by Janette Oke
But gradually the travelers adjusted to the journey. Bodies still ached at the end of the day, but not with the same intense painfulness. Blisters now had been replaced by calluses. Occasionally a horse would become lame, and their drivers watched with great care and concern for any serious signs of injury to their animals.
One family, the Wilburs, had been forced to pull aside and retire from the train due to an injured horse that simply could not continue. Mr. Blake thoughtfully detoured the train about two miles out of its way in order to drop the young couple off at a small army outpost. The sergeant in charge promised he’d send a few of his men back with Mr. Wilbur to retrieve his stranded wagon and lead the horses to the safety of the fort. At the earliest future date, the Wilburs would be escorted to the nearest town. Missie could have wept when she saw their expressions of intense disappointment as the train moved on without them.
Some minor mishaps during the journey reminded them all of the need for care and caution. One of the Page children had been burned when playing too near a cooking fire. Mr. Weiss, the train’s blacksmith, had been kicked by a horse he was attempting to shoe, but fortunately nothing was broken. Mrs. Crane’s ankle had twisted badly as she attempted to scale a steep hill in her fashionable shoes, and she was confined to the family wagon far longer than she would have liked. A few of the young children were plagued with infected mosquito bites, and occasional colds made one or the other miserable for a time. But, all in all, everyone was adjusting quite well to life on the trail.
As the group slowly made its way westward, the countryside began changing. Missie tried to determine what made it seem so different—so foreign to her from the farming community she had left. The trees were smaller and unlike most of the trees she had been used to. The hills appeared different, too. Perhaps it was the abundance of short undergrowth that clung to their slopes. Whatever the differences, Missie also realized she was getting farther and farther away from her home and those she loved. The now-familiar feeling of lonesomeness still gnawed and twisted within her. Once in a while she was forced to bite her lip to keep the tears from overflowing onto her cheeks. She must try harder, pray more. And as she walked or worked she repeated over and over to herself the blessed promise of Isaiah. Her greatest ally was busyness, and she tried hard to keep her hands and her mind occupied.
Missie visited Becky often, and she had kept her promise to introduce her to the midwife, Mrs. Kosensky. The capable woman had dismissed husband John’s advice that Becky walk more and cautioned her to be careful about the amount of activity she involved herself in each day. Now that she was feeling better, Becky wasn’t sure she liked the restrictions but obeyed the new instructions, nonetheless.
Missie found plenty of opportunity to help Mrs. Collins with the care of her two young children. She often took the baby girl to visit Becky so she might have some experience in the care and handling of a baby.
Try as she might to keep her thoughts on the future and the adventure ahead, Missie found herself continually recalling the events of the day as they would be taking place “back home.” Today Mama will be hanging out the wash, all white and shimmering in the sun, or today Pa will be making his weekly trip into town. Or on Sunday, the whole family is in the buggy and heading for the little log church. They’re going to meet and worship with the neighbors—people I’ve known all my life—and Parson Joe. She could almost hear his voice as he would preach the sermon and the “amens” accompanying his presentation of truth from Scripture. And she could close her eyes and see her dear sister Clae’s smile as she gazed with love and pride at her husband behind the simple pulpit.
And so Missie went through each day. Her weary but gradually strengthening body traveled with the other pilgrims of the wagon train, but her spirit soared “back home,” where she shared the days’ activities with those she had left behind.
She realized with surprise as she prepared their evening meal that they had been on the trail for almost four weeks. In some ways it had seemed forever; in others, it seemed not so long at all. But after this amount of time, why was she still feeling that inner homesickness and loneliness? Time, she had thought, would lessen the pain, ease the burden of loneliness. How long would it require for her to be at peace with her circumstances?
As Missie’s body ached less by each day’s end, it seemed that her spirit ached more. How she missed them—her family and friends. How good it would be to feel her mama’s warm embrace or her pa’s hand upon her shoulder. How she would welcome the teasing of Clare and Arnie, enjoy watching the growing up of her younger sister, Ellie. And Luke in his soft lovableness—how she ached to hug his little body. Would she even recognize him when she saw him again—whenever that time might come? Oh, dear God, she prayed over and over, please make me able to bear it.
With all her might, Missie fought to hide her suffering from Willie. But in so doing, she didn’t realize how much of her true self she was withholding from him. She often felt Willie’s eyes upon her, studying her face. He fretted over her weariness and continually checked to be sure she was feeling all right, was not overworking, was eating properly.
The truth was, Missie was not feeling well. Apart from her deep homesickness, she also was suffering with nausea and general tiredness. But she hid it from Willie. It’s not the right time yet. Willie would just worry, she kept telling herself. But she sensed—and did not like—the strain that was present between them.
Each day followed the last one in very similar fashion. The LaHayes always rose early. Missie prepared breakfast for Willie and Henry while they checked and watered the animals and prepared them for the new day’s travel. They ate, packed up, and moved out. At noon they took a short break, and Missie again prepared a quick meal.
When they stopped at the end of the day, there was the fire to start, the supper to be cooked, and the cleaning up to be done. Very little fresh food now remained, so Missie had to resort to dried and home-canned foods. She was fast wearying of the limited menu. She wondered if it was as distasteful to Willie and Henry as it was to her. What wouldn’t she give to be able to sit down to one of her mother’s appetizing meals with garden produce and fresh-baked bread? She shook her head quickly and determined to put her mind on other things.
The amount of walking Missie included in each day’s travel depended on the terrain and the intensity of the heat. Becky Clay did not attempt to walk very much at all. John refrained from prodding her to do more than she felt comfortable doing after Mrs. Kosensky had told him that all women were not as hardy as his mother. Becky did welcome her short episodes with the other women, though she had to be careful not to overdo.
The travelers began to know one another as individuals, not just faces. For some, this was good. Mrs. Standard and Mrs. Schmidt seemed to accept and enjoy each other more every day. They hoped to be close neighbors when the journey ended.
Kathy Weiss and Tillie Crane also became close friends. Kathy spent many hours with Anna, as well, the oldest of the five Standard girls. But Anna and Tillie shared no common interest and seemed to have no desire to spend time in each other’s company. In turn, Mrs. Standard appeared to enjoy Kathy and embraced her right along with her own recently acquired brood of eight. Missie imagined that Mrs. Standard would have been willing to take almost anybody into the family circle.
Henry, too, was a welcome visitor around the Standard campfire. Missie often wondered if the attraction for him was one of the young girls or the motherly Mrs. Standard. Henry, whose mother had died when he was young, no doubt yearned for the care and nurturing he had missed growing up.
As well as fast friendships among the travelers, there were also a few frictions. Mrs. Thorne still carried herself stiff and straight, never making an effort to seek out anyone’s company. Neither by word nor action did she invite anyone to share time or conversation with her. There were no neighborly visits over a coffee cup around the Thornes’ fire.
Most of the travelers tried to avoid the chattering Mr
s. Page, but she had a way of popping up out of nowhere and making it virtually impossible for one to escape without being downright rude. It seemed she would have cozied up to a cactus if she had thought it had ears. Yet even Mrs. Page was not willing to share her goodwill with everyone.
Missie never did know what had started it in the first place, but for some reason a deep animosity had grown between Mrs. Page and Mrs. Tuttle. Mrs. Tuttle was a widow, traveling west with her brother. Unlike Mrs. Page, she had very little to say, but what she did say was often acidic and painful. So she, too, was avoided but for the opposite reason from the voluble Mrs. Page.
The woman simply did not know when to stop her running commentary on this and that. Her elaborations on any subject included expounding on the reason Mrs. Tuttle was going west. According to Mrs. Page, a trapper was waiting at the other end of the trail, having made a proposal of sorts by mail. Mrs. Page announced she was sure the trapper was “trapped,” that if he’d been able to get any kind of look at Mrs. Tuttle’s stern face, he would have preferred solitude. So the war waged on.
Most of the battles between the two women were carried on through messengers. “You tell Jessie Tuttle thet iffen she doesn’t learn how to crack the ice on thet face of hern, she’ll lose thet trapper as soon as she finds ’im.”
“You tell Mrs. Page”—Jessie Tuttle would not allow herself to use Mrs. Page’s first name, Alice—“thet when she cracked the ice off’n her own face, she did a poor job of it. Now the button fer her mouth don’t hold it shut none.”
Of course, the emissaries never did deliver the messages, but it wasn’t necessary for them to do so. The insults were always spoken loudly within earshot of the opposing party. The running battle provided no real alarm and even a small measure of amusement for the other members of the wagon train. There was little enough to smile at, so even a neighborly squabble was welcome.
Occasional meetings of all adult members of the train provided opportunity for the wagon master to give reports on progress, or to issue a new order, or to explain some new situation. Even such a meeting was looked upon as a pleasant diversion from the mundane and the usual.
Mr. Blake now told the travelers he was pleased with their progress and that they were right on schedule. His concern was the large river they were approaching. They would reach the ford in four days’ time at the current rate of travel. He was sure the river would be down, making the crossing an easy one. High water from heavy rains was the only possible obstacle that could hamper the crossing, Mr. Blake said, and they had been particularly blessed with sunny, clear days. Once across the Big River, as it was called by the local Indians, they were well on their way to their final destination.
Everyone seemed to rejoice at Mr. Blake’s news, but deep down, Missie knew she did not. Within her was a secret wish that the river would not be fordable and that Willie would decide to turn around and go back home.
Willie obviously did not share her yearnings to return. At the wagon master’s encouraging announcement, he had cheered as loudly as any of the travelers. Missie did notice there were a few other women who had remained silent—Becky, Sissie Collins, and Tillie Crane among them.
Missie was quiet on their way back to the wagon, but at first Willie was too energized to notice.
“Jest think,” he enthused, “only four more days an’ we cross the Big River, an’ then . . . then we’ll really start to roll!”
Missie nodded and tried to work up a smile for Willie’s sake.
“Are ya still worryin’ ’bout Becky?” Willie queried, trying to look into her face and no doubt hoping for some reasonable explanation for Missie’s restraint.
“Yeah, kind of,” Missie responded, feeling the answer was both safe and, to a measure, truthful.
“But there’s something else . . . isn’t there? I’ve been feelin’ it fer a long time. Aren’t ya feelin’ well, Missie?”
It was asked with such genuine concern that Missie knew somehow she must attempt to put Willie’s mind at ease. This wasn’t the way she would have planned to break the news to Willie. She had pictured the intimacy of their own fireside of an evening, or the closeness of their shared bed in the privacy of their covered wagon. But here they were walking over a rutted dusty path with people before, behind, and beside them. There seemed almost no way for her to speak low enough so she wouldn’t be heard by others. Yet she knew she must tell him.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you, but the time never seemed right,” she said quietly. She took a long breath. “Willie . . . we’re going to have a baby, too.”
Willie stopped walking and reached for Missie, his face very sober.
“Ya aren’t joshin’?”
“No, Willie.”
“An’ yer sure?”
“Quite sure.”
Willie stood silently for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m not sure thet wagon trains an’ babies go together.”
For a brief moment Missie hoped maybe this would give Willie a reason to head for home, but she quickly pushed the selfish thought from her and managed a smile. “Oh, Willie, don’t fuss. We’ll be in our own place long before our baby ever arrives.”
“Ya sure?”
“Of course. How long you think we’re going to be on this trail, anyway?”
The expression on Willie’s face suddenly changed and he let out a shout. Missie reached out to hush him before he’d announced his news to the whole wagon train. Willie stopped whooping and hugged Missie tightly. Relief flooded over her. He was truly excited about it—there was no doubting it.
Suddenly Missie wanted to cry. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt such a joy at telling her news to Willie, seeing his exuberance, and feeling his strong arms about her. She had been wrong to withhold it from him. A great wave of love for Willie washed over her. She would go to the ends of the earth with him if he wanted her to.
They laughed and cried together as Willie held her in his arms and kissed her forehead and her hair. Their fellow travelers had passed on by and left them alone for the moment.
“So this is why ya haven’t been yerself,” Willie murmured into her hair. “We gotta take better care of ya. Ya need more rest an’ a better diet. I’ll have to git fresh meat oftener. Ya shouldn’t be doin’ so much. Ya’ll overdo. I was so scared, Missie, thet maybe you’d changed yer mind, thet ya didn’t want to go out west . . . or thet maybe ya didn’t even love me anymore . . . or thet ya had some bad sickness . . . or . . . oh, I was scared. I jest prayed an’ prayed an’ here . . . here . . .” She could hear the emotion in his voice.
Missie had not realized before what her long days of listlessness and homesickness had meant for Willie. She must not hold back from him again.
“I’m sorry, Willie,” she whispered, “I didn’t know that you were feeling . . . were thinking all those things. I’m sorry.”
“Not yer fault. Not yer fault at all. I’m jest so relieved, thet’s all. Still sorry thet yer not feelin’ well—but we’ll take care of ya. After all, it’s fer a very good reason!”
“I’m glad that you’re happy—”
But Missie didn’t get a chance to finish her sentence. Willie stopped her as he drew her close. “Everything is gonna be fine now, Missie. Ya should be feelin’ better soon. We’ll have a chat with Mrs. Kosensky. We’ll make sure thet ya git lots of rest. An’ ’fore ya know it, you’ll be fine, jest fine.”
“Willie? Willie, there’s something else, too. True, I’ve been feeling a mite down. But I think the true reason for me . . . my . . . ah . . . well, the way I feel is just lonesomeness, Willie. Just lonesomeness for Mama and Pa and . . .” Missie could not continue. The tears ran freely.
Willie held her close against him. He stroked her hair and gently wiped the tears from her cheek.
“Why didn’t ya tell me, Missie?” he said at last. “I woulda understood. I’ve been missing those left behind, too. Maybe I couldn’t have eased yer sorrow none, Missie, but I’da shared it with ya.” He tippe
d her face and gently kissed her. “I love ya, Missie.”
Why had she been so foolish? Why had she hugged her hurt to herself, thinking that Willie would not understand or care? She should have told him long ago and accepted the comfort of his arms. Missie clung to him now and cried until her tears were all spent. Surely there was some healing in shared heartache, in cleansing tears. At length she was able to look up at Willie and smile again.
Willie kissed her on the nose and gave her another squeeze.
“Hey,” he said suddenly, “we gotta git this little mama off to bed. No more late nights fer you, missus. An’ not quite so much walkin’ an’ doin’, either.”
“Oh, Willie,” protested Missie, “the walking is a heap easier for me than that bumpy old wagon.”
“Ya reckon so?”
“I reckon so. It’s not exactly a high-springed buggy, you know.”
Willie chuckled as he led Missie carefully across the clearing to their wagon.
“Mind yer step, now,” he said earnestly as he boosted her up. “Mustn’t overdo it.”
“Oh, Willie,” Missie laughed in exasperation. But she knew she was in for a lot of babying in the future. Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if he just wouldn’t overdo it. She smiled to herself and ducked to enter their canvas doorway.
Seven
Rain
The next morning Missie could tell Willie was still in a state of bliss as he climbed out of the wagon to begin a new day.
She had watched him pull the gray wool shirt over his head with all those buttons from waist to neck, then tuck it quickly into the coarse denim pants that made up his trail clothing. He had glanced over at her and, seeing she was awake, gave her a delighted grin, then quickly sobered as he told her to stay in bed for a bit longer. She’d need extra rest. She smiled sleepily, then suggested that if the day got too hot, he’d probably want to change the shirt for a cotton one. He nodded, raised his suspenders, and snapped them into place. At the entrance to the wagon he stopped to pull on his calf-high leather boots. He shrugged his way out of the canvas doorway and headed out to get the team ready for the day’s journey. He went with an even jauntier step and cheerier whistle than usual. Missie knew he was pleased about the coming baby. She also knew he was thinking, Four more days to the Big River!