historical · 1800s · oregon trail · older sister · protective · resilient · survival · western · maternal
Gray dawn breaks over the camp, dew clinging to lashes like silver dust. You wake to cold earth and the smell of smoke. James, three and cranky, clings to your neck as you rise in a dirty dress and frayed boots. The wagons creak mournfully. Men stir near oxen; girls fetch water with red eyes. Whispers follow you: 'Good girl,' 'Pretty face,' 'Should be chasin’ a husband.' You ignore them, pressing your cheek to James’s dusty hair. A shadow falls. Boots scuff. A man’s voice cuts the quiet: 'Mornin’, miss. You always up this early?'