Free No Eye Can See by Jane Kirkpatrick

this journey 11 inspire you to write a book,” Elizabeth said, releasing Mazy's hand. “You've kept your journal pages, haven't you?”
    “Folded over and creased,” Mazy said.
    “Writing's a good way to work things through,” she said. “I see Seth carries a writing set in his vest pocket. You and him have things in common.”
    “Now don't you be getting her hopes up,” Adora said. “If truth be known, I think my Tip ton's got Mr. Forrester already smitten.”

    At a distance, Mazy heard Ruth's raised voice, and she let herself drop back a bit to listen. The walk had been steady but easy, and she'd spent the morning more focused on the past than the present. Mazy wondered just how many miles she'd put on her callused feet. She'd have to start wearing those thin-soled shoes just to keep her toes from freezing soon. She heard voices raised in irritation.
    “Why are you talking about this without Suzanne here?” Ruth asked.
    “We don't want to hurt her feelings,” Lura said. The woman chewed on her clay pipe but didn't smoke it. “Keep your voice down.”
    “Wanting to avoid a sharp-tongued retort?” Ruth countered.
    “She can't do things on her own,” Adora said. “Even Pig's not enough to keep her out of trouble what with a baby. Yesterday Tiptontook an earring away from Clayton—he could have choked. And that little one will be crawling soon, wanting out ofthat…thing your mother made for her to carry on her back.”
    “We've got to look after her and those children like they were all our own—or she'll never get them raised,” Lura insisted. “Got to just tell her what to do with them.”
    “I agree with Lura,” Adora said. “We should take turns riding in her wagon. And if truth be known, Ruth, you ought to stay with Jessie in Esther's wagon. Put less pressure on poor Suzanne.”
    “When did she become ‘poor Suzanne’?” Mazy asked, unable to stay out of the conversation.
    “Oh!” Adora said, her shoulders sinking in a way of shame as she saw Mazy. “Don't sneak up on a person like that. Now that you're here, though, you should consider moving Suzanne in with you in California. You have no children, and it'd be—”
    “It would bother me if others made decisions for me,” Ruth interrupted. “Without my say-so.”
    Adora opened her mouth as though to retort, but Mei-Ling interrupted, “Not good talk with no Missy Sue ears. Ear same like eye. Missy Sue need ear to see.”
    Imagine, the quietest one of them speaking up for the woman who had been the crankiest not long ago. There was a change in the landscape, Mazy decided. They all looked a bit guilty then, and Mazy suggested they have a meeting to talk of what they'd do—for each other—once they reached the new landscape called Shasta.
    “That would be better than this gossip,” she said.

    Sister Esther joined Mazy at the morning fire, a shawl wrapped around her against the cool air. The world was awash with pink and purple as the sun lifted over the horizon.
    “I'm sorry. I didn't hear you,” Mazy said, looking up. The woman's hands were folded in front of her as though in prayer.
    “God is indeed an author,” Esther said, staring at the brilliant view. “Authors want readers to be…inspired, comforted, challenged by what they read, isn't that so? Surely God's writing should do no less.” She nodded, her eyes scanning the sun as it struck the western slopes. Her lips pursed tight as though sewn. “This land was written by God's hand. Some deciphering is required, but the spirit of the author is present everywhere. In the consistency of the seasons and the reliability of the stars.”
    “In good things that happen for no reason at all,” Mazy said. “Like the brass tacks promising us currency without our knowing it.”
    “Like that.”
    They watched the subtle light change what they were seeing, each thinking her own thoughts, and Mazy marveled again how this woman who could be so rigid and regulated had become