Walk Away West

by J. F. Collen

  Nellie laughed aloud again thinking of elder daughter Emma’s serious admonition to her sister Elizabeth, who sat on a log devouring her meal hungrily, “She that eats the most breakfast eats the most sand.”

  When the strong winds blew their tent down, it put a sudden end to the meal. Their brave Conestoga swayed in the wind but staunchly stood its ground.

  “Look,” Emma pointed. Ebenezer Wilton’s wagon had toppled over in the wind, aided by its unbalanced heavy load. In a dramatic burst, contents spurted from the openings and scattered in the air currents. Ebenezer, his wife and his oldest boy scrambled to right it. The younger children retrieved the family belongings, the two smallest chasing feathers from a pillowcase.

  Obadiah leapt from his seat around their little cooking fire so suddenly his plate overturned and his tin cup rattled to the ground. “Do you think The Almighty is admonishing us it is high time to giddy-up?” he joked to the startled little girls. Their group dissolved into fits of laughter. All was right with the world, even if the tent was topsy-turvy, when the little girls heard their father’s hearty laugh.

  But now the fatigue of the early morning chores had settled in her bones and she was exhausted. They were only nine miles into their journey today. In fact, when she turned around and looked backward, she could still see New Fort Kearney, beyond the string of wagon trains behind them, quite clearly across the broad valley of the Platte River. Obadiah rode the horse this morning and Nellie’s continuous walking exacted a toll on her. Her back gave another twinge of pain and even though it was too early to feel any swell to her belly, the baby growing inside seemed to weigh her down as she walked.

  For some reason, she felt she could not get a breath of air. Her lungs seemed too small. Mayhap my precious infant, in spite of its miniscule size, preciously pushes upon my organs? She gasped deep breaths as the wagon train continued its labor up the slight but steady incline; oxen plodding and then straining through the sandy soil, as it shifted underfoot. The pain in my lungs boarders on acute. Mayhap something is seriously amiss. Up until now, her pregnancy had not diminished her energy in facing any task on the westward journey. But today was different.

  She stole a glance at Obadiah.

  He smiled at her, and panted at the oxen, “Hold steady now Angel, pull harder Devil.” Mr. Wright struggles for breath as well, she noticed.

  He sprinted across their oxen’s path to join her on her side of the wagon. “I fear our continued uphill climb since crossing the Missouri River is taking its toll on me today. We have gained twelve hundred feet since our journey’s start on Bullard’s Ferry. I shall endeavor to canter through, but I do feel poorly.”

  “The altitude. Is that the culprit, causing my lungs to feel near bursting at every breath?” Nellie asked.

  “Thou art as hale and hardy as our oxen.” Obadiah said with a dismissive nod. “I have no concern for you. Furthermore, the altitude is a mere 2,150 feet above sea level. This little rise is but a trifling compared to the steep climb and high altitude of the Rocky Mountains. We must endeavor to condition ourselves to this temperate moderation, to prepare us for more arduous elevations later in our journey.” Obadiah took off his glove and rubbed and stretched his neck. “No, I fear a vulnerability in my system—the altitude contributes only a negligible amount to my malaise. I pray I don’t take the grip.”

  Stung by his insensitivity, since he knew she was pregnant, Nellie blinked back tears as Obadiah speculated about his likely ill health.

  She shook her head, swiped some tears and a stray strand of hair from her eyes and chastised herself. My loving husband endeavors to maintain his health, thus insuring I do not continue this arduous journey alone.

  “I do hope you are comparing me to Angel, rather than Devil,” she said with a smile.

  “Yes, my Angel,” Obadiah smiled, and took her hand.

  The vast prairie unfurled before them. Nellie smiled. I can agree with Obadiah on one matter, at least. Even before reaching New Fort Kearney, our entire passage progressed as one steady, uphill climb. Goodness, in Council Bluffs and even before, on our Missouri River cruise we obtained a heady 400 feet above the sea level of our home in Sing Sing, New York. Today, the riverbed they traveled, elevated along with the plains, presented a wide vista of open land. The overwhelming vastness of the scenery struck a cord within Nellie, evoking a note like her love for the sea. The vast expanse of this plain strikes awe in my soul and diminishes my existence to mere flotsam, swimming in the briny deep off Coney Island.... Tarnation! Shall I never again visit that cherished seaside resort, or feel the pull of the surf of the ocean? Cornelia twisted a stray strand of hair between her fingers,

  As was the custom of the day, Nellie’s condition was never discussed, even between herself and Obadiah. No one else in the wagon train knew she was pregnant. Although today her fatigue was noticeable, even her fellow female travelers were too preoccupied with their own struggles to make any observations about the circumstances of others.

  She trudged on, until a fresh wave of fatigue overwhelmed her and she realized she must rest.

  Managing a smile for Obadiah, who nodded and squeezed her hand, Nellie let go of his and fell back to let the wagon continue past her. Already feeling relief at the mere thought of not walking in the glaring sun, she slipped into the back of the wagon. A quick check of the invaluable thermometer, attached to the outer canvas of their Prairie Schooner, showed the temperature already 92 degrees. She climbed inside the jostling wagon and lay down upon her favorite eiderdown comforter. The cozy green cloth-lined cover of the wagon made a ceiling that evoked memories of their comfortable little home in Sing Sing. Drowsily, she promised herself that she would only close her eyes for a minute.

  Shouts and grunts dragged her back to full consciousness. She sat bolt upright, momentarily unsure of her whereabouts. She heard her two daughter’s voices. She looked at the wagon cover opening on the driving seat and their heads popped into view.

  “Our movement has ceased, Mama,” said Emma.

  “Mama, we have stopped,” echoed Elizabeth.

  “I can feel that my dears,” she said smiling, gathering them both into her arms for a hug. “But why?”

  “I am not certain as to the cause,” said Emma.

  “So we see buffalo better?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Buffalo? Have you seen any yet?”

  “Yes, Mama!” both girls shouted.

  “Father showed us. In the spyglass,” Elizabeth said excitedly.

  “I am sure I saw some even without the benefit of the spyglass.” assured Emma. “And we can all hear them.”

  “What wonders. Let me look. I must see!” They scrambled toward the opening. Nellie retrieved the telescope from one of the four large pockets on either side of the wagon, designed to hold many little conveniences.

  “Last one out has to make fast the flap,” giggled Nellie and she sprang out from the wagon, and turned to catch each little girl, in turn. The girls protested loudly.

  “Now, hush, no bother,” she said, as they each tried to assert they had not been last. “Let’s find your father and ascertain our whereabouts.”

  In the time that Nellie slept, the road had left the open rolling plains and rejoined the river. Now hugging the river, the trail continued along a flat territory, where water stood in ponds. Nellie scanned the sky and thought, Mercifully, no sign of storm, or showers. I’ll wager this entire area would turn into bog in one sudden cloudburst. The girls took turns looking through the spyglass while Nellie assessed the change in terrain. The vast valley was devoid of timber or undergrowth of any kind, except along the riverbanks. Here, thickets of willow grew, clustering close to the river’s edge, alongside the grass. Here and there, long distances apart, little cottonwood trees, growth stunted by the punishing winds from the plains, but nurtured by the moisture from the river, made a determined shade along its banks. Nellie glanced around for some suitable pieces of wood to collect for her cooking fire, but her vig
ilant eye detected none.

  Still chattering in great excitement over the buffalo and looking through their telescope, her daughters spied Obadiah returning to the wagon.

  He quickened his pace as he approached. At Nellie’s quizzical look, Obadiah stated, “Every man on horseback went flying off, half-cocked, in the direction of a small herd of buffalo. All reason was lost, for joy of the chase.”

  “I knew that low rumble, still pounding in my ears, could not be thunder. I detect nary a cloud in the sky.” She tucked a strand of hair under her hat as she tilted its brim upwards and scanned the horizon to the right of the cottonwood clump. Beneath the cloudless sky, the view across the plain seemed endless. She could see a vast, undulating dark mass, roving over the terrain. No mountains or trees to block her sight, she clearly saw the mounted horses chasing the great mass—specks galloping across the horizon. Even from this distance, the spectacle thrilled her.

  But not Obadiah. “Gilbert and Randolph are poor hunters indeed. They are chasing the whole pack of buffalo clean back to Missouri on an unnecessarily fatiguing run for the saddle horses.

  “Tonight, around the campfire, I must share the hunt wisdom revealed by a Pawnee at the trading post at New Fort Kearny. I counsel we follow the lead of these Natives who have a remarkable command of the ways of nature and its animals. Gilbert and Randolph fired at the beast when it stood up on a hill. They should have hidden here in the cottonwood and waited for a more favorable position. The buffalo, with their acute sense of smell, had advance warning of their approach. We must adopt a more logical approach; devise a strategy. We must wait until the beast moves to more favorable ground.”

  Obadiah shook his head in dismay at his comrades’ foolishness. “Yes, the Pawnee was most informative. It is the beast’s habit to wander when not grazing. Therefore patience in the buffalo hunt would be rewarded within a short period of time. Using the undulations in the surface of the plains to hide our scent and our sight, we can crawl, if necessary, to get within proper rifle range. The Pawnee assured me, hunters can get several shots in before the herd is disturbed enough to move away. We can kill two or three at one time. Then we will be assured a tasty feast of tongues, humps, and the choicest part, marrow-bones, for the entire train.”

  “Our usual practice is to hunt post cessation of travel, n’est-ce pas?” Nellie asked, eyes still trained on the vast horizon. But the herd and its pursuing horses had vanished.

  Obadiah nodded. “In truth, some of the wagoneers thought the premature shots at the buffalo were the signal to circle the wagons and make camp. Had a bit of a log jam situation on our hands.” He grinned down at her and she knew his military school training had once again expedited the train’s return to forward motion. “The Captain and I think we should make at least three or four more miles before settling in. Moreover, once we cross Plum Creek again, I’ll wager ‘tis an easy trail for an additional six miles. Maybe we should travel until sundown.

  “In the meantime,” Obadiah turned to the two little girls after he had giddy-upped the ox team back into motion. “Firewood is scarce, even here along the riverbank. Furthermore, a scrutiny of the guidebook and my map seems to indicate the trail will twist away from the river shortly. In addition to your usual job gathering every scrap of wood we find on the trail, today we shall commence collecting buffalo chips for fuel.”

  “Buffalo chips?” Nellie was aghast. “We must gather them?”

  “What are buffalo chips?” asked Elizabeth.

  “Prairie fuel.” said Obadiah simultaneously with Nellie saying, “Buffalo manure.”

  “EUUUU!” both girls screeched, and Emma pinched her nostrils together.

  “Have you seen an Arapahoe?” joked Obadiah.

  Emma laughed. “Father I do think it strange that seizing the nose with the thumb and fore-finger is the Indians’ sign language for the Arapahoe.”

  “My sweet daughter, the Arapahoe Tribe is known as ‘Smellers’. What sign could be more suitable?”

  “Perhaps you merely jest, and you tease me into believing that holding my nose really communicates something?” asked Nellie.

  “Whilst we joke and make light during this arduous voyage, learning the ways of the West and employing them to survive this journey is a serious matter.” Obadiah softened his speech with his warm smile of affection.

  “Now girls, and fair wife, I seem to recall all you ladies have at least one pair of gloves that can be dedicated to this new, and very necessary, exercise in survival,” Obadiah said, whole face erupting in a smile. “I suggest you don your most wretched pair, which shall henceforth be known as ‘Buffalo Gloves’, and begin your task of gathering fuel.” He bent down. “Eureka! Here is the first fine specimen for our collection.” Obadiah picked up a big round, almost flat, lump that looked like a dried piece of ripple-y mud. All the ladies now said “eeeuuuwww”. Even Nellie could not help her nose wrinkling in disgust.

  Both daughters held their noses.

  Nellie started laughing as Obadiah tried to give her the chip. “No. First, I must retrieve my gloves. You promised.” She held her nose too.

  “Here. Perchance it so happens I have a pair of your old gloves handy for the task.” Obadiah proffered the gloves with a flourish.

  Nellie took them but then held her head high, and shook it solemnly in the negative as she proclaimed, “My half-handers shall never do. Protect the palms of my hands whilst my fingers are exposed to the malodorous chip? I think not.”

  Obadiah threw back his head and laughed. “I will allow you one peccadillo, my fine, hardy pioneer woman. But you must admit, the ‘fuel’ is so thoroughly dehydrated here in the scorching sun, there is no stench.”

  “I’ll confess naught but that I do not wish close enough proximity to ‘the specimen’ to verify your statement.” Nellie giggled. She came over and sniffed. “I prithee Lord, may Mister Wright’s words contain veracity. If they be true, the repugnance of this task shall be far diminished.”

  She caught each of the girls’ hands and they paused to let the wagon go by—and then scrambled into the back to get out their gloves and a basket, giggling.

  CHAPTER 2 – The River of Dreams

  ~~~

  Along the South Platte River—May 1857

  Praise the Lord we elected a wagon train captain that honors the Sabbath. What relief from the daily hustle into the saddle. We enjoy the luxury of a lay-over, and some fine preaching.

  Nellie looked at the unfinished chores surrounding her perch on a log in front of their campfire. Verily, we rest from travel, but the success of our journey depends upon readying our supplies whilst we ‘rest’. Lord, forgive my labor on the Sabbath. Nellie prayed. She suspended her needle over the split seam of Obadiah’s best pair of pants, and squinted at the bright sun sparkling on the slews of the Platte River. How fortunate am I, mending clothes in the midst of the most splendid scenery I have ever witnessed? She held up the pants and looked at the rip. Mercy, the day conspires to provide ease all around. The britches are almost mended, I just need to reattach the buckskin reinforcing and I shall be ready to tackle the harness repair in no time.

  Her eye caught the white of her sheets spread over a bush for drying. One more load of soiled clothes almost ready for a final rinse, with plenty of sunshine left in the day for drying. She laughed at the antics of her two daughters, just a stone’s throw away, gathering buffalo chips. More washing in the making, she thought, seeing the mud smeared on Elizabeth’s apron. But first I must change the horse’s picket and knead the bread, so that it can join the seed cakes and berry cobbler in my Dutch oven.

  She heard Obadiah’s merry whistle and saw him emerge from a clump of cottonwoods growing near the river, holding a pole packed with fish. “Dinner!” he announced to his two daughters as they skipped around him.

  “Such a feast,” said Nellie. “Mercy, we cannot consume all that fish in one day.”

  “I designed to catch but three. However, these fish just flung them
selves on my line.” Their daughters laughed. “They begged to be caught. You might smoke the rest, as you bake, to tide us over when the pickings at the campground are slim,” Obadiah said. “Mind, I will wrassle with that harness repair while you clean and gut the fish.”

  Nellie’s stomach threatened revolt at the thought of fish guts. Obadiah did not notice. He said, “Captain Hines advised that his lovely wife records all of the details and her impressions of our journey in her diary. Did I see you logging similar observations?”

  “I am afraid I am not very methodical. My endeavors in that regard are rather spotty,” said Nellie, taking the fish and trying to reframe from holding her nose. How does Celinda Hines have time to keep a proper diary? At the end of a hard day’s journey there are no end to the chores. I have no time to even read, much less write. Of course, there are no newspapers in this God-forsaken vastness, and no mail has reached us since New Fort Kearney. ‘Twas a bitter disappointment to find no mail at the Plum Creek station.

  “Mama, more buffalo chips!” shouted Elizabeth, dumping out her bucket of fuel. She started to peel off her gloves. “Gloves off like Ernestine?”

  Nellie looked up from the kneading of the bread, absorbed in her thoughts, sniffing the air to monitor the seedcakes baking in the Dutch oven. When their cinnamon spicy scent reached her nose she knew the cakes were ready.

  “Ernestine Wells wears no gloves?” she replied. “Does her mother know this?”

  “Goodness Mama, I shall never become accustomed to touching those odious chips.” stated Emma. “Even with my hands fully gloved. How can Elizabeth even think of copying Ernestine? Whilst I realize the scarcity of wood, and I do desire a fire for warmth and cooking our delicious food, is there no other substitute for wood fuel?”

  Nellie tried to prevent a giggle from escaping her lips. She attempted speech, but there was no need. Emma proceeded to self-correct, as only Emma could.