Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852

by Murata, Victoria

  “Why, Captain, I’m going to need my stove when we get to Oregon. What am I going to cook on if I don’t have my stove? And that organ was my grandmother’s. Why, I’ve played hymns on that organ for twelve years. Surely the wagon train can go a little more slowly so that we can keep up.”

  The captain had been polite but firm. His shadowed eyes regarded her from under the wide brim of his western hat. His raspy voice was firm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hinton. Other families have had to lighten their wagons. We all need to be able to keep on schedule if we are going to make good time and get to Oregon by next October.”

  No amount of cajoling would change the captain’s mind, and in the end, he and Ernest had unloaded the stove and the organ.

  “You are both heathens and barbarians!” Emily had cried, while Nellie had stomped around muttering under her breath about having to leave the stove.

  Over the next few days, Ernest had endured accusing looks from Emily, and her stony silence had lasted until he had brought her a puppy from one of the wagons where a dog had had a litter before they left Independence. She had tearfully hugged the little dog, exclaiming over his “precious little face,” and had promptly named him Buster.

  Ernest walked over to talk to some of the men who were helping wagons cross the Platte. Emily could barely hear their muffled conversation, and when they looked over at her, she imagined they were complaining about her obstinacy. Nellie stood next to Emily, intently watching the activity on the water.

  “Well, they can just complain all they want, because there is no way I am going into that water. No self-respecting woman would debase herself by floundering around in that filthy river.”

  It was true. The water was a muddy brown from all the wagons and livestock that had crossed over. There were shallow stagnant pools and mud flats. A three-foot-deep main channel meandered from side to side, and there were numerous sandbars between the shores. Previous travelers had set willow poles out to mark the stable sand bars that would support the weight of the wagons.

  Nellie looked at her mistress. She recognized that determined jaw-set.

  “I don’t want to go into that water either, Miss Emily, but I don’t see any way around it.”

  Abel Brown separated himself from the group of men, walked over to Emily, and tipped his hat.

  “Afternoon, Miss Emily. If I could have a word with you?” He was secretly amused by the little drama, but he played along with the men and did his part. He was supposed to distract Emily while the other men unloaded the wagon and transferred everything to boats for the crossing.

  Emily liked Abel. He was polite and good-looking, and he always paid her a compliment when he saw her. She smiled at him tightly.

  “Don’t think for one minute, Mr. Brown, that you’re going to talk me into crossing that river.”

  Abel regarded her studiously. “Ma’am, I will personally guarantee that you will arrive on the other side safe and sound. Don’t you worry one little hair on that pretty head of yours.” His dark eyes regarded her solemnly, but she detected a glint of humor around the corners. Behind Emily, men had commenced unloading the Hintons’ wagon. Abel kept her attention on him and off the activity.

  “Why Mr. Brown, you are too kind. I thank you, but I will not be needing your assistance today. Perhaps Mr. Hinton and I will cross over in a few days when the water settles down a bit.”

  Abel looked up at the gathering clouds in the sky and then back to Emily. His eyes seemed to be calculating the best strategy to convince this obstinate but very pretty woman to cross the river.

  “Ma’am, that river isn’t going to settle down, and if it rains it will only get worse. Today is the best day to cross. Believe me; most of the wagons have had no trouble, and we haven’t lost any stock. I know it looks fearsome, but it’s an easy crossing.”

  Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched a wagon maneuver through the muddy water. Many men were helping to keep it stable through the deepest part of the river. She shivered as she thought of herself tipping out of the boat and being swept downstream. Abel watched the play of emotions across her face. He knew Ernest was sometimes beside himself over her stubbornness, but he admired her feminine wiles, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her compelling eyes and the firm set to her chin when she made up her mind.

  “Mr. Brown, I do appreciate your offer, but I must decline.” A motion caught her eye and she turned and saw some men carrying pieces of her furniture from the wagon to a boat. “No! Wait!” she cried. She ran up to one of the men to detain him, but Ernest stepped in front of her. His expression was stony and his voice was low and controlled.

  “Emily, we’re crossing today, and I don’t want to hear any more objections.”

  Emily stamped her foot angrily. “We are not going near that river, Mr. Hinton. Have I made myself clear?”

  Ernest looked at his wife. Her hands were on her hips and her stormy eyes regarded him fiercely. Behind her Abel tried to hide a smile, and Nellie looked distraught.

  “Emily, you have no choice,” Ernest said, and then he bent down, grabbed her behind her knees, and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed and kicked and beat his back with her fists.

  “Put me down, you brute!” she cried. “I will never forgive you for this! I insist that you put me down this minute!”

  The men carrying her possessions snickered under their breath. One guffawed loudly.

  Nellie followed Ernest. “Mr. Hinton! Put Miss Emily down! Please!” Buster yipped and jumped up on the back of Ernest’s knees trying to lick Emily’s face. Emily continued her tirade all the way to the boat where Ernest deposited her. Nellie grabbed Buster and scrambled in beside Emily, and Ernest swiftly pushed off. He and two other men forded the river, guiding the boat through the deepest water as Emily shrieked and clung to the sides. Brenna and Conor Flannigan were standing on the other side of the river with other families and watched the frantic woman rocking the boat in her panic.

  “If she would just sit still the boat wouldn’t tip like that,” Conor observed sagely.

  “She’s really scared,” Brenna said.

  “I should go and help them.”

  “No, you should stay right here,” and she put a protective hand on her brother’s shoulder.

  For a while, it looked like they might see the first capsize of the day, and they could clearly hear the refined aristocratic young woman use language that would make a grown man blush. One woman covered the ears of her young son.

  Once they made it to a stable sand bar, Emily and Nellie jumped out of the boat and waded across the rest of the muddy and shallow river. When they finally reached the far shore, Emily angrily trudged past the group of onlookers, dragging the muddy and sodden hem of her cornflower blue dress. Ernest watched her rigid back as she moved toward a stand of trees. He ran after her and they had heated words. Abel Brown watched and a cynical smile spread over his lips.

  Soon, Ernest emerged from the trees and helped the men bring their wagon across the final distance of the river.

  Emily found a shady and secluded bower and collapsed in a flood of frustrated tears. She had never felt so humiliated, and she was sure all of the other women regarded her as a child. She was shaking from anger at her husband for forcibly making her cross in the manner that he had, but she felt relief at the realization that she hadn’t drowned after all. It was a few minutes before she was able to compose herself and breathe more normally.

  She looked at her dress. It was very wet and dirty. She searched for a dry part of her sleeve to wipe her face. She would never forgive Ernest for this. She could still hear the men snickering and see the disdainful expressions on the faces of the women as she had stormed past them. She had a mind to take a horse and ride back to Independence. She was a fine horsewoman, and she had been riding almost since she was able to walk. From Independence, she could catch a train to Ohio. She spent a few minutes enjoying this fantasy while her breathing calmed.

  She was abr
uptly brought out of her self-pitying reverie by the sound of her husband calling to her. He had come to the edge of the trees.

  “Emily, it’s time to load up.”

  “You load up,” she muttered miserably. Then she pictured what the wagon would look like if Ernest loaded it. That thought motivated her to get up and find her way to their wagon.

  Buster yipped and leaped up happily into her arms when he saw her. She hugged him and he licked her face. Nellie was complaining about the crossing, the river, her muddy dress, the state of the wagon, and the supplies scattered all around.

  “What a mess!” she exclaimed. “I hope no one is in a hurry, because it’s going to take a while to repack all of this! How many more rivers are we going to have to cross? I declare, I didn’t sign on for any of this!”

  Ernest had hitched the teams to the wagon, and the horses were tied to the side. Without a word, Emily began the task of organizing everything. In Independence, she had carefully packed to conserve space. Once the stove and organ had been left on the trail she had more room to spread out. Still, she liked to have everything in its place. She and Nellie busied themselves with the task while Ernest handed them boxes, bags, and crates. Ernest had not brought any hired help along on the trail. He had left not speaking to his father, and he had only his own money to outfit their trip and buy the supplies they would need to build their home in Oregon. Some of that money he had lost gambling. He wasn’t very good at poker, but he could never pass up a game. Abel Brown held quite a few of his I.O.U.s, but he was confident he would earn the money to pay him back once they got to Oregon.

  In a short while, they were ready.

  “Well that wasn’t too bad, now was it?” Ernest asked cheerily.

  Emily regarded him stonily. Nellie didn’t reply, but averted her eyes and crossed her arms. The sun disappeared behind a gray cloud and thunder rolled ominously in the distance. The smile left Ernest’s face and he realized that this was going to be a long day.

  He was wondering what he could do this time to lighten Emily’s mood when Abel Brown sauntered over.

  Abel enjoyed watching the way Ernest handled his wife. He lacked finesse and diplomacy. He realized that Ernest had never been a lady’s man like himself. Ernest had been smitten with Miss Emily from the first time he met her, and he had pursued her until she consented to be his wife. It hadn’t been difficult to convince Emily’s father, since Ernest came from an established and wealthy neighboring family.

  Abel knew Emily had consented to be Ernest’s wife because she thought she would always be close to her daddy. He speculated that Emily would most likely never see her daddy again.

  Abel’s family wasn’t well connected, and their money was newer, mostly earned through risky and often illegal pursuits. They had made their fortune through horse-trading. Abel had a good eye for horseflesh, and by the young age of twenty-six, he had won a small fortune at the racetrack. He was an accomplished poker player and had funded this trip with money he had won at the tables in many towns east of the Mississippi. He usually had no trouble winning, but he wasn’t averse to cheating if he had to. There were always plenty of rich farmers who thought they were good at cards, and Abel encouraged their vanity until he had gained their confidence, and then he would play his hand and take their money.

  He had met Ernest at a poker table in a saloon in Ohio, and when he won the final hand, a very large pot, Ernest had been good-natured about it.

  “You’re a good poker player, Mr. Brown. You’re going to have to give me a chance to win my money back.”

  Abel had encouraged Ernest’s fondness for poker. He hadn’t been averse to taking advantage of his young friend whenever he had the opportunity. Ernest already owed him quite a lot of money, and he planned to get more I.O.U.s from Ernest and some of the other travelers. He was already making plans to get a game up at the fort where they would camp tonight. Abel knew he would be a wealthy man when they reached Oregon. As he walked over to where Ernest was adjusting a harness, he saw that the Hintons’ wagon had been re-packed and was ready to roll.

  “The captain says we’re going to camp at Fort Kearny this evening. It’s just a short ways from here.” He looked over to where Emily and Nellie were climbing down from the wagon.

  “Miss Emily, it looks like you made it across safe and sound and are none the worse for wear!” His eyes couldn’t hide his amusement as he noted her scowl.

  “Thank you, Mr. Brown. Fortunately, I didn’t drown,” she replied tersely, and gave her husband a dark look. Abel noticed she looked a little pale, but considering her ordeal, she was remarkably controlled.

  “There’s a trading post and a post office at the fort if you have any letters you’d like to send home.” He tipped his hat at the women and returned to his wagon.

  Emily’s expression brightened. She resolved then and there to write to her daddy and tell him she was coming home!

  The Letter

  Chapter Five

  Fort Kearney

  Mile 319

  Nellie walked next to the wagon the short distance to Fort Kearny. Emily was inside pouting. Ernest was stonily silent as he concentrated on driving the team. Nellie sighed. Their behavior was typical in this marriage. Put two spoiled young people together as husband and wife and this is what you get! She regretted her choice to accompany Miss Emily.

  Emily’s family had come from Virginia and settled in the Military District Lands of Ohio shortly after Emily was born. Ernest himself came from landed gentry, and he and his brother were set to inherit large tracts of rich Ohio farmland. But Ernest had been bitten by the bug and wanted to seek his fortune in the wild and untamed west. Both his father and Emily’s had tried to talk sense into him, but when Ernest’s mind was made up, no one could dissuade him.

  Emily’s father, Henry Lawton, had persuaded Nellie, her personal servant, to travel with them and be a companion to Emily.

  “Nellie, I know how much you love Miss Emily—like your own flesh and blood. You’ve raised her from a baby. I would be eternally grateful to you if you would accompany her and Ernest to Oregon.”

  “Mr. Lawton, I am not young. I know the journey is difficult, and I don’t think it’s a good idea for any woman.”

  “I agree with you, Nellie.” Mr. Lawton’s face looked troubled. “I certainly don’t want my only daughter traipsing across this country with who knows what in store for her. I’ve pleaded with that fool husband of hers, but he won’t be persuaded.” His eyes misted and he took Nellie’s hands in his.

  “Please, Nellie. If you go with Emily, I’ll rest a little easier.”

  Nellie’s heart softened. She couldn’t refuse the man who had always been so kind to her.

  “Alright, Mr. Lawton, I’ll go. God help me, I’ll go with Miss Emily to Oregon.”

  Henry Lawton had hugged her then. Nellie remembered the embrace. She had always been fond of Mr. Lawton.

  “Thank you, Nellie. I will never forget your sacrifice.”

  Nellie was small and wiry, and twice Emily’s age. Her features were sharp, but her warm eyes softened an otherwise fierce expression. She had married young, and two years later her husband had been killed in a brawl in one of the bars he frequented. Columbus, Ohio had been predominantly German, and once the Irish moved in with their Catholic ways, trouble was always brewing. Nellie’s husband had joined in when fighting had broken out between the German Protestants and Irish Catholics, and when the brawl was over, he was dead.

  Nellie had been a young childless widow with no prospects until she found the ad in the Ohio State Journal placed by Emily’s family for a domestic servant. When she began working for Emily’s family, Emily was nearly three years old, and Nellie was twenty-two. Nellie had lost her only child in childbirth, so she quickly bonded to Emily, and the family made her Emily’s nanny. She loved the little girl, and Emily had always returned the affection. Emily’s own mother was cool and distant towards her, saving her love and attention for the younger broth
ers.

  Fort Kearny appeared ahead, and Nellie looked forward to the lay-by. A number of long, flat-roofed low buildings made from sun-dried bricks were strung along the mostly flat landscape. Captain Wyatt was instructing the leading wagons to camp to one side.

  Later that evening after camp had been made next to the fort, Emily composed a letter to her father. Buster lay at her feet asleep.

  Dear Daddy,

  As I write this letter, I am shaking from cold and exhaustion. We crossed a raging river today and I nearly drowned. Many of my fine dresses are ruined from the dust and mud on this horrible trail. My skin is so brown I look like a darky! The food is unpalatable, and it’s the same morning and night. Most of the women are not friendly, and there is no one to talk to besides Nellie.

  I cannot go any farther, Daddy. I am not a pioneer, and I cannot go one more step towards an uncertain future with a husband who is determined to see me to an early grave. In the morning, Ernest and I will turn our wagon around and head back.

  I will send you a wire as soon as we get to Independence, and from there we will catch a train to Columbus.

  Your loving daughter,

  Emily

  P.S. In the event that I cannot convince Ernest to give up his plan, Nellie and I will be coming home without him.

  Nellie found her in the tent holding pen and paper, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked knowingly at Emily.

  “It would be best for all concerned if you would quit your mooning and be the wife and partner you promised to be in your marriage vows.”

  Dismayed, Emily looked at the woman who had been more mother to her than her own mother had. She saw the sympathy in Nellie’s eyes despite her sharp words.