She pushed the memories to the back of her mind and tried to force roast beef, mashed potatoes, biscuits and greens past her dry mouth. Why, oh why had she let him talk her into this addlepated idea? They could’ve bred horses right there in Washington County. Close to her parents. She sighed and shoved the plate away.
Darkness had begun its descent as they left the hotel and made their way through the crowds to the wagon. Peter had gone over the list Ezra had given them and declared they had mostly everything, but still had to make a few purchases. With so many people preparing to leave in a few days, the store owners kept their businesses open until almost midnight, not wanting to lose any sales.
They strolled past aisles of foodstuffs, clothing, and tools, meandering around piles of furniture that emigrants had left to lighten their load. They consulted their list, picking up some fresh eggs for the beginning part of their trip. After fingering bolts of cloth, Emma bought yards of flannel and cotton to make new clothing either on the trail or after they reached their new home. Peter added some leather to repair worn out shoes, a bow saw and an extra wagon wheel.
“How are we going to fit in this wagon with all the things we’re putting in here?” Emma rocked back and forth on the hard seat as Peter guided the wagon through the maze of others making their way to where Ezra’s group gathered.
“We’re going to mostly walk, and likely sleep under the wagon if it’s not raining.” The wheels hit holes and ruts in the road, almost throwing her off the seat. People scurried by, evading animals and wagons, as they dragged crying children behind them.
“Walk?” Emma gasped, her hands gripping the seat so hard her fingers ached. “You mean for us to walk all the way to Oregon country?”
“Once the wagon train gets going, I think you’ll rather walk at least some of the way.” He glanced at her and grinned at her wide eyes and slack jaw. “Haven’t you noticed this wagon is pretty bouncy?”
Tears rushed to her eyes as she turned and stared into the darkness. He’d dragged her away from her home, her parents, and everything familiar, and plopped her down in the middle of all this noise and confusion. And now he intended for her to walk all the way to Oregon!
If her parents hadn’t insisted she do her duty and follow her husband, no matter where he led, she would right now be back in her cozy bedroom in Indiana, Mama and Papa in the next room, like when she was a little girl.
After Peter parked the wagon to his liking near several others, he freed the oxen. She watched as his strong hands rubbed them down and led them to where dozens of horses, donkeys and other oxen chomped at the new grass and rested for the evening.
Emma swallowed the pain in her heart, and considered the dozens of wagons, loaded with furniture and children. If these people could travel with little children, then we should be fine.
She swung her gaze around the numerous campfires. Families were settling in for the night, calling to children. Emma rested her chin in her cupped hand, then winced as a small child fell from the back of one wagon, smacking her head against the wheel. The little girl wailed loud enough to wake the dead. A frazzled-looking woman with another child on her hip ran to the injured girl. Thank goodness the wagon wasn’t moving, or the child would have been run over.
The next morning a sliver of sun peeked over the hill, providing a bit of warmth on the back of Emma’s neck as she re-arranged the inside of the wagon. Stiff from the morning cold, her fingers fumbled and dropped things.
Steam emanated from Peter’s mouth as he whistled a cheerful tune, checking each wheel thoroughly, pulling and tugging on the spokes to make sure they were tight.
How in heaven’s name could he be so cheerful? Emma pulled her coat closer, trying to conserve her body’s warmth. Her bones ached from lying alongside Peter all night on the makeshift bedroll he’d made for them. They’d been bundled up, but the cold from the ground seeped through the blankets and their coats. Already uncomfortable from the unfamiliar hard packed earth, Emma tossed and turned most of the night.
She stood back, her hands on her hips, as she surveyed her work. Peter may think she was going to walk to Oregon, but she’d made enough space for her to sit inside, and padded the area with enough clothes so it would be downright comfortable.
A plump woman, apron strings flying, flew past her, racing after a chubby toddler. She scooped him up into her arms, panting while the child giggled. Flush-faced, the woman turned to Emma and smiled, trying in vain to control the still wiggling child.
“Hello.” She flipped the child around so his back was to her, with her arm wrapped securely around his middle. “I’m Sarah Boyle, and this here’s Stephen, my youngest.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” Emma wiped her hands on her apron as she approached Sarah. “I’m Emma Thorpe, and this is my husband, Peter.” She nodded in his direction.
Peter tugged on the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”
“I guess you’re all headed to Oregon country?” Sarah continued to take deep breaths.
“Yes, we are.” Emma smiled at the little boy, still trying to get away from his mother. “Are you with Ezra’s group, too?”
“Sure are. Buck–that’s my husband–said Ezra Franklin runs the best wagon train headed to Oregon country. We hail from Illinois. Where are you from?” Sarah now had the child under control. He turned
toward his mother, and laid his head on her chest. Watching the adults with half-closed eyes, he stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Peter wandered off, leaving Emma alone with her new neighbor.
“We had a farm in Washington County, in Indiana.” She couldn’t resist reaching out to run her fingers through Stephen’s soft baby curls. “Peter decided it would be better to sell it and move to Oregon country. He’d heard some wonderful stories about it.” She dropped her hand to her side and shrugged. “He managed rather quickly to find a buyer for our farm, purchased a wagon, and here we are.” Emma blinked rapidly at the tears that welled in her eyes.
Sarah touched Emma’s arm. “And this whole thing is more Peter’s idea than yours?”
“You could say that.” Using the corner of her apron, she blotted her eyes. She inhaled deeply. “I was happy in Indiana. My parents have a store in town, and Peter and I had a small farm. I thought we would be there until our old age. But Peter had different ideas.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sarah said with a tilt of her head. “Now Buck and me both wanted to strike out. We have four little ones, Stephen here, being the youngest. Buck did the blacksmithin’ in our town, and we had a small house, but we wanted more room for all these growing boys.” She kissed Stephen’s blond head that slumped against her as he slept. “You got any yourself?”
Emma winced at the heartache of her monthlies arriving each month right on time. Although it had only been five months since they’d married, she’d hoped to be starting her family by now. “No little ones for us yet.” She sighed, letting a bit of regret slip into her voice.
“Well, I’ll be happy to give ya one of ours,” Sarah laughed. Emma smiled at the joke, not seeing the humor in it.
Three stampeding young boys rounded the wagon and crashed into each other as they stopped abruptly in front of Sarah. They pushed and shoved, raising a dust cloud that choked the two women. The boys resembled larger versions of little Stephen, and quieted down after glimpsing the look Sarah gave them.
“Emma,” she waved in the direction of the three, “these little ruffians are my older boys.” She patted each boy on the head as she move down the line. “This here’s David, Michael and Joey.” The boys, who seemed to be somewhere between seven and twelve years old, nodded and mumbled “ma’am” before scrambling away.
“Come back here,” Sarah yelled. “You still have chores to do, and they need to be done now.” She shifted Stephen to her hip and started after them, and then glanced over her shoulder. “Why don’t you and Peter come sit with us after supper tonight? Buck’ll be glad to have company of another man. Most of
the men goin’ on the trail are busy still buying supplies in town.”
“We would love that.”
The woman rounded the bend after the boys before Emma’s answer was out. “See you later.”
She hummed as she pulled things out to make biscuits to go with the beans she’d prepared for their
supper. Her short visit with Sarah cheered her. Having another woman to share her troubles with could very well make this a pleasant trip after all. Maybe even fun.
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A Tumble Through Time Page 24
