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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.
Chapter Two
“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 animals 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 b
ody 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.
