Oregon Trail Boxed Set

by Hutton, Callie

  How in heaven’s name could he be so cheerful? Emma pulled her coat closer, trying to conserve her body’s warmth. Her bones ached from lying alongside Peter all night on the makeshift bedroll he’d made for them. They’d been bundled up, but the cold from the ground seeped through the blankets and their coats. Already uncomfortable from the unfamiliar hard packed earth, Emma tossed and turned most of the night.

  She stood back, her hands on her hips, as she surveyed her work. Peter may think she was going to walk to Oregon, but she’d made enough space for her to sit inside, and padded the area with enough clothes so it would be downright comfortable.

  A plump woman, apron strings flying, flew past her, racing after a chubby toddler. She scooped him up into her arms, panting while the child giggled. Flush-faced, the woman turned to Emma and smiled, trying in vain to control the still wiggling child.

  “Hello.” She flipped the child around so his back was to her, with her arm wrapped securely around his middle. “I’m Sarah Boyle, and this here’s Stephen, my youngest.”

  “It’s nice to meet you.” Emma wiped her hands on her apron as she approached Sarah. “I’m Emma Thorpe, and this is my husband, Peter.” She nodded in his direction.

  Peter tugged on the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”

  “I guess you’re all headed to Oregon country?” Sarah continued to take deep breaths.

  “Yes, we are.” Emma smiled at the little boy, still trying to get away from his mother. “Are you with Ezra’s group, too?”

  “Sure are. Buck–that’s my husband–said Ezra Franklin runs the best wagon train headed to Oregon country. We hail from Illinois. Where are you from?” Sarah now had the child under control. He turned toward his mother, and laid his head on her chest. Watching the adults with half closed eyes, he stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  Peter wandered off, leaving Emma alone with her new neighbor.

  “We had a farm in Washington County, in Indiana.” She couldn’t resist reaching out to run her fingers through Stephen’s soft baby curls. “Peter decided it would be better to sell it and move to Oregon country. He’d heard some wonderful stories about it.” She dropped her hand to her side and shrugged. “He managed rather quickly to find a buyer for our farm, purchased a wagon, and here we are.” Emma blinked rapidly at the tears that welled in her eyes.

  Sarah touched Emma’s arm. “And this whole thing is more Peter’s idea than yours?”

  “You could say that.” Using the corner of her apron, she blotted her eyes. She inhaled deeply. “I was happy in Indiana. My parents have a store in town, and Peter and I had a small farm. I thought we would be there until our old age. But Peter had different ideas.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Sarah said with a tilt of her head. “Now Buck and me both wanted to strike out. We have four little ones, Stephen here, being the youngest. Buck did the blacksmithin’ in our town, and we had a small house, but we wanted more room for all these growing boys.” She kissed Stephen’s blond head that slumped against her as he slept. “You got any yourself?”

  Emma winced at the heartache of her monthlies arriving each month right on time. Although it had only been five months since they’d married, she’d hoped to be starting her family by now. “No little ones for us yet.” She sighed, letting a bit of regret slip into her voice.

  “Well, I’ll be happy to give ya one of ours,” Sarah laughed. Emma smiled at the joke, not seeing the humor in it.

  Three stampeding young boys rounded the wagon and crashed into each other as they stopped abruptly in front of Sarah. They pushed and shoved, raising a dust cloud that choked the two women. The boys resembled larger versions of little Stephen, and quieted down after glimpsing the look Sarah gave them.

  “Emma,” she waved in the direction of the three, “these little ruffians are my older boys.” She patted each boy on the head as she move down the line. “This here’s David, Michael and Joey.” The boys, who seemed to be somewhere between seven and twelve years old, nodded and mumbled “ma’am” before scrambling away.

  “Come back here,” Sarah yelled. “You still have chores to do, and they need to be done now.” She shifted Stephen to her hip and started after them, and then glanced over her shoulder. “Why don’t you and Peter come sit with us after supper tonight? Buck’ll be glad to have company of another man. Most of the men goin’ on the trail are busy still buying supplies in town.”

  “We would love that.”

  The woman rounded the bend after the boys before Emma’s answer was out. “See you later.”

  She hummed as she pulled things out to make biscuits to go with the beans she’d prepared for their supper. Her short visit with Sarah cheered her. Having another woman to share her troubles with could very well make this a pleasant trip after all. Maybe even fun.

  2

  “I can’t take any more of this. I want to go home.” Tears rolled down Emma’s cheeks as she turned begging eyes toward Peter. She slapped at a fly that had landed on her face. “Ouch.”

  “Honey, we can’t turn back. I’ve told you a hundred times. Once you start with the wagon train, you either stay with them, or die trying to get back on your own.” He placed his empty supper plate on the ground and stood. “It’s only been three weeks, you’ll adjust.”

  “Adjust? I hate this. The heat, the dirt, the dust. I hate sleeping on the ground, and cooking meals over a campfire.”

  “Give yourself more time.”

  “I don’t want more time. I want to go back to Indiana.”

  Peter removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “You have to forget Indiana, Emma. Our new life is in Oregon.”

  “We had a perfectly good life in Indiana.” She swiped at her wet cheeks, then crossed her arms, hugging her middle.

  Peter sighed. “We’ve gone over this before. I’m no farmer, I want to raise horses. The only reason I had the farm was because my grandmother left it to me.”

  “I wish you’d told me before we got married that you hated farming.”

  “Why? Would that have made a difference?” His voice lowered.

  Emma turned her head, avoiding his gaze. Yes, crept into her mind, but she held her tongue. Would she have accepted Peter so quickly if she’d known then he would sell the farm and decide to travel west?

  He watched her in silence, and then rubbed his index finger and thumb across his forehead. “Why don’t you clean up from supper, and we’ll go for a walk when I get back. I have to see Ezra about something.”

  “It better be about hiring a scout to bring us back,” she muttered.

  She thought about their daily life while she washed dishes. The routine the wagon master had set for them was arduous and boring. Ezra woke the camp every morning before daybreak by shooting off his rifle several times. While the men took care of the animals and checked the wagons over for the day’s journey, the women cooked a breakfast of bacon and coffee, and added whatever bread left from the previous night’s supper. Emma’s supply of fresh eggs had been gone by the second week.

  The sun had barely risen above the horizon when the shout came to head west once more. At noon they stopped for a cold meal that was basically leftovers from breakfast. Back on the road after this break, the wagon train continued on until five or six in the afternoon.

  At that time, Ezra and his scouts called a halt, this time with a bugle, and directed the wagons into a circle for the evening. While the men again tended to the animals and made repairs, the women cooked a hot meal. Evenings passed with visiting and doing small jobs like sewing and mending. Usually someone brought out a fiddle or harmonica, and music would entertain the travelers. Those with children used the evening time to help with schoolwork.

  Broiling sun beat down endlessly on her head day after day, causing rivulets of sweat to trickle down her face and between her breasts. Then they were plagued with fierce thunderstorms, dumping downpours that gave them no notice. During those ferocious storms, Peter would attempt to control the ani
mals as Emma climbed into the back of the wagon, fighting the raging wind and rain, to tie the cover down. Several times both she and the inside of the wagon were soaked before she finished. Once the sun came out, they dragged out all the wet items to dry.

  Most days she and Peter walked on and off. He led the oxen while Emma trudged beside him, weary and hot. She tried riding on the bench in the front of the wagon, but the bouncing and jarring was worse than the walking. The little space she’d made for herself in the back turned out to be stifling during the heat of day.

  Peter tried to console Emma by reminding them they headed to a wonderful new life in Oregon. Every time he said this, Emma asked him what the devil was wrong with the old life they’d had.

  More than anything, she hated the dirt and dust. She moved her tongue around her mouth, feeling the grit of dirt between her teeth. Her body was tired and her heart ached for her parents, and the nice clean farmhouse they’d left back in Indiana.

  “Emma, come sit with me for a while.” With a drooling Stephen attached to her hip, Sarah entered the area where Emma sat brooding after cleaning up from supper.

  “All right.” Emma sighed, happy to have something distract her. She followed Sarah, stretching her tired muscles and rubbing her back aching from the day’s travel. Emma and Sarah had become good friends, enjoying each other’s company after a long day. While Sarah attempted to keep Emma’s spirits up, the only thing that would truly raise her spirits was a trip back home.

  Once they settled next to Sarah’s campfire, two other women from the wagon train joined them. Elizabeth and Abigail Preston were the wife and mother of Jeb Preston, a preacher who joined the wagon train to start his church in Oregon Country.

  A tall and slender woman, Elizabeth Preston could almost be called frail. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun at the back of her head. In a large flowered bag, she carried mending with her as she settled next to Sarah. Her short and plump mother-in-law, her stature the very opposite of Elizabeth’s, always brought a smile to Emma. Abigail had a manner about her that put people at ease with her sharp brown eyes and rosy-cheeked smile.

  “Emma, you’re looking a bit tired tonight.” Elizabeth searched her mending bag, finally pulling out the right color of thread to mend one of Jeb’s socks.

  “You could say I’m a bit worn out.” Emma chewed on her lip. “Doesn’t all this ever get to you?” She waved her hand around the area.

  “Oh, it does, at times,” Elizabeth said. “But Jeb is determined to spread the Word of the Lord in Oregon country and Mama Preston,” she smiled warmly at the older woman, “is such a help with my two girls. Once you get accustomed to the daily routine, it won’t be so bad, you’ll see.”

  “How long does it take to be accustomed to the daily routine? It’s been three weeks, and I feel like we’ve been traveling for months.”

  “My Jeb can offer you some counsel, if you want, Emma.” Elizabeth attacked the sock with needle and thread. “He’ll find just the right passage to calm your heart.” She reached out a slender hand with a gold band reflecting the firelight, and squeezed Emma’s fingers. “The Lord will always help, you know.”

  Emma nodded, her shoulders slumped. A bible toting friendly man, Jeb Preston had already become the person most sought after by the travelers. Leafing through his well-worn Bible, he would read comforting words. Tall and reed thin, Jeb had startling black eyes that softened when speaking in his slow, quiet way. His wagon soon became the most visited one among the emigrants.

  “Ladies,” Elizabeth began, looking around the circle of women, “did any of you hear Ezra had to get one of his scouts to break up a brawl last night?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Sarah stared wide-eyed at her, smoothing back the curls falling over Stephen’s forehead. “We haven’t had any of those kinds of problems so far.”

  When the two other women shook their heads also, Elizabeth continued. “From what Jeb told me, a few of the men got into a card game, and were drinking, and one of them called another one a cheat, and before you knew it, fists were flying.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Sarah shook her head, lips pursed. “I wish Ezra had not allowed drinking on this trip, with all the children present.” She stabbed her finger with the needle she used to sew on a button. “Ow.” She stuck her finger in her mouth.

  “According to Jeb.” Elizabeth leaned forward and lowered her voice. “After things quieted down, Ezra threatened to put off the wagon train anyone he found drunk.”

  “Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that,” Emma said, “the last thing I want to worry about is traveling with a bunch of drunks.”

  All of the women nodded their agreement.

  “Who was the scout brave enough to step into the middle of drunken brawlers?” Emma wanted to know.

  “That tall, rather good looking one.” Elizabeth tossed the mended sock into her bag. “He always seems to be at the head of the wagon train. You know, curly dark hair, always looks like he needs a shave? Let me see, Davis, I think Jeb told me his name is.”

  After another hour or so of conversation, Emma took her leave of Sarah’s wagon. Abigail and Elizabeth joined in her departure, all of them promising to gather again the next evening.

  The campfire burned low, and aside from the chirping of insects, silence greeted Emma as she arrived back at her wagon area. Placing her hands on her hips, she frowned and looked around the area for Peter. So much for him hurrying back so they could go for a walk. Shrugging, she grabbed a shawl from the wagon, and headed toward the animal pen to see if she could find him.

  Most of the wagons had settled in for the night. She headed toward the outside of the wagon circle, listening to the sound of babies crying as their mothers attempted to sooth. A few women still washed dishes from supper, but none of the men seemed to be about. She smiled at two boys arguing over a game of marbles as they squatted next to the dim light of a wagon.

  Still not having spotted Peter, or Ezra, she continued on, leaving the circle completely. She pulled her shawl tighter around her, and hurried to where the moonlight cast a glow on a group of men gathered around a few horses from the remuda. The animals in the makeshift pen stirred restlessly, their huge heads swinging back and forth as a large palomino bucked and jerked, trying hard to get away from the men who tried to control them. Peter and one of the scouts attempted to hold onto the horse while Ezra examined its hoof. Rearing up in a panic, the horse broke free of the strap the scout held and kicked out his back legs, dragging Peter to the ground.

  The scout grabbed the dangling strap, but not before the horse’s front hooves came down on Peter’s chest. His scream rent the air, turning Emma’s blood to ice. Ezra and the scout attempted to pull the animal away, but his panicked strength dragged both men to the ground. Peter rolled to his stomach, and the animal came down on his back. This time there was no scream, and Peter lay still. The scout grabbed Peter by the collar to drag him away, and received a kick to his ribs. He went down in a cloud of dust.

  Emma gathered her skirts in her fists and screamed Peter’s name, running toward the group. Ezra was back on his feet, but Peter and the scout lay crumpled and broken on the ground. Three men now had hold of the horse, and dragged the bucking animal away from the men.

  Everything appeared in slow motion. Emma’s legs seemed to slow down, even though she knew she raced toward the group. Spooked from the panicked horse, the other horses on the pen whinnied and stomped and pawed with agitation. Ezra shouted orders to the men, who moved the horses back, while two others raced to the fallen men.

  Breathless, Emma reached the group just as Ezra joined the small group. She tugged at arms that attempted to hold her back. Someone wrapped his arm around her waist, and pulled her back from the pen area. “Let me go!” She tried to pry his hand free, but he held fast.

  Several men stood in front of her, watching the ground, blocking her view. Emma brought her booted foot down hard on the instep of the man holding her. He cursed, and re
leased her enough so she could run. She pushed her way into the crowd, using her elbow to move the men out of the way.

  Several men now surrounded Peter and the scout. Ezra yelled for everyone to clear away. Her heart pounding, Emma watched in horror as one of the men turned Peter over. His eyes were closed and his dirt-filled mouth hung open. Blood ran from his nose, and covered his chest where the imprint of hooves dug into his body. His left arm and right leg were twisted in an odd position.

  It was obvious he had been badly stomped. Emma fell to her knees and crawled toward her husband. More hands grabbed her shoulders, and struggled to hold her back. Panting, she wrestled herself feel just as the man holding Peter looked over to Ezra and slowly shook his head.

  All the blood drained from her face and dots danced in front of her eyes. “Nooooo!” Emma tilted her head back and screamed to the stars, just before everything went black.

  3

  A flock of startled crows screeched and scattered as a clap of thunder resonated through the quiet morning air. Flat landscape with its waving grass and hidden dangers rolled on as far as the eye could see. Overhead, gathering clouds grew darker, threatening another downpour common to this part of the country. Small animals scurried over fallen branches, seeking shelter from predators soaring high above them. Predators that had the instinctive competence to make them its next meal.

  Wind from the encroaching storm whipped Emma’s skirts, plastering them against her legs. She wrapped her arms around her middle, and stared at the body wrapped in cloth and tied with rope. A deep hole next to it gaped, dark and damp, like a beast ready to receive its quarry.

  She bowed her head as Jeb read a passage from his Bible. Abigail and Sarah stood on either side of her, both with fingers pressed to their mouths. Tears slid down Emma’s cheeks, but she refused the handkerchief Elizabeth held out, preferring to use the corner of her apron.