Soft Rain by Cornelia Cornelissen

this crossing. Instead she watched her feet as the groupwalked on a bridge over the river. Back on land, they soon passed by the largest town they had seen, and spent another night in a strange place.
    It was still raining in the morning. Soft Rain struggled to rise, to join the line of Tsalagi. As usual, some did not follow. Several had died during the night, and others were not able. Through the wetness, Soft Rain was sure she saw Old Roving Man sitting under a cedar tree. She cried out to him, “Old Roving Man!” But when the face of a stranger looked up at her, her mother said, “It isn’t your old friend, but another who cannot keep up.” Soft Rain, Mother, Aunt Kee, and the young mother walked on.
    All day the rain soaked into their blankets. When darkness came, they could find no dry wood for building a fire. There would be no warm food or drink—just another night of cold rain, endless rain.
    When Soft Rain saw a woman about to give birth under a wagon, she said, “We should give her our tent.”
    She helped Aunt Kee put it up.
    “I will try to help with the baby,” murmured the mother of the dead children as she crawled into the tent. “I hope she has milk for it.”
    Through the night Soft Rain shivered under awagon, which only kept off the pelting rain. Once when she awoke, she heard a baby cry.
    In the morning, both people and animals had to be urged to start. While she was swallowing bits of soggy bread, Soft Rain was startled by yells from a driver. “Push! Everyone who is able, help push,” came the call. “My wagon is stuck in a rut.”
    Three men were able to push the wagon until the horses could gain a foothold. There were many more ruts that day and the next. At each call for help, the women and children hurried to empty supplies from the mired wagon while the sick and elderly who had been riding stood unsteadily with downcast eyes, waiting to ride again. Once the front wheels of a wagon collapsed. Soft Rain heard the driver curse as he was thrown into the mud.
No one will ride in that wagon again
, she thought.
    Her feet grew heavier with each step as she sank to her ankles in the muddy tracks. And when she pulled her foot up without her moccasin, she screamed.
    “Reach down in the mud and pull it out. Carry your moccasins,” her mother said.
    For the rest of the day, cold, slimy mud covered Soft Rain’s feet. She was shaking all over when they came to a stream where everyone was cleaningthemselves and their clothing. As Soft Rain dipped her moccasins into the icy water, her teeth began to chatter. “I … I’m t-too cold and tired to keep walking,” she said.
    “We are all too tired,” Aunt Kee said. “But what else can we do? We must keep moving.”
    They plodded slowly on until Soft Rain said, “Listen.” A faint call echoed down the line of Tsalagi.
    “What are they saying?” Mother asked.
    Had Soft Rain heard correctly? “Shelter. They say there is shelter ahead,” she answered in disbelief.
    They hurried as fast as their heavy feet could carry them until they came to an old barn with no doors.
    A leader stood near the entrance. “We can sleep in here tonight. Please let children and the sick go first.”
    Soft Rain watched the mother of the dead children carry in the newborn baby. Finally Soft Rain, Mother, and Aunt Kee entered. They found a place just inside, away from the rain and wind.
    “It’s dry and warm!” Soft Rain sighed, pulling hay over her. She fell asleep right away.
    In the morning the rain still fell. A fire glowedin the middle of the barn. Soft Rain saw her mother walking away from it, holding something in her hand.
    “Warm bread.” Mother smiled and handed a small, flat loaf to Soft Rain.
    “Ummm,” Soft Rain murmured, holding the bread close to her nose, enjoying its warmth and smell. They hadn’t had warm bread since the rains had begun.
    She had just begun to eat when she heard the steady beating of a drum. “Shhh,” someone said. “The chief