The Blanket of Blessings

by Betty L. Milne

  AFTER LINING UP at Independence Landing, wagons sat waiting for others to arrive and travelers spent the time checking supplies and livestock.

  Angie watched as the men began to leave their wagons and all head in one direction. A young man ran up to their wagon and said, “The wagon master wants the head of the wagon household up in the front, now!”

  Homer grumbled to Elmer, “You wait here. I’ll go see what he wants.”

  As Angie watched him walk away, her curiosity got the best of her. She slipped out of the wagon and followed him about 10 paces behind. As they got closer to the crowd of men, she stood slightly behind Homer.

  Everyone was talking among themselves when finally a middle aged man with a booming voice spoke up.

  “I’m here your wagon master. My name is Bishop Taylor. From this point on, I’m the law on this trail. I have nearly 40 wagons I’m responsible for and the only way I’m gonna get the majority of you to California is if you do what I say, when I say it, and exactly how I say it. Do I make myself clear?”

  Some muttering went on among the men, but a unanimous agreement could be heard.

  “The wagons being pulled by horses and mules will be leaving today,” Wagon Master Taylor shouted. “Horses and mules need greener grass to eat to survive. The wagons being pulled by oxen will leave in a couple days with Wagon Master Billings. The oxen can survive on scrub grass and what’s left by the horses and mules.”

  Angie peered forward so she could get a better glimpse of Wagon Master Taylor, when she caught Homer’s attention out of the corner of his eye.

  “What in tarnation are you doin’ here?!” he glared at Angie, “I oughta tan yer hide! Now get back to the wagon!”

  Angie immediately turned and ran the entire distance until she reached their spot in line.

  “Where have ya been?!” Elmer yelled at Angie as soon as he spotted her. “Ya had me darn near feared to death! Don’t ya ever go wanderin’ off agin, ya hear?”

  Angie nodded her head and quickly climbed in the back of the wagon, afraid of what Homer might do when he returned.

  Elmer came to the back of the wagon and continued his lecture, “It’s gonna be way too dangerous out there. Stay close!”

  “I will,” Angie said as she grabbed her blanket and held it close to her.

  “Ya better or you’ll be dead for sure!” Elmer gave her a serious look.

  “From here on, everybody walks,” Homer said when he came back to the wagon. “The wagon master says we gotta take it easy on the horses and mules. They’s gotta lot a weight to pull all the way to California.”

  “But she’s just a little girl!” Elmer objected, “She can’t walk all the way to California!”

  “She walks!” Homer argued.

  “That’s alright,” Angie said as she climbed out of the wagon, “I don’t mind walking. I like to walk.”

  “Who’ll be steering the mules?” Elmer asked.

  “We lead ‘em,” Homer replied, “Let’s get ready! The wagon train will be leavin’ soon.”

  Several hours had worn on, and the wagon train was finally beginning to move. That first day on the trail, Angie found it was going to be much harder than she could ever imagine. She was walking beside Elmer when Homer turned to them and said, “We all gotta share in the work, and that means you too, little girl!”

  Angie mustered up her courage and said to Homer, “But my aunt paid you to take care of me and you’re supposed to do the work, not me.”

  “Listen to me you spoiled little weasel,” Homer exploded, “I ain’t paid to do all the work myself, I’m paid to get ya to your aunt’s house and that’s all! We all do our part, ya hear me?!”

  “She hears ya!” Elmer barked back at his brother. He turned to Angie and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll help ya.”

  Angie didn’t say a word; she just kept her eyes on the ground. Homer frightened her to her very core and she always tried to keep her distance from him.

  Late that afternoon, the wagon master designated the place where the travelers would spend the night and directed the wagon train to form a circle in order to pen in the livestock. Campfires were started and women began preparing the evening meal.

  “Go get some firewood,” Homer ordered Angie. “Gotta get us a fire started.” Elmer brought out some food to prepare. Angie looked around her and found that people had already picked up most of the excess wood lying around. She scurried around the wagon and found a couple pieces and brought them to where Homer was digging a hole for the campfire.

  “That ain’t gonna get us through the night,” Homer scowled. “Go find some more.”

  Angie wandered around looking for more, but whenever she spotted a branch or piece of wood, someone else always beat her to it. Tears started to come to her eyes from sheer frustration. She was afraid that Homer would yell at her again.

  She noticed a couple boys with their arms loaded with wood coming out of the woods.

  “Can you show me where you found that?” Angie asked them.

  “Just give her some” the older boy said to the younger one, “We got plenty.”

  She was so grateful to the boys and kept thanking them over and over again. She then immediately ran back to the campsite with a couple good-size pieces of wood and set them down proudly in front of Homer. He didn’t bother to look up. He just reached out and grabbed the wood to throw on the fire.

  “Come help me with the supper,” Elmer said to Angie, hoping to divert Homer from asking Angie to go collect more wood. He didn’t feel it was safe for Angie to go any farther away from their camp.

  After they cleaned up from their meal, Homer sat by the fire, stirring the ashes with a stick and chewing on a mouthful of tobacco. Angie looked around at the reflection of the campfires against the dark evening sky. Voices were echoing against the night and someone was singing. She glanced around at the wagons that were settled in for the night when she saw someone staring at her. It was a girl from the camp next to theirs. Angie looked away, but every time she looked back, the girl was still staring at her. It made Angie feel uncomfortable and she asked if she could go to bed early. Homer waved her goodbye and Elmer got up to make sure she got into the wagon alright.

  “Do you think he’ll ever like me?” Angie asked Elmer about Homer.

  “Oh, he likes you alright,” Elmer told her, “He’s just not used to females. Now shut yer eyes an’ don’t worry about nothin’.”

  The bugle went off early the next morning. She woke with a start, and immediately sat up. Realizing it was the wakeup call for the camp, she yawned and stretched. Homer was already calling Angie to make breakfast. As she climbed out of the wagon, Homer and Elmer were packing up their pup tents that served as their shelter.

  Elmer was there beside her, teaching her how to make coffee and flatbread. Angie sipped on her first cup of coffee and made faces, reflecting on how awful it tasted to her.

  “You’d better get used to it,” Elmer told her. “The water’s not always safe and a lot of it tastes bad. The coffee will help it taste better.”

  Angie couldn’t imagine how anything could taste any worse.

  After the mules were hitched to the wagon and the wagon train began to move along the trail, Angie found herself walking beside the wagon by herself, daydreaming about her new home. She imagined it would be a big house, with flowers in the yard and maybe a creek where she could play. She hoped her aunt and uncle had a dog or cat she could have for her own, and maybe a swing hung from a tree.

  Angie could see the girl from the wagon up ahead stop in the middle of her tracks and wait for Angie’s wagon to catch up. She then walked beside Angie and said “Hi, my name’s Mahhhhgaret and I’m 13 years old. What’s your name?”

  “Angie Owens,” Angie looked at her with curiosity, “and I’m 11 years old.”

  “You sure enough look small for your age,” Margaret smiled.

  “I’m not small for my age,” Angie objected. “And you’re big for your age!”


  “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings,” Margaret stuttered. “And I guess I am a bit tall for 13.”

  Angie didn’t respond.

  “Those your family?” Margaret asked as she pointed at Homer and Elmer.

  “No, my family’s dead,” Angie answered, “I’m going to California to live with my aunt and uncle.”

  “They’re not really my family either,” Margaret said as she nodded toward the wagon up ahead, “They say they are, but I know the real truth.”

  “What truth?” Angie looked up at the tall girl with the soft brown braids.

  “I’m really a princess,” Margaret confided. “My real name is Margaret, Princess of London, England, and I was stolen by pirates when I was a tiny baby. They brought me across the ocean to this country and sold me to these people I’m with. They spent all their money to get me. That’s how bad they wanted a baby.”

  “How do you know you’re a princess?” Angie asked skeptically.

  “I have a birthmark, right here on my arm.” She showed Angie a small mole. “It says that I am a princess. Only royalty has birthmarks. Everything else I figured out on my own.”

  Angie thought about what Margaret said for a few minutes and then asked her, “Why are you going to California?”

  “Because they’re taking me as far away as they can,” Margaret answered. “You see, the Prince of Spain is coming to rescue me and take me back to England so he can marry me.”

  “Oh,” was all Angie said, still skeptical of Margaret’s story.

  “You see, he’s coming on a winged horse… ” Margaret started.

  “A what?!” Angie stopped her.

  “A winged horse!” she responded, “Haven’t you ever heard of a winged horse?”

  Angie shook her head.

  “Well, they’re very beautiful, all white with a very long mane and tail, and they have feathered wings coming out of their backs so they can fly,” Margaret was excited to explain.

  “They can fly?” Angie’s eyes got big.

  “Of course they can,” Margaret smiled, “That’s why they have wings!”

  “I wish I had wings,” Angie told her, “Then I could fly all the way to California. My feet are beginning to hurt.”

  “Mine too,” Margaret agreed, “New boots are hard to walk in.”

  “I think I have a blister,” Angie confided in Margaret, “but I don’t want to tell Homer. He’ll just yell at me, Maybe I’ll tell Elmer.”

  “They’re really not your family?” Margaret looked surprised.

  “No, they’re just hired to get me across the country,” Angie told her, “so I can live with my aunt and uncle in Sacramento.”

  “Wow,” Margaret said. “They must be rich if they can hire someone to take you all the way to Sacramento.”

  “I don’t know about that,’ Angie said as she watched her feet walk the ground in front of her.

  “They could be a duke or duchess or something like that and they just haven’t told you yet,” Margaret suggested.

  Angie only laughed to herself and said, “I don’t think so.”

  “But they gotta be rich!” Margaret insisted, “You wait! You’ll see!”

  That night sitting around the campfire, Angie whispered in Elmer’s ear, “Elmer, I think I have a blister on my foot. It hurts something awful.”

  “Let me see your foot, little lady,” Elmer said as he held out his hand.

  She carefully stretched out her leg and Elmer slowly removed her boot and stocking and examined the bottom of her foot.

  “Yep, sure ‘nough,” Elmer said as he pointed to Angie’s heel, “There’s one right there!”

  He turned to Homer. “She needs to ride in the wagon tomorrow.”

  “Everybody walks,” Homer responded.

  “Now that just ain’t gonna happen!” Elmer protested, “We here supposed to be takin’ real good care of her and she needs to let this thing heal!”

  Homer was silent for a minute and then relented, “Just tomorrow then. Don’t wanna strain the mules.”

  “Oh, for land’s sake!” Elmer reacted, “She’s just a tiny little thing. Don’t weight more than a pup.”

  Elmer found some salve to soothe Angie’s foot and Angie rubbed it over her heel. He then picked up Angie and carried her to the back of the wagon where she climbed inside.

  “Elmer,” Angie said, “is there such a thing as a winged horse?”

  “I hear some books says there is,” Elmer responded, “but me, why I never did see one. Why? Where’d you hear about a winged horse?”

  “Margaret told me,” Angie answered.

  “Oh, made a new friend did ya?” Elmer smiled. “Well, friends is good. An’ imaginations is good too. The more ya got of both, the better off ya are, little lady. Now get to sleep and dream about winged horses, ya hear?”

 

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