“Here we go,” she said as she led the ox off onto the muddy shore of southern Illinois and up the landing onto the track.
James, Carrie, Josh, and George came in the next ferry with Maisey and James’s horse, Napoleon, and joined Laura and the three wee ones above the landing.
“I figure we’d camp up the road a piece and lay low tomorrow. We all need the day to mend and sleep a little.” She smiled to herself when a flicker of relief reached James’s and Carrie’s eyes.
“What does that mean, Momma? We don’t have to walk tomorrow?” Josh said.
“Don’t be downhearted. No walking on the morrow, boys. You can sleep late and wander a little but not far. We eat all three meals in the camp and then go on the day after.”
“You reckon we’ll see any Injuns?” George asked. His eyes were like saucers.
“No, not here. They went to Missouri, son.” Laura ruffled his hair. He grinned at her.
Josh said, “Dang it. I wanted to meet some Kickapoo.”
Carrie raised her eyebrows. “If you meet any Kickapoo, it might be the last thing you ever do. They’ll take one look at that tow head and want to haul you off with ’em.”
George said with a squeak, “Take us with ’em? Like stealing?”
James said, “Steal you is the least they might do, Georgie.”
Laura looked daggers at both Carrie and James. “Quit putting thoughts into their heads. They’re already afeared as it is.”
“No, we ain’t.” Josh puffed out his chest.
“Aren’t, not ain’t.” Laura poked James’s boot where he rested on a patch of grass. “Let’s get these children to camp, husband.”
James rose with a grunt, shouldered his rifle, and silently led the way down the track.
Five miles later, they found a clearing with room enough for several camps. Laura steered away from another wagon and stopped at a stand of locust and cottonwood trees. Snow still packed the low spots but had melted in the clearing.
James and Carrie began the ritual of getting more game. Laura lamented it was too early in the year for berries. She was tired of the same thing day after day: gamey meat and biscuits. Occasionally she fed them from her small basket of dried apples, but sparingly. They had another ten-pound bag of flour that should do them for biscuits until they reached the settlement up the Illinois River tributary of Moss Creek. So far, game had been abundant, but she didn’t know what lay ahead of them.
Josh stood near her skirts. “Can George and I go fishing?”
Laura contemplated their tired faces. Fishing wasn’t exactly resting, but they would have fun and maybe they wouldn’t have to eat game again tonight. “That suits me fine. Stay within sight of the wagon, though.”
“Can we ask them over there to go with us?” Josh pointed to a boy running around the wagon across the trampled grass.
“Let me go with you. I’ll meet them and then I’ll decide.”
“Good morn,” the brown-haired woman called across. Her son hunkered close to her.
Laura introduced themselves.
The young woman answered, “I’m Elizabeth. This is Thaddeus. My husband Blanton went hunting early this morning. I expect him back any time.”
“My husband and my sister-in-law are hunting, too.”
“Sister-in-law?”
“Aye. She’s a farm woman that wears men’s britches and works like a man.”
Elizabeth blinked. “Oh.”
“We came over to see if your boy wants to fish with my boys. Josh, here, and two other boys, George and Sammy.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said again, then smiled. “I’ll be glad to send Thad fishing. He’s rambunctious. Fishing will rid him of his fidgets.”
Laura left the four boys to whittle sticks, put string and hooks on them, and explore the creek.
Laura completed setting up camp, glad Gerta could toddle around on her own. Baby Permelia, fed and changed, was asleep once again in her basket under the wagon. Laura checked the canvas shelters she put up for both her family and for Carrie, then boiled water to cook a hot lunch. Some hot stew for the chilled, pre-spring nip in the air would suffice. She used up all the remaining rabbit, some dried vegetables, a couple of potatoes, and some dried thyme she’d brought along from home for her meager, traveling kitchen.
Late morning, Carrie and James traipsed into the clearing, muddy from boot to knee but looking pleased with themselves. Carrie raised a full bag of small game. James carried a deer across his shoulders.
“We got several rabbits and a young possum. I shot a turkey about a mile back and I’ll go back to get it.” Carrie smiled from ear to ear and let Laura peek into the bag. “Plenty to keep us going. James’ll render the deer and dry it. I’ll take care of the deerskin. You can make quite a bit of clothing with this one.”
“Momma, look what we got.” Sam ran across the clearing, holding a long string of bluegill.
“I see.” The fish were on the small side but would do for a mess of fried fish for supper. “Y’all get cleaned up for dinner. I got rabbit stew on the fire.” Laura eyed Carrie and James. “You two, get yourselves into the crick and get that there mud off you. You’re a sight.”
Carrie looked down at her breeches and smirked. “Yes, Momma.”
Laura clapped her on the back of the head. “Cheeky sister.” It heartened her to hear laughter in Carrie’s voice.
After the hot midday dinner, the children took naps under the wagon. Carrie cleaned the small game and the turkey while James butchered the deer.
Carrie looked up from her work, surprised to see Laura napping under the wagon with the children. She’s exhausted. We all are. They were not but a fourth of the distance to Moss Creek, according to information their former neighbor Moose Mumford had sent them two months ago. We need to keep up our energy and pluck for quite a while yet.
Two hundred seventy miles total the trip would take to Kickapoo County. It daunted her, but she knew they were all a hardy group, capable of the trek despite how grueling the walk for the children and Laura, and how much she and James needed to keep them in food along the way. She and James decided to go at a slow pace and not worry about making the trek in three or four weeks instead of the usual fortnight. The main goal was to arrive in time to clear and plow fields for planting. If they could raise a cabin before that, even better.
The trace ahead would be more like a developed road, Moose told them. The traveling would get harder in April mud. More game, though, as the weather warmed. More small critters also brought out the bigger critters who preyed on them, panthers and bobcat most likely, who’d feast on the rodents leaving their dens.
Laura told Carrie she’d be camping with them from now on. Carrie enjoyed silent time away from the children, time to reflect, to plan her medicinal plants garden, and tan hides they’d accumulated along the way. Carrie shook her head. Laura got more antsy the farther north they drove. She rued losing her private camp, but never liked to buck Laura’s decisions no matter how overcautious she got.
Once they reached Moss Creek, she reckoned on putting together a medicinal herb garden like the one she tended at home. She’d brought her seeds. Of course, she’d help James and Laura get set up housekeeping. Help James plow and plant and build some fence for cattle and maybe a few pigs. They’d have a joint coop of chickens and share the eggs and meat. Laura’s milch cow would give enough milk, butter, and cheese with a little left over to barter for ready-made goods and coffee.
By the second year, they’d have their own flour from the wheat and oat harvest. Mayhap some cornmeal. The Indian corn grew like weeds, according to Moose, the Illinois soil black as night. Moose had a penchant for high tales, and she took him with a grain of salt.
The children and their mother napped. Carrie hummed, working the new rabbit furs in one long piece and cleaning it of any remaining blood. She mashed acorns to make a brine with water, then placed skins in the brine where they would remain for two days, to be brought out when the fa
t and skin would then be removed from the underside of the fur. She’d soak it again for about a week before it was ready to be dried fully. Carrie placed the bucket, with seven rabbit furs steeping in the brine, into the wagon and placed a wooden plank atop. She grinned with the accomplishment of two buckets of furs brining.
Laura woke. “Sorry. I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I reckon I was pretty tuckered out.”
“You needed the rest, sister.”
Carrie cleaned up around the camp, and stacked firewood by size for tonight’s cook fire and for washing clothes. The three boys played with Thad, Blanton and Elizabeth’s son. Gerta and Permelia continued peacefully in their afternoon naps.
Laura built a fire for the wash. Carrie stuffed soiled shirts and baby things down into the water. Laura stirred the boiling, soapy water for a full measure of time. When she was satisfied they were clean, she lifted items one at time for Carrie to beat with a stick and hang on limbs near their fire.
When the wash was done, Laura rummaged among a barrel of goods, came back to the clearing, and sat on the ground blanket. She picked up one of James’s torn shirts, threaded a needle, and asked, “I saw you limping yesterday and today. What’s wrong with your foot or leg?”
“It’s nothing. Twisted my ankle out hunting, running in the thickets. Feels better today.”
“You best stay off it today. As soon as James gets back, y’all can whittle and spit.” Laura laughed lightly.
“I do not spit.” Carrie glanced at her and grinned. “I’m going to hunt some more acorns for my tanning. Moose says the thick woods clear out after a few days. I’ll wish I had more nuts then.” Despite Laura’s concern for her, Carrie treasured her alone time. Close quarters wore on her.
Laura shook her head. “Well, watch that ankle. Best come sit as soon as your bucket is full, now.”
Carrie took a bucket into the woods next to their campsite. She found both pecans and walnuts, picking up what was left from animals and people combing the area. She gathered as many acorns as possible from the thick number of them on the forest floor. And, she did rest the remainder of the day.
James returned with another load of larger wood and joined her at the fire. He sat, pulled out his knife, and whittled toys. They both lit pipes of the tobacco they’d brought with them, talked little, and enjoyed the day spent not trudging down the trace. He hardly showed worry lines, but he had to be as fidgety about what lay ahead as she.
From their three-room cabin along Moss Creek at Locust Hill, Emma watched her father, William, scrutinize his acreage. An early April, wet snow covered parts of the fields, deeper in the furrows between rows. He huddled inside his coat, wended his way toward the cabin, and waved.
“The haystack needs to last a few more weeks. Spring doesn’t want to come this year.” A small frown creased his weathered face.
“I have some tea ready. Come in and get warm.” Emma took his coat and hung it on a hook by the front door.
When he sat at the table, she poured hot water into the teapot. He coughed. She added a spoon of honey to the cup.
“Ah, feels good to sit. The cattle need food. The north pasture is taking its time greening up.” He sipped. “Good tea, daughter.”
“I’m waiting for the hens to lay as well.”
“Your goats are producing good milk. That’s a blessing.”
“Aye, we take our blessings where they come. The winter’s been hard, Father.”
“No worse than last year, but spring’s been cool.” He sipped. He inhaled deeply, which set off another round of coughing. “I want to go to Mumford’s store and lay by some staples. Will you go with me?”
“I will. Mrs. Wallace says Moose received new dry goods some days ago. We still have a small credit from our grain harvest last fall, don’t we?”
“You have some dry corn all ground up for us.” George pointed to a bowl of cornmeal.
“I did that this morn. We still have wheat berries in the barrel, dried apples and peaches, potatoes, turnips, and onions in the cool cellar, and a goodly store of smoked meat to last us. We will not starve for a few weeks.” If she didn’t laugh in the face of hunger, what would she do?
“You have been a good daughter to learn so much since we arrived, sweeting. I know it taxed you at times.” He patted her arm.
“I want Mrs. Wallace and Susannah to teach me how to work with wool. At her visit with me on the Sabbath, we talked of her trading some of Dixson’s sheep wool for my goat cheese. She’ll let me borrow her spinning wheel.”
William nodded, took his pipe from its place on the kitchen shelf, and filled it with tobacco. He took a straw from the bundle near the fireplace, lit it from the fire, then put it to the tobacco and puffed. Emma inhaled the fragrant smoke rising around them and sighed with the aroma.
“I’ll saddle up Titan and you can ride with me to Mumford’s.”
Emma drank the rest of her tea, gathered up the cups, and took them to the dry sink to wash later with the supper dishes. “I’ll be ready when you get back.”
At the trading station, Moose greeted them in his jovial Kentucky manner. “Good day, Mr. Reynolds, Miss Reynolds. How do ye fare?”
“We do well, Mr. Mumford. Emma tells me we have some credit left. I’d like tobacco, tea, coffee, and some leather to repair harnesses. Oats if you have them this late in the year. There are others who need them more than us.”
Emma smiled at her father, always looking out for those with children who had not fared through the winter as well as they.
Moose gathered the requested items while her father handled Moose’s stock of leather goods.
Emma stroked the newly arrived bolts of cotton. “And four yards of this.” Emma pointed to a blue cloth.
“Yes’m.” Moose measured the fabric. “Did you hear that Captain Caleb Dixson is to wed Susannah Wallace?” Moose peered at her.
Moose’s trading post served as the center of Locust Hill news and gossip, and she would disappoint him if he expected her to react. Dixson had approached her father about courting Emma last year. “Yes. Susannah told me at Sabbath meeting. I’m so happy for them. They make a handsome couple, and she’s so taken with him. Captain Dixson quite fills the bill as a good provider and husband.” Dixson didn’t entice her. Did any man?
“Aye,” Moose spoke in his backwoods twang. “I never seen the like of Caleb, an enterprising man with ideas, for certain. My trade in Kentucky was not near as swift by a jugful, and it is all due to him and me partnering in cattle and timber here. Then, him standing for Squire election and being voted in. He adds some talents to our little hamlet.”
William laid the piece of harness leather he had chosen on the makeshift counter. “So he does. He brought Virginia State with him when he decided to settle here.”
“Are you provisioned with wheat berries, Mr. Reynolds?”
“I am, thank ye. How does all this tally?”
Moose figured on a scrap of paper on his plank counter. “Let me see. I figure you still have a bit of credit. You traded in a right big lot of grain for me after the harvest, Mr. Reynolds.”
“Fine, Moose.” William gathered up the sack of dry goods, and the leather and fabric. “We’ll see you anon.”
Back at their cabin, Emma did the evening milking and warmed her hands on the cow’s udder. William toted his harness and the new leather in to repair after candle-lighting.
Emma and William sat before the fire after supper. He fitted a strip of new leather into the harness where he had cut out the worn piece. Emma mended some blankets they had brought from their Hudson Valley farm, then laid out the new cloth for a shirt for her father.
“I miss your mother of an evening. She used to sit quietly knitting and such. It was a peaceful time of day.” William got a faraway look. He brightened and added, “But you have been a real helpmate, sweeting.”
Emma had to learn quickly to meet the demands of pioneering upon their arrival at their Illinois acreage, especially after her mothe
r’s death on the trail. Her father had brought a small herd of cattle and some new calves were born last summer. She sighed. Mrs. Wallace, who was not hearty, gave her a heifer after all her tending to her for various fevers and ailments. She now milked the milch cow along with four goats, and tended chickens. Her mother had done the milking back in York State. “We both miss her terribly. But I am more sorry for your loss, Father.”
He looked at her tenderly. “I’m learning to live without her kind nature. I have you to keep the lonely times at bay.” He took her hand briefly in his rough one. “I feel sorry she missed seeing the beauty of the prairie. She looked forward to our adventure. I reckon it was not to be.”
Silently they continued their work in the candlelight.
The evening waned and he went outdoors to put up the mended harness and bring in more firewood.
“I am weary. Good night, Emma.”
“Sleep well, Father.”
He made slow progress toward the bedroom. She sighed deeply and finished her cloth cutting for the night.
Pioneering had taxed her father these two years. She fretted about his increasing tiredness and the cough that had come on in the winter. The creases around his eyes and mouth deepened considerably in Illinois. Why wasn’t she born a boy? Her two brothers, lying in graves back home, weren’t here to take some of his burden from him.
Thank heavens for neighbors. The other pioneers had shared the labor of building the cabin and clearing fields and such. She never expected how much they would struggle to keep body and soul together on the prairie. She missed access to the kind of goods available in the Hudson Valley.
Carrie and the Strattons traipsed over a changing geography, from wooded hills to gently sloping prairie of indiangrass, big bluestem, little bluestem, and switchgrass. Carrie waded through stands taller than she and the occasional stalks towering over her at eight or nine feet. It would be a sight to see the now-dry thistles, milkweed, partridge pea, sunflowers, asters, and coneflowers blooming bright yellows, oranges, and purples later this summer.
Prairie Hearts Page 2
