He showed us that when you cut hemlock it drips with an oily yellow goo. The other thing is the roots are hollow with rungs. Like rungs in a ladder. I’m sick to think I didn’t know these things.
Later
We have pulled out and left behind that terrible camp along the Platte. Gideon and Mr. Lewis — Wade’s father — carved the children’s names onto a plank of wood, along with a warning, and placed it by the graves.
The funeral was unbearable . . . oh, the tears. We stood with Cassia’s parents and sisters. The boys’ families also had many aunts, uncles, brothers, and cousins. A lone fiddler played “Amazing Grace” as men shoveled dirt onto the common grave. Moments later the sun set, spreading gold and purple across the wide flowing river. I ached something fierce.
Mrs. Anderson looked at me with eyes full of sorrow, then gently brushed my cheek before turning away.
Later, when the stars were out and no one could see me, I ran into the brush and fell down weeping. My heart was broken. Everyone says I’m not to blame, but still I feel dead inside. It’s a miracle no one else ate the vegetables.
Wade seems to sleep, but his eyes are open and he mumbles words we don’t understand. They gave him a sip of rum this morning which has made his arms and jaw relax. Pepper lifts a spoonful of water to his lips every half hour and rubs her finger along his throat so he’ll swallow. He must have bitten his cheek because there is still blood in his mouth.
Our mothers pray. They are asking God, that if it be His will, to please heal Wade.
I look over at the Anderson wagon and start crying again. There are half as many diapers pinned to their canvas top. Ma said there’s nothing worse than losing a child. And to leave behind the grave, never to see it again, is an unspeakable pain.
Lord, please don’t let Wade die.
I don’t know what day this is
We crossed the South Platte. I’ve not felt like writing until now.
This river is near a mile wide and so shallow lots of folks walk across. This was a very great relief to me.
Pepper and I challenged Gideon and some other boys to a race, but we were soon slowed down by our wet skirts. When Gideon saw us struggling to run in the waist-high water, he stepped between us, took our hands, and helped pull us across.
It was the first time any of us had laughed for two days.
Once ashore we flopped down in the warm sand and stared up at the sky. It was such a lovely blue, I felt, for that moment, happy again.
While Pepper and I wrung out our hems, Gideon turned away, embarrassed to see our bare legs. He is the nicest of all the boys we’ve met except for Wade. I feel sad Wade’s been sleeping these two days. His mama keeps a damp cloth over his eyes so he won’t go blind.
Later
Now that we’re in the North Platte River Valley the air feels dry and thin. My lips are so chapped they bleed when I talk. The only thing to do is dip our fingers into the bucket of axle grease and rub our lips every hour or so. It smells bad, it tastes bad, and the blowing dust sticks.
It feels like we must be halfway to Oregon, but Tall Joe says, no, we’ve only gone five hundred miles. He also said the worst part of the trail is to come.
Does he mean more rivers to cross? Will there be Indians? I’m afraid to ask what he’s talking about.
The Andersons’ wagon had an accident when we climbed up Windlass Hill and were heading down the other side. It was so steep that at the top of the hill we unhitched the teams and led them down separately. Then we chained the wheels to keep them from turning.
Also we cut small trees and tied them behind each wagon for drag, to slow it down as men lowered them with ropes and pulleys. (That’s why this place is named Windlass Hill.)
It took hours and hours. I was nervous watching the men strain so hard, their heels dug into sand, their palms bleeding from the ropes. Ma and some other ladies tore their petticoats into rags to wrap around the men’s hands.
What happened with the Anderson wagon is that their front axle hit a stump which caused the smaller rope to snap. Before anyone could help, the wagon flipped over and over and over, landing in splinters at the bottom. Folks screamed, but it was just the shock of seeing such an accident. No one was hurt. Thank God Mrs. Anderson and her daughters were watching from the top of the hill, for they had climbed out earlier to lighten the load.
The only belongings they could rescue were clothes and blankets that were strewn over the rocks when their trunks split open, and a few tools. Aunt June and Uncle Tim right away invited the family to share their own wagon and supplies for the rest of the journey.
We also will share. Hazel, Holly, Laurel, and Olive will take turns riding with us. I don’t mind giving up my very small spot inside as it’s hot from the sun beating down on the canvas top. I am tired of the bumping and rattling, besides something always tips over, yesterday it was Ma’s bureau. Things are packed in so tight that the bouncing makes the ropes fray. (My opinion is it ain’t safe in there.)
Two other wagons got “stumped” today, so those families will double up with others. There’s enough wreckage to completely build a new rig, but no time to do it. We must keep moving. The mules and oxen will go to others who need them.
After supper Gideon came over to where Pepper and I were sitting. He nodded to me then looked shyly at Pepper. “Woncha please dance with me?” he asked.
Pepper leaned over to whisper in my ear. “Do you mind, Hattie?”
I turned to whisper in her ear, “He’s handsome!”
She smiled, then squeezed my hand. So there they are, circling the fire with other dancers, shuffling, stepping, turning — his left hand on his hip, his right hand around her waist. Folks watch them and smile.
I wish Wade was well enough to ask me to dance.
Ash Hollow
The Platte split into two, so now our trail is along the North Platte River. Our reward for making it down Windlass Hill is the most beautiful campsite yet. It’s called Ash Hollow because of so many thick, shady ash trees.
There’s a spring with fresh icy water so we can fill up our barrels and such. Everywhere we look there’s firewood and good pasture for the animals. It is so peaceful Ma said, “Oh, Charles, can’t we stay here forever?”
A few years ago some emigrants did exactly that. A family built themselves a cabin and plowed a field. They are friendly to us and have offered to post our letters with the next travelers heading back to Missoura. Many of us quick wrote to friends. I tore out a sheet of paper from this journal and sent Becky a drawing of hemlock, telling her all.
The moon is full so I’m writing by its light as I sit near the wagon. There are hundreds of campfires tonight, and singing. Ma is walking along a creek with Mrs. Anderson, who has been silent for days. Ma says she’s grieving, that she finally realizes little Cassia is gone and that her grave is far away, in a lonely place along a river she’ll never see again.
I’m so very sad for her. This makes me watch Bennie and Jake more close for I don’t know how Ma and Pa and me could go on if they became lost or died somehow.
There are Indians, about twenty, camped nearby. The sight of them makes me so nervous I feel vomitty.
Some women came near, holding their hands out, talking in their language. Their deerskin dresses have tiny beads sewn along their sleeves. Their hair is braided over their shoulders. One of them wore a basket on her back with a baby inside, a dark-haired baby with dark quiet eyes. They accepted Ma’s corncakes without a smile.
I asked Tall Joe why they was begging. “They ain’t begging,” he said. “Indians are hospitable people and if they was passing through our land they’d give us a gift. They’re just asking for ours.”
They look like beggars to me, but they are not making trouble. Matter of fact one of the women did something real nice. She saw Mrs. Anderson off by hersel
f, crying, and walked over to her with a square of deerskin, the size of a plate. On it was several chunks of cooked meat.
She picked up a piece and put it to Mrs. Anderson’s lips, nodding for her to eat. The woman then pointed to the little Anderson girls playing in the stream, then motioned with her hands and mouth, like she was eating.
Finally Mrs. Anderson accepted the gift. I think she understood that the Indian woman wanted her to take nourishment for the sake of her little daughters.
Later
Aunt June wears a smock dress now on account she’s getting bigger. I helped her and Ma do laundry. The stream was busy with ladies talking and working. By afternoon the bushes were covered with petticoats, shirts, calicoes, blankets — all drying in the hot sun.
The youngest children ran naked into the water. Pepper and I loosened our braids and stripped down to our camisoles then jumped in, too. How good the cold water felt pouring over my face and through my hair, and how good it felt to wash away the dust.
We swam downstream along the bank where willows made a canopy of shade. It was shallow enough to sit on the sandy bottom, the water up to our shoulders. Ma don’t know this, but we then took off our drawers and camisoles until we was bare as the day we were born. Reckless with joy, we dove below the surface to stare at each other through the bubbles.
It was several minutes before we realized our clothes was floating downstream far beyond our reach, down in the direction of the men and boys.
Pepper and I soon learned it ain’t easy to walk upstream crouched down so only your head is above water. Also, it is near impossible to swim without your bare backside showing.
We was rescued by two grandmothers holding blankets for us.
There is dancing again tonight (Ma still refuses to join in). Pepper was fetched by Gideon and this time he held her hand all the way through camp.
Oh, yes, a little baby girl was born this morning at Ash Hollow.
Another thing, that fat lady came over and brung Ma a fresh pie, mince it turns out. I hurried off to watch from the trees. She must eat ten pies a day, I reckon; she’s that huge.
Next day
In the far distance the prairie and low hills are black. I thought there must have been a fire, but Tall Joe said, “Nope, it’s just buffalo, thousands and thousands of ’em.”
After supper I sat by the fire to mend Bennie’s blanket. He lay next to me in the dirt, talking about this and that, then suddenly he was fast asleep. I like the way he folds into my arms when I carry him to bed.
Later
We are starting to find buffalo droppings, and Tall Joe says, “Where there’s buffs, there’s Injuns.”
Hunters leave the wagons every morning to look for game. They brung down two buffalo near enough to the trail so folks can see them being skinned and butchered. Jake went with some older boys to watch but I stayed behind.
Aunt June was resting in her wagon with Olive and Laurel, who are three and four years old. To make room inside, Uncle Tim pulled out several sacks of bacon and flour.
(It is so much work to pack and unpack that at noon Pa just lies flat in the dirt to rest and he’s sound asleep before his eyes even close.)
We’re camped next door to Aunt June with a tarp stretched between the tops for shade. I saw Mrs. Kenker wave howdee.
“Hattie dear,” she said, “may I borrow one of your mother’s tablecloths please? Mine is soiled and Mr. Kenker is ready for his lunch.”
I felt stiff toward her. “I’m afraid not, Mrs. Kenker.”
My aunt’s voice came from her wagon. “Hattie Campbell, we are not a family to refuse hospitality. Help Mrs. Kenker take what she needs.”
Well. By the time Mrs. Kenker had snooped around, we were quite a bit lighter. She took our lovely lace tablecloth that Grandmother made, five doilies, a tea cozy, and one English teacup. She also grabbed one of Ma’s brown calico skirts and draped it over her arm, but I snatched it back.
Our eyes locked, then finally she turned away. “Thank you, dear,” she called over her shoulder, her arms too full to wave.
Jake was so excited to tell about the buffalo skinning and he pulled my hand to go see, but I was bothered about Mrs. Kenker and wouldn’t.
When Ma came back I told her, but she said the same thing as Aunt June: “We must share.”
This makes me mad. I like to share with nice folks, not those that takes advantage. I’m afraid if I say anything more about Mrs. Kenker I’ll sound wretched, so that’s all for now.
Later again
There are more and more buffalo. They are so many, the herds look like a dark stain moving over the hills. The droppings are flat, full of dried grass and make good coals, but it takes near a bushel to make a decent cooking fire.
I would rather pick up twigs and logs than buffalo dung, but this is what we must do. As long as they’re not fresh and gooey, it ain’t so bad.
The boys, including my naughty brother Jake, spend much of their chore time throwing these buffalo chips at each other, like a snowball fight, instead of helping. They also think it’s fun to ambush us girls, but I think it’s nasty.
Pepper and I feel nervous when we go out to gather the chips. The other day two horsemen were watching from a distance, so we told our fathers who told the rest of the men. Now they all ride with loaded guns. It scares me to think Indians are following us.
Maybe Indian women are nice, but the men carry weapons. I do not trust them.
I walk alongside Wade’s wagon with Pepper. She and I sing to him “Yankee Doodle” and other songs. We feel silly, but maybe he’ll wake up. He’s swallowing the broth she spoons into his mouth and his arms no longer shake or stiffen. Mrs. Lewis and her friends look in on him constantly and I will say he’s the most prayed-over boy I ever met.
Evening
The sun is scorching hot. Ma insists I wear my bonnet to protect my face, but the cloth itches my scalp. When Pepper and I are out walking we carry them like baskets to gather flowers. It feels cooler to let the wind blow my hair back and besides, I think boys like looking at us better without them.
The Mormons are still on the north side of the Platte. Sometimes all we see is their dust because they move faster. Ma says it’s because they’re traveling with just two children instead of 200, like we have in our train; babies slow things up — that’s just the way it is, she says.
I told Pa that Brigham Young must be very religious because he makes his people rest on the Sabbath — no traveling.
Pa laughed. He said, “I still ain’t in agreement with Brigham Young’s theology but if he wants to rest on the Sabbath good for him. But, Hattie, don’t judge a man only by how strict he keeps rules.”
Tall Joe said that up here soon the routes will meet at Fort Laramie and, like it or not, we’ll be traveling alongside the Mormons and their 73 wagons. Pepper and I plan to meet the two children.
Later
There is much celebration today and tears of joy.
After three days of sleeping, Wade sat up, looked around and said, “Mother, I am hungry as a bear.” Just like that.
Pepper and I joined hands with Gideon and the little Anderson girls and Jake and Bennie. We danced around Wade’s wagon and sang. Mrs. Lewis cries and cries she is so thankful to God for healing her son.
He is too weak to walk, but his father carried him down to the river’s edge, to a sandy beach. He bathed him then helped him dress into clean clothes. Now Wade’s sitting in the shade, wearing a blue shirt and pants.
I am so glad to see his beautiful green eyes again. Pepper can’t stop giggling she’s so happy. She sits by her brother just talking and talking to him.
Another day
Clouds build up like white towers, then in the afternoon they turn black. Near every day we hear the low rumblings of thunder, and we feel heavy drops of rai
n — enough to settle the dust and coat the wheels with mud, but no downpour.
We see mighty herds of buffalo in the distance, to either side of the trail. Often there are men on horseback moving along a ridge. If Indians are following us, they’re keeping their distance.
Maybe they are just curious and don’t plan to murder us.
This morning I read back through this journal and laughed when I saw what I’d written about Booneville: “. . . I am afraid of only four things . . .”
Ma says that people who are thinkers often change their opinions. It means you’re growing. So here’s what I think.
Some things I was afraid of I’m not afraid of now and the other way around. I am not so scared about snakes anymore, I have not had a toothache, and the Indians haven’t hurt us. Even Bennie and Jake don’t worry me so much, they are much stronger on their legs and stay close to the wagon. So here is my new list.
1. I’m afraid of hemlock
2. fast rivers
That’s all!
Later
Wade walked today, for about fifteen minutes. He steps slow and gets tired easy. When we ask if he remembers what happened he squints and looks up at the sky.
“Nope,” he says after a while. He knows we’re on our way to Oregon and he does remember being on a riverboat some time ago. He knows his family and today he said my name.
He said, “Hattie, your cheeks are sunburned.” Then he smiled at me.
At noon we sat by a stream where it was shady. Aunt June and Mrs. Anderson have become close friends and the four girls are like having my very own sisters again. Ma helps care for baby Eliza May. We were cooling our feet in the water when we heard loud voices arguing.
Across the Wide and Lonesome Prairie Page 4