Two men were yelling words I can’t repeat. I ran through the grass and saw Mr. Kenker with a pistol pointed at Tall Joe and there was Mrs. Kenker, her hands on her hips, also yelling.
Tall Joe yanked off his beaver hat and threw it to the dirt. “Fifteen miles a day is what we’ll do like it or not,” he said, his face two inches away from Mr. Kenker’s. Spit came out he was so mad. “And the next time you point a gun at me, mister, I’ll slice your ears off — don’t you forget.”
Mrs. Kenker piped in. “How dare you speak to my husband that way, we’re just poor old people looking to start a new life and you’re nothing but a liar who stinks to high heaven. I don’t know why we ever let you be the leader.”
Tall Joe’s eyes narrowed. “And you,” he said, pointing his finger at her, “you bother me worse than a corpse on a hot day.” He grabbed Mr. Kenker’s pistol and aimed it at their wagon seat where a pie was cooling. The first shot made the pan spin, the second splattered it.
Mrs. Kenker’s hands flew up in shock and what she screamed at Tall Joe, I ain’t repeating that either.
Pa later told us that the Kenkers have been pestering Tall Joe to slow down because they are plumb wore out. The mister has something wrong with his backside so it hurts him to sit so many hours driving their team and she don’t like the bugle at 4 o’clock every morning and there’s too many crying children and so on, one complaint after another.
I was upset to see old people yelled at, they must be 50 years of age. Even though I don’t trust Mrs. Kenker she sometimes still reminds me of my grandmother, the way she looks I mean.
Last week in May, thereabouts
In the far distance we can see something poking up from the horizon like a thumb pointing at the clouds. Tall Joe says this is Chimney Rock. It is the closest thing to a mountain that I have ever seen.
The woman who had a baby back in Ash Hollow died of fever this morning. She was buried on a bluff overlooking the valley. Her newborn daughter is being cared for by another mother, and friends are helping the father with his three little boys.
Chimney Rock
For two long days we approached Chimney Rock . . . it seemed to take forever. Two evenings we watched the sun set behind it as we ate supper.
Now that we’re here it’s a curious sight, a huge pile of rocks with what looks like a stone chimney rising up from its center. Jake and several boys hiked around its base and counted ten thousand steps. I don’t know how they kept track of so many numbers, but they did. Tall Joe said some other folks counted years past and they also said ten thousand.
Boys with rifles are shooting at the top of Chimney Rock to see what will happen. They like the fuss and noise. Now some families have souvenir chips tucked in their wagons.
The plains are dry with no trees. We are slowly moving toward the Pacific Ocean, but it’s near impossible for me to picture a sea other than this sea of grass. All around is open space with colors of gold, green, and brown. I feel we are specks, like bugs crawling across a kitchen floor.
It is very pretty, but I miss the sight and smell of trees and I do miss my Missoura River. To think I might never again hear the long, high whistle of a steamboat makes me feel lonesome.
Scott’s Bluff
I have never seen a real castle, but today we passed what Pa says looks like one. On the side of the trail, high above us, rose a sharp wall of stone called Scott’s Bluff. Jake wanted to climb it when he saw some older boys trying, but Ma held his shirt and said, “No.”
The bluff hugs the river so close we had to steer the wagons aside and pull around it, up a rocky ridge. Tall Joe said this place was named after the fur trader Hiram Scott who got sick and was abandoned by his companions. He crawled sixty miles trying to find them. When the trappers came this way again they found his skeleton and what was left of his boots right here.
This morning after we were on the trail for an hour, a boy playing with his father’s gun accidentally shot our front ox in the head. It dropped dead so quick the ones behind stumbled onto it and what a tangle of hooves and harnesses. Pa was so mad he stormed over to the boy, grabbed the gun, and threw it into the river.
“You coulda killed one of my children, young man.”
I have never seen Pa so red in the face.
I ran to Jake and Bennie, even though I knew they was safe, and gathered them to me like I was an old hen. That boy made me so mad that after supper I marched over and kicked him hard in the leg. Twice.
Sixty miles until we reach Fort Laramie, four days if we push.
Later
Thunder and lightning with heavy winds. Rain turned to sleet then hail. I scolded Jake for throwing hailstones at another boy who ran to his mama crying.
Fort Laramie
When Fort Laramie drew into sight I felt shaky. Indians were camped everywhere! But I looked at them careful and did not see any trouble brewing. They was mostly families, seemed like.
Tall Joe said we’re now in the middle of Sioux country and this is the biggest trading post around. It’s built from logs and is owned by the American Fur Company. There are dozens of trappers and mountain men dressed in beaded leather and skins and living in tipis. Many seem to be married to Indian women for there are half-breed children playing among the tents.
We’re staying for two nights and one full day so folks can make repairs on wagons and buy supplies. A Frenchman runs this place.
Way on the other side of the river we can see Brigham Young’s camp. The trail, such as it is, ends so they must cross to our side. The Frenchman has a flatboat. For fifteen dollars he’ll ferry their wagons across. Fifteen dollars is a fortune, but Pa says the river is deeper here so it’s probably worth it for them to pay.
We were already on the trail again before the Mormons had crossed over, so I reckon they’ll be traveling in our dust.
There are signposts every few miles. These are messages written on pieces of board stuck in the sand, also there are buffalo skulls with writing on them. Some notes are impossible to read because the sun has bleached out the ink, or rain has smeared it. There are warnings of bad water, rattlesnakes, and danger, like this one: “Willie Henderson and two others died here June 1846, buffalo stampede . . .”
Early June
Aunt June feels poorly. Ma says it is just weariness. She needs to rest and to drink more water. I asked when her baby will be born because she walks slower and her middle is bigger by the day it seems.
“Soon, Hattie, in a few weeks.”
Mr. Lewis’s mules are gone. Sometime in the night they were stolen from their pickets, their ropes cut.
“Injuns,” he said, shaking his head with worry. We gave him one of our oxen, now we have four. Uncle Tim did also, so now Mr. Lewis has a team of two.
The Mormons passed us today while we were nooning. Tall Joe pointed out Brigham Young on horseback. He was wearing a black hat and he lifted his arm to wave, then galloped ahead. Pepper and I stood on our wagon seat and shaded our eyes, hoping to see the Mormon children, but we saw only dust.
Someone said that just one wife is with him, all the others are back in Illinois.
Register Cliff
The trail goes through limestone which is soft when wet. Pepper and I carved our names into a boulder by the side of the road using a sharp stone. Our hands grew tired, so we didn’t spell out our full names or hometowns.
During the long, hot hours of the day, many of the men driving wagons doze, their reins in hand. It’s a wonder none have fallen off the seats. Pa looks wore out. Yesterday a wasp stung him on his neck and it has swollen up. Ma keeps dabbing mud on, but it is still sore and red.
We are so tired by nightfall, we roll into our blankets and stretch out on the hard ground, lately not using tents. It means one less thing to unpack and repack every day.
The breeze is cool on my face. How I
wish I could keep my eyes open long enough to study the stars, but suddenly it is morning. The bugle has sounded and campfires smell of fresh coffee.
Afternoon
Pepper told me a secret last night.
We were setting up a tent to share with little Holly and Laurel, for there was thunder and the smell of rain. It was pitch-black, no moon or stars. Every minute or so a sheet oflightning flashed in the west, so bright we could see the whole prairie, the way it is when someone holds up a lantern in a barn. For two full seconds we could see each other, then it was dark again.
After we tucked ourselves into blankets, Holly and Laurel already asleep between us, Pepper whispered.
“Gideon has asked me to marry him . . . and I said yes. Tell me what you think, Hattie.”
“Well, Pepper, I’m real happy for you.”
But what I didn’t tell her was that I was filled with envy. How I wanted to have someone love me, too. If she is fourteen and old enough to marry, then I at thirteen am old enough to fall in love.
We whispered until the rain began hitting our tent and we could no longer hear one another.
It rained all night. Pepper and I moved closer and held the little girls against us so they wouldn’t be cold. Thunder rocked the ground as if horses were running by.
Water seeped under our tent and up into our blankets. I did not sleep a wink on account of being wet and chilled.
Next day
Wet blankets were hung to dry inside the wagons and outside, pinned to the canvas. They soon were so full of trail dust that it was a chore to shake the mud loose. Tall Joe says last night was just a dribble, nothing compared to the heavy rains he’s seen in years past, so we should shut up and count ourselves lucky.
When word spread that Gideon and Pepper planned to marry, the women began putting together a wedding chest for them. Aunt June emptied one of her trunks and began folding and packing gifts that folks brought.
A beautiful down quilt came from one family. There was bedsheets and linens, a tarp, lantern, and dutch oven, an axe and a kettle. I gave her my tin of Babbitt’s powdered soap. One lady brought over her own lace nightgown and petticoat, never worn, that she’d been saving to wear once she got to Oregon.
“May as well have a bride enjoy them now,” she said. “Oregon is a long way off and who knows what’ll happen between now and then.”
Pepper and Gideon take long walks in the evening, then appear in time for the last dance. They hold hands until the fire is low. She’s late crawling into our bed and I wake up to her whispering in my ear, “Hattie?”
For a while we watch the stars and talk and wonder about the mysteries of marriage. But I worry, will she still be my friend? Will we live next door to each other like we planned?
Later
I am ashamed of myself.
Today the fat lady came over to visit, but Ma was down by the creek. I was figuring on how to act busy when the lady said, “Hello, honey. I’ve made some taffy for you to share with your brothers. Here you go.”
She handed me the candy wrapped in oilcloth and smiled at me so kindly I felt ashamed that I had avoided her so. Right quick I invited her to tea, recollecting Aunt June having told me to be hospitable.
While the kettle was set over the fire to boil the lady went to her wagon and came back with her husband riding on her wide shoulders. They introduced themselves as Mr. and Mrs. Bigg. (Cross my heart I did not laugh at their name.)
Mrs. Bigg said she has to drive the wagon on account of her husband being crippled. He sits next to her to keep her company and now I recall seeing them talk and laugh together hour after hour, like old friends. Because he has no legs and the trail is so rough, he ties himself to the bench so he won’t bounce off.
They said that a few years ago he was trampled by horses from a runaway wagon and his crushed legs had to be amputated. Poor man. I’ve decided they are two of the nicest folks I ever did meet and I will strike anyone who makes fun of them or the fact that her name describes her.
(I am so glad I kept my first opinions to myself! If Pepper knew how unkind I can be, I would melt from shame.)
Later
When Mrs. Bigg heard that Pepper is to be married, she dug in her trunk and pulled out one of her lace tablecloths. She marched over to our camp pulling a cart where Mr. Bigg sits like he’s riding in a little train. She held the lace up to Pepper and said, “Honey, I’m gonna make you the prettiest wedding dress you’ll ever set eyes on.”
And she did.
For five evenings Mrs. Bigg sewed and cut and measured until she had a creamy white dress with long sleeves and a bow that ties at the waist. Mr. Bigg sat beside her in his cart, sewing, too. He made a lacy overskirt from curtains that had hung in their parlor back in Missoura.
Finally we gathered by her wagon and held up blankets to make a private room. Pepper carefully stepped into the dress. As her mother buttoned up the back, the ladies caught their breaths she looked so beautiful.
The wedding is planned for when we arrive at Independence Rock, a few days away.
A hot afternoon
Mrs. Anderson came over this morning as we were packing up our breakfast plates. She looks very thin, but there’s more color to her cheeks. I can hardly look at her without wanting to cry for little Cassia.
She said to Ma, “It was so warm last night I think I left my shawl by your fire. Have you seen it, Augusta?”
Together they looked under the wagon, by the crates and stools, then in Aunt June’s wagon. I remember it was a pretty blue shawl with fringe. We looked and looked.
Wade is feeling good enough to dance, but when the fiddlers started up he asked another girl! I was so upset I ran outside the circle where it was dark. For a long time I sat in the dirt where no one could see me, watching the dancers. I felt so alone.
I want someone to love me the way Gideon loves Pepper.
Mid-June
The North Platte River runs west, but now we’ve come to where it makes a sharp turn to the south. We must cross it in order to continue toward Oregon.
Imagine our surprise to see that the Mormons not only had come and gone, but left behind nine men to build a ferry. Two ferries. And they would be glad to help us get across for just a dollar fifty per wagon.
My, the arguments that broke out because of this. Tall Joe said that over his dead body would he pay one penny to cross a river that he saw years before Brigham Young even knew it existed.
But Pa said, “I think it’s mighty enterprising of the Mormons to start a business in such a faraway place.”
Mr. and Mrs. Kenker cursed something fierce thinking they might need to part with some of their money. Several families said this: “Those Mormons are so high and mighty they stayed on the other side of the river and wouldn’t associate with us. But now that they can make a dollar off us they’re friendly as can be.”
“Come on, folks,” Pa said. “Brigham Young’s people are trying to start a new life, just like us. And I’ll tell you something else . . . we ain’t their judge, God Almighty is, so let’s get going and not be so mad about everything.”
He and Uncle Tim bargained with the Mormons. Two sacks of cornmeal paid our passage across, on rafts made from thin logs and strips of leather. Each raft, they said, could hold up to 1,800 pounds, but I don’t know.
It felt unsteady, and water washed over my feet as I helped Ma hold the wagon. I was so scared we’d sink, my knees ached from standing stiff. The littlest children sat safe inside, real still so the wagon wouldn’t rock.
Pa and Uncle Tim swam with the animals, my little brother Jake on the back of a mule. The water came up to his waist, but his fingers were hooked tight into the harness. I kept an eye on him, ready to dive in if he should slip off.
Once our family and the Andersons were all safe across that deep river, I was not
so nervous.
It took six days to get everyone over. Many refused to pay the Mormons and instead forded the river without help. Except for wet belongings and scared children everything was all right until the last day, when we heard screams.
I looked out and there in the middle of the current was two wagons side by side, their mules swimming hard, their big brown heads straining for breath. Somehow one of the mules drifted downstream into the other team and got its hooves tangled in the harnesses.
That poor mule panicked, then right before our eyes the animals began to drown. They sank so fast they pulled the wagons underwater before anyone had a chance to jump out. Two families disappeared just like that. I am sick at heart. The screams of their friends on shore I will never ever forget as long as I live.
For one day the men searched for bodies while the last of the families came over. Meanwhile everyone stayed busy doing regular things, almost like nothing bad had happened.
Pa said the nine Mormons will take apart their wagons to build a cabin, then stay till more pioneers come out next summer.
This gave Pa and Mr. Lewis an idea.
Soon enough they had bartered wood to make a small wagon with three hoops. They bought a tent, and with the help of Mr. and Mrs. Bigg’s sewing, turned the canvas into a top. They traded beans for two mules with harnesses and neck collars.
“What on earth?” asked Ma. There stood a miniature prairie schooner, about five feet long and three feet wide, with one set of wheels.
Mr. Lewis grinned when he answered, “It’s a wedding gift for my daughter and Gideon.”
Across the Wide and Lonesome Prairie Page 5
