The Oregon Trail, page 1
THE OREGON TRAIL
~ Pathway to the West ~
By
Tecla Emerson
OutLook Press
210 Legion Ave. #6805
Annapolis, MD 21401
TeclaM@aol.com
Cover Design by Tait DeGennaro
www.TaitDegennaro.com
Interior layout by
Robert Louis Henry
http://RightHandPublishing.com
Copyright © 2018 Tecla Emerson
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition
Dedicated to Juliet
~ may your curiosity never end ~
CONTENTS
Introduction
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Bibliography
Factoids
INTRODUCTION
The east coast of America was becoming overcrowded. Tales were being told of wide-open spaces to the west where one would find ideal weather conditions and endless farmland. Families in search of more land and a new and better life set out for the unexplored and unknown territory. They traveled in wagon trains over the rough and not well-organized trails.
To arrive in this mystical land, these daring and brave pioneers would have to traverse more than half a continent. Determined, families hitched up their wagons and set off for the months-long trek into the unknown.
There were obstacles such as fire, flood, accidents, the possibility of Indian attacks and under the less than ideal conditions, disease was all too common.
It was a costly trip. The pioneers had to sell their homes and land to outfit a wagon with food, clothing and tools. It was a treacherous and dangerous journey into unexplored territory. It was a time filled with mystery and unknowns, as there were few first-hand accounts of what they were heading into. It was 1845.
They set out with family and all their worldly goods and headed for a new life. It was a long and arduous trip and one that often was disastrous.
ONE
“Hannah.” Why had she disappeared again? The wagons were lined up, and ready to move. The smell of new wood and canvas was thick in the air. The men fidgeted with the reins, uncomfortable with making small talk, ready to get on the trail.
Where was she?
“Hannah!” Isabelle called. “Maddie, how could you let her disappear like that?”
“Well she’s not going to answer you,” I said. “I’ll go and find her.” I hadn’t meant for that to sound quite so snippy. She was my stepmother after all and I’m sure meant well. I leapt down from the wagon’s high seat. Where could she be hiding now and how could a five-year-old disappear so quickly? Ever since the incident more than a year ago, Hannah had taken to hiding whenever there was a crowd of people. Either that or curling up in someone’s lap, usually mine. I was her big sister. She liked to pull an apron over her face; she thought she would disappear that way.
“Hannah, come out,” This was not how I wanted to spend my last day in Virginia. If we had to go I wanted to go. Stop dilly-dallying wherever you are Hannah - but I didn’t say that out loud.
Sadie came up beside me, her market basket tucked under her arm, “She gone again?” she asked.
I nodded, “Well jus’ means we can be together some more.” We grinned at each other, we’d been best friends practically since the day we were born. We were so different but so much the same. We were born the same month; not the same day but the same year. Growing up we’d spent summers swimming in the creek every free minute we could find and then in the fall we’d meet down by the stables and feed the horses apples. In the winter we’d slide on the ice until Sadie’s mother would come and shoo us home, snapping at us that there were chores to do and we’d best get busy.
Sadie had coal black, tightly curled hair and her skin was mocha colored. I had hair that looked like it was trying to be blonde and blue eyes that my father said were about the same color as the wild Virginia bluebells.
“I wish you were coming Sadie.”
“You only said that three hundred times already,” she answered. “If your pa hadn’t set us free, I surely would’ve. Guess I would’ve had to,” she said with a smile. “Momma’s not letting me out of her sight now, not since we got our manumission papers.”
“I know, but think of all the fun we could have.”
“But now we’s free and Momma wants to settle here. Think she’s ’fraid to go anywhere else.”
“And ha! There she be,” said Sadie pointing to the General Store. We could just see the hem of Hannah’s gingham dress peeking out from behind the pickle barrel.
“Hannah...” I began, harsh words ready to erupt. I looked down at the mute child her head hanging low, her lower lip trembling. She was clutching that raggedy doll of hers to her chest. “Alright, I know, you don’t want to go. But you have to.” I held out my hand and let her slip hers into mine. It was small and warm.
“Wonder why she don’t want to go?” Sadie mused. “Sounds like high adventure to me. Maybe she could stay here with my Momma and I’ll go with you.”
“I’d like that a lot. Oh gosh, I didn’t mean that Hannah. I wouldn’t leave you here.” I looked down at the big blue eyes. They were staring at me from under the bonnet with the ties that weren’t going to stay tied. I squeezed her hand. “Yes, I’d miss you.”
“’S’ppose she’ll ever speak again?” Sadie asked.
“Don’t know. Teacher said whenever she saw someone like that, they never spoke again. Once a mute, always a mute.”
“It’s been more’n a year hasn’t it?” she asked, her dark eyes stared into me as if there were more to the story.
“Seems like it,” I answered. We were walking too fast. Hannah was struggling to keep up with us.
“Maddie, where have you been?” Isabelle asked. She leaned down to help Hannah up on the wagon. She had that cross look, her brows drawn together in a thin line, “And Sadie, won’t your mother be looking for you?”
“Yes Ma’am,” she answered. She didn’t meet Isabelle’s eyes. Sadie and I looked at each other out of the corner of our eyes trying not to smile.
“Maddie, you can either walk along by the side or come up here on the seat.”
Before I could answer, I heard my uncle yell. “All up.” The crack of his whip sang through the air.
Sadie and I looked at each other once again. She’d been my best friend, my only friend for so long, and now I might never see her again.
“Maddie come along now,” Isabelle’s tone was disapproving. “Sadie needs to get home.”
“Goodbye,” said Sadie, she grabbed my hand, “my friend…”
I didn’t want to be caught crying but the tears welled up. I turned in a whirl, my dress catching around my ankles, nearly tripping me. I kept my head down as I rushed to catch up with the wagon. Neighbors and friends were lining the road as one after another wished us well, “Good luck,” or “Godspeed,” or “Write to us when you get there.” “We’ll miss you.”
And then we were alone. There was only the sound of the animal hooves plodding along. I wanted to turn back for just one last look but was afraid I’d run back. I concentrated hard – watch where you’re stepping. Concentrate. It kept the tears from falling. The ground was soft underfoot. The frost had left a while ago. The morning sun felt warm and the creak of the wagon wheels was somehow comforting.
The trip had been months in the planning. How had it crept up so fast? I wasn’t ready. I wanted to go back to the big house; I wanted to go back to my own room, to the things I’d left behind. Someone else was living in my room now, but I didn’t want to think about it.
All week we’d been saying goodbye, but it still didn’t make it easier. We said our farewells to families I’d known all my life. And then last night, by myself, I had once more gone to the place with the white picket fence that held the gray monuments to things of the past. There were only ten headstones. Two of them still not covered by the green moss that crept up in the night, covering old granite.
It had been dusk; I had picked a bunch of the wild Virginia bluebells that grew so freely in the meadow. I put a few sprigs on each of the two graves. My feet stayed rooted to the spot; how could we leave this place, my home for all of my 15 years. Would anyone tend to the two graves? Why did we have to go?
There was really only one live blood relative who we were leaving. That was the hardest. It was Grandmom. She was too old to travel. Too old to be part of what they were calling the new adventure. Somehow, when I hugged her for what must have been the hundredth time, I knew it was our last goodbye. I knew I’d never see her again. She was the mother of the three boys, now men; my father Stewart, who was already out west and my two uncles, the twins Bert and David. They were traveling with us.
Old as they were, the twin uncles saying goodbye to Grams had been the hardest goodbye of all. Grams sat and just let the tears run down her cheeks not even dabbing at them with her ever-present handkerchief. They dribbled off the folds of skin wrinkled with age and caring. Her cloudy blue eyes just stared as the tears brimmed over. The twins were Grams favorites; nobody seemed to mind, they weren’t around all that much; they just drifted in and out of her life whenever they were able to get back home. Neither had ever married although there were rumors of squaws.
Ever
“Maddie,” said Jacob. “What’s up?” His words cut into my memories, bringing me back to the moment. He flicked the reins on the backs of the oxen keeping the supply wagon moving and keeping up with the train’s pace.
“Go away Jacob, leave me be.” I tried to wave him off; he could be an awful annoyance at times.
“Go away yourself,” he said.
“Why are you such a know-it-all?” I asked as I turned around to look up at him. He was 14 and sat there proud as a peacock, hair as usual, hanging in his eyes, hat pulled low and a half smile on his face. I saw him just as my younger brother, but he had a man’s job driving the cumbersome wagon and he was proud of it.
“Not a know-it-all, just asked you a simple question,” he said. “No call to be so huffy.”
I ignored him. It was going to be a long five months with just the six other families. But, if luck was with us once we made it to Independence, we would be able to connect with more wagons bound for Oregon Country. That was all the way in Missouri, a long way away.
My feet were tired already; I hated the new boots that Isabelle made me wear. I wanted to go barefoot but she used that tone. So I thought for the first day out maybe I’d listen if only to keep the peace. I was debating whether it would be worth climbing up on the wagon seat to sit next to her and to Hannah. And, as if she read my thoughts, Isabelle leaned down and asked if I wanted to ride.
“Alright,” I thought that might be the lesser of the two major annoyances in my life, my brother Jacob and my stepmother Isabelle. Maybe if I rode up with her she’d stop hassling me. Hoisting myself up the side, I was careful to avoid the turning wagon wheel. I didn’t want to end up like Patty Irving. Heard tell that she still doesn’t walk right.
Isabelle and Hannah made room for me.
“Don’t know why she ran off like that,” my stepmother said, her eyes looking down at the child.
“But she always does,” I said, talking as though Hannah wasn’t even there. “She just doesn’t like a bunch of people all around, it makes her nervous. Doesn’t it,” I asked pulling at one of Hannah’s braids. She smiled her five-year-old smile at me and for all the world looked as normal as any young girl. She looks like Mother I thought, or what I remember of her. Her reddish blonde hair was wispy around her face and her blue eyes stared up at me adoringly.
“It’s OK Hannah, no one here will hurt you.” At this Hannah turned and buried her face in Isabelle’s apron. I ignored it; it was hard to tell just what would set her off.
“Well,” said Isabelle, “This is the beginning of the great adventure. Wish your father was here.” She coughed; her shoulders shook as she tried to muffle it in her handkerchief.
So do I, so do I, I said to myself. I wasn’t going to let Isabelle know just how concerned I was without Father to lead the way.
“Good thing your two uncles are here to help, we couldn’t have done this alone.” As she spoke Uncle David rode up on his chestnut gelding, tipping his hat and greeting my stepmother. “Isabelle, how goes it?”
“We seem to be doing well so far,” she answered, muffling a final cough in her handkerchief.
“We’ll be pulling up for lunch in three, four hours,” he said. “That’ll be our first stop. Don’t plan to stay long, too far to go to be dilly-dallying. What say you to that Miss Maddie?”
“Just fine,” I answered. I blushed, I didn’t mean to.
“Fine dress you’re wearing,” he said. I always blushed with Uncle David. For as long as I can remember, he always paid me special attention and he flirted with me. He actually sounded like he meant it when he said something nice. No one else had ever said much nice to me except Sadie – but then Sadie liked everything so it was hard to tell.
“Your Uncle Bert’s doing just fine so far as our leader, seems to know where we’re going.” He chuckled, “Course we’re hardly out of the neighborhood yet.”
“Do you think it’s really going to be five months?” I asked. Guess it came out kind of whiny, which I really didn’t mean.
“Well now, we’ll know better once we’re past the mountains and stopped in Independence. If all goes well, it shouldn’t be more’n a couple of months past that.” Then added “Maybe more,” but it was almost a whisper. As he spoke his long fingers scratched at something in his graying beard. “Just think though, by the time we all get out there, maybe it’ll be part of these United States.” He laughed. “Hard to know.”
“Is that going to be a problem,” asked Isabelle.
“I doubt it,” he answered. “There’s a good amount who’ve already headed out there and haven’t really heard of any troubles. ‘Sides,” he said, “It should be ours before much longer. They’re working on it” He took off his hat and wiped at the sweat collecting on his brow. “Polk wants expansion,” he added as an afterthought.
Well at least I knew who President Polk was, but I wasn’t so sure about expansion. I was happy in Virginia. And if it was true that the Oregon Country was British, why exactly were we heading out there? Sounded like trouble to me.
But Uncle had already changed the subject. “We’re certainly leaving early enough, earlier than we actually had to, but it gives us a good head start. Long as we don’t hit any late spring snows we’ll go ‘long just fine. Pretty exciting now isn’t it Hannah Belle?” he asked, directing his question to the one blue eye peeking out at him from under Isabelle’s apron. His eyes were crinkled up in a face with a near permanent smile. “Sorry for ye’ Isabelle, that my brother didn’t make it back to accompany us.”
“It’s quite alright,” she responded. “He’s to join us in Missouri. He wanted to get settled out there before we all joined him. He’s put his trust in you and Bert to transport us. I’m not worried. I’m sure all will go well.” Her clipped New England accent gave an edge to her voice.
“Certainly hope so,” he responded and for just a moment, I thought his eyes darkened, but when I looked again it was gone.
“Need to get up forward, see if the Barnes’ are doing alright with that new ox of theirs. Too bad they didn’t have time to get acquainted ‘fore they hooked him up.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine,” said Isabelle. “Ben Barnes knows animals as well as anyone. He has helped us a few times with our stock.”
“Nevertheless, I’ll be on my way.” He tipped his hat, his long hair getting caught up on the brim.
“We shall see you for lunch then,” called Isabelle as he trotted ahead.
“Too bad their ox died,” I said, “and just before we left too. Looked to me like he’d gotten into some poison or something the way he was all swoll up.”
“Swollen up,” said Isabelle.
“That’s what I meant.” I didn’t mean to but I scowled.
“And what of the Barnes children?” asked Isabelle setting off a new wave of coughing. She ignored it and went on “They all seem to be doing well on this venture.”
“They’re all too young to even know what they’re about,” I said. “The oldest is only four, and it doesn’t appear he knows what’s happening. Too bad he’s not a girl he would’ve been a nice friend for Hannah.” I patted Hannah’s sleeping head. It hadn’t taken much to lull the young child into drowsiness with the sway of the wagon.
“Why do you suppose she doesn’t speak?” asked my stepmother for the hundredth time, more as a musing aloud than a real question.
“She was so frightened. Maybe she saw who kilt Randy and it scared the words right out of her.”
“Killed not kilt.” She said, slipping in her correction before continuing. Must she always do that? Do I always need correcting? But she continued without missing a beat, “That was well over a year ago, she was talking so well back then.”
