by Janette Oke
The scent of frying steak wafted over the camp that last evening, bringing a light spirit and unusually intent interest in supper preparations. Some women had found a berry patch and in short order stripped it clean. The tangy fruit made that special meal seem like a banquet. All were refreshed and looking forward to beginning the journey again.
It took the train three days to reach the Big River. When they finally arrived, Mr. Blake found exactly what he had been afraid they would face—a current far too strong and swift to allow safe wagon passage. He again called a meeting and explained the situation to the entire group. Another camp would have to be made beside the river until the waters subsided. The determined but weary travelers were all disappointed, but even the most impatient agreed with the decision.
So camp was set up, and the families again tried to establish some sort of daily routine to keep boredom from overtaking them. The men formed regular hunting parties, and the women and older children again ranged out in search of berries. Missie spent a part of each day gathering wood, as did the other women who did not have children to assign to the task. As she gleaned her daily supply, she also added to her stack of surplus piled under her wagon. If the rains should come again, Mrs. Schmidt would not be the only one who was prepared, she told herself firmly.
Some of the older ladies began to suspect Missie was “in the family way.” Although no comments were made, Missie often noticed the motherly glances of interest and concern that came her way. The birth of her baby was almost five months away by Missie’s reckoning, and that seemed like a long, long time into the future. Far longer than anyone should worry about, she silently told herself.
Missie found herself searching out the company of Becky Clay. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to Rebecca’s condition, and the other women found many little ways to make the young woman’s work load lighter. Dry sticks were tossed onto her pile as the women walked by with their load of wood, extra food was presented at her campfire, and her pail went along to the stream for water with someone who had a free hand.
For Becky’s sake, Missie felt extra concern over the travel delay. She was hoping along with Becky that they would reach Tettsford Junction and the doctor in time. Each day Missie prayed and hoped that by some miracle the swollen waters would be down and the train could be on its way. But just when the river appeared to be receding, somewhere along its banks another storm would raise the waters again. Rafting the wagons to the other side was out of the question in this deep, swift river, and day after day passed with the wagons still unable to cross.
On the fifteenth day by the Big River, the whole camp came to life as news of another wagon train’s appearance passed quickly around the circle. Soon they could see it slowly wending its way down a distant hill. Many went out to meet it. Those who remained behind waited in feverish eagerness for any news the newcomers might bring.
When the smaller train finally arrived and made camp near the Blake group, Missie and Willie soon discovered the second train had begun its journey far south of their own area, and they had to be satisfied with only general news. The wagon master turned out to be a good deal more impatient than their Mr. Blake. After sitting downriver for only two days, he decided that the water had receded enough for him to get his wagons across. Mr. Blake tried to dissuade him, but the man laughed it off, roughly declaring Blake to be as skitterish as an old woman. He had taken wagons across when the water had been even higher, he stoutly and loudly maintained. He then turned to the waiting wagons and ordered the first one into the water.
Women and children joined the men on the bank to watch the wagons cross. Murmured complaints about Mr. Blake passed among the observers. “Here we been sittin’ when we coulda been days away from here” was muttered around the group.
Mr. Blake did not choose to watch. With a look of disgust and a few well-chosen words directed at the other wagon master, he spun on his heel and marched off.
It seemed for a time that all would go well with the wagon. Then, to the horror of all those on the bank, it suddenly hit the deeper water and the current lifted it up and swirled it about. The horses plunged and fought in their effort to swim for the distant shore, but the churning waters were too strong for them. When the driver realized his predicament, he threw himself into the murky deep, trying desperately to fight his way to the shore. The wagon, weaving and swaying, was swept downstream as the frantic horses neighed and struggled in their fright. The pitching canvas cover gave one last sickening heave and then toppled over on its side. The sinking wagon and team were carried downstream and out of sight around a bend in the river.
Meantime, the driver was fighting to keep his head above water. At one point he managed to grab a floating tree that was also being carried along by the muddy current. A cheer went up from the shore, but the next instant a groan passed through the entire group—the tree struck something under the surface and flipped in midstream, jarring the man loose and leaving him to struggle on his own again.
The riverbank became alive with activity as men scrambled for their horses in an effort to reach near enough to at least throw him a rope. The observers watched the bobbing spot of his dark head as the water swirled him around the river bend. A young woman in the group from the other train collapsed in a heap, and some of the women who traveled with her bent over her to give her assistance.
“Poor woman,” Missie gasped. “It must be her man!” She covered her face with her hands and wept.
The body was pulled from the river about a half mile downstream. All attempts to force some life back into the man were futile. The horses and wagon were never seen again.
The following day the travelers from both wagon trains met together. The grave had been dug and a service was held for the drowned man. His widow had to be helped away from the heaped-up mound that held the body of her young husband. A feeling of helplessness and grief settled over both camps. Respect for Mr. Blake mounted, and most of the group averted their eyes when the other wagon master, looking rather subdued, passed by.
A new determination passed through the Blake train. They would wait. They would wait if it took all summer! Horse and wagon were no match for the angry waters.
After breakfast one day a week later, someone in the camp drew their attention to a hill across the river. On ponies, their faces painted and headdress feathers waving in the wind, sat several Indian braves. The almost-naked bodies glistened in the morning sun. In silence they gazed across the river at the ring of wagons. Then at a signal from their leader, they moved on and out of sight over the hill. Missie shivered as she wondered what could have happened if the churning water had not been between them. Maybe this was a fulfillment of the Scripture promise she and Willie had been given by her father before they left home, “Yea, I will help thee....”
After another week of patient and not-so-patient waiting, the river finally did recede. Mr. Blake, who had been carefully watching it each day, crossed it on his horse before he allowed any wagon to put a wheel into the water. When he felt satisfied, the order was given to move out.
It took the whole day to make the crossing. The women and children were guided across on horseback to await the coming of their menfolk and the canvas-covered homes. Some of the wagons needed two teams in order to pull them across. Many outriders traveled beside each wagon, steadying it with the many ropes that Mr. Blake insisted upon; thus no wagon got caught in midstream by a current that tried to take it sideways rather than forward. Missie couldn’t help but remember the tragic death in the other group. If the other wagon master had used such precautions... Mr. Blake was a careful and experienced wagon master—another of God’s provisions.
Once the group was gathered on the river’s western shore, Willie offered a prayer of thanks to God for all the travelers. The weary men and animals were glad to make camp once more for a good night’s rest before taking to the trail. The next day they would resume their journey after their month-and-ahalf delay.
Missie wa
s becoming increasingly concerned about Becky. They still had many days on the trail before reaching Tettsford Junction. Would Mrs. Kosensky’s midwifery services be required after all?
Early the next morning the camp was a bustle of activity. The travelers could hardly wait for the word to move out. Even the horses stamped in their impatience. Missie was surprised at the feelings that clamored for attention within her. During their previous weeks on the trail, she had dreaded the crossing of the Big River, for it seemed to mark the point of no return. But now that it was finally behind them, she was as restless as the teams. She felt like starting out to walk on her own. If she had known the trail and the direction she was to take, she might have done just that.
Finally the wagons were lined up and the order shouted. The creak of the harnesses and grind of wheels sounded like music to Missie’s ears. At last! They were on their way again! All were alive and accounted for. They had crossed the Big River; surely only lesser obstacles lay in their pathway. Since turning back was no longer possible, she was anxious to forge ahead.
Missie could sense Willie’s excitement as he carefully guided the team to follow the wagon ahead of him. It was hard for him to restrain himself from urging them on at a faster speed, but no one in the long line of teams was allowed to change the pace set by the wagon master.
The day passed uneventfully. The travelers quickly fell into their familiar routines. But their aching muscles reminded them that they had been idle for too long and must again break in to the rigors of the trail. Missie walked and rode in turn, gathering sticks as she walked, and when she climbed up again to ride, she stashed her bundle under the wagon seat.
At day’s end everyone was weary, but tensions were gone. They were moving again, and that was what mattered.
As they progressed, the land about them continued its gradual change. There were fewer trees now, and those that did grow were smaller than the ones left behind. The women found very little wood for their fires as they followed the train. They began to carry buckets, which they filled with buffalo chips. Missie had preferred the wood, which made a much more pleasant fire. Besides, the cumbersome buckets soon had one’s arms and back aching.
Occasionally herds of buffalo or deer were seen off in the distance. Twice, Indians were sighted, but though the hearts of the travelers beat more rapidly for a time, these Indians did not approach the train.
The widow of the drowned man, Mrs. Emory, had asked Mr. Blake for permission to join his train. Mr. Blake had found it impossible to refuse her. Arrangements were made for her to share Mr. Weiss’s wagon with his daughter, Kathy. Mr. Weiss moved in with Henry, and the train moved on.
The unfortunate woman had lost everything in the river—her husband of six months, her home, and her belongings. The women of similar size dug into their trunks and showered her with enough garments to outfit her for the remainder of the trip to Tettsford Junction. Though some of the clothes didn’t fit very well and weren’t particularly fashionable, Mrs. Emory was very grateful for their kindness.
She proved to be a worthy member of the train. Even in her deep sorrow, she was aware of those about her who could use her helping hand. Her quiet manner and helpful acts won her a secure place in the group.
And so they journeyed on. Each day found them a little nearer to their respective destinations, and talk around the fire at night was filled with shared hopes and plans and dreams. The new land held many promises. It seemed to hold out open arms, ready to embrace a stranger—any stranger with hope in his heart and a strong back willing to bend itself to the work.
NINE
Town
Mr. Blake seemed to have a great aversion to towns. In every possible instance, he skirted far around them, no matter how small the settlement. When he could not avoid one, he ordered the wagons to keep on moving. No one was allowed to stop for any dallying. Each family made a list of needed supplies, and either Mr. Blake or one of his scouts rode into the town and made the purchases.
The wagon master said his job was to get the wagons, and the folks in them, to Tettsford Junction, and he planned to do just that. Further, he said the most deadly enemy of the westbound settler was a town. Blake had lost no one to swollen rivers, prairie fires, or Indians on his many trains west. But he had lost people to towns, he grumbled. And since he did not like having his good record smudged, he considered towns the enemy.
Everyone was surprised, therefore, when Mr. Blake called a meeting and announced, “Tomorrow we reach Lipton. Ain’t much of a town, but we’ll be stopping there fer a day. Our campsite is to the right of the town within easy walking distance. No teams—no horses a’tall, no wagons—are to go into the town. Those of you thet have more purchases to make than can be carried will be glad to know the Lipton General Store will make deliveries. The place carries a fair line of essentials.” He stopped a moment to look around the circle.
“The train will move on again at the usual hour on Wednesday mornin’. I suggest ya all be ready to go.”
A general uproar of excitement followed his announcement. To see a town again! To be able to more than just drive by, only imagining the opportunity of browsing through shops, going to the barber, selecting food delicacies...
How large was the town? Did it have a blacksmith? A hairdresser? A butcher? Maybe even a doctor? Questions flew furiously, but Blake was the only one with answers—and he had somehow disappeared after his announcement.
Missie couldn’t help smiling as she and Willie walked back to their wagon. Her mind was busy calculating just what she wanted most and whether they would be able to spare any of their hard-earned cash in order to purchase it.
It was difficult to break from their fire that night and get to bed. Missie delved into a trunk to pull out a favorite dress. Shaking out the wrinkles as best she could, she hung the blueflowered frock up in hopes it would be smooth by morning. She had noticed some wives adding another patch to their husband’s already worn overalls. Whole families pored over lists, adding, changing, dreaming, wishing—and reluctantly deleting.
Missie thought even the dogs of the camp had seemed to catch the fever. They ran back and forth, yapping and tussling and making general nuisances of themselves.
The next morning everyone was ready to roll long before the call was given—even the often tardy Standards. The sooner they began the journey, the sooner Lipton would be reached—and the longer the time available for shopping.
The wagons lumbered out, set for another dusty day on the trail, everyone hoping that it wouldn’t be too late when they made camp to be off to the town.
To everyone’s amazement and delight, the town lay before them as they topped the first hill. They had camped only a few miles from it the night before! They all laughed at themselves and at their wagon master, but Mr. Blake’s face remained as impassive as ever.
They quickly reached the new campsite and formed their customary circle. The men set about the task of caring for the animals while the women scurried around, building fires to heat water for sponge baths within the confines of their wagons. By the time they and their children were ready to head into town, the sun had climbed high into the clear sky for another extremely warm day. They departed in little groups, eager and expectant. Henry accompanied some of the younger people. The Collinses walked together, Sissie with Meggie in her arms and Tom with Joey hoisted on his shoulders. Mrs. Thorne strode off, her offspring matching her long strides. Her husband grumbled that he would have none of the foolishness and elected to stay behind and mend the harness. Mrs. Page, after voicing a parting barb at Jessie Tuttle, hurried down the trail without even waiting for a reply. Tillie Crane went along, too impatient to wait even for her young husband. At last she could have something done to her hair! Mrs. Schmidt threw a bundle of hastily gathered sticks under the protection of her wagon, shook out her apron, and started off with her family members. They quickly overtook and passed the slow-moving Mrs. Kosensky.
Missie and Willie walked with John
and Becky. They chose a much slower pace for Becky’s sake.
As they passed the Weiss’ wagon, they saw Mrs. Emory fastening the tent flap down before leaving for town. Her sad face lit up with a smile when she saw the young couples. Without a word, Willie stepped over to lend her a hand.
“Eager to git into town?” She directed her question to the women.
“Oh yes,” Becky enthused. “It seems like forever since I’ve walked on a boardwalk or looked in a shop.”
Mrs. Emory just smiled.
She is so attractive when she smiles like that, thought Missie, and so very young. I reckon she’s not much older than I am. What would I do if something happened to my Willie? How would I ever get home again? Would I just be stranded somewhere out here in the West? Just the thought of such a thing made Missie’s stomach churn. Dear God, she prayed inwardly, I don’t think I could stand it.
Then she thought of her own mother. A new awareness of what Marty had been through those long years before filled her being, and tears threatened to fill her eyes. She hurriedly blinked them away before anyone could notice them.
“Are you going shopping, too?” she asked Mrs. Emory.
The woman’s face sobered, and she shook her head. “Not exactly,” she replied slowly.
Missie realized the woman would probably have nothing to go shopping with, even though her needs were great.
There was silence for a minute. The young woman seemed to be debating whether she should say anything further about her plans for the day. Finally she spoke, her voice soft and even. “I... I’m really goin’ to look for a church. I... have this need for a place of prayer.”