“They also said mules can last longer than the horses and are more surefooted in the mountains, but we would have to take some grain for them too.
“He recommended oxen They are a little slower, traveling only 15 miles per day on average, but they are more dependable, and less likely to run off. The Indians don’t bother them as much. Oxen can stand the long trip and can get along on the what grass there is along the way. They are less expensive to buy, but they will be more useful when we get there. We got these eight for less than $150.
“Oxen are a lot easier to harness too. We’ll save a goodly amount of time getting to leave every morning.
“It isn’t going to be easy. You and I will be walking a big part of the way and it’ll be easier to keep up with the oxen.”
“Why do we have to walk?” Jed asked.
“It lightens the load the team has to pull. Your mama and sister will walk quite a bit, but they aren’t as strong as we are, so they’ll ride some.”
“You sure have been studying up on this, Pa.”
“I’ve been thinking about it for a good while now, so I’ve asked a lot of questions, especially with those that are going.”
“Have you known any of them long?”
“I was in the War with two of them.”
“I wish I could have gone to the war.”
“No you don’t. It was a horrible experience.”
“But you won,” Jed said.
“Nobody wins a war, son. There are only losers.”
Chapter two
On The Way
Jed and his father loaded the wagon with the things they had purchased and those they had in their home. Room was left down the center for Sophie and Mandy to sleep. Jed and his father would sleep on bedrolls under the wagon. They said goodbye to their neighbors the night before and were ready to go come morning.
The Lewis wagon along with five others left Steubenville before first light on March 14th. It was dark when they set out, with Sophronia and Mandy in the wagon, and Hiram leading the four oxen in harness. Jed was in back with their two horses, the oxen and three milk cows. The third day out, one of the wagons left them and went back to Steubenville. Three days later, the remaining five arrived in Zanesville. Hiram and the other men located a company in the process of forming up. Hiram paid the joining fee and became a part of Major Clint Adams’s wagon train. The next day, the wakeup call came at 4:00AM. The women were out of bed and fixing breakfast while the men rounded up their livestock from the center of the circle, and harnessed their oxen or horses and began moving. Their first day on the Oregon Trail had begun.
The sun was dipping low on the horizon. “How far have we come today?” Jed asked his father.
“A little less than we did on the way from home. I imagine it’s about fifteen miles, why?”
“My feet are tired. When will we stop?”
“That’s up to the wagon master,” Hiram told him. He looked at the sinking sun. “It won’t be long now. We’ll stop before dark. Your mama will have to fix dinner, while we get the cows milked and the oxen unharnessed and taken care of.
“Look up ahead. Clint’s giving the signal to circle the wagons now.”
“There’s no Indians around here, why circle?”
“The wagons will serve as a corral and the animals won’t be as much trouble to round up in the morning.”
“We didn’t do this before,” Jed said.
“It’s kinda hard to circle five wagons.”
Jed grinned. “I guess it is. Are any more of ours turning around and going back?”
“I don’t know. We have a long row to hoe ahead of us. I keep wondering whether it’s the right thing to do myself. I was pretty sure before we left. I’m just wondering if the women folk are up to it.”
“Ma’s strong; she’ll be all right. I don’t know about Mandy,” Jed said.
There were thirty wagons in the train now. During the day they spread out instead of traveling single file, and avoided breathing so much of the dust stirred up by the other wagons. The days turned into a sameness across the flat Ohio and Indiana countryside. Fourteen days later, the train stopped in Greenfield, Indiana.
Clint Adams called a meeting. “Folks, we’re going to lay over here three or four days to give the stock time to graze and rest their feet.”
“What about my feet?” one of the men called out
“You can rest them at night.” There was a collective laugh at the wagon master’s humor.
“Whilst we’re here, tend to any repairs you need and restock your larder if necessary. I’m going to get the blacksmith to come out and check the hooves of my animals and anyone that needs him can make the same arrangements. I don’t know what he charges, but it’s up to you if you want to or not. He’s going to check mine, for sure. Check and grease your axles and make sure they’re tight. We got about six weeks to get to Independence.”
“Jed, we’re going to be here three or four days,” Hiram told him. “We need to check the wagon and the harnesses real good. We don’t want to break down on the trail. You’ll have a chance to rest your feet some. Look at your shoes, might be a good idea for both of us to get an extra pair.
“I want to have the hooves of the oxen and horses checked to make sure their shoes are tight. I’ll get the blacksmith to check them while he’s out here.”
“Yes sir.”
The oxen and horses had been checked and received the necessary treatments. The supplies had been replenished and loaded into the wagon. The last chore Jed had was to grease the axles the day before they left.
A cold rain was falling so it was not possible to have hot food before the wagons broke camp. Cold biscuits and honey was all they had for breakfast. Jed and his father were both wearing slickers while Mandy and her mother were able to remain relatively dry. The signal came to begin moving. The train was single file on the muddy road due to the wet fields. Dust would not be a problem this day.
The rain stopped around eleven thirty and the sun came out shortly after, lifting Jed’s spirits. The end of the day was welcome after a day of slogging through the mud.
Sophie had purchased a journal and pencils in Greenfield and decided to keep a record of their days ahead. The first entry described the rain and mentioned Jed had caught a cold. The entries for the next two days told of the sneezing and coughing. Sophie wrote, “Mrs. Parnell gave Jed a potion. I don’t know what it was, but it made him drunk.”
Another entry read, “Jed is better and is walking with the animals today. Mandy is walking too. I will have to start walking too. Come the mountains, we’ll all walk.”
Six weeks later…
“Independence at last. A week’s layover. Looking forward to that,” she journaled.
In addition to the Adams caravan, there were three others ahead of them. Independence was the jumping off place for most of the trains headed west. Major Adams held a driver’s meeting. “Everyone should get all of their needs attended to while we are here. Fort Kearney is just about the only thing between us and Fort Laramie and it isn’t nearly the size of Independence. We’ll be two and a half weeks to Fort Kearney and around seven or so to Fort Laramie. Fort Laramie is our halfway point to Oregon. From Fort Laramie on will be hard going, with mountains and rivers to cross. If you’re thinking of turning around, this would be the place to do so. This is my third train, in seven years, so I know what I’m talking about.”
“We’ll be crossing the Mississippi one week from today, weather permitting. It will be a ferry crossing.”
Four days later…
The train had stopped for the day. The widow Hannah Scoggins was preparing the evening meal when her seven year old son, Jeremy, asked permission to go down to the creek that would be their source of water.
“You go ahead, but don’t go in the water.”
“Yessum.” He took off running. Jeremy always ran.
Chapter three
Angela Thornton
June, 2015…
Even though she was one of the prettiest girls in school, Angie’s focus was totally toward earning an athletic scholarship. She had no close friends except for those on the basketball or volleyball teams. In spite of her mother’s pushing, she never had a boyfriend. She wanted good grades to help her chances for a scholarship. “Angie, there are other, and more important things than sports,” her mother told her.
“I’m not interested in them right now,” Angie said. “I have to get a scholarship.”
“Your world is too small. You need to let others in.”
Always an athlete, Angie led her high school’s volleyball and basketball teams to the Missouri Class 3A championship two years in a row. She was a familiar sight to the fans of the high school basketball team, her long strawberry blonde ponytail bouncing from side to side as she flew down the court and pulled up to hit a jump shot. She was also on the swim team and had been a lifeguard at the community pool for two summers.
Angie had offers from eight major schools in volleyball and basketball. She wanted to play both sports, but most coaches discouraged the dual activity, and preferred their scholarship athletes to focus their attention on one sport.
She used her fifth and last NCAA official visit to go to the University of Nebraska in Lincoln. “I’d like to play volleyball and basketball. How do you feel about that?” she asked the Huskers basketball coach.
“It’s been my experience that volleyball can make a good basketball player better, providing they have the stamina required. The physical demands on a player for a good team are heavy, and the Huskers are good in both sports. It’s hard to excel at both, but if a girl wants to try it, I have no real problems with it; however, she should ask herself if she wants to be good at both or great at one.”
“What about great at both?”
“That’s a tall order. I know you were outstanding in high school, but the girls playing college ball were all number one on their teams in high school. Volleyball and basketball are both considerably faster at this level.”
“You don’t sound encouraging,” she said.
“We are a top ten team nationally. Our goal every year is to be number one. Our girls work hard.”
“You’re losing three starters this year,” she said.
The tall female coach grinned. “You’ve done your homework. We are losing three, but we had the ninth best recruiting class in the country last year,” she said. “We’ll be good again this year. If you want to be part of it, we’d love to have you.
“We have a good volleyball team too. The coach is a good friend of mine and he will tell you the same thing I’m telling you. At a Division Two or Three school it would be less demanding, but at D1, it’s tough. We’d like for you to be a part of the Husker program in any case.”
On the way back to Brevard, Angie sat in the back seat, ear buds in and read a book on her iPhone. The spring rains had taken the mighty Missouri out of its banks as well as the feeder streams. The current in the creek following the path of the highway was fast and the water was rising. A dip in the road had water flowing across the roadway into the creek.
Angie’s father, Barry had already slowed the Lexus below the speed limit when he hit the water. The Lexus fishtailed, and when he over corrected, the car went into the creek. The water quickly rose to the level of the headlights. The force of the current caused the car to break contact with the streambed and it began to move. It moved faster as it was swept away by the rapidly moving water.
“We’ve got to get on top of the car and hold on,” he yelled.
The force of the water made opening the door impossible. Angie felt the car hit the water, and yanked the buds from her ears. “Dad, I can’t get the door open.”
“Open the windows, before the battery dies,” he said.
The window slid down; she put her iPhone in one jean pocket, and the solar charger in another. She crawled through the open window and onto the top of the car. She watched as her father and mother struggled to get through their window, before they finally extricated themselves and crawled onto the roof.
She watched in horror as an overhanging limb swept her mother from the top of the car, dragged her husband after her as he frantically tried to hold on to her. They were swept downstream. The limb struck Angie in the middle of her body and she doubled over it. She used the muscles in her arms and legs, strengthened by her conditioning regimen, to work her way back to a notch in the tree where she passed out.
* * *
The storm passed…
Angie heard a voice, and opened her eyes. Where there had been a raging torrent, there was only a shallow creek running by the tree. And a towheaded boy seven or eight years old, squinting as he looked into the sun. Looking at her.
“Lady, what are you doing in at tree?” he asked.
“I can’t get down,” she said. “Do you see my mom and dad?”
“Nome, they ain’t nobody else here but me,
“Do you live around here?”
“Nome. I’m on that wagen train over yonder,” he said.
“Wagon train?” He must be playing.
“What’s your name?”
“Jeremy.”
“Jeremy is there anyone at your house that can help me?” she asked.
“I ain’t got no house,” he said.
“Where do you live?”
“In a wagen. We’re going to Orgen.”
“Where’s your mother?”
“I speck she’s cooking supper,” the boy said.
“What about your father?”
“My what?” he asked.
“Your dad, father, papa, or whatever you call him.”
“I ain’t got no pa. They’s just Uncle Chester, Aunt Bess, and Ma.”
“Do you think you can find someone could help me get down?”
“Yessum. Uncle Chester can. I’ll go git him.” He ran off, holding on to the floppy hat that had fallen off when he looked up into the tree.
I wonder if he will come back? As high as I am off the ground, I might break something if I try to jump.
Ten minutes later, she saw two men on horseback. The towhead was sitting in front of one of them.
“Jeremy, where is this lady you said needed help?”
“Up air.” Jeremy said and pointed to the tree.
“Ma’am, why are you in that tree?” the man with Jeremy asked.
Still in shock, she remained motionless and silent. She was crying but no tears flowed.
“You cain’t get back down?”
“I don’t think I can without breaking something,” she answered. “Can you help me?”
“I reckon we might be able to do something. Let me just think on it for a minute.” He dismounted, and walked around examining the situation from several angles.
He took a rope from his saddle and tried to throw one end over her limb. Each try was blocked by the foliage over her head. “Ma’am?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to throw the rope to you. Ketch it and drop the end across the limb. I’ll tie it off and you can kinda shinny down. Try not to come down fast or you’ll git blisters on yore hands.”
She caught the rope and did as he said. The strength in her arms allowed her to come down hand over hand without sliding. When she was safely on the ground, she said, “That’s a relief. Did you see my parents? They were with me. Thank you, Jeremy, for going for help.”
“Yessum. I knowed Uncle Chester could do it. He can do just about anything.”
“Where’s your wagen at?” Chester asked.
“It was washed down the creek during the flood.”
“How long wer
e you in the tree?”
“I don’t know,” she said.
Chapter four
The Wagon Train
“Miss, who are you? And where are you from?” the man with Jeremy asked.
“I’m Angela Thornton. I’m from Brevard. Can we look for my parents? They were with me.”
“I’m Chester Akins, you’ve met Jeremy, and this here is Hiram Lewis.”
Hiram touched the brim of his hat and said, “Ma’am.”
Where is this Breevard?” Chester asked.
“It’s close to Independence,” she answered.
“What are you doing way out here?”
“I don’t remember. I guess I was knocked out, but came to when he…,” she pointed to Jeremy, “said something.”
“How long have you been out here?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything after we went into the water.”
“We? Who else was with you?”
“My mother and father.”
“Where are they?” Hiram Lewis asked.
“I don’t know, I think they were swept away. I need to go look for them. I just don’t remember anything.” She began crying. Real tears.
“I don’t see no sign of no storm,” Chester said.
“Me neither,” Hiram echoed.
“Miss, did you git hit in the head or something?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.” Her customary ponytail had come undone. She ran her fingers through her hair and found it matted. It felt dirty. “I don’t feel any bumps or anything, but it’s all tangled.”
“Lady, why are you wearing pants?” Jeremy asked.
“It’s just something girls my age do,” she replied.
“Ain’t no girls in our wagon train wears pants,” he replied doggedly.
“They might feel better if they did.”
“Them’s funny shoes.”
Jeremy was like a dog playing with a bone. He didn’t let go. “They’re called sneakers,” she replied.
[Oregon Trail Time Travel 04.0] Angie and the Farmer Page 2