The Blanket of Blessings
Page 18
The wagon train was only a few hours from Fort Laramie and Angie could hear cheers in the air when the settlement appeared in sight.
As they entered town, Angie had her first sighting of American Indians as she walked beside Elmer. Many of the Plains Indians had come to Fort Laramie to trade and work for food. Angie was fascinated with their tanned skin and long jet black hair.
“Be careful of them savages,” Homer told Angie. “They’ll eat ya for supper!”
Angie stepped in behind Elmer, peering out at the people with the different clothes and different features.
“Aw,” Elmer laughed, “they won’t eat ya! These here Injuns are peaceful.”
Angie trusted Elmer and felt a little relieved but kept her distance just in case.
“You’ll have the day to get your business done,” Wagon Master Taylor instructed, “Best to get fresh horses and mules, and stock up on food and water if needed. Between here and Fort Casper, the water is drinkable, but tastes bad. We’ll be heading for the mountains, so make sure you get rid of your excess weight. Dump everything you don’t need. It’ll make it easier getting over the passes.”
Homer and Elmer consolidated the food and dumped some wooden crates and barrels. Then they untied the mules and walked them to the horse traders down the road who were waiting to make money on the pioneers. They allowed Angie to go with them and Elmer showed her how to lead one of the mules. It made her feel important to be leading her own animal. She hoped everyone noticed her, especially Margaret.
Unexpectedly, they heard a horse and rider coming up fast behind them. As it sped by, it startled the mules and Elmer helped Angie keep control of the mule she was leading as it began to rear up. They watched the rider press on down the road until he was out of sight.
“Ya darn fool!” Elmer yelled after the hasty horseman and then turned to Angie as he got the mule settled down. “You alright, little lady?”
“Aw, quit babyin’ her!” Homer told him, “Ya can see she’s alright, can’t ya?”
“I’m alright,” Angie assured Elmer, “just a little scared.”
“Some people just ain’t got the good sense God gave ‘em,” Elmer said looking down the road at the dust that was left behind, “Coulda got somebody killed”.
“Yeah, well, nobody’s dead, so let’s get these mules traded in for some fresh ones and get back to the wagon, “ Homer suggested, “I’m thinkin’ ‘bout that steak we was talkin’ ‘bout earlier.”
“It’s not even noon,” Elmer protested.
“Lunch, supper, it all tastes the same,” Homer smiled.
Angie had to admit she hadn’t seen Homer smile since they left Gertie’s house. She thought he actually had a nice smile under his grubby appearance.
As they returned to the wagon with the five mules that Homer had just purchased, one of the men from the wagon train ran by yelling for everyone to come to the main square for a meeting. “Come now! Come now!” he yelled.
“What now?!” Homer grumbled to himself. After Elmer helped him tie up the mules to the wagon, they began walking down the road. Angie held Elmer’s hand as Margaret ran up and began walking next to her.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Margaret said, “I couldn’t find you anywhere!”
“I went to help take the mules to the trader. We got new ones!” Angie explained.
“What do you think Mr. Taylor has to say?” Margaret asked.
“Don’t know,” Angie responded, “but it sounds important.”
More and more people from the wagon train began to join the parade down the road until they finally gathered at the square. After a few minutes, Wagon Master Taylor stood in the middle of the square and made the following announcement:
“Listen up! A messenger arrived today to let us know that Wagon Master Billings’ group was hit directly by a late season tornado a couple of days ago. This is not common here. They usually hit in the spring and summer, if they do. A lot of people were killed and even more injured. Most lost their wagons and everything they owned.”
“I am going to ask you to do something that may seem unreasonable, but it would be the kind of thing that would show what kind of people you are. We need people to turn back with their wagons and help bring the survivors back here to Fort Laramie. I’m even asking some of you to allow these people to ride with you all the way to California if need be.”
“Everything they had is gone, maybe even family. They need your help. We can’t just leave ‘em out there to die. Colonel Wilson has offered a group of his soldiers to go with you and help bury the dead and bring the survivors back to the fort. You will then move on to Sacramento with Wagon Master Billings and those that are healthy enough to travel. The rest of us will move on tomorrow as scheduled. Do I have any volunteers?”
Everyone searched each other’s faces, and the crowd was silent.
“Do I have any volunteers?” Wagon Master Taylor repeated his question.
The crowd remained silent.
“Alright,” their leader said regrettably. “If anyone changes their mind, the soldiers will be leaving in the morning. You have until then to decide. You can go with them, or come with me. Nothing further will be said.”
That afternoon, the soldiers loaded a wagon with supplies. Many of the travelers donated food and water in hopes of relieving some of their guilt for not going back to help the other wagon train.
Elmer felt sad for the people who had weathered the tornado and survived, but also knew that Homer was bent on moving on as quickly as possible.
After a full stomach and a mouth full of chewing tobacco, Homer decided to walk the town and spend some time in a saloon. Angie and Margaret sat by Margaret’s wagon and played with one of Margaret’s dolls.
“Maggie,” Margaret’s mother said, “don’t you think you’re getting a might old for dolls?”
“No, mom,” Margaret answered, “I love my dolls.”
Her mother laughed and shook her head as she went back to straightening their wagon.
“Maggie?” Angie said, “Why’d she call you Maggie?”
“I think they call me that so no one will know who I really am. If they call me Margaret, people will figure out I am Princess Margaret,” she answered.
Angie smiled and went back to combing the doll’s hair.
“You know someday we’ll have real babies,” Margaret said, “not just dolls.”
“Not me,” Angie told her. “Not ever going to get married.”
“Not even to a prince?” Margaret asked.
“Nope,” Angie shook her head.
“Well, I am!” Margaret smiled. “You’ll see.”
Elmer sat at their own wagon, keeping an eye on the girls a distance away. He felt the responsibility to make sure Angie arrived safely to her aunt’s home, no matter how Homer felt.
After Margaret was instructed to help with supper, Angie began to wander back to her wagon.
Two Indian boys caught her attention, playing a kind of game with rocks and sticks in the road. She watched them, trying to figure out the rules of the game when one of the boys noticed her. He stopped playing and just stared at her, and then whispered to his friend. Angie became nervous and turned to continue her walk back to her wagon. The boy walked over to her and stopped in front of her. Angie and the boy just stared at each other, neither one moving. Suddenly, the boy reached out and touched her hair. At first, Angie started to panic, but then realized he meant her no harm. She understood that her blonde hair was probably a rare sight in this part of the country and he was just curious. She smiled at him, and then he smiled back and turned to run back to his friend and continue their game.
The encounter gave Angie a funny feeling, one that she had not felt before, somewhat uncomfortable, but yet, somehow familiar. She had never been that close to someone of a different culture before and she wasn’t sure how to react. The feeling stayed with her as she returned to the wagon.
As she lay in bed that night, Angie thought about th
e Indian boy, and then about Margaret’s words.
Am I going to get married someday? She asked herself. How silly! Margaret talks about things I don’t even care about. The whole idea makes my stomach sick. I don’t want no boy telling me what to do. Nobody like Homer yelling at me. I think I’ll be happier just by myself. Nope, not going to get married! Ever!
The Crossing