she recalled when Mr. Simms rode
up and down the wagon train. Her mind whirled. Other animals had hooves. Maybe
a buffalo strayed from the herd… a deer looking for water?
Perhaps
an Indian?
Fear clutched her at her chest and stole her breath.

Sarah's bladder
suddenly begged to be emptied. She constricted her stomach muscles and tried to
ignore the uncomfortable feeling. Remaining frozen in place, she locked her
hand around the butt of her gun, keeping one finger poised on the trigger.

Chapter Six

Sarah's chest
swelled with the need to breathe, but her heart trembled with fear that even an
inhalation might give her away. Risking a tiny breath, she kept her eyes
trained beyond the shadows. Within a few moments, a dim outline revealed the source
of the noise that woke her. Just as she'd thought, she spied a horse, but it
was still too far away in the darkness to tell anything more. As it neared, she
saw no outline of an upright figure in a saddle, but the animal carried
something—some kind of a pack, maybe.

She took in a big
gulp of air, feeling relieved. The creature must have gotten loose from its
owner and drifted aimlessly in the night. It stopped just beyond the tree and
lowered its head to nibble on a patch of grass left undisturbed by the
trampling hooves of buffalo. The silhouette showed the reins dangling free, and
it occurred to Sarah that she gazed upon the answer to her prayer--a means of
travel. She made no sudden moves, not wanting to spook the horse and send it
galloping away. Instead, very slowly she stowed her pack, tucked her gun in her
boot, and prepared to grab the branch and lower herself. Before she could,
something thudded to the ground. She heard a loud moan. The hair on the back of
her neck bristled. It wasn't a pack at all. It was a person.

Sarah froze in a
crouch, wondering what to do. Her bladder screamed in protest, and a little bit
of warm urine trickled out and dampened her bloomers. She constricted her
muscles to staunch the leak, trying to avoid wetting herself completely. Just
when things looked rosier, the familiar black veil of despair swooped down and
shrouded her hopes again. Sarah bit into her knuckle and stared down from her
lofty perch.

The form below her
didn’t move or make any noise, and Sarah couldn’t stand her discomfort any
longer. As quietly as possible, she lowered herself to the ground and hurried
round to the backside of the tree and dropped her britches. She’d barely
squatted when a steady stream pelted the soil and puddled around her feet. Her
heart thudded in fear of what lay just a short distance away, yet she couldn’t
help but breathe a sigh of relief to have finally emptied her bladder.