
As the wagon train rolled across the endless prairie, twelve-year-old Sarah fidgeted uncomfortably in her seat. She had joined the Hanson family just three months ago, after spending years bouncing between foster homes back East. Now, here she was, heading West with virtual strangers, unsure of her place in this makeshift family or the vast, unfamiliar landscape stretching out before them.
The creak of wagon wheels and the rhythmic clopping of oxen hooves filled the air as Sarah tried to make herself useful. She reached for a basket of mending, hoping to earn a smile from Mrs. Hanson. As she did so, her elbow knocked against young Billy's arm, causing him to spill water down his shirt.
"I'm so sorry!" Sarah exclaimed, her cheeks flushing crimson. She grabbed for a rag to help mop up the mess, but in her haste, she knocked over the entire water bucket. The precious liquid splashed across the wagon bed, soaking everyone's feet.
Mrs. Hanson let out an exasperated sigh. "Sarah, please be more careful. Water isn't easy to come by out here."
Sarah's stomach twisted into knots as she scrambled to clean up the spill. She could feel the eyes of the other children on her – the Hansons' three biological children and two other foster children they had taken in. She didn't dare look up, afraid to see the judgment or annoyance in their gazes.
As the day wore on, Sarah found herself growing increasingly self-conscious about every move she made. When Mr. Hanson called for a break to water the oxen, she hesitated before climbing down from the wagon, worried she might trip and cause another scene.
During the short rest, Sarah stood off to the side, unsure whether to offer help or stay out of the way. She watched as the other children laughed and played, their ease with each other painfully apparent. Sarah longed to join in but felt like an intruder. When Billy waved her over to join their game, she took a hesitant step forward, then froze, second-guessing herself. What if they were just being polite? What if she said or did something wrong?
As the group prepared to set off again, Sarah volunteered to help hitch the oxen, determined to prove her worth. But as she approached the large animals, she realized she had no idea what to do. She stood there, hands trembling slightly, acutely aware of Mr. Hanson's impatient gaze.
"I... I'm not sure how..." she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Hanson's expression softened slightly. "It's alright, Sarah. Why don't you help Mary gather up the supplies instead?"
Sarah nodded, grateful for the direction but mortified by her own incompetence. As she moved to help Mary, she overheard one of the other children whisper, "Why'd they bring her along if she doesn't know how to do anything?"
The words stung, confirming Sarah's worst fears. She didn't belong here. She was a burden, a misfit in this family and on this journey.
That night, as the wagons circled and camp was set up, Sarah volunteered to help with dinner preparation. She was determined to show that she could contribute. But as she stood by the cookfire, surrounded by the bustle of experienced hands, she felt paralyzed. The simple act of peeling potatoes suddenly seemed fraught with potential for disaster.
Mrs. Hanson noticed Sarah's hesitation and gently guided her through the task. "Like this, dear," she demonstrated, her voice kind but tinged with a hint of weariness that Sarah couldn't miss.
As the family gathered around the fire to eat, Sarah found herself perched on the outskirts of the group. She picked at her food, her appetite diminished by the knot of anxiety in her stomach. When Mr. Hanson asked about everyone's day, Sarah remained silent, afraid that anything she might say would come out wrong or reveal how little she had contributed.
Later, as she lay in her bedroll listening to the night sounds of the prairie, Sarah's mind raced with worries. Would she ever fit in with this family? Would she ever feel at ease on this journey? The vastness of the unknown – both in terms of their destination and her place in this new life – overwhelmed her.
Sarah curled up tightly, trying to make herself as small as possible. She longed for the comfort of belonging but felt trapped in a state of perpetual unease, never quite sure of her footing in this new world. As she drifted off to sleep, she prayed for a day when she might feel like she truly belonged, when the awkwardness that seemed to define her every interaction would finally fade away.