by Janette Oke
As Missie neared the train, she surveyed the closing circle. The last wagon, the twenty-seventh, moved into position to complete it.
Missie approached Willie now and responded to his grin with a smile of her own.
"Been a long day--yer lookin' tired," he said with concern. "I am a bit--the sun's been so hot, and fer sure it takes the starch outa one."
"It's time fer a good rest. Bit of that shade should revive ya some. Ya wantin' me to bring ya a stool or a blanket from the wagon?"
"I'll do it. You have the team to care for."
"Mr. Blake says there's a stream jest beyond that stand of timber there. We're gonna take all the stock down fer a drink an' then tether them in the draw. Blake says there's grass a-plenty there."
"What time you be wantin' supper?" Missie asked.
"Not fer a couple hours anyway. Ya got plenty of time fer a rest."
"I'll need me more firewood. I didn't start gatherin' soon
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enough. That little bit that I brought in won't last no time."
"No rush fer a fire either. I'll bring some wood back with me. Henry won't mind bringing some, too. Ya jest git a little time outa thet hot sun fer awhile--ya look awfully tuckered out." Willie's voice was anxious.
"It's just the excitement and strangeness of it all, I expect. I'll get used to it. But right now I think I'll take a bit of rest in the shade of those trees. I'll be as good as new when I can get off my feet some."
Willie left with the horses and the two milk cows that had been tied behind the wagons; Missie went for a blanket to throw down on the ground in the shade of the trees.
She felt guilty as she lowered herself onto the blanket. All of the other women already seemed to be busy with something. Well, she'd just rest a short while and then she would busy herself as well. For the moment it felt good just to sit.
Missie leaned back comfortably against the trunk of a tree and closed her eyes, turning her head slightly so that she could take full advantage of the gentle breeze. It teased at the loose strands of her hair and fanned her flushed face. How she ached! All of her bones seemed to cry out for a warm, relaxing soak in a tub. If she were home . . . but Missie quickly put that thought away from her. Her folks' big white house with its homey kitchen and wide stairway was no longer her home. The upstairs room with its cheerful rugs and frilly curtains was no longer her room. She was totally Willie's responsibility now, and Willie was hers. She prayed a short prayer that she would be worthy of such a man as her Willie--that God would help her to make a home for him that was filled with happiness and love. And then her eyes still closed, she felt the achiness weighing her whole body down on the blanket.
Ignore it, she commanded herself. Ignore it, and it will go away.
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Chapter 2
Day's End
When Missie opened her eyes again she was surprised at the changes that had taken place around her. It was much cooler now and the sun that had shone down with such intense heat during the day was now hanging, friendly and placid, low in the western sky.
The smell of woodsmoke was heavy in the air--a sharp, pleasant smell; and the odors of cooking food and boiling coffee made her insides twinge with hunger. Now fully awake, she looked around in embarrassment at the supper preparations. Surely every woman in the whole train had been busy and about while she slept. What must they think of her? Willie would soon be back from caring for the animals--and not even find a fire started!
Missie hurried toward her wagons, swishing out her skirts and smoothing back her hair.
It took a moment for her to realize that the fire that burned directly in front of their wagons was her fire, and that the delicious smell of stew and coffee came from her own cooking pots.
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She was trying to sort it all out when Willie poked his head out the wagon. His face still showed concern when he looked at her, but changed quickly to a look of relief. "Yer lookin' better. How ya feelin'?"
Missie stammered some, "I'm fine--truly, just fine." Then she added in a lowered voice, "But shamed nigh to death.",
"Shamed?" Willie's voice sounded unnecessarily loud to Missie. " 'Bout what?"
"Well--me sittin' there a-sleepin' in the middle of the day, an' you--you makin' the fire, an' the coffee an'--my goodness--what must they all think of me--that my husband has to do his work an' mine too?"
"Iffen thet's all thet's troublin' ya," Willie responded, "I reckon we can learn to live with it. 'Sides, I didn't make the fire. Henry did. He was mighty anxious fer his supper. Boy, can thet fella eat! We're liable to have to butcher both of those cows jest to feed 'im, long before we reach where we're goin'."
"Henry's eaten?"
"Sure has. I think he even left us a little bit. Seemed in a big hurry to be off. There jest happens to be a couple of young girls travelin' with this train. Think maybe Henry went to aorta get acquainted-like." Willie winked.
"Aren't ya comin' out?" Misie asked when Willie made no move to leave the wagon.
"I'm lookin' fer the bread. Can't find a thing in all these crocks, cans an' boxes. Where'd ya put it, anyway? Henry wolfed down his food without it, but I'd sorta like a bit of bread to go with my supper."
Missie laughed. "Really!" she said, shaking her head, "bet ya near took a bite of it. It's right there, practically under your nose." She clambered into the wagon. "Here, let me get it. Mama sent some of her special tarts for our first night out, too."
As Missie lifted the bread and the butter tarts from the crock in which they had been stored, another tug pulled at her somewhere deep inside. She could envision Marty's flushed face as she bent over her oven, removing the special baking for the young couple that she loved so dearly.
Willie seemed to sense Missie's mood; his arms went round
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her and he pulled her close.
"She'll be missin' you too, long 'bout now," he said softly against her hair.
Missie swallowed hard. "I reckon she will," she whispered.
"Missie?" Willie hesitated. "Are ya sure? It's still not too late to turn back, ya know. Iffen yer in doubt. . . ?" Iffen ya feel--?"
"My goodness, no," Missie said emphatically. "There's not a doubt in my mind at all. I'm lookin' forward to seem' yer land and buildin' a home. You know that! Sure, I'll miss Mama an' Pa an' the family--'specially at first. But I just gotta grow up, that's all. Everyone's gotta grow up sometime." How could Willie think that she was so selfish as to deny him his dream?
"Yer sure?"
"I'm sure."
"It won't be an easy trip--you know thet."
"I know."
"An' it won't be easy even after we git there. There's no house yet, no neighbors, no church. You'll miss it all, Missie." "I'll have you."
Willie pulled her back into his arms. "I'm afraid I'm not much to make up fer all thet you're losin'. But I love ya, Missie--I love ya so much."
"Then that's all I need," whispered Missie. "Love is the one thing thet I reckon I jest couldn't do without, so--" she reached up and kissed him on his chin. "As long as you love me, I should make out just fine."
Missie drew back gently from Willie's arms. "We'd better be eatin' that supper you cooked. I'm powerful hungry."
Willie nodded. "But you might change yer mind once you've tasted my cookin'." They both laughed.
After they had finished their meal together and Missie had washed up the few dishes, Willie brought out their Bible. It was carefully wrapped in oiled paper with an inner wrap of soft doeskin.
"Been thinkin'," he said. "Our mornin's are goin' to be short and rushed; it might be easier fer us to have our readin' time at night."
Missie nodded and settled down beside him. It was still light
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enough to see, but the light would not last for long. Willie found his place and began in an even voice.
"Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help th
ee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness."*
He closed the Bible slowly.
"Yer pa underlined thet for us. When he handed me the Bible this morning, he read it to me and marked it with this red ribbon. He said fer us to claim thet verse fer our own and to read it every day, if need be, until we felt it real and meaningful in our hearts."
"It's a good verse," Missie said. Her voice was tremulous. If she closed her eyes she was sure that she would be able to see her pa sitting at the kitchen table with the family Bible opened before him and all of the family gathered round. She could even hear his voice as he led them in the morning prayer time. Her
pa--the spiritual leader of the home. No. . . not anymore. Willie was the head of her home now; he was her spiritual leader. Now she would look to him for strength and direction to get her through each day--whether happy or difficult. She was not Clark's little girl anymore; she was a woman, a woman and a wife. Clark had handed her into the care and keeping of Willie; and though Missie was sure that her father's love and prayers would reach out to her always, she also knew that Clark was content in his knowledge that she had taken her rightful place in life . . . by Willie's side.
Missie reached for Willie's hand and clung to it as they prayed together. Willie thanked God for being with them through the day and for the love of those left behind. He prayed for comfort for their hearts at this difficult time, as he and Missie learned to live without the nearness of their families; he asked for safety as they traveled and for special strength for Missie in the long days ahead, his voice tight again with concern. Missie determined that tonight was not the time to share her secret. There was no need to trouble Willie. She'd wait until she had gotten used to the bumping and the walking and had toughened to the
*Isaiah 41:10, KJV.
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pace of the trail. Besides, she told herself, there was still a chance that she could be wrong.
If she was right--and deep down inside, Missie admitted the fact that indeed she must be--she was bound to gain new vigor and strength with each passing day. In fact, the fresh air and exercise was bound to be good for her. She'd wait. She'd wait until Willie could see for himself that she was healthy and strong, and then she'd tell her secret. Then he would be as excited over the coming event as she was.
Oh, if only she could have told her ma and pa. She would have looked into their faces and exclaimed with joy, "I think you're gonna be Grandma an' Grandpa--now, what do ya think of that?" They would have hugged and laughed and cried together in one grand tangle of happiness. It would have been so much fun to announce her good news. But that wasn't to be--and it wasn't the right time to announce it to Willie either. She'd wait.
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Chapter 3
Another Day
Missie stirred herself with difficulty, unconsciously testing her back, her legs, her arms, to see just how much pain the movement brought to her. How she ached! Her mind reached for the reason. As sleep left her, it all came back to her with a fresh wave, a mixture of excitement and misgivings. They were on the trail. They were headed west and she had been jostled until she could stand it no more and then had walked behind the wagons until her body protested with every step; and now, after a sleep on the hard, confined bed in their new living quarters, she ached even more.
Willie must hurt too, she thought. She reached for him but her hand touched only his deserted pillow. Willie had already quietly left the cramped, canvas-covered wagon that was to be their home for many weeks.
Missie quickly pulled herself from her bed, suppressing a groan as she did so. "S'pose I've gone an' done it again," she muttered. "Willie likely had to cook his own breakfast too."
But after Missie quickly dressed and climbed stiffly down from the wagon, she was relieved to find that the sun was just
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casting its first rays of golden light over the eastern horizon-- very few people were stirring about the camp. Willie had started a fire and left it burning for her. Missie added a couple of sticks and watched as the flames accepted them with crackling eagerness.
"Land sakes!" Missie exclaimed. "I wonder iffen I'll ever get my tied-up muscles all unwound." She began to pace back and forth, flinging and flexing her arms to limber them up. "Me, a farm girl, and so pampered that one good day's walkin' bothers me! Guess Mama didn't work me hard enough."
As Missie stamped back and forth, she recognized another good reason for keeping on the move. In the coolness of the morning, the mosquitoes were out in droves and they all seemed to be hungry. Missie decided to return to the wagon for a long-sleeved sweater to protect her arms.
She poured a generous amount of river water from the two- gallon bucket into the washbasin that sat on the shelf on the outside of the wagon; she then began her morning wash. The water was cold and Missie was relieved to reach for the rough towel to rub the warmth back into her face and hands. But she did feel refreshed and ready to begin her day. She draped the towel over its peg and busied herself with the breakfast preparations. The coffee was bubbling and the bacon and eggs sending forth their early-morning "all's well" signal when Henry made his appearance.
Missie thought of Henry as no more than a boy, but smiled to herself as she realized that he was at least as old as her Willie. Still, she thought, he doesn't have the same grown-up manner that Willie possesses.
"Mornin', Henry."
"Mornin', Ma'am."
The "Ma'am" brought another smile to Missie's lips. "Hungry?"
Henry grinned."Sure am."
"Did you sleep well?"
"Pesky mosquitoes don't let nothin' sleep. Bet the horses had to swish and stomp all night."
"Didn't bother me none. Leastways not until I got up this
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morning. Maybe we didn't have any in our wagon." "Willie said thet they were botherin' him."
Missie looked up from turning the bacon. "That so? Me, I never even paid them no mind. Guess I was just sleepin' too sound to notice. Where is Willie?"
"We checked out the horses and the cows, an' then he went over to have a chat with Mr. Blake."
"Everything all right?" She looked up with a furrowed brow. "Right as rain. Willie jest wanted to chat a spell, I reckon--to see how far we be goin' today."
"Oh." There was relief in Missie's voice. She didn't have to worry. She began to set out the tin plates for the morning meal.
It wasn't long until she heard the sound of Willie's familiar whistling. Her heart gave its usual flutter. She loved to hear Willie whistle. It was to her a sure sign that her world was all in proper order. Willie rounded the wagon and his whistling stopped.
"Well, I'll be. Ya sure are up bright an' early this mornin'," he teased. "Mosquitoes drive ya out?"
Missie smiled. `Truth is, I didn't even notice 'em. My achin' joints were the first to tell me that it was time to do a little stretchin'. You feelin' a mite stiff, too?"
"Reckon I'd be lyin' iffen I didn't own up to feelin' a little sore here an' there," Willie said with a grin. "An' thet's all thet yer gonna git me to confess. Full-grown, able-bodied man shouldn't be admittin' to even thet. Folks will be thinkin' thet I never worked a day in my life."
Missie glanced at the well-muscled body of her husband. "Iffen they do," she said, "they sure got eyes that don't see much."
"Boy, I sure hurt," Henry put in. "Never realized how sore one's arms could git from drivin' horses, nor how much work it was to just sit on thet bumpin' ole wagon seat."
"We'll git used to it," Willie assured him, rolling a log over to sit on. "In a few days' time, we'll wonder why we ever felt it in the first place."
Willie asked God's blessing on the food and the day ahead, then Missie served out their breakfast.
After they had eaten, Henry left to check the other wagon. As
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Missie washed up and packed away their supplies, Willie carefully went over his wagon and the harness. Many others were also moving about now. There were
sounds of running and yelling children, barking dogs and calling mothers. Amid the early morning clamor, Missie heard a baby cry.
"Didn't know we had a baby along," she commented, watching Willie out of the corner of her eye.
"It's the Collins'," Willie responded. "Only 'bout seven months old."
"Quite a venture fer one so young."
"An' fer her young mama."
"This be her first?"
"No. She's got another one, too. Jest past two years old." Missie thought for a moment.
"She'll have her hands full. Maybe the rest of us women can kinda give her a hand now an' then."
"I'm sure she'd 'preciate thet. There be another woman with the train who might need a hand now an' then as well." Missie's head came up. "Someone not well?"
"Oh, I hope she's well enough--not fer me to know nor say; but she's expectin' a youngun."
"Oh."
Missie flushed slightly and hoped that Willie didn't notice.
"It jest could be thet it'll arrive somewhere along the trail. I talked to the wagon master and he says, 'No worry.' Claims lots of younguns are born on the way West. We have a midwife along, a Mrs. Kosensky. She's delivered a number of babies. Still, iffen it were my wife--"
"Iffen it were your wife?" Missie queried.
"Iffen it were my wife, I'd prefer thet she had a home to do the birthin' in--and a doc on hand, jest in case. In spite of Blake's bold words I still got the feelin' thet he was jest a mite edgy 'bout it all, an' would much prefer to have thet young mother safely into a town and under some doc's responsibility when her time is come."
