Most nights we all gathered at our own fires and had quiet dinners. Often there was bantering back and forth and the little ones would scurry between the wagons playing tag or hide and seek while we made dinner. But tonight there was quiet. By the time our meals had been gotten together, the rain had started. We had to eat inside our wagons sitting on our blankets. It was a whole lot easier than stringing up a piece of canvas so’s we could stay dry.

  It was never fun trying to clean up, but in the rain, it was worse. And, of course, Isabelle had one of her coughing fits again, so I had to do it all. I could have erected a tarp or something, but somehow it just seemed easier to just get drenched while I cleaned up the dishes.

  By the time I was done the rain was coming down so hard, it had doused the fire. I was soaked through. There was nothing to do but get back into the wagon and change into a dry shift. I wouldn’t be sleeping in my usual place tonight. Most nights I liked to sleep outside, but when it got this wet it was near impossible. I’d already been woken up a couple of nights when I had to scramble up into the wagon to get out of the puddles.

  At breakfast, the men hadn’t come back. It was still drizzly and gray so no one objected when we served cold beans and cold cornbread. We parceled it out in the wagon so’s we wouldn’t have to go out and get sloshing wet again. The Uncles seemed to miss their coffee most. Isabelle certainly was not known for her coffee making skills. She drank tea, and only tea, and couldn’t be bothered trying to understand how one can brew up a proper kettle of coffee. She said coffee was the drink of barbarians. That was when I decided I’d start drinking coffee. Mine still wasn’t quite as flavorful as what Sadie’s mom used to make back at home, but it was passable.

  Whenever possible the Uncles would stop by another campfire when they smelled a fresh pot brewing. Abigail Cantrell took great pride in her cooking and knew that the smell of her fresh brewed coffee attracted the men - like bees to honey. It was almost funny watching them make fools of themselves over her special brew, tipping their hats, and saying “Good Evening Miz Cantrell.” And then her reply, so sticky sweet with her big cow eyes “Oh Sir, would you care to sit and enjoy a fresh cup of coffee?” She had Brian hooked all right. Whenever his parents didn’t need him, that’s where he could be found! Can’t really blame him actually with four younger brothers always hanging around him and Brian being the oldest.

  “Uncle Bert will they be back soon?” I was tired of the rain and I was tired of waiting for the men to return from their hunt for Brian’s little brother. Where could he have gotten off to? I keep expecting him to pop up in someone’s wagon from where he’d been hiding.

  “Maddie, we’ve got to be patient just a while longer. We’ll break camp soon as they’re back. ‘Spect it won’t be too long.” But it was. It was nearly sundown, had there been a sun. It was still raining so hard it was difficult to tell what time of day it was. But I was hungry so suspected it must be getting close to dinner.

  I was returning from the stream with a bucket of water as the six horsemen trotted back into camp. Their hats were pulled low, their collars pulled up to their cheekbones. All that could be seen on each was a pair of eyes staring out. Uncle David’s eyes didn’t have the usual crinkles in the corners.

  He dismounted and walked over to Brian. They spoke in low voices as I strained to hear what they were saying. A few words drifted over to our wagon like Injuns, lost, bears and wolves. I knew it wasn’t good. Isabelle pulled me back into the wagon.

  “You’re going to catch your death hanging out in the rain like that.” She said it between fits of coughing.

  Supper was again a ragtag affair. More cold beans and we still had some ox left, cooked from a few nights ago. It wasn’t really looking very appealing. We each got to chew on some dried apple. There weren’t many slices left and we were still a ways from St. Louis where we’d be able to set in some supplies.

  Mrs. McElhinney screamed and carried on for most of the night. My only thought was that if Ryan had been within five miles he would’ve heard and come running home. He was only five years old was all I could think. No one seemed to want to talk about it. We left at sunup; Brian held back, he said he would catch up.

  FIVE

  We crossed the Mississippi today. Almost couldn’t see the other side. Never saw a river like that back in Virginia. They say it might be the biggest river we’re ever going to see.

  We had to cross by ferry and it took most of the day: first the wagons, then the horses and then the cattle. The ferryman said we were lucky ’cause the rains hadn’t been too heavy up this way and the river was calm. Uncle David said he was robbing us by charging us two bits for each boatload. The ferryman seemed just ripe for an argument when he answered Uncle David: “It be one bit over and one bit back.”

  Jacob who couldn’t keep still said, “Yeah, but we’re not coming back.”

  “Well I am,” he answered and spit a half wad of chewed up tobacco real close to Jacob’s boot. “And it’s gonna cost you one bit to get me back.”

  Jacob came to the wagon to dig out the money box and took out enough to get us across. “Got no choice,” he said. “There’s no other way to get to the other side.”

  Uncle Bert had said that the Mississippi was gonna’ be some river. Well, I’ll tell you, it made the Ohio look like a backwater creek.

  Hannah was on my lap for one of our conversations where I did all the talking. “Look Hannah, look at the boats, there must be hundreds.” I was exaggerating of course but I wanted her to pull her eyes out from under my apron. It worked.

  “Now just lookit there. Trappers.” There were three canoes coming so close to us we could see everything they’d packed into them. It was mostly blankets and furs and a metal pot or two. The trappers had heavy black beards and as warm as it was they were wearing coonskin hats. They were dark skinned and a bit frightening. A couple of them waved to us and called out words, which I’m quite sure were French. We smiled and waved back. There were Indians too, paddling by. One small canoe passed close in front of us. “Hannah, look. See the papoose? And look how they strapped that baby in, bet you wouldn’t put up with that.” She hid her head again. “They’re not scary; we’ve seen lots of them. Uncle Bert says just leave them be and they mind their own business.”

  He also said that every now and again they’d find a horse or cow missing, but in this part of the country, the Indians weren’t much of a problem. We’d have to mind our P’s and Q’s though after we pulled away from Independence. That was where we’d have our next big river crossing.

  We had such a nice view of the water sitting up on the wagon seat. Isabelle was in the back and looked as though she was going to puke.

  “Look Hannah, your Momma isn’t too happy.” She perked up at this and looked back in the wagon to see her stepmother, sitting on the mattress, her arms locked around her knees drawn up close to her chest. “She won’t sit with us,” I said fearing I was going to get the giggles. She looked so funny with her eyes squeezed tight.

  “It’s OK Hannah, she just doesn’t like the water. Now look over there, it’s another ferry and it’s bigger than this one, he has two wagons on it, but we’re faster. See Jacob over there. He’s waiting for us. He already has the supply wagon across.”

  The ferry moved up and down with the gentle motion of the water. An occasional wave broke over the splintery wood. The wagon swayed. With the creak of the wheels and the unsteady bobbing, I wondered if the ropes were strong enough to hold us on the few pieces of rough-hewn lumber. It didn’t look any too sturdy.

  “We’re almost there.” By the time we reached shore, Hannah was looking all around, about as curious as any five-year-old could be. We landed with a thump. I breathed a sigh of relief as Jacob hitched up the oxen. Isabelle was still huddled in the back as I drove the wagon off. She was real glad to slide back up on the seat once we made it to dry land.

  Crossing the Mississippi meant we’re done with all the hills and valleys of Kentucky and we’d made it to Missouri. Uncle David said if the weather holds we’ll be in Independence by the end of June. It’s not halfway yet, but it’s where many of the wagons connect with others to travel in a caravan. It’s said it’s safer that way as there’s so much unknown ahead. It would be a treat to have some others with us. Maybe some other girls to talk to or walk with would be nice. The endless day after day walking does get boring.

  It seems it’s been so long since we departed. I wonder if life will ever settle down. Will we ever live in a house again or is this my life: beans and cornbread and greasy bacon with choking dust and endless trails and wagons that break down too often? We have another few days ‘til we get up to Independence. Maybe we’ll be able to spend some time there while we provision.

  The weather changed from damp to a drenching summer heat. We’d left the coolness of Kentucky behind and now it was so hot, Uncle Bert pulled us over early and had us circle up. We had a dinner of bacon and cold cornbread with what little butter we had, and munched on the last of the apple slices. My favorite, but very few left. Isabelle and Sadie’s mom had dried a huge amount last fall from the apples we collected. Guess we’d been eating too many ‘cause now they were just about gone.

  The butter churn has given us lots of butter after the rough ride in the wagon. Well, most times. Today’s ride had been tame and the churn gave us little. Now I could either spend my night plunging the dasher up and down to make more butter come or I could skim off what we had and drink the milk that hadn’t turned. I chose to let us all have as much as we wanted of the warmish milk. The few cows that we were driving would yield more later.

  It was so hot that we all retired to stretch out on our quilts as the sun went down. I listened as Isabelle tossed and turned and couldn’t seem to get comfortable. It must have been a lot hotter up in the wagon than it was sleeping on the ground.

  “Maddie, where are you?” For a moment I thought about changing my name. Maybe just for the rest of this trip, so I didn’t have to hear it so often - especially when it was followed by an order.

  “I’m here.” Crawling out of my jumbled nest of quilts from under the wagon, I made my way towards the sound of the coughing. The night had been so hot and I couldn’t get comfortable either so was almost glad to leave my hideout.

  “Could you please fetch me a drink of water?” Her coughing hadn’t really gotten much worse it was just louder.

  Most nights she had a pail of water in the wagon for herself and Hannah, but there must not have been any left. There was no breeze and not a puff of fresh air and my shift felt scratchy and too long.

  “I’ll get it,” I answered. We weren’t that far from the Mississippi and there were lots of little creeks around. It wouldn’t be far to get a bucket of water. Usually, we watched for each other whenever we left the circle of wagons, but it was late and by the sounds of the snoring, everyone was too far into sleep to pay me any mind. Most often there was a guard posted, but who knew where he was.

  The moon threw just enough light to find my way down to the creek, that and the sound of the burbling of the water. It felt so peaceful to be down there, it was quiet and a little cooler and I couldn’t resist putting my feet in. An owl hooted from high in a tree. I sat on a flat stone and splashed, it felt so good. The pebbles on the bottom were smooth and cool and were soothing on feet that had walked too many miles. The cool wet felt wonderful.

  No one was around, the moon was sparkling off the ripples and I couldn’t hold back. I hadn’t been swimming since last year – wasn’t proper said Isabelle. We ladies could all bathe together on the trail when there was a fresh source of water, but there would be no swimming, that was for boys.

  I made my way out to the middle where it wasn’t even over my head. I floated for a while and then did a few quiet strokes up the creek and then back down. A bunch of ducks broke the silence with their quaking. It gave me a start. I hadn’t meant to disturb them.

  I realized the moon’s light wasn’t quite enough to show me where I’d come out of the trees. I squinted into the dark, searching the shoreline and just when I thought I was going to have to yell for help, I saw a bit of light from the moon reflecting off my bucket. I realized I’d been gone far too long.

  The water had felt so good, I hadn’t bathed in so long but I had to get back. My shift clung to me as I walked back out of the water. I filled the bucket and reached down to wring out the hem of my shift. From out of nowhere, a hand was slapped over my mouth, an arm that felt like a hot piece of thick iron squeezed around my waist.

  My mind couldn’t understand what was happening. I thought I would pass out from fright. There was no opportunity to scream or kick. Whoever it was, he was a monster. His breath came in hot gasps on my neck. It smelled like old stale whiskey. His arm was crushing me around my middle and it felt like my teeth were going to come loose from the huge hairy hand that was squeezing my mouth shut. He was holding me so tight I couldn’t breathe. I was going to suffocate and die I just knew it. He was carrying me into the woods. Wait I wanted to scream. I need to get the bucket. Who knows where that thought came from?

  I tried to kick out but my feet felt like they were hitting iron. We had almost reached the woods, when I heard an awful thud like a watermelon being smashed by a board, and then almost in slow motion, like he had to think about it, he released his hold on me and I dropped to the ground. I looked up at the biggest man I’d ever seen.

  “Mon Dieu,” he said over and over, each time getting fainter. He was French. Maybe one of the trappers but I didn’t want to stay to find out.

  He staggered and put a large very hairy hand on the back of his head. The red flannel shirt couldn’t hide the dripping blood. His coonskin hat had dropped to the ground. A bowie knife on his belt glistened in the moonlight.

  “Quick Madison, run.” Well, I didn’t have to be told twice. I ran and I knew who was behind me. I’d recognize that cough anywhere and it was keeping up with me. We yelled like a passel of wild Indians and in no time at all, we were circled by most of those formerly sleeping residents of all those wagons.

  Isabelle bent over as she tried to stop coughing so hard. She dropped the log she’d used on that trapper’s head. How had she picked up something that big and then hit that giant with it? I was impressed. It took a few minutes to catch my breath to try to tell the story.

  Everyone crowded around, their eyes wide when I realized I was standing there in my soaking wet shift practically naked. I guess I realized it when I saw Rafferty Jones’s one eye staring at me. The light from the dying fire reflected off that one eye and it looked like sparks were leaping off it.

  Someone brought a quilt and threw it over me; I think it was Brian. Uncle David and Uncle Bert, in one leap, had mounted their horses and headed down to the stream. Wasn’t much they could do though in the dark. Jacob came up and said, “come sleep in my wagon, don’t want to frighten Hannah and by the looks of you, you’d frighten a ghost.”

  “I’m alright,” I said but I was already starting to shake and feel some twinges from where he’d squeezed me so tight. During the night I stuck my toe out a couple of times to touch Jacob just to make sure he was there. Sometimes he wasn’t too bad for a younger brother.

  The morning came much too soon.

  SIX

  It was the fifteenth of July when we arrived in Independence, Missouri. Uncle Bert called a halt to our parade of wagons and said we could stay four days for repairs and provisioning. It seemed a bit calmer than St. Louis. Someone had said St. Louis was having growing pains with all the Irish and German immigrants. Seems they had a famine in Ireland and many were starving because of a potato disease and thousands were coming to America to survive. We hadn’t stayed there long enough to get an understanding of who was there. The Uncles said get to Independence then we could take a few days to rest. They thought provisioning might be better there as it was like a meet up place for all the travelers who would be heading to different destinations like Santa Fe or Texas or Oregon Country.

  Many of our wagons could use some attention with spokes and axles and wheels that needed repairing. Our animals too could use a few days off to heal their sores. The yokes had done their damage, rubbing and chaffing their shoulders practically down to the bone. As often as we put bacon grease and herbs on their necks and shoulders they were hard to keep clean. The flies would actually lay their eggs in the open wounds. They’d hatch into maggots. Uncle David said leave it, the maggots were the best cleaning tool known. “Injuns do it all the time, works like magic.” I didn’t want to be the one to argue, so let it be.

  We’d been on the trail nearly three months and had made better time than Uncle Bert had imagined. Maybe we were all better pioneers than he knew and here we were in an actual town for a few days. Well, not really a town. It was more like a bunch of buildings thrown together, with lots still being built. But there was a wide dirt road going down the middle with all kinds of stores. It was the best we’d seen so far.

  There was such an odd assortment of people too; I suppose that was why the Uncles had us camp outside of town. It looked like a riotous place, lots bigger than where we were coming from in Virginia, but not quite as civilized.

  “Madison,” called Isabelle, her coughing shook the wagon.

  “I’m here.”

  “You’re going to have to go to the Post Office to see if there’s any word from your father. I believe I’ll stay put for the day.”

  “But he’s not expecting us for another month at least.”

  “Nevertheless, we need to see if he’s written with any instructions.”

  I wasn’t going to argue. This was my chance to get away from the wagons to be by myself for awhile.

 

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