When Winter Comes

by V. A. Shannon

  The thing that made me stick at it was the thought of Mr. Keseberg, and the promise I had made him. And as well, from time to time I would glance up from my slate, where I was tracing my letters with such care, and I would catch a sight of Virginia Reed over on the other side of the class, chewing on the end of her braid while she frowned over her sums. And I thought to have a second attempt at making a friend, and Virginia Reed was the person I set on to be it.

  * * *

  Virginia was the eldest of the four Reed children—a pretty girl about the same age as me. And the Reeds were fine folks for sure.

  Mr. Reed considered himself mighty important, and made sure everyone else thought it too, and his wife the same. They had a number of teamsters traveling with them—surely more than they needed, even with three wagons and a great head of cattle to look to—and two household servants, a simple-witted fellow called Baylis Williams, and his sister Eliza, the Reeds’ cook.

  There were pamphlets printed up for those intending to travel to the West, giving good advice about how to prepare for the journey. It was to travel fast, investing in good beeves and plenty of them; and travel light, with just the bare essentials—tools to maintain the wagon, a change or two of clothes, and as much food as you could find room for. But it seemed that the Reeds thought this advice to be aimed at others and not for them, for Mr. Reed had commissioned a special traveling wagon for the journey, twice as big as everyone else’s, and kitted out like a house on wheels. This marvelous contraption even had a cooking stove built in, and each day, Eliza Williams prepared a hot dinner for the family, while the wagons were still rolling along the trail.

  We would stop at noontime and set ourselves down at the side of the trail with our dipperful of water to drink and a bit of corn bread and an apple and cold bacon left over from breakfast to eat. And there would be the Reeds, eating at a table that was kept folded up in the wagon, with a cloth laid over and their servants setting out pies and roasted meats.

  It was a source of amazement to all, and the subject of great hilarity round our fireside of an evening. Mr. Spitzer would ask Mrs. Keseberg when the silver candelabra would be brought out, and Mr. Reinhardt would demand a glass of port wine to go with his cigar, and suggest that Mrs. Wolfinger might honor the company with an air on the pianoforte.

  Despite the jests aimed toward the Reeds, Mrs. Keseberg could not help but be impressed by them. From the start she had set out to strike up a friendship with Mrs. Reed, and would find any excuse to send me with a message, and drill me in what I was to say.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Reed, my mistress asks if you would care to visit with her this afternoon, as she has a new recipe for apple cake and would be interested in your opinion of it,” or, “Excuse me, Mrs. Reed, my mistress is looking for a darning needle and wonders if you have one to lend for an hour or so.” But Mrs. Keseberg’s overtures of friendship were turned away every time with not even a pretense of courtesy.

  All the weeks that I had been going back and forth between the two wagons, Virginia and I had spoke a word here and there as our paths crossed. And I’d seen how Virginia and a couple of the other girls would walk together, whispering and giggling, and after supper sometimes they would go and watch the boys playing ball.

  Now I thought of a plan.

  “This time tomorrow I will be part of Virginia’s group. And I will go walking with them when school is out, and head over to watch the boys play ball, too!” I couldn’t wait.

  That evening I didn’t manage to choke down even a mouthful of food. When the pots were cleaned up and put away I marched over to the Reeds’ wagon, where Virginia was sitting with her ma, with my words ready in my mouth and my feet shivering in their ugly boots.

  Mrs. Reed looked up as I approached.

  “What is it, girl? Your mistress doesn’t have another message for me, surely?” She said this in a voice that spoke more of her feelings about Mrs. Keseberg than her words alone could manage.

  “No,” I stammered. “I only wanted to—I wish to speak with Virginia—I wish to ask about my schoolwork—so I thought Virginia might like to walk with me some—” And I looked at Mrs. Reed right anxious, well aware of Virginia staring at me in openmouthed surprise.

  “Well!” said Mrs. Reed, equally astonished, and staring me up and down. “You may wish all you like, miss! But my wish is that my daughter should not associate with the likes of you!” And with no more thought than if I was a dog, she ordered me away from their wagon and forbid Virginia to speak to me. I flushed up to the very roots of my hair with the mortification of it, and turned and ran back to our wagon.

  I guess Virginia was glad enough to take her ma’s words right to heart. Next afternoon, when I went with unwilling footsteps along to the school wagon, Virginia was talking in a low voice with a couple of the other girls. As I walked past she pinched her nose with her fingers and said, “Phew, Cincinnati girl, what a piggy stink,” and the girls with her laughed right out loud in my face.

  From that time on she made out she could not see me when I was standing right before her, and that she could not understand me when I spoke. It was a mean trick, and it made me mad, but I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction of knowing she’d hurt me. I stuck my nose in the air just as much as she did hers, and as much as she pretended not to see me, so I did the same. I told myself that one day Virginia would wish with all her heart that I was her friend, and when that time came, I would look her up and down and pinch my nose and say . . . and say . . . well, I couldn’t exactly work out what I would say. But it gave me a deal of satisfaction to think on it.

  9

  A day or two later the river waters were calmed down enough for us to cross. Ninety wagons, three hundred people, and a great head of cattle to get across a hundred yards or so of deep, fast-flowing water.

  Captain Russell set about organizing us. One group of men were set to cutting down trees, and another to fix them together to make a great floating platform, big enough to set a wagon on. Long ropes were attached to front and back, and then a half dozen hearty fellows took the ropes and half-waded and half-swam themselves over to the other side. We cheered them on their way with shouts of encouragement, some screams as well, when one of the men lost his footing and seemed set to be swept away before our eyes.

  They scrambled out of the water, and made the ropes fast, hitching them round tree trunks, and the men on this side of the river did the same.

  A band of brave souls volunteered to be the first to try out the ferry. Mr. Keseberg’s little group of German folks had been joined by Mr. Burger, traveling with the Donners as a teamster, and he stepped up to be one of the crew. Milt Elliott was another, a tough, skinny little fellow with a lazy eye, one of the Reeds’ hired hands.

  With them was a big bluff Irishman, Patrick Dolan, who had thick black hair and merry blue eyes. He was journeying with a family called the Breens, who I knew a little.

  The men on the far bank heaved on the ropes, and the raft went sailing out into the stream. Mr. Burger shouted, “I christen this ship the Blue Rover ! May God bless her, and all who sail in her!” and we all laughed and cheered.

  Mrs. Keseberg and Ada and I were in one of the first groups to cross over. The women all shivered and shook as the ropes were pulled taut, screeching as the raft shuddered its way out onto the water and saying how it looked fearful deep, and clutching at their children. Not me, though. I stepped pretty eager onto that raft and stood near the edge, looking round me and waving to the folks still standing on the bank. Perhaps I had a pinch of my pa’s seafaring blood. I could happily have spent the rest of the day floating back and forth; and if I knew how to do it, I would have jumped in the water and swum about, as well.

  Some of the men chivvied the animals into the water and forced them across the river. The first few wagons were taken across, and as they rolled off the raft they were hitched up to one team after another, and pulled clear of the riverbank.

  It was a task that could not have b
een accomplished at all, were it not for the number of strong, hearty men we had with us, and the good-natured cooperation of all. Three days it took, but we were finally all across, proud of ourselves for accomplishing this task, with the men laughing and joking and slapping one another on the back. But as much as there was good cheer and comradeship, there was sadness as well, for while we were crossing the river, Mrs. Reed’s mother died.

  Mrs. Keyes was elderly and had been ill for some time, but Mrs. Reed was her only family and Mrs. Keyes would not stay behind when her daughter left, but determined to journey with her. And here her journey ended, and she was buried with a stone set to mark her grave, and her name carved on it.

  Death at the Big Blue.

  How very fitting it was, that this should be where I first encountered Mr. Eddy. He made Mrs. Keyes’s coffin and carved her name upon the stone that was set to mark her grave. And this coffin and this gravestone marked the point where my life turned in a direction very different to the one I had imagined.

  For it was now that Mr. Reed revealed his Plan. He intended to leave the known trail and the good-natured fellowship of the great train, and strike out on a different route altogether. And he was looking for folks to join him.

  Mr. Reed could certainly choose his moment.

  * * *

  After Mrs. Reed had been led away from her mother’s burial place, weeping for the loss of something so precious to her, and we had returned to our wagons, Mrs. Keseberg sent me to find her husband, for his dinner was cooked and cooling on its plate.

  He was standing with Mr. Burger and Mr. Eddy. They were heads bent over something that Mr. Reed was showing them, and he was speaking to them in an undertone.

  Something about their whole demeanor spoke of secrecy, and the way that Mr. Reed stopped speaking upon seeing me approaching, and the careless way that Mr. Keseberg stepped toward me roused my suspicions, though I couldn’t say why that was.

  But I found out. Later that day our German friends—the Wolfingers, Mr. Spitzer, and Mr. Reinhardt—joined Mr. Hardkoop at the Kesebergs’ fireside. Mr. Burger was there, and Mr. Eddy, who had brought with him another young man, Mr. Foster, with his wife, Sara, who I knew a little. I hurried Ada into bed, and then sat myself down in the shadow of the wagon and listened right hard to the conversation.

  It concerned a new route to get to California, suggested by a Mr. Landford Hastings. He had written up a pamphlet about it, saying that it would take several weeks off the present route. It was this that Mr. Reed had been showing the other men. He, and the two Mr. Donners, would be heading off on this new route once we reached Independence Rock, a month’s journey from now. Mr. Keseberg and Mr. Eddy had decided to join them. And Mr. Wolfinger nodded yes, he thought it a good plan as well.

  Mrs. Wolfinger objected straight away, stumbling through her words in a mix of broken English and rapid German. She could not see the advantage of it.

  “We get to California good with everyone. Is safe, and easy enough. I do not understand why Mr. Reed want to change, and I do not wish it.”

  Mr. Reinhardt answered her. “Mr. Reed’s eagerness to reach his destination and get started on his new life is easy to understand. He’s rich, but impatient to be richer still!”

  There was some laughter at this, and the usual jokes regarding the Reeds’ traveling arrangements, but when the laughter had died down, Mr. Burger spoke out. Traveling with the Donners, he already knew something of the plan.

  “We all know why we are going there. The government will sell land to any person who has the money to buy it, and not so much money, either. I have very little to my name; all I have is in my saddlebags, but it’s enough. In California I can be my own man, and not in the employment of others.”

  Mr. Eddy interrupted him, eager to hear the sound of his own voice.

  “But we all want good land, that’s the thing! Think how many have set off before us over the last few years. Look how many there are in our company alone! And another five companies ahead of us on this route! By the time we get to California the good land will all be gone. Mrs. Wolfinger, do you wish to arrive last, and be stuck with the land no one else wants? With no water for crops, and no grazing for cattle? I for one do not. I vote we head off on the new route and get ahead of the train, and take our pick of the prime land while we can, and let the rest of this wagon train roll up behind us and take what’s left!” He laughed, looking around him to see the effect of his words.

  This had to be translated into German for the Wolfingers to understand, and I heard Mrs. Wolfinger’s reply, muttered in an undertone, that it seemed an unkind thing to do, and somehow deceitful. This was not translated for the benefit of Mr. Eddy, though Mr. Keseberg heard it, and looked uncomfortable. But he spoke out firm enough.

  “I am determined to take the route. I have a young family, and my wife—well—”

  He didn’t finish his sentence, for even though it was obvious Mrs. Keseberg was expecting a baby, it was not spoken of in so many words. Mrs. Foster made a sympathetic face and the men coughed a little and looked about them some.

  Mr. Keseberg cleared his throat. “The journey is hard on us all. It’s known to be difficult in places. Look how long it took us just to cross the Big Blue, with so many people to deal with. This route is shorter by many weeks and, Mr. Hastings says, much easier. I think it would be a good thing to get where we are going as quick as possible.”

  Mr. Eddy spoke up again; oh, he had only mentioned the land as being one of the reasons that folks might want to take the new route; as for him, he had two little children as well, and Mr. Keseberg was quite right, it was not about the land so much as the length of the journey.

  Mr. and Mrs. Foster nodded agreement, and said they would go back to their wagons and speak to the rest of their party, and try and persuade them the same.

  * * *

  Will and Sara Foster were traveling with her widowed mother, Mrs. Murphy, and a great band of children. The Murphys were part of a little group of stragglers that had been well behind us in the wagon train, but had caught up at the Big Blue. They were on the raft with us when we crossed the river, and while we waited for the rest of the company to get across, they were our neighbors.

  The first evening after we landed on the far side of the river, I had passed Mrs. Murphy standing by her wagon with a pail in her hand.

  “Dear, would you be a good girl and fetch me in some water?” she asked, catching hold of me. “I would ask Landrum, but he and the others have gone to collect firewood and left me here with the babies.”

  I looked at her with my mouth agape. Wasn’t it bad enough that I had Mrs. Keseberg ordering me here there and everywhere without some perfect stranger joining in? I snatched the pail from her hand and fetched the water with mighty poor grace, but when I got back to her wagon she was waiting for me with a piece of candy in her hand, and kissed my cheek when she thanked me.

  It was a little enough task for me to do, and with the candy in my hand and the kiss on my cheek I felt ashamed of my bad temper. I’d never in my life before been given a reward for anything I might do, and all that day and the next I carried that candy in my pocket, rather than eat it.

  Next morning I hung around her wagon with my eyes open for the chance to help her again and I had a reward of a different kind, for I met her daughter, Meriam.

  Meriam had not been attending at the school wagon, and was not part of Virginia’s group of friends that teased me so. She was a gentle-natured girl, very devoted to her family, and clever, too.

  After my unkindness to Leanna I had tried to curb my tongue and had succeeded somewhat. I still could not entirely resist the barbed comments that came so easy to me, but I never meant them to be cruel. I guess Me-iam saw this, and my caustic observations on our fellow travelers made her laugh, for she had a sly sense of humor of her own, that gleamed out here and there when least expected.

  One evening, after my chores were finished, Meriam had come across and asked me
would I like to come and sit by their fireside and keep her company. This was how I met the Fosters, and the rest of the Murphy family.

  Mrs. Murphy had married young, so although she was not much over five and thirty, she had a right big family. Meriam was somewhere in the middle, and she had two older sisters: Sara Foster, married to Will and with a little boy, George; and Hattie, with her husband Bill Pike and two babies, Catherine and Naomi. Mrs. Murphy was widowed, and her sight was poor, so she depended on these two married daughters and their husbands something considerable.

  Everyone made me welcome. Sara Foster fetched me a slice of pound cake, and Mrs. Murphy asked me about my schoolwork and my family. The little bit I said about my family was vague, no more than that I had brothers and sisters, and that my pa worked on the Cincinnati wharves. Mrs. Murphy said I must miss them, and that it was brave of me to travel so far away. To my surprise I thought, “Yes, it is a brave thing I am doing, and I would surely like to know that my brothers and sisters are well, that much is true.”

  Since setting out on our journey, my hair had grown out some, and it was pretty enough, being a lightish brown and with a natural curl. It was still only down as far as my ears, but it meant I could leave off the pink kerchief, though I still wore it tied around my neck. But Mrs. Murphy had very long dark hair that she wore in a neat braid twisted round her head, and I looked at it with envy.

  Each night before we went to sleep, Mr. Keseberg led us in a prayer. But while he and Mrs. Keseberg were praying for things like patience and charity and good health for their children, I had mostly closed my eyes and daydreamed about what I would do in California and how I would be rich and drive round in a carriage and wear fine clothes. But after meeting Mrs. Murphy I paid more attention to the praying side. Though what I prayed was that I would wake in the morning to find my hair grown down to my waist, so I could wear my hair the same as hers.