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him this drawing -- I've become a real student of nature and think this one of my best. But I'll have to ask Jem, who never fails to tell me the real and honest truth!
August 4
The days I see Mo'e'ha pass much faster than the ones where I wait for her but she doesn't come. Most of the time we wave our hands in the air trying to tell each other something, then laughing at our own efforts. Sometimes we draw pictures with a stick in the dust to show what we mean. If she draws one moon, or folds her hands and closes her eyes to show she is sleeping, I know she means that I will see her after one more sleep. Tomorrow.
August 5
Today I learned some new words.
mo'eh no'ha = horse
o ne a vo kist = beads
wo pe she o nun = blanket
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And hah ko ta means grasshopper. I told Jem and he has been chasing grasshoppers all day, yelling, "hah ko ta" with glee when he catches one.
Mo'e'ha laughs her bright laugh, a sound clearer to me than water. The new sounds of her language feel strange and sticky on my tongue. I know I must sound terribly silly, but I think it pleases my friend to see me try to learn. When Mo'e'ha says Florrie, it sounds like two notes of Louisa's violin music. I wish I could close my eyes and ask her to say my name over and over. When she says horse, that is a different story! She says or-sa with a low growl in her throat, which I think just might scare her pony away!
Night
I've heard Mama cry out in the night from the next room. I struggle to know how I can be of help to her. Sometimes all I can think of is to take her a cool cloth for her forehead. Some small comfort.
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August 6 two weeks at the fort
I did not go to see Mo'e'ha today but instead read to Mama from a book I borrowed from Mr. Wendell called Two Years Before the Mast. It tells the exciting adventures of a Mr. Richard Henry Dana, who sailed the seas on a clipper ship from Boston to California. She was kind to mention several times how good it made her feel, and remarked on how a good story takes a person's mind off her troubles.
I think she dozed and missed a most exciting part, when he rounds the Horn and nearly hits a reef in a terrific storm. When she wakes, I'll recount it for her in my own words, complete with sound effects.
I have noticed that Jem listens from outside the doorway while he whittles, hanging on to nearly every word. Then he runs off to tell Manny the story.
Jem is whittling a spoon out of cottonwood for the baby. I have told him it will be some long time before the baby can eat with a spoon, but a wonderful present it is still.
August 7
Mama is worse.
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August 8, morning
I heard Dr. Antoine telling Mr. Ryder that Mama's fever is not coming down, and he fears for the baby. Even Dr. Antoine seems at a loss.
This has given me an idea, for which I need Mo'e'ha's help.
late morning
Mo'e'ha said yes, and I am to meet her this very night. At our rock.
Late before bed
It is deep night with scarcely a moon, yet Mo'e'ha moved silently as an owl and did not seem to stumble as I did at every rock or root or stop cold to peer into the darkness or startle at the sound of a snapped twig. How I envy her surefooted moccasins! My own boots have become so slick-bottomed from wear that I can hardly keep a foothold on anything these days.
She led me to her village. Fires lit the night air, and sparks everywhere rose like stars to the heavens. The Cheyenne village is made of cone-shaped lodges in a
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circle by a stream. Even in the flicker light I could see that each one was painted green and red and black with animals and figures and symbols. Feathers fluttered like flags, buffalo tails hung from poles, and strings of little hoofs clicked in the wind making a most musical sound. In front of each lodge was a lance, shield, or medicine bag that announces who lives there.
Mo'e'ha led me to the doorway of what seemed to be her home. "Nahko'eehe," she said to me, pointing inside the lodge. Then she held a hand up like she does with her pony and motioned for me to wait in the shadows.
All I could hear was a raucous barking of dogs. They seemed to announce my presence to the whole village. For the first time I felt a chill race up my spine, aware I was an intruder. I smelled something pungent, a mixture of leaves and sweet grass burning and sage that tickled my nose. I waited. I tried not to think about what I was doing. I tried not to think about my pounding heart. I thought only of the herbs I needed for Mama.
In the darkness I heard the Cheyenne chanting and singing their evening song. I closed my eyes, letting
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the sounds run through me like rain, and it calmed my beating heart.
I took with me a gift in exchange for the tea. Honey. From Aunt Florence's jar. But as I stood waiting outside the lodge, I began to worry that honey, though precious to me, seemed such a small thing. Should I have brought coffee and sugar as well?
Soon Mo'e'ha came out of the lodge and with her a tall woman with raven hair like Mo'e'ha. Vermilion shone on her cheeks and from the part of her hair. "Nah ko ee he," my friend said once again. I could only think that perhaps she meant my mama..
The beautiful woman handed me a small bag, and I reached inside the pocket of my apron to give her the honey. She smiled and nodded her head, and I thought she seemed pleased, though she waved me away as if I should hurry on my way.
A bit of honey seemed small thanks, and my words even smaller, so I was left to hope that my face had given thanks enough.
August 9
I have boiled some wild cherry bark tea for Mama, but not without a scolding from Letty. Does she have
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eyes in the back of her head to know how I came by the tea? I have even added some of Aunt Florence's precious honey from the wagon, to sweeten the mixture and give Mama a drop of home.
Late night
Mama awoke with the severest of pains, relieved only by some of the cherry bark tea and medicines given by Dr. Antoine. The pains, which lasted well until midnight, had us all fearing that the baby was coming, and too soon.
Then Jem and I heard a cry, and we hugged each other with joy, for we thought it to mean the baby had arrived safely! But soon we were to discover the cry was not our own sister at all, but another baby girl birthed this very night by an Indian woman in the room just below. It hardly seems fair -- one family's sorrow is another's joy tonight.
Late still
The worst has happened. Mama has indeed birthed the baby before its time. The wee thing was too small to live. All hopes for having a sister are crushed! Mama
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sunk into Mr. Ryder's arms and, though she is in the next room, she appears far away.
The baby, my dear wee sister, is dead.
There. I said it.
August 10, morning day 18 at the fort
I feel immovable. Like the blacksmith's metal turned cold.
I lie and stare at the ceiling. Even the cracks in the mud wall take on the shape of a broken heart.
Late morning
I am filled with so much anger and hurt that I took my quilt to Letty and asked her to burn it in the fire.
Letty fixed me a cup of boiled milk with cinnamon and nutmeg. It didn't seem right that anything taste so good to me. Letty insists on saving the quilt for me in case I feel differently when the sorrow has passed. I protested, but she said, "Florrie, honey, you know what they say? Only a fool argues with a skunk, a mule, or a cook." So I let it go.
Can time really mend this sorrow?
Suffering and sorrow, that's what this trail's made of.
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Later still
Mama has named the baby Missouri. When she first said it aloud, it almost sounded like Misery. The name Missouri fits fine with all things left behind. Mr. Ryder dug a small grave behind the fort, and Jem nailed up a cross for the baby's burying place. We made a marker that
said, here lies missouri ryder
born and died august 9, 1848
Sad evening
The four of us stood by that tiny grave holding hands and bowing heads and whispering prayers. Father Morgan, the priest who prayed with Mama when we first arrived at the fort, came to say some sacred words over the grave. And I picked some prairie flowers to set here.
Bedtime
I feel a scream growing inside me, a scream so loud, it could pass through these thick mud walls so that Mr.
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Bent himself might awaken. Mr. Ryder has instructed me to leave with him the day after tomorrow morning. We will leave Mama here. I'm mad as a horned toad!
I don't want to leave Mama when she's still unwell. And I don't want to leave the fort, either. To think, I will never see Mo'e'ha or Manny again!
According to Mr. Ryder, we must continue on to Santa Fe. We will head for the Raton Pass, and there will be no water until we reach the Purgatoire River. I feel as if I am in Purgatory already!
My job is to cook and take care of Jem. Jem already fancies himself a man -- let him go kill a bear. He never minds me, anyway, and as for cooking, Jem says my salt-rising bread makes for good doorstops.
If I have my way, Jem and Mr. Ryder shall soon be eating grasshoppers. Boiled.
Mr. Ryder says it's my duty and I mustn't grouse. So I am GROUSING TO YOU, Diary, where Mr. R will never know.
I tried pleading my case with Mama, but she lights her candles and says the Good Lord has no attachment to people or place. I can't help but wonder if the Good Lord knows anyone like me!
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In two days' time, Mr. Ryder, Jem, and I shall be dodging wild bear and mountain Hons.
How I could howl with the coyotes tonight!
August 11 day 19
When I saw Mo'e'ha today, I quickly drew a picture in the dust. I drew the fort, and our wagon, showing her that we must leave. In two sleeps. We collected berries in silence for a short time, then she mounted her pony and rode off without a wave.
August 12 day 20
My last day before we leave the fort. I wait and wait for Mo'e'ha, but I never hear the clicking of her pony or see a flash of black hair through the trees. She does not come.
A Little- while later
I waited what felt like half the morning. Still no sign of Mo'e'ha. Mr. Wendell once told me there's no word for good-bye in her language.
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August 13, good-bye to Bent's fort
My heart was heavy at not seeing my friend one last time. I went down to the rock, our rock, where we'd met so many times.
A pair of moccasins! They were soft as a newly shorn sheep and had a flower stitched on the front of each one -- a flower, like my name, stitched in red beads. Whitehearts! The beads I'd admired so much.
A gift from Mo'e'ha.
I cast about looking for some sign of her. I thought I heard the soft snort of her pony, saw a flash of raven hair. I must have imagined it. Or did I?
Then I hit on an idea. I unlaced my old boots, the boots that had walked me many a mile but were now too slick for use. I slipped on the moccasins, which fit as snug as a hand in a glove. The shoes I left on the rock, not as a gift, but as a weight to hold in place the drawing of the magpie, ripped from my book.
I hoped it would say without words that I loved the gift of moccasins, and that I think of her. Mo'e'ha. Magpie.
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Later
All in a hub-bub getting ready to move again.
Before leaving, I carved florrie with Jem's knife in the wooden rim of the blacksmith's bellows. That had me grinning, thinking who might discover it first -- Manny or Mr. Vieth. Manny helped us load the wagon and bid us "Vaya con Dios" at least three times. Muldoon called,
"Hey-o! Florrie! Keep your chin to the wind!"
Hardest of all was leaving Mama. She hugged me a good-bye, and I spilled tears on her clean dress. She said she'll join us soon, soon as she's stronger. I try to believe her.
I can't imagine what's ahead without Mama.
We spent a few more minutes hugging and wiping our tears and listening to Mama's reassurances, Mr. Ryder all the while acting fidgety. The few extra minutes so long to him were a blink to me.
It breaks my heart leaving Mama here to her sorrow.
Mama cautioned me, "Don't look back," but I couldn't help myself. I squinted in the sunlight at the earthen castle, Bent's Fort, growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
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Jem and I may never return to this spot. Baby Missouri will never leave it.
Six miles out
How strange to be back on the trail. Feels as if we're beginning all over again when we've been nearly three months out!
Came six miles up the river, and we leave it behind us now. Crossing the Arkansas feels as if we are truly entering a foreign country.
Mama made me promise I'd make an effort to look on the bright side. But I miss my friends from the fort already. I'm weary, collecting memories like beads with no string. Too much leaving.
Jem seemed sad for Mama when we first left, but already he's acting like we didn't just bury a baby sister. I don't know whatever became of the spoon he started. Haven't seen him whittle in a while. He seems to think only of guns. What a mystery boys are! He's happy as a pig in mud to be back on the trail. Forever singing, which annoys me into secretly cursing that everlasting tongue of his. In between singing, he's taken up spitting.
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August 14
Made eighteen miles today. No longer plains, as much as sand hills. "Green" is not a word they know here. Breakfast was a bowl of dust!
Jem and I have seen the mirages. False ponds, indeed. We're so thirsty, we keep seeing water glittering plain as a church on Sunday, but then we get to it and find it vanished.
Mr. Ryder's given us an explanation, which he read in Josiah Gregg's book. He calls it "refraction" -- a fancy word for saying that the sky appears to be below the horizon. I have my own word for it.
Cruel.
Gets the heart seeing things it can't have.
August 15
Mountains! Two of them appear in the distance. One is known as Sierra de la Madre and the other Sierra Grande. Mr. Ryder says we are indeed seeing what they call the great Rocky Mountains.
No water. Stopped at a difficult pass in an arroyo. Waiting for Frenchie and the wagons to catch up.
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Some of the men were talking about gold, a magic word to Jem. His ears perked like a rabbit in a field of hawks. They were telling about how Mr. Bent picked himself up some real gold nuggets on his way from Jim Bridger's fort out to Wyoming. One man was saying gold was around here, closer than California. I had to check to make sure Jem's eyes were still in his head.
Another man told us the story of the gold bullets. Seems there was a Southern Cheyenne they called Chief Whirlwind. He led a war party that had only three guns, and they ran out of bullets. They found some yellow-looking dust on the ground and worked it into balls for musket shot. Later, they defeated a band of Pawnee -- the story goes every one of those yellow bullets hit an enemy.
Golden bullets! What will they tell of next?
August 16, Hole in the Rock
I've not seen it with my own eyes, but it's said there's a rock at this place filled with the coldest, clearest water to rival Big John's Spring, and a bottom has never as yet been found. Jem says, "Even a bottomless well could not meet his thirst." I agree.
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Frenchie presented me with two fine hares, which is quite a treat since I won't eat the antelope killed by our baggage wagon and am nearly ravenous enough to eat a bear myself.
August 17
Stuck here at Hole in the Rock and can't move. Our cattle ran away during the night. Several men have been searching for them all the day. Mr. Ryder does not care to go on without them. I for one do not wish to pull the wagons ourselves!
Could not have picked a prettier spot to wait.
Jem and I have taken a walk in some pinon woods and collected the nut of these pines. Each nut is smaller than a kidney bean and has a sweet crunch. We filled our bellies and our pockets. I thought to myself that we went "nutting," but the joke would be lost on Jem. Missed Eliza and Louisa all the more.
Beneath the trees we found balls of sticky sap the size of a hen's egg. Frenchie says it's turpentine, and can be used to rub into sore muscles. Just in time -- sore muscles are ahead in these mountains!
Just now discovered thirty-nine of the cattle some sixteen miles from camp.
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August 18, Purgatoire 'River
Traveled twenty-five miles or more! Held over at the camp of last night, waiting while wagons are repaired. A daily occurrence now.
A slight rain helps keep us from choking on dust. First drop in over three weeks. Makes the world smell new!
Dampened a rag with rainwater. I am dead set on having a bath. No easy task with so many men about. Thankfully, I have Mr. Biscuit to keep a lookout.
Some call this the River of Lost Souls. Jem asked one of the Mexican traders why it's so called. Old Juan said, "There's everywhere stories in these parts, and this one goes that a long, long time ago, a tribe of Comanches were so cruel, they got forced by the Great Spirit to live underground. Their punishment was to never again see the light of day. So the story goes."
Jem says he heard moaning and groaning along the riverbank just this morning. I heard it, too. Old Juan just says, "It's like them mirages. Everybody sees 'em, but can't never find 'em."
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August 13, Raton Pass
Just beginning our difficult trek through the mountains. Mr. Ryder says the Raton is the steepest stretch of the trail. My back's telling me he's right. Oh, the constant jolting! And it goes on for twenty-seven miles! Never have I seen such a rocky road!
Happily, our tent is now atop a high hill. Jem has his heart set on seeing a bear. Or a panther. Even a mountain lion. Just the thought of it makes me stick ever closer to Mr. Biscuit.
August 20, Wagon Mound
Mountains! All around us. Feel small against the greatness. One rock towers above the rest. Jem named it Wagon Mound -- it looks just like the top of our own covered wagon!
Our wagon turned over this morning. The mountains may be full of beauty, but they're in no way kind to wagons. Every few feet are large rocks and steep hillocks, just the things to bounce a wagon to breaking. I walk and walk. I change from brown to browner as the dust clings to me, then blows off, then sticks again.
All the stars in the sky: the Santa Fe trail diary of Florrie Mack Ryder Page 7
