“Stop that hollering and get the grease bucket from the wagon,” Jebediah ordered. The large bucket of grease hung behind the rear wheels on the axle and she reluctantly reached for it. “Hurry up woman, we must get this wheel repaired and get to the river before dark.” Perspiring, and smelling of axle grease, Martha stood aside and watched the men repair and replace the wheel. She looked down at the blob of grease permeating the cotton of her skirt with disgust. Taking her handkerchief from her pocket she tried to clean the stain but only managed to make it worse. How was a woman supposed to keep her clothes clean in this God forsaken place? Why would anyone want to come here? Five-year-old, Ezekiel, now completely recovered took advantage of this time to run and play with the other children.
When one wagon had a problem, the entire wagon train would stop and wait. The wagon master, Arthur Langley, rode back to see what the problem was and just how long it would take to fix. He had sent scouts ahead to determine how far they were from the North Platte River and their destined stop for the night. The cattle drovers had gone on ahead with the cattle and would be somewhere in the vicinity of the river by nightfall.
“You men going to be long, Jebediah?” Arthur was in his mid forties and loved his work. He was based in St. Louis but spent more than half his life on the trail. Many of the wagon trains started their journey in the east from New York, Ohio or Virginia as this one had, and traveled across the entire country to California. He watched the men replace the wheel. Looking in Martha's direction, he noticed the look of disgust on her face as she rubbed the stain. Arthur Langley had seen many immigrants. Women like Martha Whittaker did not survive in the wild west of the Americas.
“Just a few minutes and we'll have the axle greased and the wheel back in place, Arthur.” Jebediah forced a grin at the leathered faced, wagon master knowing that he must portray himself as a simple homesteader in order to blend in. Jebediah's plan was coming together. He thought back to the day on the ship when he watched the crew throwing the dead bodies into the sea. The passenger's belongings were piled on the deck, as the crew disposed of those that had been overtaken by the disease. Jebediah noticed a shiny gold watch and a bible amongst the belongings. When the crew was looking the other way he slipped them into his pocket, convinced the person that owned them would not be needing them again. The watch he took because it was gold, the bible was the foundation for his plan. He patted the bible reassuringly, now stored in his coat pocket as he thought to himself, Thousands of acres of land offered for next to nothing, to families moving west. Martha made the family picture complete; we're just simple immigrants from England, anxious to start a new life in the west. It will all be mine-- acres and acres of land and large sums of money. He grinned at Arthur and directed his attention back to the wagon.
Martha wandered over to converse with some of the other women. Her anger was subsiding and slowly replaced with resignation. Margaret's coaching had been instrumental in her newly acquired tolerance. Realizing they were all in this together she had put her bitterness aside and tried to blend in. Her class distinctions were slowly disappearing. Many were new immigrants like her, longing for their homes far away and frightened of the uncertain future. Friendships were made amongst the women, all feeling very alone in this new land. During one of the stops, arrangements had been made to start a quilt; with each woman sewing her section as the wagon train progressed. Sewing was something that Martha knew how to do, having been tutored in the craft as she grew up in the Manor. She actually enjoyed matching colors and sewing the tiny stitches that held the beautiful quilts together. Each wagon would have a beautiful, co-operative quilt by the time the group arrived at their destination. Quilts were the obvious choice, because small pieces could be used and old clothing and blankets were quickly turned into useable quilts. Nothing went to waste and even Martha was begrudgingly learning how to make a petticoat last long after it should have been discarded. Wagon travel provided limited space and only absolute necessities were taken. Her trunks and most of her clothing had been left back east. Jebediah told her the trunks would follow on a freight wagon at a later date. She focused with anticipation on their arrival, using it as a way to cope with her current limited wardrobe.
Margaret Brown, who she learned was the wife of one of the scouts, became Martha's closest acquaintance on the wagon train. Auburn haired, with a heart shaped face, Margaret came from England to join her husband who had been in the Americas for two years. She told Martha, it was quite a shock for her to see him, dressed in buckskin and furs, complete with full beard and long hair. James had always been impeccably dressed and clean-shaven back home in England. The two women grew close during the long days and nights on the trail. Martha taught the grateful Margaret how to improve her sewing skills. Margaret was adjusting to her new life as well as could be expected, but she was different from Martha in one very important way. She loved her husband with all her heart and would follow him to the end of the earth to be near him. Martha envied the loving, respectful relationship that Margaret and James had and often enviously watched them together. Martha was simply thankful Jebediah and the two older boys slept outside under the wagon and that she was not required to fulfill her wifely duties. The sleeping conditions of the wagon train had become a blessing in disguise for the humbled Martha. She enjoyed talking with Margaret but there were certain things that she kept to herself.
Each morning, the travelers were up before daylight. Men gathered the livestock and women cooked breakfast. Many times they also prepared lunch for the trail since they did not always stop during the day's ride. Oxen were hitched up, bedding packed away and they started to move out. To Martha it seemed that day after day, each one was essentially like the last. Rise before dawn, cook and eat, gather the stock, hitch the wagons, head out, choke on the dust all day, and then stop, cook, eat and settle again for the night. The scenery scarcely changed day-to-day, week-to-week just flat grassy plains covered with clouds of dust.
Passengers preferred to walk well off the trail much of the time, since all but the lead wagon were always choked in dust. The wagons were bumpy and uncomfortable and walking, although tiring, was a relief. Martha noticed that she had lost weight, her body appearing more muscular since starting on this trip.
“ I'll look more like a boy than a woman by the time we arrive and my feet are killing me,” she grumbled to Margaret who was slightly overweight and not noticeably losing any of her womanly curves. Margaret just laughed, having become accustomed to Martha's constant complaining. Margaret looked passed the crusty exterior to the pleasant person she saw beneath.
“Walking is good for you, young woman. You should try walking with these old bones.” Olga Mueller added in her broken english. Martha liked Olga. The German woman was in her late forties but as strong as an ox. She wore her blond braids tied on top of her head, her muscular arms swinging by her side as she walked. Olga told them how, she and her husband Fritz had moved to England from Germany to take over Olga's father's shop. Her family had been shopkeepers in Germany for generations and Olga came by her shop expertise naturally. They lived above the shop, made a decent living and were happy with their life. Martha asked her why anyone would leave London to come to this God forsaken place. “We ran the shop for Papa but after he died, my eldest brother inherited everything. He sold it out from under us. We offered to buy it but there was big money to be had from a developer. So there we were, no livelihood, no home, no future just our small savings.” The women strained to understand her strong accent. Olga's “w” sounded more like a “v” when she spoke causing the women to listen carefully so as not to misunderstand. “Fritz had been wanting to travel to the Americas and since we needed a new start, here we are.” The sad look on Olga's face, told Martha there was more to the story than she was telling. The women walked on silently, each with their own thoughts. Martha felt sorry for Olga. Her own situation in this desolate place was bad enough but Olga was twice her age. At a time in her life when she should hav
e had it all, she had been forced to leave her settled and happy life, to travel half way around the world to this dusty, dry, no man's land. What Martha didn't understand was how Olga could be so accepting of the situation. She didn't appear bitter or angry, just resigned, almost optimistic. I just don't understand these people or what drives them on. Her legs were aching and she had blisters on her feet by the time they stopped. Rubbing her calves, she kept her complaints to herself for once. As the sun set, the wagons formed a circle for protection. The children ran and played in the center. Pent up energy was released as the women prepared the evening meal. The men tended the livestock and checked the wagons for needed repairs. After supper they would all gather around the fire and listen to the scouts and traders tell stories of the places they would soon call home.
Some of the men would play cards, which appealed immensely to Jebediah. In his new role as homesteader, Jebediah reinvented himself. He took to carrying the Bible around and quoting scriptures on occasion, but explained that the Lord would forgive a man for seeking some pleasure in a friendly game of cards. This contradiction surprised some of the men, but they still invited the pious Jebediah to play. The stakes were never high since most of the homesteaders were stretching their meager holdings just to make this trip. “You're not betting that watch are you Jebediah, it is a beauty.” Arthur Langley admired Jebediah's gold watch when he pulled it from his coat and checked the time during a card game.
“Couldn't part with this no matter how broke I was- belonged to my dead father, I am never without it. Only thing I have to remember him by.” Jebediah watched their reactions as he put the watch back in his pocket. He was a convincing liar. The others nodded in sympathy, remembering their own dead parents. They understood the importance of memories and family heirlooms. Jebediah looked at them and smiled, thinking to himself, If they only knew. The fellow that owned this watch is lying at the bottom of the sea. Unbeknownst to the others, Jebediah had a very large amount of money, gold and jewels hidden away, the rewards of his land sale before leaving England. In fact, he hadn't even owned the land. It was Jebediah's brother, Jeremy, who was the real landowner. The buyers had paid Jebediah thousands of pounds for hundreds of acres that he had convinced them he owned. He wondered how they were feeling now after being parted from their gold and having nothing to show for it. I wonder how long it will be before they discover that the land wasn't mine to sell. I pulled the wool over their eyes and made a fortune in the process. It served them right for being so greedy. A smirk crossed his face as he thought about how easy it had been to defraud them. John McGuire was probably feeling very foolish at having been parted from his daughter as well. It had been a brilliant idea to make Martha a condition to the sale. Saved me a lot of time looking for a wife. He laughed to himself. Guilt was one emotion that Jebediah never allowed himself. Nothing would stand between Jebediah and his plans to amass a huge fortune. As his hand patted the stolen watch nestled in his pocket, the other men looked at him in sympathy.
The flaming campfire surrounded by black star-studded night sky inspired many stories. One evening, Pat and Dan O’Brien, two Irish emigrants relayed their story to the others.
“We have our local priest to thank for our being here tonight. Although the church relied strongly on the contributions of its parishioners back in Ireland, the priests were very supportive of those who wanted to emigrate. After the great potato famine, life grew more difficult as time passed. People were starving, jobs scarce. Many people wanted to leave our beloved Isle of Green. The local priest provided Dan and I and a few others with enough money to travel to Cork where we could board the ship.” Pat paused and nodded to his brother to continue.
“We traveled by train and ere long found ourselves upon the road to Cork. We were in the midst of 200 to 300 men, women and children varying in age from five to fifty.” Dan's Irish lilt made him sound more like he was singing than talking. “Upon our arrival in the city we were obliged to stay in a lodging house. It was not unusual for twenty to forty persons to be crammed in a room four yards by six yards square with nothing but filthy straw on the floor for a bed, on top of which we were charged three pence a night. Breakfast was standing room for a few pieces of dry toast. The sad part is that this turned out to be the best part of the journey.” Pat took up the story where Dan left off, many of the homesteaders nodded in empathy, reflecting back on their own journeys.
“Conditions on the ship out of Cork were horrible. Bodies packed in like sardines, sanitary conditions were almost non- existent and disease ran rampant. We were two of the lucky ones that actually made it to the shore of the colonies. Many of our ship mates died at sea.” Pat stopped, looking into the night sky to regain his composure. “I know some of you think this wagon train is a rugged go, but I assure you, there are worse conditions.” Martha felt a twinge of guilt at the comment, self-consciously thinking that it was meant for her. Her hand moved to her hair, now dusty, dry and pulled back in a ribbon. Since she was a little girl, she always reached for her hair in times of distress. The soft feel of her hair usually comforted her. Now it felt harsh and dry like her life.
Mick O’Rourke, another Irishman, confirmed the story from his own experience. “I left Ireland when the crops disappeared and traveled to England to work in the fields, but that didn't last long either. I boarded an immigrant ship in Liverpool and conditions were not much better than you describe. Our emerald isle will soon be barren, people are leaving like rats deserting the ship.” His voice reflected the sadness in his heart. Everyone on the wagon train seemed to have a story of suffering, persecution and escape. Martha felt ashamed for some of the trivial complaints she had expressed in the beginning of the trip. Compared to these people her life had been one of privilege and wealth before she left England. Her situation with Jebediah had nothing to do with these determined people. They didn't deserve to listen to her complaints; she would keep them to herself.
Sitting on the opposite side of the fire, Jebediah took something entirely different from the O’Brien's story. People trusted the clergy. This story had reconfirmed that. Fitting in perfectly with his plan, he knew he could turn this to his advantage. Sensing the mood of the crowd, several people obviously offering up a silent prayer, he took his bible out of his pocket. He opened the book and began to read from the scriptures. Several people nodded in appreciation.
Evening fire stories became the only form of entertainment for the travelers and people began to look forward to them. One evening as they gathered around the fire, the air was pierced by a loud scream. Seconds later Abraham ran between the wagons shouting, “Ezekiel has been bitten by a rattlesnake. Help, someone help. ” Several men ran to where the tiny boy was writhing in pain. A gunshot was heard and the screaming Ezekiel was carried into the circle.
“Shot the bastard, a big one too,” one of the scouts informed the terrified women. “Snake soup for supper tomorrow night ladies.” The scout dropped a four foot long Rattler, its head blown off, in front of the terrified women.
People gathered around the blonde haired child observing that his leg was already swollen to twice its size. Martha pushed through the crowd and cradled the shaking Ezekiel in her lap. Holding him as firmly as she could, one of the fur traders cut the skin around the bite. Martha feared the repercussions. Moments later, blood and hopefully venom poured from the cut. All they could do was give the child some Willow Bark tea to ease his pain and wait. Jebediah arrived shortly afterward and carried Ezekiel back to their wagon, with Martha following sheepishly behind.
Back at the wagon, Jebediah berated Martha severely for letting Ezekiel run off unattended. “You are supposed to be taking care of the boys, you stupid woman. I didn't bring you half way around the world so that I would have to be responsible for these children. Nothing better happen to him or you will pay for it.” Martha tried to back away but was soon up against the wagon with Jebediah shouting in her face. Trembling with fear, she could feel his hot breath on her skin. “Oh yes
, you will be very sorry for your lack of attention to his whereabouts.” The blow came from nowhere. With ringing in her left ear and her vision blurring, Martha's body crumbled to the ground. Half conscious, faintly somewhere in the distance she could hear Jebediah repeating over and over, “You will pay, oh yes, you will pay.” She lay there alone and frightened for what seemed like hours, her world swirling around her as if she were in a drunken haze.
Minutes later, Jebediah stomped away to join the others leaving Martha; her throbbing face soaked with tears to tend to five-year-old Ezekiel. His fever seemed to escalate by the minute. Martha had thus far merely tolerated all three of the boys. Even though Ezekiel spent more time with her than the others, she had not allowed herself to feel anything for him but conscientious concern for his welfare. She had been too consumed with her own desperation to give a thought to anyone else. His feverish condition reminded her of the nights in the sickroom aboard the ship. She felt as useless now as she had then. Overcome with emotion she started to pray.
Dreams and Nightmares Page 4
