Heart of the Sandhills by Stephanie Grace Whitson Page A

“It was when you were with the bad Indians and they made you walk through the brambles and she put her arms like this,” Hope slapped her arms to her sides, “and covered you up so you wouldn’t get hurt. And she got all cut by the stickers.” She jumped down off the bed and peered at the shadowbox on Meg’s dresser. “But I still don’t want to go to Minnesota.”
    “Well,” Meg said, standing up, “we’re going as soon as Uncle Elliot and Aaron get back from Washington.” She frowned and pressed her palm against her forehead, wishing the headache that had been plaguing her all day would subside. “It’ll be fun. An adventure.” She smiled at Hope. “Gen is going to be so surprised to hear how well you talk. I guess Aunt Jane was right. Being the baby in a house full of grown-ups makes a difference.”
    “I’m not a baby!” Hope protested. “I’m all growed up.”
    “You’re only four years old,” Meg said quickly. “Just because you can talk so well doesn’t mean you aren’t still my baby sister.”
    “I’m not a baby!” Hope hollered.
    Meg winced. “Don’t yell, Hope. You make my head hurt even worse. Only babies cry when they don’t get their way.”
    “Amanda don’t want us to go either,” Hope said. “She cried about it. And she’s all growed up.”
    Ignoring Hope’s reference to Amanda Whitrock, Meg said, “We’re going to camp. In a tent. And Two Stars will take us fishing. Maybe you’ll catch your own dinner!”
    Hope made a face. “I don’t like fishing. You have to touch worms to fish.” She shuddered. “I wanna stay with Gran-ma.”
    “Grandmother Leighton is too old to take care of a nearly-five-year-old troublemaker,” Meg teased, tousling Hope’s blonde hair. “Now go find Bess so she’ll be right here when we pack tomorrow.”
    “You can’t pack Bess. She won’t be able to breathe!” Hope retorted.
    “She’s a doll, Hope. She doesn’t need to breathe.” Meg pressed her palm against her forehead again.
    “I’m carrying her.”
    “You won’t want to carry her all the way to Minnesota.”
    “Then I’ll put her in the bag when she needs to sleep,” Hope insisted. “But until then, I’ll carry her.”
    “Oh, all right,” Meg blustered. “Have it your way. But don’t be asking me to hold your doll when you don’t want to be bothered. And don’t be thinking Aunt Jane will do it for you, either.”
    “Will we see lots of Indians?” Hope wanted to know. “Amanda says Indians aren’t nice. She says—”
    “Amanda Whitrock doesn’t know the first thing about Indians,” Meg snapped. “When did she say that, anyway?”
    “When Aaron said he wanted to be a soldier and go West and help the Indians.”
    Meg sat down on the edge of her bed. “Were you eavesdropping on Amanda and Aaron?”
    Hope frowned and shook her head. “I was in the kitchen and Betsy gave me some cocoa and then we heard Amanda and Aaron arguing on the back porch.”
    “You shouldn’t repeat what others say when they don’t know you are listening.”
    “I won’t tell anyone else,” Hope murmured. “But Amanda said—”
    “You let Aaron worry about Amanda Whitrock and her notions about the West,” Meg said firmly, “and you worry about finding Bess.”
    Hope started for the door, pausing just outside in the hallway. “She’s on the swing in the garden.”
    “Then go get her,” Meg said. She lay down on her back and closed her eyes.
    “What’s the matter, Meg?” Hope hesitated at the doorway.
    “Nothing. I’m just going to lie here a minute while you get Bess and see if my headache won’t go away.”
    When Hope didn’t come right back inside, Meg got up and went downstairs. She made some tea to settle her stomach and then went outside, where Hope sat in the garden swing, cradling Bess. When Meg approached, Hope looked up and demanded the rose story again. Meg sat down beside her. “I don’t feel like telling a story right now, Hope. How about you