Sophie’s Journey - Chapter 23 - Thunder on the Prairie

Sophie’s Journey - Chapter 23

Thunder on the Prairie

The wind on the Nebraska prairie did not blow; it swept across the landscape like a stampede. It came across miles of unbroken grass with nothing to slow it, carrying the smell of dust and dried grass. 

The prairie grass bent in the wind and stood back up again. Thousands of blades moved together. The tops were silver-green and full of seed.

Sophie stood and watched the prairie. The wind moved the grass, and the colors changed as it blew. The wind was loud, and it was hard to hear anything else. The sky above her was wide, and she felt small.

When the wind changed, the grass turned over and showed its pale sides. The colors went from gold to silver. The prairie was always moving, whether anyone was there to see it or not.

She and Marianne were digging wild onions near the trail, with the children scattered around them, enjoying a brief respite. Emma had found a patch of buffalo berries and was showing Anne how to strip them from the thorny branches. Peter had wandered farther than Sophie liked, chasing after a prairie dog that kept ducking into its hole only to pop up somewhere else, taunting them.

Otto had wandered off again. Sophie spotted him twenty yards from the handcart, his small figure bent over something in the grass. He was at that age where stillness meant trouble, and she set down the wild onions and started toward him.

There were plenty of things on the prairie for a child to try to eat. Last week, she had taken a dead bug from Otto’s hand. The week before, it was a clump of bitterroot that would have made him sick. At two years old, Otto thought anything he could hold was food.

She was halfway to him when she saw what he had picked up. It was a dried buffalo chip, pale gray and curled at the edges. He held it in both hands, poking at it with his fingers. He was already opening his mouth, ready to take a bite.

"Otto." She did not run. Running made him think it was a game, made him clamp his jaws and swallow faster just to win. She walked quickly, her boots catching in the grass. "Otto, no."

He looked up at her, his blue eyes wide and innocent, the chip already rising toward his lips.

She reached him in three more strides and knelt, her hand closing around his wrist. "Give it here."

Otto’s face crumpled. He pulled back, and the chip broke in his hand. He let out a loud wail. He had almost gotten what he wanted.

"That is not for eating." She pried his fingers open one by one, gently but firmly, and lifted the broken chip from his palm. It weighed almost nothing, dry as old paper. "That is for burning. For the fire. Not for little boys."

Otto’s face turned red, and tears ran down his cheeks. He was angry. Sophie stood up with the chip in her hand and looked at him. She was tired from always having to watch him.

"Otto." She kept her voice level. "Look at me."

He paused mid-wail, his mouth open, assessing whether this was worth continuing.

"That will make you sick." She held up the chip and tossed it toward the wagon with the others. "Very sick. You understand?"

He blinked at her. His breathing was ragged. He did not understand the words, she knew, but he understood the tone. He had heard it before, when he reached for the cookfire or wandered toward the creek bank.

She knelt and wiped his face with her apron. His lower lip still shook, but he was finished crying. He was already looking around for something else to get into.

"You are a trial," she said. She picked him up and carried him back toward the cart. "A constant trial."

Otto put his thumb in his mouth and rested his head on her shoulder. He was calm now and had forgotten about the buffalo chip. She carried him through the grass, watching for other dangers or things he might find.

Sophie looked out over the prairie. The heat made the ground look like it was moving. She felt the earth shaking under her boots, and it kept getting stronger. To the north, she saw a cloud of dust coming over a hill.

"Buffalo," Marianne whispered. Her voice was a thin thread. She was clutching the handcart's frame, her eyes wide with fright. "Sophie, look at the size of them. They are coming right for us."

"Emma," Sophie said. Her voice came out strange, thinned by something she could not name. "Emma, take Anne's hand."

The shaking grew stronger. Sophie could feel it through her boots and up her legs.

"Mama?" Otto whimpered. His face was pale beneath the summer tan. "What is that?"

She knew. She had heard the stories on the ship crossing, in the camps at Florence, from the men who had traveled the trail before.

"Buffalo," she said. It was not just a herd. It was something powerful that could not be stopped.

"Come here," Sophie said. She was proud that her voice did not shake. "All of you. Now."

They came quickly, and Sophie pulled them close. She looked for shelter, but there were no trees, no rocks, and nowhere to hide. Only the small handcart was there.

The sound reached them. It was not like cattle. It was the sound of thousands of hooves hitting the ground. Dust rose above the herd and darkened the sky.

"Do not run," Sophie said. Every instinct screamed at her to scoop Anne into her arms and flee. "Running makes them chase. We stand still. We stand very still."

Anne started to cry, but the sound was drowned out by the noise. Emma pressed her face into Sophie’s skirt and held on tight. Sophie felt Peter shaking next to her, though he tried to be brave. Her own heart was pounding.

Sophie covered the children with her body. She felt the hot wind from the passing buffalo, full of the smell of sweat and fur. Peter held Otto tightly and stared at the herd. Otto did not scream. He just held on to his brother’s shirt.

The herd was close now. They could see the buffalo’s big shoulders, their heads down, and their horns curving against the sky.

"Close your eyes," Sophie told them, though she could not close her own. "Hold tight to me."

They could smell musk, dust, and grass. The buffalo passed close by, only twenty yards away. Sophie saw the flies around their eyes, the scars on their hides, and the foam in their mouths. A young bull stumbled near them and looked at Sophie for a moment.

The stampede felt like it lasted forever, but it was only a few minutes. When the noise subsided, Sophie lifted her head. Dust hung in the air, making it hard to see. She found Marianne in the dirt nearby, her dress torn and her face covered with dirt. Marianne was shaking, and her teeth were chattering.

When the last of them had gone, when the thunder faded to a rumble and then to silence, Sophie found her legs would not hold her. She sank to her knees in the trampled grass. The children were still clutched against her. She wept.

She did not cry because she was afraid, even though she had been. She did not cry because she was relieved, even though she felt it. She cried because she had seen something bigger than her own troubles. The buffalo did not know about her worries. Their strength and numbers made her own troubles feel smaller.

"Are you hurt?" Sophie asked. She crawled toward her friend. She checked the children first. Her hands shook as she touched Emma's hair, then Anne's small face, covered in dust. They were crying, and Sophie thought it was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard.

Marianne stood, her gaze fixed on the empty horizon where the buffalo had disappeared. "They just kept coming," she whispered. Her voice was quiet and without emotion. "They did not even see us. We were just grass to them."

"Mama?" Otto's voice was small and wavering. "Are we alive?"

Sophie laughed through her tears. "Yes, my brave boy. We are alive."

She stood up on shaky legs and looked around. The grass was flat where the herd had run. Dust was still in the air. The sunset was gold and pink. Far away, the herd moved on, a dark line against the sky, going to a place she would never see.

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