by Janette Oke
It seemed for a time that all would go well with the wagon. Then, to the horror of all those on the bank, it suddenly hit the deeper water and the current lifted it up and swirled it about. The horses plunged and fought in their effort to swim for the distant shore, but the churning waters were too strong for them. When the driver realized his predicament, he threw himself into the murky deep, trying desperately to fight his way to the shore. The wagon, weaving and swaying, was swept downstream as the frantic horses neighed and struggled in their fright. The pitching canvas cover gave one last sickening heave and then toppled over on its side. The sinking wagon and team were carried downstream and out of sight around a bend in the river.
Meantime, the driver was fighting to keep his head above water. At one point he managed to grab a floating tree that was also being carried along by the muddy current. A cheer went up from the shore, but the next instant a groan passed through the entire group—the tree struck something under the surface and flipped in midstream, jarring the man loose and leaving him to struggle on his own again.
The riverbank became alive with activity as men scrambled for their horses in an effort to reach near enough to at least throw him a rope. The observers watched the bobbing spot of his dark head as the water swirled him around the river bend. A young woman in the group from the other train collapsed in a heap, and some of the women who traveled with her bent over her to give her assistance.
“Poor woman,” Missie gasped. “It must be her man!” She covered her face with her hands and wept.
The body was pulled from the river about a half mile downstream. All attempts to force some life back into the man were futile. The horses and wagon were never seen again.
The following day the travelers from both wagon trains met together. The grave had been dug and a service was held for the drowned man. His widow had to be helped away from the heaped-up mound that held the body of her young husband. A feeling of helplessness and grief settled over both camps. Respect for Mr. Blake mounted, and most of the group averted their eyes when the other wagon master, looking rather subdued, passed by.
A new determination passed through the Blake train. They would wait. They would wait if it took all summer! Horse and wagon were no match for the angry waters.
After breakfast one day a week later, someone in the camp drew their attention to a hill across the river. On ponies, their faces painted and headdress feathers waving in the wind, sat several Indian braves. The almost-naked bodies glistened in the morning sun. In silence they gazed across the river at the ring of wagons. Then at a signal from their leader, they moved on and out of sight over the hill. Missie shivered as she wondered what could have happened if the churning water had not been between them. Maybe this was a fulfillment of the Scripture promise she and Willie had been given by her father before they left home, “Yea, I will help thee. . . .”
After another week of patient and not-so-patient waiting, the river finally did recede. Mr. Blake, who had been carefully watching it each day, crossed it on his horse before he allowed any wagon to put a wheel into the water. When he felt satisfied, the order was given to move out.
It took the whole day to make the crossing. The women and children were guided across on horseback to await the coming of their menfolk and the canvas-covered homes. Some of the wagons needed two teams in order to pull them across. Many outriders traveled beside each wagon, steadying it with the many ropes that Mr. Blake insisted upon; thus no wagon got caught in midstream by a current that tried to take it sideways rather than forward. Missie couldn’t help but remember the tragic death in the other group. If the other wagon master had used such precautions . . . Mr. Blake was a careful and experienced wagon master—another of God’s provisions.
Once the group was gathered on the river’s western shore, Willie offered a prayer of thanks to God for all the travelers. The weary men and animals were glad to make camp once more for a good night’s rest before taking to the trail. The next day they would resume their journey after their month-and-a-half delay.
Missie was becoming increasingly concerned about Becky. They still had many days on the trail before reaching Tettsford Junction. Would Mrs. Kosensky’s midwifery services be required after all?
Early the next morning the camp was a bustle of activity. The travelers could hardly wait for the word to move out. Even the horses stamped in their impatience. Missie was surprised at the feelings that clamored for attention within her. During their previous weeks on the trail, she had dreaded the crossing of the Big River, for it seemed to mark the point of no return. But now that it was finally behind them, she was as restless as the teams. She felt like starting out to walk on her own. If she had known the trail and the direction she was to take, she might have done just that.
Finally the wagons were lined up and the order shouted. The creak of the harnesses and grind of wheels sounded like music to Missie’s ears. At last! They were on their way again! All were alive and accounted for. They had crossed the Big River; surely only lesser obstacles lay in their pathway. Since turning back was no longer possible, she was anxious to forge ahead.
Missie could sense Willie’s excitement as he carefully guided the team to follow the wagon ahead of him. It was hard for him to restrain himself from urging them on at a faster speed, but no one in the long line of teams was allowed to change the pace set by the wagon master.
The day passed uneventfully. The travelers quickly fell into their familiar routines. But their aching muscles reminded them that they had been idle for too long and must again break in to the rigors of the trail. Missie walked and rode in turn, gathering sticks as she walked, and when she climbed up again to ride, she stashed her bundle under the wagon seat.
At day’s end everyone was weary, but tensions were gone. They were moving again, and that was what mattered.
As they progressed, the land about them continued its gradual change. There were fewer trees now, and those that did grow were smaller than the ones left behind. The women found very little wood for their fires as they followed the train. They began to carry buckets, which they filled with buffalo chips. Missie had preferred the wood, which made a much more pleasant fire. Besides, the cumbersome buckets soon had one’s arms and back aching.
Occasionally herds of buffalo or deer were seen off in the distance. Twice, Indians were sighted, but though the hearts of the travelers beat more rapidly for a time, these Indians did not approach the train.
The widow of the drowned man, Mrs. Emory, had asked Mr. Blake for permission to join his train. Mr. Blake had found it impossible to refuse her. Arrangements were made for her to share Mr. Weiss’s wagon with his daughter, Kathy. Mr. Weiss moved in with Henry, and the train moved on.
The unfortunate woman had lost everything in the river—her husband of six months, her home, and her belongings. The women of similar size dug into their trunks and showered her with enough garments to outfit her for the remainder of the trip to Tettsford Junction. Though some of the clothes didn’t fit very well and weren’t particularly fashionable, Mrs. Emory was very grateful for their kindness.
She proved to be a worthy member of the train. Even in her deep sorrow, she was aware of those about her who could use her helping hand. Her quiet manner and helpful acts won her a secure place in the group.
And so they journeyed on. Each day found them a little nearer to their respective destinations, and talk around the fire at night was filled with shared hopes and plans and dreams. The new land held many promises. It seemed to hold out open arms, ready to embrace a stranger—any stranger with hope in his heart and a strong back willing to bend itself to the work.
Nine
Town
Mr. Blake seemed to have a great aversion to towns. In every possible instance, he skirted far around them, no matter how small the settlement. When he could not avoid one, he ordered the wagons to keep on moving. No one was allowed to stop for any dallying. Each family made a list of needed supplies, and either Mr. Blake o
r one of his scouts rode into the town and made the purchases.
The wagon master said his job was to get the wagons, and the folks in them, to Tettsford Junction, and he planned to do just that. Further, he said the most deadly enemy of the westbound settler was a town. Blake had lost no one to swollen rivers, prairie fires, or Indians on his many trains west. But he had lost people to towns, he grumbled. And since he did not like having his good record smudged, he considered towns the enemy.
Everyone was surprised, therefore, when Mr. Blake called a meeting and announced, “Tomorrow we reach Lipton. Ain’t much of a town, but we’ll be stopping there fer a day. Our campsite is to the right of the town within easy walking distance. No teams—no horses a’tall, no wagons—are to go into the town. Those of you thet have more purchases to make than can be carried will be glad to know the Lipton General Store will make deliveries. The place carries a fair line of essentials.” He stopped a moment to look around the circle.
“The train will move on again at the usual hour on Wednesday mornin’. I suggest ya all be ready to go.”
A general uproar of excitement followed his announcement. To see a town again! To be able to more than just drive by, only imagining the opportunity of browsing through shops, going to the barber, selecting food delicacies . . .
How large was the town? Did it have a blacksmith? A hairdresser? A butcher? Maybe even a doctor? Questions flew furiously, but Blake was the only one with answers—and he had somehow disappeared after his announcement.
Missie couldn’t help smiling as she and Willie walked back to their wagon. Her mind was busy calculating just what she wanted most and whether they would be able to spare any of their hard-earned cash in order to purchase it.
It was difficult to break from their fire that night and get to bed. Missie delved into a trunk to pull out a favorite dress. Shaking out the wrinkles as best she could, she hung the blue-flowered frock up in hopes it would be smooth by morning. She had noticed some wives adding another patch to their husband’s already worn overalls. Whole families pored over lists, adding, changing, dreaming, wishing—and reluctantly deleting.
Missie thought even the dogs of the camp had seemed to catch the fever. They ran back and forth, yapping and tussling and making general nuisances of themselves.
The next morning everyone was ready to roll long before the call was given—even the often tardy Standards. The sooner they began the journey, the sooner Lipton would be reached—and the longer the time available for shopping.
The wagons lumbered out, set for another dusty day on the trail, everyone hoping that it wouldn’t be too late when they made camp to be off to the town.
To everyone’s amazement and delight, the town lay before them as they topped the first hill. They had camped only a few miles from it the night before! They all laughed at themselves and at their wagon master, but Mr. Blake’s face remained as impassive as ever.
They quickly reached the new campsite and formed their customary circle. The men set about the task of caring for the animals while the women scurried around, building fires to heat water for sponge baths within the confines of their wagons. By the time they and their children were ready to head into town, the sun had climbed high into the clear sky for another extremely warm day.
They departed in little groups, eager and expectant. Henry accompanied some of the younger people. The Collinses walked together, Sissie with Meggie in her arms and Tom with Joey hoisted on his shoulders. Mrs. Thorne strode off, her offspring matching her long strides. Her husband grumbled that he would have none of the foolishness and elected to stay behind and mend the harness. Mrs. Page, after voicing a parting barb at Jessie Tuttle, hurried down the trail without even waiting for a reply. Tillie Crane went along, too impatient to wait even for her young husband. At last she could have something done to her hair! Mrs. Schmidt threw a bundle of hastily gathered sticks under the protection of her wagon, shook out her apron, and started off with her family members. They quickly overtook and passed the slow-moving Mrs. Kosensky.
Missie and Willie walked with John and Becky. They chose a much slower pace for Becky’s sake.
As they passed the Weiss’ wagon, they saw Mrs. Emory fastening the tent flap down before leaving for town. Her sad face lit up with a smile when she saw the young couples. Without a word, Willie stepped over to lend her a hand.
“Eager to git into town?” She directed her question to the women.
“Oh yes,” Becky enthused. “It seems like forever since I’ve walked on a boardwalk or looked in a shop.”
Mrs. Emory just smiled.
She is so attractive when she smiles like that, thought Missie, and so very young. I reckon she’s not much older than I am. What would I do if something happened to my Willie? How would I ever get home again? Would I just be stranded somewhere out here in the West? Just the thought of such a thing made Missie’s stomach churn. Dear God, she prayed inwardly, I don’t think I could stand it.
Then she thought of her own mother. A new awareness of what Marty had been through those long years before filled her being, and tears threatened to fill her eyes. She hurriedly blinked them away before anyone could notice them.
“Are you going shopping, too?” she asked Mrs. Emory.
The woman’s face sobered, and she shook her head. “Not exactly,” she replied slowly.
Missie realized the woman would probably have nothing to go shopping with, even though her needs were great.
There was silence for a minute. The young woman seemed to be debating whether she should say anything further about her plans for the day. Finally she spoke, her voice soft and even. “I . . . I’m really goin’ to look for a church. I . . . have this need for a place of prayer.”
Willie reached for the woman’s hand. He just looked into her face and patted the small hand with his other one. Missie blinked back more tears. The woman nodded, withdrew her hand, and turned away with tears glistening on her cheeks.
Missie then reached for Willie’s hand. He was so much like her pa, her Willie. He felt so deeply what others were feeling. Homesickness for her father and a surge of love for Willie swept through Missie in one wave.
They followed the Clays, who were already walking slowly down the path toward town.
“Willie,” Missie whispered, “we should try to draw her out more. She’s such a sweet thing, the poor soul. I can’t imagine anyone suffering so much—so young.”
“Yer ma an’ pa did,” Willie reminded her gently. His hand tightened on hers.
Missie was silent, too deeply moved to try to speak. Yes, her ma and pa had suffered, but she had been too young to be aware of it. She only remembered them as laughing, loving parents. Would Mrs. Emory someday be able to laugh and love again, too? Missie prayed that the town would indeed have a fine little church where she could commune with God.
The town wasn’t much, as towns go, but to the travelers it would suffice. There were sidewalks for Becky to walk on, although there were loose, broken, and even missing boards. The shoppers soon learned to keep an eye on their next step.
After a quick general look at the town, the various couples separated. The women went to yearn over threads, yarn, yard goods, and other “luxuries.” The men found themselves around the livery stable to check on more “practical” supplies, such as a new harness or new shoes for the horses.
Becky and Missie spent a long part of their morning surveying soft yarns and materials, planning and dreaming of what they would make for their coming babies. Becky already had most of her necessities, her baby having been expected before she left home, but she was eager to add some special things to the baby’s wardrobe. Missie would wait for her main preparation until she reached Willie’s land and was settled—but it would be so much fun to select a few pieces to work on during the journey.
There was a hotel of sorts in Lipton, and Becky’s and Missie’s husbands had promised to take their wives there for a meal. The four looked forward to it eagerly. It w
ould be so good to have food that didn’t taste of woodsmoke, to drink real store-bought tea, to eat meat that wasn’t wild, and maybe even have some fresh bread. And vegetables! How long it had been since they had tasted fresh vegetables!
Promptly at noon the men returned and made an elaborate display of escorting Missie and Becky to the dining room. The room was already crowded, and they had to wait for a table.
The two couples deliberated long over the menu, and finally, sensing the impatience of the waitress, placed their orders. Missie was surprised at how flat things tasted without the tang of the smoke. The bread turned out not to be fresh, but it was bread. The meat was mild enough, but more than a little tough, and the vegetables were definitely overcooked. They enjoyed it immensely, however, and pretended to one another that it was the finest they had ever eaten. They even ordered pie and lingered over it, savoring each bite as they slowly sipped their cups of tea.
In the afternoon they continued their inspection of the stores. They knew wise decisions had to be made, and each purchase had to be carefully considered. It was a difficult task to make up one’s mind after not having shopped for such a long time.
Their lists were consulted and changed before the goods were finally ordered. Necessary foods were restocked, and a few fresh vegetables were purchased. Missie did pick out a few soft flannels and cottons to make into baby clothes and also bought additional wool for heavy socks. They began their walk back, weary and a little poorer, but refreshed by their day spent back in civilization. They clutched in their arms a few of their most cherished purchases, eagerly awaiting the rest to be delivered that evening.
Missie and Willie left John and Becky at their wagon and walked on to their own. Becky was looking tired after her exciting and busy day—this in spite of the fact that Missie had insisted she sit and rest for a spell every so often throughout the time spent in town. Missie invited them to share the evening meal with them so Becky might get some much-needed rest. Becky was happy to accept.
