Elsa Dutton's Arc

Chapter 1 of 3

Elsa Dutton wanted Oregon, but a brown river stood in her way. She sat on her palomino horse and stared at the water. It had jumped its banks overnight. The current dragged whole trees past her. Behind her, a line of covered wagons waited on the trail, their horses stamping. Elsa was seventeen and wore pants, not a dress. She had promised herself a wide new life out west. Now the river held the whole camp hostage, and everyone was watching her. Her father rode up beside her. James Dutton pushed his hat back and studied the water with hard eyes. He was broad and bearded, and when he spoke, the wagons listened. "We wait three days, maybe four," he said. "That water has to drop." "Three days we don't have," Elsa said. She knew the stores. Flour, sugar, grain for the horses. The camp was already thin. "People will start to argue. Then they'll start to leave." James looked at his daughter. He loved her boldness and feared it in the same breath. "You see a crossing I don't?" Elsa pointed downstream. A bend slowed the current there. A gravel bar broke the surface like a spine. "The water's shallow over that bar. I can walk it and prove it holds." "It could drop out from under you," James said. "Then you'll know not to send the wagons." She nudged the palomino forward before he could stop her. The horse stepped into the river. Cold water climbed to Elsa's boots, then her knees. The current shoved sideways, and the horse staggered. Elsa leaned low and spoke close to its ear. "Easy. Easy now." Its hooves found the gravel bar. They crossed one slow step at a time. Behind her she heard nothing, the whole camp holding its breath. Her horse lunged up the far bank, streaming water. Elsa raised her fist. A cheer rolled across the river from the wagons. She had found the crossing. The camp could move today. James called out and waved the first wagon forward. Its two horses balked at the water, then obeyed the whip. The heavy wheels bit into the riverbed. The wagon rocked. Halfway across, a hidden hole swallowed the front wheel. The wagon lurched hard and tipped. The driver shouted. A crate broke loose and tumbled into the current. Elsa watched the crate spin away downstream. It carried a month of the camp's flour. Her crossing was real, but it had its own teeth. The wagons could pass, yet each one risked that hidden hole and the goods inside. James met her eyes across the churning water. His face said what she already knew. They had their crossing. Now they had to save what the river was trying to take, wagon by wagon, before the camp reached Oregon with nothing left to eat.