They were on the road now, somewhere north of the Canadian-U.S. border and rolling further toward the oil field and construction camps of the Northwest Territories. It was ironic, in a way, that Sarah had escaped from one oilworkers' town and was heading for another, but it wasn't the same this time. She was on the move; the show's schedule called for not more than two days in any location, so she would see lots and lots of scenery between stops. And besides, there would be dozens of interesting people to meet along their full season's schedule that brought them back, by the coming on of winter, to California, not just the few boring souls back in Blackjack who were always the same – dull and uninteresting – day in and day out.
Sarah rode in the pickup with Mr. Hawkins and one of the animal trainers, a young kid named Sammy who was working his first season also with the show. There was a large camper body attached to the truck, with a tiny crawlway between the cab and the camper, so she could squirm through and get Cokes or beer for them whenever the guys asked for it or sneak a few winks on the double bed that stretched over the roof of the pickup cab and gave her a panoramic view of the majestic Canadian Rockies as they passed on her right. Behind them, but not traveling in convoy because it was too dangerous in the event of an accident, were two other employees, Hawkins' right hand man, Al Badger, and the other woman who worked with the show, someone Sarah knew only as Gloria. They rode in an old station wagon that towed the trailer they seemed to share.
And behind them, further still scattered back along their route, were the trucks, three of them, that carried the animals from the show. They had left the wintering site pretty soon after Sarah took the job, so she really hadn't spent much time with any of them, but they all appeared to be quite healthy and well-cared for and she was glad of that. She had had it in the back of her mind that some of these traveling menagerie shows did not take care of their caged animals, and Sarah wanted no part of any kind of abuse like that. She could not bear the thought of anyone mistreating a captive animal, or a wild one, for that matter. To her, that was as alien as beating an infant or whipping a child with a heavy leather belt. Maybe it was because of the way she had been so badly treated by her mother's second husband before she finally ran away and got married to the first jerk who offered a time-payment ring and had enough for the marriage license. Of course, she had not seen it in quite that light then, but it was becoming clearer now all the time as she sat quietly while Sammy and Mr. Hawkins took turns with the pickup, coming into focus like a television tube warming up. And it wasn't a picture she liked… nor one she ever wanted to relive. This was all so exciting, a whole new world out there, and Sarah planned to see every inch of it.
CHAPTER THREE
Hawkins had made arrangements ahead to have space available at a privately-owned campground outside Soda Creek, British Columbia for the show's vehicles, as the drive necessitated a stop halfway from the Canadian border to the first show stop across the territorial line into the Yukon. This would be their only overnight rest before the show arrived, as from here on, they would simply stop individually to change drivers, sleeping in their vehicles until they reached Line Creek, where they would set up for the resident families and transient workers engaged there in building a highway through to the coast.
Hawkins was driving when they arrived, and after stopping for a back-slapping welcome from the campground's manager, a one-legged retired lumberjack named "Stump" Moran, he personally guided the vehicles into place for the night as they arrived. Sleeping arrangements were something her new employer had failed to really explain to Sarah, but she wasn't actually concerned, for Mr. Hawkins was obviously a harmless enough old eccentric, all wound up in his animals, busying himself like a leathery white-haired elf as he scurried from trailer to trailer and bedded everyone down for the night. Sarah offered her help, but Hawkins insisted that she remain in the camper. "Plenty of weak minds and strong backs for this kind of work," he had explained. When she suggested mat this might indeed be a perfect time for getting to know some of the others, Gloria particularly, as she was the only other woman along, Hawkins rebuffed her icily. It was strangely out of character for him, and Sarah was somewhat hurt when he "suggested" quite firmly that she find something to keep her occupied inside the trailer.
Sarah was surprised at this sudden chill, but she took it calmly enough; after all, this had been a long tiring day and anyone, even nice old Henry Hawkins, was entitled to be a bit frayed around the edges. She was there in the pickup camper alone when he returned over an hour later. Only by finding a distant American radio station on the camper's receiver had she managed to stave off the worrying restlessness of boredom, but she was quite relaxed and contented now when he came back, and the warm smile on the middle-aged man's face put her even more at ease.
"Sorry to have to leave you so long like this, Miss Olsen… oh, excuse me, Mrs. Olsen, I forget you're still really married," apologized the middle-aged graying man quite sheepishly. Sarah found herself embarrassed by his shyness, his self-effacing manner.
"Oh, don't give it another thought. I was quite happy, really. It's nice to be able to relax and enjoy the quiet of this beautiful countryside. And you ought to call me Sarah, then there wouldn't be any problem remembering that silly ol' Miss or Mrs.," said Sarah smiling in relief at being back in his good graces again. Hawkins smiled at her suggestion and nodded, then opened the camper's refrigerator and pulled out a cold beer.
"Want one?" he asked. "Nothing better'n beer to cut the dirt from a hard day's driving."
Sarah shook her head. "I know it sounds silly in this day and age, but I don't drink. Guess it was 'cause my pappa… stepfather, actually… drank so much and I grew up seeing the ugly side of liquor. Never really cared for it since I can remember."
The wrinkle-faced, sun-toughened old man grinned. "Yep, you're probably wise. Liquor never did anybody any real good, even the weak stuff like beer and wine. Still though, I guess I'm too old to change my evil ways now." Sarah's lips eased into a smile at the thought of nice ol' Mr. Hawkins being evil. Christ, after some of the people she had known – or the one she'd married – he was like a man of the cloth. "You don't mind if I have this beer, do ya'?" he asked.
"Of course not! I didn't mean for you to think I was some kind of do-gooder or something," she explained hurriedly, not wanting to risk offending her new boss. "I haven't got anything against drinking. I just don't like it for myself, that's all. Don't go getting any notions that I'm that kind of person!"
Hawkins slowly turned his head from side to side, his eyes never leaving her for a second. "That's good, Sarah. 'Cause life gets a little bit tarnished sometimes traveling around the country like this. You don't have to become hardened to it, though, just be able to bend enough when the times comes, and you'll do nicely… really nicely."