Oh Mama, help me! I don't know what to do! Please help your pigtailed little sailor know how to turn into a lady like you! Help me raise them how you would!

The muffled sounds of hushed conversations, chairs scraping, and warm laughter drift up the stairs to me, carried on the scent of hickory smoke and bitter coffee. I'm reminded of the people waiting for my return, and I sigh. No one said anything, but I know they're waiting to hear what winds blew my rag-tag group from the sea and landed us in the dust buried town of Sweetwater. But it wasn't a wind that brought us, it was a hurricane that shattered our lives. How do you explain a hurricane?

Lord, please give me strength! I pray as I force my legs to carry me down the stairs and into the crowded kitchen.

"Did you get 'em to sleep?" Rachel asks as I enter.

"Aye. They're so tired they were gone before I blew out the lamp."

"Well, come sit an' have a cup a warm coffee. You look like ya could use some after today," she tells me with a grin and motions for the riders to make room for me at the table. Giving her a grateful smile, I accept the cup and take the vacant chair between Cody and Ike.

"Today was a normal day for us, though," I mention with a wry smile. "I wouldn't know what to think if they didn't cause mayhem at least once a day."

"That's quite the brood ya got there," Teaspoon says and I look up in surprise. I hadn't noticed him come back since he slipped away after dinner. He must have entered while I was upstairs.

"Aye, they are," I answer. "I don't know how Mama ever managed us all without goin' crazy." Stopping, I add softly under my breath, "I don't know how I'll manage without goin' crazy."

A slight shaking to my left tells me at least one person heard my muttering. I glance up from my cup to find Ike desperately trying to hold back his silent laughter.

"What's so funny, Ike?" Jimmy asks from across the table, but Ike just shakes his head, not answering.

"Well, Beka," Rachel finally takes a seat of her own, "I'd say yer doin' a mighty fine job with them kids. It must be hard, movin' out here alone with all those children."

"What'd ya pick Sweetwater for, anyways?" Cody pipes up.

"I heard you needed a teacher and I needed a job. There weren't any towns back East that would hire a girl with six children to support, so we packed up and headed West."

I finish speaking and quiet falls, each person sipping their coffee or silently thinking. Finally, Teaspoon clears his throat and I know immediately the moment has come.

"Miss Beka, I know it's pryin' ta ask ya, but you seem mighty young to be haulin' a passel a youngins out here ta this wilderness. Where's yer folks at? Yer family?"

Knowing it's coming doesn't stop the wave of emotions that hit me when he speaks the words. Staring into my steaming cup, the swirling depths of the murky liquid mirror the whirlpool of feelings churning inside of me. Images fight their way forward out of the rotating mass and climb up my brain; images I've worked hard to cage inside my soul. My throat tightens in the familiar feeling of panic, but as usual, my eyes stay dry, the tears locked so deep inside of me I don't know where to start looking. Fighting this tidal wave of feeling I thought I'd buried in my past, I'm unaware of the passage of time until there's a gentle touch on my arm. Glancing up, I see Ike's concerned eyes gazing at me. He points to Rachel across the table, and I realize she's been speaking to me.

"Beka, you don't have to tell us if ya don't want to. We didn't mean to upset you."

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head to clear it before finding my voice.

"Nay, Rachel, tis alright. I'm just not exactly sure where to start." Finally, giving in to the memories, I stare across the table, but I'm not seeing Rachel's kitchen, I'm seeing my past; my home. Softly, I describe the pictures hanging before my eyes. "We lived by the sea, in a tiny village in Maine. Papa built Mama a house over-looking the sea, built it out of stones he dug from the ground himself. He said it was so Mama could see him while he was out fishin', but Mama always claimed it was so he could have both his loves close."

"Papa was a hard working man. He'd traveled the world by the time he was fifteen, serving as a cabin boy and then a deck hand on any ship that would take him. He dreamed of being a Captain one day, but then he met Mama." I stop as I remember the look on my Papa's face when he would speak of Mama. Unbidden, a slow smile creeps up my lips. "Papa used to love tellin' the story. He'd gather us around the fire at night, all of us on the floor and usually two or three of us vying for a place on his lap, his deep green eyes twinkling. 'Listen, me wee kidlets' he say in his strong Irish brogue, 'Ay bae goyn tae tell ye bout th' wae Ay met yer Mama, an what an onry lass she was tae!' Mama always swatted at him in this part but he'd still continue. He was eighteen and his ship had just put in to port in Boston. They were given shore-leave and he set out to explore the town. In his wandering, he found the market place and the most beautiful girl caught his eye, my mother. He was so transfixed with her he followed her around all day, and missed his boat! Living by the creed, "leap first, look later", he took it as an omen and decided it was time to put down roots. Two years and four proposals later, they were married." I pause as I finish that part of my history because I can't hold back my large smile.

"Your mother didn't happen to have red hair, did she?" Noah asks slyly from the far end of the table. Rachel throws him a "watch-your-mouth-young-man" look, but I just laugh. If only all my memories were this good.

"No actually, the red hair is all Papa's fault. Mama had hair the color of summer straw, and eyes as blue as the flowers she planted each spring." I close my eyes and let the memories wash over me. Mama, standing at the stove, her long blonde hair plaited in a crown around her head, her dress and hands covered in flour, a dash of it decorating the bridge of her nose. Or Mama, hair now done up in her sea-green scarf, quietly working alongside my father in the fields, as strong as any man. If I concentrate hard enough I can almost hear her singing again, her crystal voice tingling my ears. The memory of a scent teases my nose; the smell of fresh bread, salt water, and lavender, Mama's favorite flower, and I can almost convince myself I'm back home. I feel the wind whipping my hair as I run across the rocks, waves lapping at my naked feet. I see Papa saluting me as he rows his boat to the shore, hear Mama's song floating out of her garden, my brothers and sisters squealing as they play... Maybe if I believe enough, with all my heart, I'll open my eyes and it won't disappear in a cloud of gray smoke. I'll be back...

"What happened to them?"

Jimmy's quiet question shatters my dream and brings me back to the present and the circle of concerned faces. The sound of the ocean in my ears is only the steady hum of the coffee pot, the breeze on my neck, my imagination. I feel their eyes on me, not pushing, but worried and curious, and a deep weariness settles in my soul. I want to escape from the room, run to the safety of the bed my little sisters are sleeping in upstairs and slip into blissful oblivion, but Jimmy's inquiry hangs unanswered in the air. With a heavy sigh I continue.

"When Mama had Ben, she was in labor for three days. It was awful. The doctor didn't think she'd live, but Mama was stubborn. She lived but she never really got her strength back. Sometimes I think she willed herself to live so she could prepare me. The doctor warned her that she could never have another child, but for Mama, her whole life was her children. When she found out she was expecting Abby, there was never any question what she would do. She spent almost the entire time confined to bed and I took over the house and the kids." The muscles in my throat involuntarily seize up again and I have to force the next words out haltingly. "Mama died giving birth to Abby. Papa was almost blind with grief. After the funeral, he took his boat and went out. We didn't see him for three days, but on the evening of the third day, he came quietly home. He'd scattered his tears to the sea, and he never left us again. He was still the kind, witty Papa we loved, but some of the light in his eyes had been put out. I was barely fifteen and suddenly I was elevated to the role of mother. It scared me to death; still does if you want to know the truth."

Again, I stop to catch my breath. I haven't said this much about my life for months. I'm not sure I can go on, not sure I can share my whole story with these kind strangers, but once again a gentle hand is laid on my arm. Ike's unspoken but sincere support sends a jolt to my heart, and I gather up my courage.

"For a year and a half, we were as happy as we could be under the circumstances. My brothers and sisters terrorized the village in my place and roamed wild, Papa farmed and fished, and I took over as "mother." I'd always loved learning though, so Papa made sure I studied and passed the teacher's examination. Maybe he felt better knowin' I could get a job if something ever happened to him...."

"One day about seven months ago, Papa went to town to buy some much needed supplies. When it was time for him to come home, I left Davie in charge of the kids and walked through the misty twilight to meet him at the old mill. It was something I used to do all the time as a little girl, and I missed talking to my father without twelve other ears listenin'. I was waiting by the mill's crumbling stone wall and I could see Papa comin' around the bend, when three sailors came out of the woods and surrounded him, old shipmates from his voyaging days. Even though I was a distance from them, I could hear every word because they were yelling so loud. All three of them were violently drunk...."

"They demanded that my father return money he'd taken from them years ago, but Papa told them he didn't have their money. I know he was telling the truth, too. Papa might not have had a penny to his name most of the time, but he was as honest as they come. He'd sooner starve than touch another man's money, and sometimes he almost did."

"Papa tried to explain they were mistaken, but they didn't believe him. The more he reasoned, the angrier they became. Suddenly, the leader of the group pulled out a long knife and....and....stabbed my Papa..."

A shudder racks my frame as the image sears across my mind again, as real as the day it happened. I see Papa fall in a limp heap on the ground, watch the men stagger off still swearing they'd get their money, and feel my own scream of terror catch in my throat. The whole world ceases to exist as I rush forward and gather Papa into my arms. It's so vivid I shut my eyes tight, hoping to wipe the picture away, but it stays there, branded on my eyelids.

"...I ran to Papa after the men were gone. There was blood all over his chest, and he was trying hard to breathe. I dropped to the ground and took him in my arms, begging him not to die, almost yelling at him that I needed him. But he told me to hush and then made me promise to always take care of the kids. He said I was the "captain" now, and he trusted me. With a great effort, he told me he loved me, and then...and then.... he died. My strong, laughing Papa died in my arms on a rocky road that cold January night."

I run out of words to go on. How can I keep talking about my life when I haven't really been alive since that day? The second Papa died, part of me was locked away, and I've been stuck in this endless winter of my soul ever since.

But something has to be said...

"After Papa's funeral the townsfolk left us alone for awhile, but pretty soon the nosy busybodies came slinking around. You know the type, the women that're sure they know how to run your life better than you do, and waste no breath telling you what you're doing wrong. They wanted to make sure I was raising the kids in a Christian home, not lettin' 'em run wild and heathen like Papa had. I told them we were fine and they should look after their own families and leave mine be! But they didn't. Soon I heard rumors they wanted to parcel us out to couples around the village. There was no way they were gonna break us apart, though, not while I was alive! Besides, I was still scared the men who killed Papa would come back looking for their mythical money, so I decided it was time for us to leave. I heard from a man passing through the village that there was a great need of certified teachers out West, so we packed up our bags. We walked to the nearest town with a train station, and then, using what money Papa had saved to buy a new mule, took the first train headed in a Westward direction. And after five months of wandering, here we are."

Immense relief courses through me when I finally finish but I hesitate to look up from my hands I've been studying intently, afraid of what I'll see on the surrounding faces. It's not until Rachel reaches across the table and lays a hand over mine that I dare peek out of my protective walls and make eye contact. I raise my head to meet her eyes and I'm surprised at the depth of warm emotion I find reflected there. She gives my hand a soft squeeze and I even notice her blink back a tear. Not expecting such out-right understanding and acceptance, I glance around to find every rider silent and thoughtful. Some of the faces bare such open pain that I suddenly realize I'm not alone. I don't know what circumstances and twists of fate brought them all to this room, but somehow I know I'm not the only one with anguished memories to try and chain in the past. Some of them are so lost in their own thoughts they don't even see me looking at them. Finally, Kid breaks the stillness.

"I'm real sorry about yer folks," he says quietly. The sound of his voice pulls everyone back to the present and they nod in agreement to his words. I just shrug, what else can I do? Any other response seems out of place or calloused. Longing to move to a new subject and let everyone's pain-filled memories lie fallow again for a time, I turn to Rachel once more.

"Thanks again for lettin' us stay here tonight. I don't know how to thank you enough."

"Oh, don't even worry about it! It's been nice to have the company."

"Besides, ya woulda taken up the whole hotel by yerselves," Cody adds smugly.

Everyone in the room laughs and the tension dissipates slightly. With a sly smile, I reach over and smack Cody on the back of the head. He turns to me, his eyes wide in shock, not expecting a retaliation.

"Remember, Mr. Cody, I have SIX younger brothers and sisters...I can hold my own when it comes to teasing." Again the room erupts with laughter at Cody's gapping expression. Next to me, Ike rapidly moves his hands and the laughing doubles while Cody shoots him a glare. Now's a time I wish I could understand Indian Sign language. Finally, noticing my perplexed look, Lou offers an explanation, the first time I have actually heard him speak.

"Ike said that it'll be good ta have ya around since we have a hard time keepin' Cody humble and in his place."

So glad that the effort of sharing my story is over, I laugh readily at Ike's remark. Leaning closer to him, I whisper conspiratorially, "Don't worry, I know a few tricks I can teach you. We can start with the water bucket and it's many functions in life." Silent waves of mirth shake his frame so much I think he's gonna fall off the chair because of my helpful hint. I'm sure everyone in the room is just as glad as me to be onto happy subjects again. Now I can bury my grief inside of me once more, try and convince myself that I'm fine.

"Beha? Beha?"

The worried voice cuts through the ringing giggles and jerks my head up. A little white clad figure stands unsteadily at the bottom of the stairs, desperately rubbing sleep from her eyes and obviously confused by the noise and unfamiliar surroundings. At once my big sister mode kicks back in and I rise from my seat and rush over to Abby before she can burst into tears. Behind me I hear Teaspoon whisper loudly, "Way ta go boys! Wake the baby up!" and I giggle a little as I pick Abby up in my arms.

"Sh, Abby, it's alright. Beka's right here. Why aren't you asleep, honey? And how did you get down the stairs?"

Abby offers me an incomprehensible but extremely serious explanation and I just nod and cuddle her close. The boys have hushed their laughter and conversation and are sitting as still as church mice now. A wooden rocking chair, with a beautifully carved picture of a rising sun decorating it, grabs my eye. Catching Rachel's attention, I motion with my head toward it and she nods that it's fine. I used to rock Abby all the time at home and she loved it, but we had to leave Mama's rocking chair behind when we fled. Smothering images again, I ease into Rachel's chair and situate Abby on my lap. She feels so small and helpless in my arms, her eyes drooping as she tries to stubbornly fight off sleep. I begin the lulling, back-forward motion of the chair and she looks up at me with a content smile.

"Song, Beha....want......angy....song............." Again, most of her request is in the language of a sleepy two-year old, but the garbled syllables get her point across.

"Alright, Honey, you close your eyes and I'll sing you Mama's angel song."

Softly caressing her face with my fingers, feeling her satin smooth red curls, I also close my eyes and begin the lullaby that penetrates my earliest memories.

"You came from a land where all is light
to a world half day and a world half night.
To guide you by day, you have my love,
and to guard you by night, your friends above.
So sleep, sleep, till the darkness ends,
guarded by your angel friends.
So sleep, sleep, till the darkness ends,
guarded by your angel friends."

Totally lost in the words of the song and the pictures they create in my mind, I'm oblivious to everyone in the room but the little bundle I'm rocking as I start the second verse.

"There's one stands softly by your bed
and another sits close with a hand on your head.
There's one at the window watching for the dawn,
and one waits to wake you when the night is gone.
So sleep, sleep, till the darkness ends,
guarded by your angel friends.
So sleep, sleep, till the darkness ends,
guarded by your angel friends." *

The silence in the room is complete when the last note drops from my lips, and the spell is broken. I open my eyes to find a fast asleep Abby, and a room full of people staring at me. Ducking my head, the color rises in my cheeks as I realize the performance I just gave.

"Miss Beka, that was beautiful," Teaspoon whispers and tips his hat in my direction with a fatherly grin.

"Thanks, Teaspoon," I murmur shyly, a feeling I'm not accustomed to. "And please, just call me Beka."

Glancing around at the boys, I'm suddenly very self-conscious, especially when I meet Ike's eyes and see the open admiration pooled in them before he too ducks his head. Again, a strange feeling tingles through me but I brush it off as exhausted from the long trip and the ordeal of explaining my past. Gathering Abby up, I carefully rise from the rocker and start for the stairs.

"Thanks for the coffee, Rachel, and all of you for listening and not judging. I'm gonna go put Abby back to bed now, and then I think I'll turn in, too. See ya all in the morning."

"Yer most welcome, Beka. Go get some rest, I'm sure you're worn right out," Rachel replies in a hush tone.

Nodding goodnight to everyone, I climb the stairs to our room, each one seeming to get steeper and steeper as I wearily approach the top. Walking through the now open doorway, I place my sister back in the bed next to Button, then prepare myself for sleep. I'm not thinking about my actions, however, but rather contemplating the surprises of the day, and most of all wondering at this startling feeling nudging my insides, something I've never felt and can't really explain. Finally, I sigh and give up as I kneel beside the bed and claps my hands.

"Dear Lord, I thank Thee with all my heart for bring me and my family safely to Sweetwater, and for sending such kind people to cross our path. Lord, I'm still not exactly sure why we are here, or if I'm even doing the right thing, but I'm asking Thee to please help us. Father, if this is where I'm meant to be, please give me strength and guidance, help me know why I'm here, and please, please, help me find spring again. Amen."

Rising, I blow out the candle and climb into the bed next to my sisters, still feeling that somehow, more changes are heading my way.