by Diane Noble
Coming off the bluff without a hold-back rope, Ellie didn’t let the oxen balk at the river. She stood up as they reached the water’s edge and drove them straight in. The twins squealed, forgetting their father’s warning, as the team splashed into the water.
The crossing began upstream from where the pull-out lay so the downward-sweeping current would work with the beasts instead of against them. Ellie remembered Abe’s warning to pull out before that point, which was marked by a gnarled and crooked oak overhanging the river.
The water moved wildly after that, he’d said, and getting out would be almost impossible for a ways downstream.
Ellie kept her eyes on the backs of the oxen, their gray-white coats now shining wet in the sun. Their stocky legs were beginning to lose the feel of the river bottom, and with snouts in the air and loud bawls of protest, they began to swim.
Underneath, their hooves churned up silt and mud, hiding the river bottom from view. The wagon rocked, the upset animals and the swift power of the current playing with it like a toy. Ellie shouted out to calm the oxen then reached with one arm to steady the girls.
Meg looked up at her with a grin, happy for the ride.
“Yahoo!” shouted Sarah, then clasped her hand over her mouth dramatically.
The wagon swayed, and Ellie could feel it beginning to float. By now the lead oxen were nearly midstream to the sand bar. She had been warned that the feel of footing, then its immediate loss, might confuse the animals and make them even more giddy.
Joel and Lawson were now closing in on either side of the lead oxen. But just as they did, the current suddenly seemed rougher, and the wagon swayed violently and dipped. Though the tether ropes held, the belongings shifted and slid in back, tipping the wagon even farther.
The oxen were mostly over the bar and began to fight the water as they again lost their footing on the other side. The wagon evened out as it crossed the bar, though it still listed dangerously to the downstream side as it began to float again.
Team and rig began to move faster downstream, the sweep of the river harder now. Suddenly the upstream lead ox went under, and the one yoked to it fought for an instant then slipped under with its partner. Lawson Mitchell grabbed for the yoke, but it was too heavy to pull up. The rest of the oxen snorted and bawled as they felt themselves being sucked into the water.
Ellie stood and began to whip the beasts, urging them on with shouts and blows to their bony backs. She didn’t think about the marks left by the whip. She didn’t think about anything. She just shouted and whipped.
Alexander was suddenly beside the team, grabbing for the heavy wooden yoke. Tying ropes first to the yoke then around their saddle horns, the men pulled the animals’ heads above water. The oxen were stunned and worn, but they began to swim again through the water. Within minutes, they had reached the riverbank and clambered out just yards upstream from the crooked oak.
Ellie popped the whip again. The tired team kept pulling, their feet unsure as they climbed the steep bank with its slippery mud, but the wagon finally pulled out of the water and up to solid, flat grassland.
As soon as Ellie halted the oxen, the twins jumped down and ran to meet Alexander, now galloping the Appaloosa toward the wagon. “Did you see us, Papa? That was something! Did you see how Mama drove the wagon?”
“That I did! That I did!” he said with pride. Then his eyes met Ellie’s. “That was some fancy driving.”
She nodded, accepting the compliment. He turned the Appaloosa back toward the sand bar, and the girls climbed into the wagon for shelter from the beating sun.
Just then Sarah let out a screech, followed immediately by another.
Alarmed, Alexander turned immediately back toward Ellie. By now the little girl was sobbing hysterically in her mothers arms.
“What is it?” he asked as he halted the Appaloosa by the wagon.
“Phoebe,” Sarah sobbed inconsolably. “Phoebe’s gone. I think she fell in the river.”
Alexander met Ellie’s gaze over the top of Sarah’s head.
“You can have my dolly,” offered Meg. “I’ll give her to you.”
“I want Phoebe,” Sarah wailed. “I want Phoebe!” And the little girl dissolved once more into sobs.
“I must get back to the crossing,” Alexander said to Ellie. His horse danced sideways and snorted. To Sarah he added gently, “I’ll help you look for Phoebe later. When all the wagons have crossed, then you and I can go downriver and take a look.”
She sniffled and nodded, then rubbed her eyes.
Alexander kicked the gelding in the flanks and headed back across the river, calling out more directions as he rode. Then he positioned himself again on the sand bar in midstream, and the next team started down the incline to the river. Rig after rig followed—his sons and their families, Pleasant and Cynthia Tackett and their children, Jesse and Polly O’Donnell with their five lively daughters, Abe’s son George Barrett and his family, the captain’s nephews James and Robert, and James’s widowed mother, Jane, all plunging their teams into the water, nervously moving across, and then pulling out again just before the crooked oak.
He grinned as the signal was given for the next wagon to move into the water. It was the Barrett wagon with Liza at the helm. She flicked the backs of her oxen with her whip, and the beasts lumbered forward, pulling the rig into the water, steady and smooth.
He was struck by the woman’s spirit. Her love of life showed on her face. She seemed aglow with it, even down to the gleam of her red hair.
The sun was straight overhead now, causing a glare on the patterns of fast-moving ripples. Liza’s outfit continued on, and she half-stood, whip in hand, popping it just above the team, yelling out steady and even. Her gaze didn’t move from the oxen and the river straight ahead. They progressed across the river, past Alexander and the sand bar and down to the crooked oak. Without mishap, the oxen climbed the steep bank and pulled the wagon to dry ground.
Within minutes, Liza had clambered from her wagon bench to join Ellie and the twins on the far riverbank. The next time he glanced back, Liza was holding Sarah in her arms, strolling along the river’s edge, and he knew it was to console his brokenhearted daughter. He also knew how impossible it would be to find the wooden doll, even though he’d promised Sarah to look. He couldn’t bear to think of her little disappointed face when she understood the certainty of her loss.
He turned back to help the few remaining wagons cross. By now, the wagoners seemed less fearful, and even the most timid drivers urged their teams into the water full bore. In time for the nooning, all had forded and were in place on the western side of the river.
While Ellie and Meg set out a meal of salt pork and johnnycake left from the previous night’s supper, Alexander swept Sarah up to sit in front of him on the saddle. Still teary, she sighed and settled her back against him. He suddenly wished he could shelter Sarah from all heartaches she would ever face in her life, and he encircled her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. Then he clucked to the Appaloosa and flicked the reins, urging the horse into a trot toward the riverbank. A moment later he reined the horse into a turn downstream from the crooked oak.
For nearly an hour they searched the tangles of grass and brush and driftwood along both sides of the river. But there was no sign of the doll. Finally, Alexander couldn’t put off the inevitable any longer. They needed to eat their noon meal, and he could waste no more time getting the train on its way. He glanced up at the sun. They had miles to cover before sundown.
By the time they rode back into camp, Sarah was crying again. He helped the little girl dismount before swinging his leg over the saddle and stepping to the ground.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, kneeling and looking her in the face. “How about if I whittle another Phoebe for you? Or better yet—it can be her sister. A twin sister.”
But Sarah shook her head slowly, her lower lip trembling. “The only baby I want is Phoebe,” she said, her eyes watery. “The only one ever.<
br />
THIRTEEN
The days that followed were dry, raw, and wind warmed. As the wagon company moved slowly across the prairie, Ellie often walked beside the team, trying not to think about her aching muscles. She licked her sore lips, only to feel them dry and crack again in the windy heat.
The sun beat down on her head, seeming to sear right through the poke bonnet. The wind lifted her dark hair away from her sunburned face, bringing respite from the heat, only to settle then kick up again. Blisters and sores covered her feet. And her legs, though hard with new muscle, ached with weariness and bled from insect bites. Along the road, badger holes threatened to wrench an ankle, and she found herself nearly too weary to step over them.
The growing child in her belly caused the small of her back to burn with pain with each step she took. But she lifted her chin and whispered a prayer for her baby in rhythm with the turning of the creaking wagon wheels:
Beloved Savior, she would breathe,
Protect this your child.
You have knit him together
In my womb.
In my heart.
His days are in your hands.
Even as are all of ours … Alexander’s and mine,
Megs and Sarah’s.
We are yours…
The twins skipped and ran and walked and complained and whined alongside Ellie part of the time and happily rode in the wagon the rest. Alexander had cautioned the company to walk as much as possible so as not to tire the already struggling teams of oxen and mules.
Each day the train rolled in a straight line across the flat land, a vista unbroken by mountain or tree as far as Ellie could see. The prairie grass rose tall, sometimes taller than a person on horseback. Fed by the late spring rains, it shone pale green in the sun. It stretched toward the horizon, shiny and wind-rippled like the sea Ellie imagined.
The families didn’t call out to each other as much as they had at the start, and even the children seemed subdued, perhaps from the monotony, Ellie thought, or perhaps by the fear of being lost in the giant grass. At night the somber mood seemed to lift. In groups around the night fires, sounds of talking and laughter and singing again filled the air. They danced and sang and clapped to the fiddle player and listened to stories about Indians and mountain men and the pioneers who’d gone before them.
When the children were in bed and the men gathered to plan the next days trek, Ellie sat with Liza Barrett, Polly O’Donnell, William Cameron’s wife, and Jane Farrington, discussing womanly concerns such as how they could stretch their supplies. Hampton’s wife, Sadie, and Billy’s Bess sometimes joined them as well—though, because they were barely more than children themselves, the young women seemed to prefer the company of the unmarried girls, with their gossip and lighthearted chatter.
Ellie was already concerned about replenishing the food stock. Most wagon trains heading west couldn’t carry enough for the entire journey, so they depended on settlements along the way where feed for the cattle and food for the families could be purchased. What they had packed in Crooked Creek would be depleted by the time they arrived at Fort Laramie.
Ellie wondered if there were places where supplies were so scarce as to not be available. But when she voiced her concern in front of the other women, Liza chuckled and said, “We have enough to worry about today, Ellie. Let’s not start worrying about tomorrow quite yet.”
But Ellie couldn’t let go of the notion. She thought maybe it was because she was feeling fiercely maternal as her babe moved and kicked inside her or because of her joy in watching Meg and Sarah thrive in the fresh air and prairie sunshine, seeming to grow taller and stronger each day.
One night after the girls were snuggled into bed as dusk settled on the grasslands, Ellie strolled from camp to be alone with her thoughts. The travelers had circled their wagons next to a small, winding creek, and its evensong of frogs croaking and crickets and katydids sawing beckoned her.
A breeze rustled the grasses, carrying with it a perfume of damp earth and grass and wildflowers. In the distance, the final rays of the sun slid from view, and a pale mist began to settle on the land. Ellie drew in a deep breath. The world had never seemed so alive.
God was with her in this place! His presence was so real, so comforting, that quick tears sprang to her eyes. She walked closer to the bubbling stream, delighting in its music, listening to the still, small voice that spoke to her heart.
Beloved, you are mine.
Your love for your children is a reflection of my own love… for them. For you.
Your journey is difficult, my child,
And the road ahead harder than you can know.
But I am with you, my beloved.
I will never leave you. I will never forsake you.
Ellie lifted her eyes toward the afterglow where the sun had slipped beneath the prairie. The grass stood tall, its tassels silhouetted against the darkening sky like sentinels. The heaviness she had carried in her heart for weeks seemed to lift with the night birds taking wing.
Later, as Ellie fixed her bedroll next to Alexander s, she looked up at the ink black sky with its pinpoints of dancing fire, and her heart leapt with joy at the knowledge that the God of creation, the God who ruled the universe, called her “beloved.”
Alexander reached to take her hand. He lifted it to his lips in a gentle kiss, then turning on his side, he scooted his body close to her back, wrapping one arm around her waist. His hand now rested on the place where the baby would continue his butterfly antics throughout the night. Ellie smiled and placed her hand on top of Alexander’s. Her love for this man, so often too weary to talk at the end of the long days, welled inside her.
Around them drifted the soft voices of families settling into wagons and onto pallets by their campfires. Once in a while, a child’s sleepy voice drifted across the night circle, calling out to his or her mother. Then the voices stopped, and Ellie could hear only the distant bawling of cattle and the din of nearby creek frogs.
Pulling her quilt over her shoulders, Ellie watched the dying embers of the fire until she fell asleep.
It was mid-May when Alexander turned the company due north; they were just days from intersecting the California road. The bone-weary families seemed to take energy from the knowledge of its nearness. They would soon join hundreds of other travelers heading west, and they would welcome the company.
As the train lumbered forward, now and then they crossed Indian foot trails running east and west. The day they spotted the first trace, the morning draw had put Ellie’s wagon at the head of the train. She had felt a new weariness and aching in her womb, so she decided to drive the team from the bench. The twins sat behind her in the wagon bed, leaning out of the canvas opening. Alexander rode beside her with Abe Barrett on the other side of the wagon and slightly ahead.
Ellie noticed they both seemed more watchful than usual.
“Pawnee,” Abe Barrett said to Alexander as they crossed another trail. Her husband nodded in agreement.
“Indians?” shouted Sarah, nearly hopping up and down in her excitement. Her sister added a few whoops and hollers, her hand patting her mouth to create a wild warbling sound.
Alexander gave his daughter a frown, and Meg halted the noise.
“Will we see one, Papa?” Sarah asked. “I want to see a Pawnee.”
“I’m sure we will,” Alexander said absently as his eyes continued to search the trails through the grass. “Though I’ve told you, they’re more of a nuisance than anything to fear.”
“Still, I want to see one,” she persisted.
“Me too,” added Meg with two fingers lifted featherlike behind her head.
The girls disappeared inside to play as one wheel hit a rock and swayed the wagon. Ellie lifted the whip, popping it above the oxen’s backs. They lumbered forward, jerking and rocking the wagon again. They rode onward.
Ellie was especially glad for her husband’s watchful company today. She glanced over at him with pride, noting th
e changes in him since they had left Crooked Creek. He fit in the Appaloosa’s worn saddle as if one with the powerful animal. His red-brown hair strung to his shoulders from beneath his hat, giving him more the look of a mountain man than the country farmer he had been.
The way he rode in the saddle, it was obvious he was where he was born to be … following his dream. Ellie marveled at how her husband seemed to be made for the width of the sky, the brilliance of the fine spring grasses, and the wildness of the unceasing wind.
Just as I am, she thought, raising her eyes to a sky so deep it made her dizzy. She ached with the wonder of it. How she loved God’s creation! She wondered if when he made this land he’d used heaven as a pattern … just as she used a dress pattern for sewing.
Still smiling to herself at the notion, she looked west, where thunderheads were churning upward, brilliant and bold against the darkening sky. The sounds of distant thunder rumbled across the land, and a low, flat wind pressed the grasses eastward.
Suddenly, Ellie felt like singing. And so she did. Looking up at the sky in all its expanse, she started singing “Oh! Susanna.” Alexander glanced at her with surprise, grinned, and then joined in with his rumbling bass.
The twins stuck their heads out of the canvas opening, wide-eyed in wonder, then they started singing and clapping in rhythm. Within minutes, up and down the long caravan, folks lifted joyous voices—melodic, raspy, deep, off-tune, or operatic—and the noise of it carried across the prairie.
Ellie chuckled, popped the whip at the oxen from time to time, and continued to sing, “Oh! Susanna, oh, don’t you cry for me, for I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee …”
By that night, a small band of Indians, Pawnee and Kansa, according to Alexander and Abe, began tagging along behind the train, pestering the travelers to trade for food and trinkets.
When the company stopped for their nooning or circled the wagons for the night, the Pawnee women quickly spread tattered blankets on the flattened grasses and placed clay bowls, grass baskets, beads, and shells on the ground next to trinkets they had traded or stolen from other wagon trains.
