by Stephen Bly
Retta saw a tear slip down Gilson’s pale cheek.
“You want to hold her?” Retta asked.
“Oh, yes.” Gilson’s blue eyes shone. “May I?”
Gilson rocked the sleeping baby gently back and forth. “She’s so beautiful.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. Lerryn says she looks just like me,” Retta remarked.
“She does. She doesn’t look like either your mama or papa,” Christen added. “Just you.”
“Lucky little girl,” Retta said.
Gilson handed Jessica back.
“Sometimes I wonder if I’ll live long enough to have a baby,” Gilson remarked.
“Of course you will,” Retta assured her.
“But you have to get married first.” Christen made a face.
“I know that...” Gilson’s voice was even more quiet than normal. “But it all seems so far away.”
“I predict,” Retta announced, “that ten years from now, every one of us will be a mama.”
“I wonder which of us will be first?” Christen asked.
In unison Retta, Joslyn, Gilson, and Christen turned and looked at the red-headed girl.
“Why are you looking at me?” Ansley protested. Then she broke into a wide smile. “Okay ... you’re probably right. After all, I am the oldest.”
“If I ever have a girl,” Gilson said, “I’m going to name her Retta.”
“No, you can’t,” Christen objected. “I’ve been her friend forever. My oldest girl is going to be named Coretta Emily.”
“What’s her last name going to be?” Retta teased.
Christen clasped her arms together. “I don’t know yet.”
“I wouldn’t mind if my last name was Barre,” Joslyn replied. “But then I couldn’t name my daughter Coretta Emily Barre.”
“I, for one, am not going to name my daughter Retta,” Ansley said. “I was reading a book about San Francisco last night, and I came up with a wonderful name for a girl.”
“What’re you going to name her?” Retta asked.
“Victoria Evangeline DelMonte,” Ansley declared.
Joslyn brushed her long hair behind her ears. “You’re going to marry someone named DelMonte?”
“Yes, I am. I just decided that last night. I want a name that has a dramatic ring to it.”
“Do you know anyone named DelMonte?” Christen pressed.
“Not yet,” Ansley admitted.
“Retta,” Lerryn called from the wagon. “Mama said Jessie needs to be back inside here.”
Retta peeked at the closed eyes of the sleeping baby. “Well, li’l sis, that’s big sis, and we have to do what she wants. But we’ll stick together, you and me, ’cause we’re both little sisters. And we look like each other.”
She reached the wagon as two boys ran up. One grabbed her shoulder. “Let us see the baby.”
Retta turned around. “Oh, Jessica, look closely. These are what are called boys. You and me are girls. Boys are really quite smart and industrious and brave...”
Ben and Travis beamed.
“... until they get within twenty feet of a girl. Then they become really, really strange. But don’t worry, I’ll tell you all about that later.”
Ben leaned over the baby. “That’s not true. It’s girls that are strange. Why, girls sit around and do nothin’ but comb their hair for hours at a time. You never see boys do that.”
Retta handed the baby back up to Lerryn. “That’s very true, Jessie. I know some boys who never comb their hair at all.”
* * * * *
Retta washed her face and was ready to crawl under the wagon into her bedroll when Two Bears walked up carrying a bundle under his arm.
“How is the little bear?” he asked.
“Oh, that’s what I’ll call her—‘Little Barre.’ She’s very tiny and sleepy.”
“Yes, and when she gets older, you will have to tell her about her other family,” he said.
“She does look like me, doesn’t she?”
Two Bears grinned. “She is still a little pale. She needs more prairie sun.”
Retta laughed. “The Lord didn’t give us all beautiful brown skin.”
“I have noticed that. I wonder why?”
Retta shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“I believe I will ask Him someday.”
“Are you going to heaven, Two Bears?”
“If your Jesus will take me. I want to see those Shoshone angels.” He grinned. “I have been reading Pil-Grim’s Pro-Gress.”
“Oh, yes, Jesus is definitely the one who will take you.”
“Perhaps in the evenings between here and Fort Bridger, you can explain that book to me,” Two Bears suggested.
“Oh yes ... and you can teach me to speak Shoshone,” Retta said.
He rubbed his hairless chin. “You would like to learn?”
“More than anything.”
There was no smile on his face. “That could be dangerous.”
“Why?” she questioned.
“We will soon be in Shoshone country.”
“I know.”
“And there will be many Shoshone warriors.”
“Are they really dangerous?”
A grin sprang up on his face. “If you wear buckskins and speak Shoshone, they will all want to marry you.”
“Oh!” Retta frowned. “But I still want to learn Shoshone. Maybe the first thing I should learn to say is, ‘I’m too young to get married.’”
“No, the first thing you should learn is a baby song.”
“A baby song. You mean a lullaby?”
“Yes. Shy Bear can teach you one in Shoshone.”
“That would be wonderful.”
He handed her the bundle. “This is for you.”
“What is it?”
“A baby present. Open it.”
“Is it for Mama? I can take it to her.”
“No, it is for Red Bear.”
She unwrapped the antelope hide covering. “It’s a beautiful cradle board.”
“My wife, Lucy, made it.” Two Bears beamed.
“For Mama?”
“No, she made it for Red Bear. The day will come when your mother needs help with Little Bear. You can carry the baby on your back.”
“And she’ll get some sun.”
“Then someday, when you are older, you can carry your own babies in the cradle board, and you will remember Two Bears and his family.”
“Oh, thank you, Two Bears. You’re such a good friend. You have helped me not to be afraid of Indians. At least, not all Indians.”
“And you, Red Bear, have helped my family not to be afraid of white people. At least, not all white people.”
* * * * *
The wind died. The air warmed at daylight. Laramie Peak beckoned in the west. The bugle sounded and the wagons rolled and squeaked west on a dry, dusty trail.
Retta wore her brown cotton dress and high lace-up boots. A burlap sack hung over her shoulder. Joslyn paced on her right, Christen on her left. They both wore bonnets, but Retta was bareheaded.
“If we are almost to Fort Laramie, why do we still need more buffalo chips?” Christen complained.
Retta kicked at a clod. “Papa says we can never have too many.”
“When I’m old, and my grandchildren ask me what it was like coming over the Oregon Trail, I’m going to tell them I spent five months gathering buffalo manure,” Joslyn said.
“Not me,” Christen declared.
Joslyn swatted two flies off her forehead. “ What’re you going to tell your grandkids?”
“I’m going to tell them I came across the trail with Retta Barre.”
Retta rubbed her nose with the palm of her hand and then slapped a mosquito on her cheek. “And they’ll say, ‘Who?’”
Christen faked a grin. “But then I’ll get to tell them all the Retta Barre stories.”
“Like what?”
“Like the time she killed twelve charging buffalo with only a
rock.”
“What!” Retta exclaimed. “That’s not true. There was one buffalo. He was already dead, and I had a coup stick.”
“But you know how it is when you’re old. You get things mixed up,” Christen laughed.
“How about the time Retta got into a gunfight with a hundred prairie pirates?” Joslyn suggested.
Christen giggled. “Or the time she found the lost baby out in the prairie snow?”
“Wait a minute,” Retta objected. “There’s no snow in the summer.”
“Okay.” Christen shrugged. “A prairie dust storm.”
Joslyn’s hand flew up to her face. “And how about the time we caught her and Ben Weaver next to the river kissing.”
“You ... you!” Retta puffed out her cheeks and held her breath. “You can’t say that. It didn’t even come close to happening.”
Christen raised her thin brown eyebrows. “The trip’s not over yet, Coretta Emily Barre.”
The trio stopped and stared down at the dirt.
“Whose turn is it?” Joslyn asked.
“I guess it’s mine,” Christen replied. “Retta, would you mind?”
Retta scooped up the buffalo chip and jammed it into Christen’s burlap sack.
* * * * *
The sun straight above them, the girls had emptied their sacks twice before they heard the shout. The long train of covered wagons pulled to a stop.
“I wonder what happened?” Joslyn muttered.
Christen wiped the sweat off her forehead with the sleeve of her green dress. “Someone probably broke an axle.”
“I do hope there isn’t a long wait,” Retta mused. “Andrew said we might camp within view of Fort Laramie tonight. Won’t it be grand? We haven’t seen any building bigger than a dugout trading post in almost two months.”
Christen set her burlap sack on the dirt. “I’m going to buy a peppermint stick.”
“I need some material to sew a new dress.” Joslyn tugged at the front of her dress. “This one is too tight, and I can’t let it out anymore.”
“Is she bragging again?” Retta teased.
In the distance they could see a horse gallop their way. “Here comes Ansley,” Joslyn observed.
Christen pulled off her bonnet and used it to wipe the dust off her neck. “Retta, how come you aren’t riding Muggins?”
“’Cause I wanted to walk with you, and Papa said I had to pick up chips. Of course, I could ride along on my horse, and you two could pick up the chips and stuff them in my bag.”
Both Christen and Joslyn stared at her and then rolled their eyes.
“That’s what I thought. That’s the reason I’m walking.”
“Someone’s riding with her,” Joslyn called out.
“Is it Ben?” Retta asked.
“No,” Christen answered, “it’s Gilson!”
“Hi!” Retta greeted the two girls. “Where’re you going in such a hurry?”
“To see you, of course,” Ansley hollered as she approached.
Retta looked at the pale girl in the yellow bonnet that matched her blonde hair. “How’re you feeling, Gilson?”
“Sick,” Gilson said, “but I’d rather be riding and sick than lying in that wagon and sick.”
“Why did you want to see me?” Retta queried.
“Why did the wagon train stop?” Christen asked. “There’s a bunch of Sioux warriors blocking the trail!” Ansley explained.
“Sioux? Oh, no! What did they want?” Retta gasped. Ansley’s horse pranced. She yanked back on the reins. “They want to talk.”
“What about?” Retta asked.
“They won’t say.” Ansley leaned forward and patted her horse’s neck. “They want to talk to Red Bear.”
“Really? I—I don’t know anything about the Sioux.”
“The chief said he knew you.”
“But—I don’t ... What’s his name?”
“He calls himself ‘Braces.’”
“Braces?”
“He wears leather suspenders holding up his buckskin trousers.”
“Oh! That Indian!” she hollered. “I thought he was a Cheyenne. Ansley, you and Gilson go get Muggins and bring him here. Joslyn, help me put on my buckskin dress. Christen, find my headband, necklace, and coup stick.”
“You mean your scepter?” Christen teased.
“Scepter?” Retta questioned.
“Coretta Emily Barre, you are the undisputed princess of this prairie.”
~~The End~~
~~Epilogue~~
Eugene Barre — Built a house and started a farm one hundred miles south of Oregon City, Oregon. D. August 1873.
Julia Barre — Continued in poor health. D. September 1873.
William Barre — Married Amy Lynch. Operated a farm and feed mill one hundred miles south of Oregon City, Oregon.
Andrew Barre — Operated a stage line, express company, and then a bank, just north of Oregon City, Oregon. He married Joslyn Jouppi in June 1859.
Lerryn Barre — Taught school in Oregon for fifty-seven years. In 1891 she wrote Down the Trail with Retta Barre. It is still considered the premier Oregon Trail narrative. She never married.
Jessica Laramie Barre — Married Tyler Carpenter in May 1874. He became an attorney and served twenty-three years on the Oregon Supreme Court.
Two Bears — D. in a hunting accident in the Big Horn Mountains at the age of ninety-one.
Shy Bear — D. of smallpox, February 1856
Christen Weaver — Married Travis Lott in July 1860. They lived on a farm one hundred miles south of Oregon City. Her eldest daughter was named Coretta Emily Lott.
Gilson O’Day — D. of tuberculosis, three days after arriving in Oregon. Her granite headstone is fenced in with black iron and is still maintained by Barre family descendants.
Joslyn Jouppi — Stayed three months in California and then migrated with an uncle to Oregon. She married Andrew Barre.
Ansley MacGregor — Married Lucky Nate DelMonte, who later made a fortune in the timber business in Washington Territory. Her mansion is now a museum overlooking the Columbia Gorge and can still be seen from Interstate 84. They had one daughter, Victoria Evangeline DelMonte.
Ben Weaver — Operated a farm one hundred miles south of Oregon City, Oregon, along the middle fork of the Willamette River. He married Coretta Emily Barre.
Retta Barre — Married Ben Weaver in July 1860. They farmed for over sixty years. She bore six daughters and one son. All but the son looked exactly like their mother.
~~About the author~~
Stephen Bly (1944-2011) published over 100 fiction and nonfiction books for adults and kids. He won the Christy Award for the Westerns category. His widow Janet and their three sons finished his last novel for him, Stuart Brannon’s Final Shot, Book 7 in the Stuart Brannon Series, a Selah Award Finalist. Find out more about this family project at the Bly Books website blog: http://www.blybooks.com/
Ask for a list of Stephen Bly books here: Bly Books, P.O. Box 157, Winchester, Idaho 83555
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Other Books by Stephen Bly you might enjoy:
The Lewis & Clark Squad Series
Intrigue at the Rafter B Ranch
The Secret of the Old Rifle
Treachery at the River Canyon
Revenge at Eagle Island
Danger at Deception Pass
Hazards of a Half-Court Press
Adventures on the American Frontier
Daring Rescue at Sonora Pass
Dangerous Ride Across Humboldt Flats
Mysterious Robbery on the Utah Plains
The Nathan T. Riggins Western Adventure Series
The Dog Who Would Not Smile
Coyote True
You Can Always Trust a Spotted Horse
The Last Stubborn Buff
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Never Dance with a Bobcat
Hawks Don't Say Goodbye
Retta Barre’s Oregon Trail Series
The Lost Wagon Train
The Buffalo's Last Stand
The Plain Prairie Princess
The Stuart Brannon Western Series
Hard Winter at Broken Arrow Crossing
False Claims at the Little Stephen Mine
Last Hanging at Paradise Meadow
Standoff at Sunrise Creek
Final Justice at Adobe Wells
Son of an Arizona Legend
Stuart Brannon’s Final Shot