by Janette Oke
Missie approached Willie now and responded to his grin with a smile of her own.
“Been a long day. Yer lookin’ tired,” he said, concern in his eyes.
“I am a bit. The sun’s been so hot it sure takes the starch out of me.”
“It’s time fer a good rest. Bit of that shade should revive ya some. Ya wantin’ me to bring ya a stool or a blanket from the wagon to sit on?”
“I’ll do it. You have the team to care for.”
“Mr. Blake says there’s a stream jest beyond thet stand of timber there. We’re gonna take all the stock down fer a drink an’ then tether them in the draw. Blake says there’s plenty a’ grass there.”
“What time are you wanting supper?” Missie asked.
“Not fer a couple hours anyway. Ya got lotsa time fer a rest.”
“I’ll need more firewood. I didn’t start gathering soon enough. That little bit I brought in won’t last any time.”
“No rush fer a fire, either. I’ll bring some wood back with me. Henry won’t mind bringin’ some, too. Ya jest git a little time outta thet hot sun fer a while—ya look awfully tuckered out.” Willie’s voice continued to sound anxious.
“It’s just the excitement and strangeness of it all, I expect. I’ll get used to it. But right now I think I’ll take a bit of rest in the shade of those trees. I’ll be as good as new when I can get off my feet some.”
Willie left with the horses and the two milk cows that had been tied behind the wagons. Missie went for a blanket to place on the ground in the shade of the trees.
She felt a bit guilty as she lowered herself onto the blanket. All the other women were busy with something. Well, she’d just rest a short while and then she would begin their supper preparations, as well. For the moment it felt good just to sit.
Missie leaned back comfortably against the trunk of a tree and closed her eyes, turning her head slightly so she could take full advantage of the gentle breeze. It teased at the loose strands of her hair and fanned her flushed face. All her bones cried out for a warm, relaxing soak in a tub. If she were home . . . but Missie quickly put that thought away from her. Her folks’ big white house with its homey kitchen and wide stairway was no longer her home. The upstairs room with its cheerful rugs and frilly curtains was no longer her room. She was totally Willie’s responsibility now, and Willie was hers. She prayed a short prayer that she would be worthy of such a man as her Willie—that God would help her make a home for him filled with happiness and love. And then, her eyes still closed, she felt the achiness weighing her whole body down on the blanket.
Ignore it, she commanded herself. Ignore it, and it will go away.
Two
Day’s End
When Missie opened her eyes again, she was surprised at the changes that had taken place around her. It was much cooler now, and the sun that had shone down with such intense heat during the day was hanging, friendly and placid, low in the western sky.
The smell of woodsmoke was heavy in the air—a sharp, pleasant smell—and the odors of cooking food and boiling coffee made her insides twinge with hunger. Now fully awake, she looked around in embarrassment at the supper preparations. Surely every woman in the whole train had been busy and about while she slept. What must they think of her? Willie would soon be back from caring for the animals and not even find a fire started!
Missie hurried toward her wagons, swishing out her skirts and smoothing back her hair.
It took a moment for her to realize that the fire that burned directly in front of their wagons was her fire, and that the delicious smell of stew and coffee came from her own cooking pots. She was trying to sort it all out when Willie poked his head out of the wagon. His face still showed concern when he looked at her but changed quickly to an expression of relief. “Yer lookin’ better. How ya feelin’?”
Missie stammered some, “I’m fine . . . truly, just fine.” Then she added in a lowered voice, “But shamed nigh to death.”
“Shamed?” Willie’s voice sounded unnecessarily loud to Missie. “’Bout what?”
“Well . . . me sitting there sleeping in the middle of the day, and you . . . you making the fire, and the coffee and . . . my goodness, what must they all think of me . . . that my husband has to do his work and mine, too?”
“Iffen thet’s all thet’s troublin’ ya,” Willie responded, “I reckon we can learn to live with it. ’Sides, I didn’t make the fire. Henry did. He was mighty anxious fer his supper. Boy, can thet fella eat! We’re liable to have to butcher both of those cows jest to feed ’im, long before we reach where we’re goin’.”
“Henry’s eaten?”
“Sure has. I think he even left us a little bit. Seemed in a big hurry to be off. There jest happens to be a couple a’ young girls travelin’ with this train. Think maybe Henry went to get acquainted like.” Willie winked.
“Aren’t you coming out?” Missie asked when Willie made no move to leave the wagon.
“I’m lookin’ fer the bread. Can’t find a thing in all these crocks, cans, an’ boxes. Where’d ya put it, anyway? Henry wolfed down his food without it, but I’d sorta like a bit of bread to go with my supper.”
Missie laughed. “Really!” she said, shaking her head. “Bet you almost took a bite of it. It’s right there, practically under your nose.” She clambered into the wagon. “Here, let me get it. Mama sent some of her special tarts for our first night out, too.”
As Missie lifted the bread and tarts from the crock in which they had been stored, another tug pulled at her from somewhere deep inside. She could envision Marty’s flushed face as she bent over her oven, removing the special baking for the young couple she loved so dearly.
Willie seemed to sense Missie’s mood; his arms went round her and he pulled her close. “She’ll be missin’ you, too, long ’bout now,” he said softly against her hair.
Missie swallowed hard. “I reckon she will,” she whispered.
“Missie?” Willie hesitated. “Are ya sure? It’s still not too late to turn back, ya know. Iffen yer in doubt . . . ? Iffen ya feel—”
“My goodness, no,” Missie said emphatically. “There’s not a doubt in my mind at all. I’m looking forward to seeing your land and building a home. You know that! Sure, I’ll miss Mama and Pa and the family—especially at first. But I just have to grow up, that’s all. Everyone has to grow up sometime.” How could Willie think she was so selfish as to deny him his dream?
“Yer sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“It won’t be an easy trip—you know thet.”
“I know.”
“An’ it won’t be easy even after we git there. There’s no house yet, no neighbors, no church. You’ll miss it all, Missie.”
“I’ll have you.”
Willie pulled her back into his arms. “I’m afraid I’m not much to make up fer all thet you’re losin’. But I love ya, Missie—I love ya so much.”
“Then that’s all I need,” whispered Missie. “Love is the one thing I reckon I just couldn’t do without, so—” she reached up and kissed him on his chin—“as long as you love me, I should make out just fine.”
Missie drew back gently from Willie’s arms. “We’d better be eating that supper you cooked. I’m powerful hungry.”
Willie nodded. “But you might change yer mind once you’ve tasted my cookin’.” They both laughed.
After they had finished their meal together and Missie had washed up the few dishes, Willie brought out their Bible. It was carefully wrapped in oiled paper with an inner wrap of soft doeskin.
“Been thinkin’,” he said. “Our mornin’s are goin’ to be short and rushed. It might be easier fer us to have our readin’ time at night.”
Missie nodded and settled down beside him. It was still light enough to see, but the light would not last for long. Willie found his place and began in an even voice.
“Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee;
yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”*
He closed the Bible slowly.
“Yer pa underlined thet for us. When he handed me the Bible this morning, he read it to me and marked it with this red ribbon. He said fer us to claim thet verse fer our own and to read it every day, if need be, until we felt it real and meaningful in our hearts.”
“It’s a good verse,” Missie said, her voice tremulous. If she closed her eyes, she was sure she would be able to see her pa sitting at the kitchen table with the family Bible open before him and all of the family gathered round. She could even hear his voice as he led them in the morning prayer time. Her pa—the spiritual leader of the home. No . . . not anymore. Willie was the head of her home now; he was her spiritual leader. Now she would look to him for strength and direction to get her through each day—whether happy or difficult. She was not Clark’s little girl anymore; she was a woman—a woman and a wife. Clark had handed her into the care and keeping of Willie. And though Missie was sure that her father’s love and prayers would always reach out to her, she also knew Clark was content in his knowledge that she had taken her rightful place in life . . . by Willie’s side.
Missie reached for Willie’s hand and clung to it as they prayed together. Willie thanked God for being with them through the day and for the love of those left behind. He prayed for God to comfort their hearts at this difficult time as he and Missie learned to live without their families near. He asked for safety as they traveled and for special strength for Missie in the long days ahead, his voice tight again with concern. Missie determined that tonight was not the time to share her secret. There was no need to trouble Willie. She’d wait until she had gotten used to the bumping and the walking and had toughened to the pace of the trail. Besides, she told herself, there was still a chance she could be wrong.
If she was right—and deep down inside, Missie admitted that indeed she must be—she was bound to gain new vigor and strength with each passing day. In fact, the fresh air and exercise would be good for her. She’d wait. She’d wait until Willie could see for himself that she was healthy and strong and then she’d tell her secret. Then he would be as excited over the coming event as she was.
Oh, if only she could have told her ma and pa. She would have looked into their faces and exclaimed with joy, “I think you’re going to be Grandma and you Grandpa—now, what do you think of that?” They would have hugged and laughed and cried together in one grand tangle of happiness. It would have been so much fun to announce her good news. But that wasn’t to be . . . and it wasn’t the right time to announce it to Willie, either. She’d wait.
*Isaiah 41:10 KJV.
Three
Another Day
Missie stirred herself with difficulty, testing her back, legs, and arms to see just how much pain the movement brought to her. How she ached! Her mind scrambled around for the reason. As sleep left her, it all came back, a mixture of excitement and misgivings. Willie and she were on the trail. They were headed west, and she had been jostled until she could stand it no more and then had walked behind the wagons until her body protested with every step. And now, after sleeping on the hard, confining bed in their new living quarters, she ached even more.
Willie must hurt, too, she thought. She reached for him, but her hand touched only his empty pillow. Willie had already quietly left the cramped canvas-covered wagon that was to be their home for many weeks.
Missie quickly pulled herself from her bed, suppressing a groan as she did so. “I suppose I’ve gone and done it again,” she muttered. “Willie likely had to cook his own breakfast, too.”
But after Missie quickly dressed and climbed stiffly down from the wagon, she was relieved to find the sun just casting its first rays of golden light over the eastern horizon. Very few people were stirring about the camp. Willie had started a fire and left it burning for her. Missie added a few more sticks and watched as the flames accepted them with crackling eagerness.
“Land sakes!” Missie exclaimed under her breath. “I wonder if I’ll ever get my tied-up muscles all unwound.” She began to pace back and forth, flinging and flexing her arms to limber them up. Me, a farm girl, and so pampered that one good day’s walking bothers me! Guess Mama didn’t work me hard enough. She shook her head ruefully.
As Missie stepped briskly back and forth she came across another good reason for keeping on the move. In the coolness of the morning, the mosquitoes were out in droves, and they all seemed to be hungry. After a quick visit to the nearby woods, Missie decided to return to the wagon for a long-sleeved sweater to protect her arms.
She poured a generous amount of river water from the bucket into the washbasin sitting on the shelf outside the wagon and began her morning wash. The water was cold, and Missie was relieved to reach for a rough towel to rub the warmth back into her face and hands. But she did feel refreshed and ready to begin her day. She draped the towel over its peg and started the breakfast preparations. The coffee was bubbling and the bacon and eggs sending out their early-morning “all’s well” signals when their driver, Henry, made his appearance.
Missie thought of Henry as no more than a boy but smiled to herself as she realized he was at least as old as her Willie. Still, she thought, he doesn’t have the same grown-up manner Willie has.
“Mornin’, Henry.”
“Mornin’, ma’am.”
The “ma’am” brought another smile to Missie’s lips.
“Hungry?”
Henry grinned. “Sure am.”
“Did you sleep well?”
“Pesky mosquitoes don’t let nothin’ sleep. Bet the horses had to swish and stomp all night.”
“The mosquitoes didn’t bother me until I got up this morning. Maybe we didn’t have any in our wagon.”
“Willie said they were botherin’ him.”
Missie looked up from turning the bacon. “That so? I guess I was just sleeping too soundly to notice. Do you know where he is?”
“We checked out the horses and the cows, an’ then he went over to have a chat with Mr. Blake.”
“Everything all right?” Her brow furrowed as she looked up from the frying pan.
“Right as rain. Willie jest wanted to chat a spell, I reckon—to see how far we’re goin’ today.”
“Oh.” Missie didn’t have to worry. She began to set out the tin plates for the morning meal.
It wasn’t long before she heard Willie’s familiar whistle. Her heart gave its usual flutter. She loved to hear that tuneful sound. It was a sure sign that her world was all in proper order. Willie rounded the wagon and his whistling stopped.
“Well, I’ll be. Ya sure are up bright an’ early this mornin’,” he joked. “Thought maybe Henry an’ me . . .” But he stopped after a look at Missie’s expression. “Mosquitoes drive ya out?”
Missie smiled. “Truth is, I didn’t even notice them. My aching joints were the first to tell me it was time to do a little stretching. Are you feeling a bit stiff, too?”
“Reckon I’d be fibbin’ iffen I didn’t own up to feelin’ a little sore here an’ there,” Willie said with a grin. “An’ thet’s all yer gonna git me to confess. Full-grown able-bodied man shouldn’t be admittin’ to even thet. Folks will be thinkin’ I never worked a day in my life.”
Missie glanced at her husband’s well-muscled body. “If they do,” she said, “they sure have got their eyes in the wrong place.”
“Boy, do I ever hurt,” Henry put in. “Never realized how sore one’s arms could git from drivin’ horses or how much work it is to just sit on thet bumpin’ ole wagon seat.”
“We’ll git used to it,” Willie assured him, rolling a log over to sit on it. “In a few days’ time, we’ll wonder why we ever felt it in the first place.”
Willie asked God’s blessing on the food and on the day ahead, then Missie served up their breakfast.
After they had eaten, Henry left to check the other wagon. As Missie washed up and
packed away their supplies, Willie carefully inspected his wagon and harness. The others in the train were also moving about now. Amid the sounds of running and yelling children, barking dogs, and calling mothers, Missie heard a baby cry.
“Didn’t know we had a baby along,” she commented, watching Willie out of the corner of her eye.
“It’s the Collins’,” Willie answered. “Only ’bout seven months old, the father tol’ me.”
“Quite a venture for one so young.”
“An’ fer her young mama.”
“This is her first?”
“No. She’s got another one, too. Jest past two, I’m thinkin’.”
Missie paused for a moment, then said, “She’ll have her hands full. Maybe the rest of us women can give her a hand now and then.”
“I’m sure she’d ’preciate thet,” Willie said. “There’s another woman with the train who might need a hand now an’ then, as well.”
Missie turned to face him. “Someone not well?”
“Oh, I hope she’s well enough—not fer me to know or say—but she’s expectin’ a young’un.”
“Oh.”
Missie could feel herself flush and hoped Willie didn’t notice.
“It jest could be thet it’ll arrive somewhere along the trail,” Willie continued. “I talked to the wagon master and he says not to worry. Claims lots of young’uns are born on the way west. We have a midwife along, a Mrs. Kosensky. I hear tell she’s delivered a number of babies. Still, iffen it were my wife . . .”
When he didn’t finish his comment, Missie prompted, “If it were your wife . . . ?”
“Iffen it were my wife, I’d prefer thet she had a home to do the birthin’ in—and a doc on hand, jest in case. In spite of Blake’s bold words, I still got the feelin’ thet he was jest a mite edgy ’bout it all, an’ would much prefer to have thet young mother safely into a town and under some doc’s responsibility when her time is come.”
“He can’t be too worried,” Missie argued, “or he wouldn’t have taken her on.”
