Love's Long Journey Page 5

  Far too soon for Missie, Mr. Blake stood and waved his hand for attention.

  “Thank ya, men... thank ya. You’ve done a fine job. Now it’s gittin’ late and time to be turnin’ in. ’Sides, the mosquitoes are ’bout as hungry as I’ve ever seen ’em.” He waved a few away from his face.

  “Tomorrow, bein’ Sunday, the train will stay to camp. Me, I’m not a religious man, but a day of rest jest plain makes sense—both fer the animals an’ fer us people. Now, iffen you who are religious are hankerin’ fer some kind of church service, I’m leavin’ ya on yer own to do the plannin’. I’m no good at sech things. Fact is, I plan on spendin’ tomorrow down at yonder crik, seein’ iffen I can catch me some fish.” He looked around the group. “Now, then, are there any of you who’d be wantin’ church?”

  Quite a few hands were raised.

  “Fine... fine,” Mr. Blake said. “Klein, ya figurin’ thet you can take charge?”

  Henry looked a little nonplussed but nodded his assent, and the meeting was dismissed.

  Henry then spent some time calling upon his wagon neighbors in preparation for the morning service. A few did not wish to take part, but most were eager to worship together on the Lord’s Day.

  Willie was appointed to read the Scripture, and Henry himself took charge of the singing. Mr. Weiss could play hymns on his old violin with even more feeling than he played the lively dance tunes and folk songs, and everything was set.

  Sunday dawned clear and warm. The service had been set for nine so it would be over before the sun was too high and hot in the sky. The people gathered in a grove of trees near the stream and settled themselves beneath the protective branches on logs that Willie and Henry had cut and placed there for that purpose.

  They began with a hearty hymn-sing, Henry leading out in his clear baritone voice. Kathy Weiss taught the group a new song—simple and short but with a catchy tune. Many hands clapped in accompaniment when they were not occupied with slapping mosquitoes.

  After the final triumphant stanza of “Amazing Grace,” Henry indicated the singing had concluded and asked Mr. Weiss to lead the group in prayer. He did so with such fervor that Missie was reminded of home.

  Anyone who wished was invited to tell of finding God’s presence on the trail. One by one, several stood to express their thanks to God for His leading, for strength, for assurance in spite of fears, for incidents of protection along the way. Missie and Becky exchanged glances and meaningful smiles.

  After the last voluntary testimony had been shared, Willie read the Scripture. He had chosen the passage about Jesus feeding the multitudes with only a small boy’s lunch. Missie was sure that others caught the special significance of trusting God to provide for them and to protect them in their travels together. The group listened carefully as Willie’s voice presented the words from the Bible and his confidence in the promises of God. When he closed the Book there were many nods and “amens.”

  Though their wilderness setting gave no hint of a church building, the time of worship had been just as meaningful as if they’d had a roof over their heads and a church bell tolling. As the group scattered to their own campsites, they shook Henry’s hand and thanked him for a job well done. Some suggested another hymn-sing around the fire that night, and so it was arranged.

  The Sunday service and Sunday night hymn-sing became even more popular with the wagon-train members than the Saturday night gathering. As the weeks went by, some of those who had not been interested in joining the Sunday crowd for their worship time found themselves washing their faces, putting on clean clothes, brushing the trail dust off their boots, and heading for whatever spot had been set aside for that week’s service. Missie and Willie were thrilled to see the interest grow. The folks appeared to yearn for that restful time of worship and sharing on Sunday.

  Mr. Blake, on the other hand, was left to his own choice of Sunday activity, whether it was hunting, fishing, or just lying in the shade. Missie noticed him on one particular Sunday morning, though, when he had chosen to simply hang around camp. It looked suspiciously as if he were listening.

  SIX

  Tedious Journey

  Day after long day rolled and bounced by in mostly tiresome predictability. Even the weather seemed monotonous. The sun blazed down upon them with only an occasional shower to bring temporary relief.

  But gradually the travelers adjusted to the journey. Bodies still ached at the end of the day, but not with the same intense painfulness. Blisters now had been replaced by calluses. Occasionally a horse would become lame, and their drivers watched with great care and concern for any serious signs of injury to their animals.

  One family, the Wilburs, had been forced to pull aside and retire from the train due to an injured horse that simply could not continue. Mr. Blake thoughtfully detoured the train about two miles out of its way in order to drop the young couple off at a small army outpost. The sergeant in charge promised he’d send a few of his men back with Mr. Wilbur to retrieve his stranded wagon and lead the horses to the safety of the fort. At the earliest future date, the Wilburs would be escorted to the nearest town. Missie could have wept when she saw their expressions of intense disappointment as the train moved on without them.

  Some minor mishaps during the journey reminded them all of the need for care and caution. One of the Page children had been burned when playing too near a cooking fire. Mr. Weiss, the train’s blacksmith, had been kicked by a horse he was attempting to shoe, but fortunately nothing was broken. Mrs. Crane’s ankle had twisted badly as she attempted to scale a steep hill in her fashionable shoes, and she was confined to the family wagon far longer than she would have liked. A few of the young children were plagued with infected mosquito bites, and occasional colds made one or the other miserable for a time. But, all in all, everyone was adjusting quite well to life on the trail.

  As the group slowly made its way westward, the countryside began changing. Missie tried to determine what made it seem so different—so foreign to her from the farming community she had left. The trees were smaller and unlike most of the trees she had been used to. The hills appeared different, too. Perhaps it was the abundance of short undergrowth that clung to their slopes. Whatever the differences, Missie also realized she was getting farther and farther away from her home and those she loved. The now-familiar feeling of lonesomeness still gnawed and twisted within her. Once in a while she was forced to bite her lip to keep the tears from overflowing onto her cheeks. She must try harder, pray more. And as she walked or worked she repeated over and over to herself the blessed promise of Isaiah. Her greatest ally was busyness, and she tried hard to keep her hands and her mind occupied.

  Missie visited Becky often, and she had kept her promise to introduce her to the midwife, Mrs. Kosensky. The capable woman had dismissed husband John’s advice that Becky walk more and cautioned her to be careful about the amount of activity she involved herself in each day. Now that she was feeling better, Becky wasn’t sure she liked the restrictions but obeyed the new instructions, nonetheless.

  Missie found plenty of opportunity to help Mrs. Collins with the care of her two young children. She often took the baby girl to visit Becky so she might have some experience in the care and handling of a baby.

  Try as she might to keep her thoughts on the future and the adventure ahead, Missie found herself continually recalling the events of the day as they would be taking place “back home.” Today Mama will be hanging out the wash, all white and shimmering in the sun, or today Pa will be making his weekly trip into town. Or on Sunday, the whole family is in the buggy and heading for the little log church. They’re going to meet and worship with the neighbors—people I’ve known all my life—and Parson Joe. She could almost hear his voice as he would preach the sermon and the “amens” accompanying his presentation of truth from Scripture. And she could close her eyes and see her dear sister Clae’s smile as she gazed with love and pride at her husband behind the simple pulpit.

  And so
Missie went through each day. Her weary but gradually strengthening body traveled with the other pilgrims of the wagon train, but her spirit soared “back home,” where she shared the days’ activities with those she had left behind.

  She realized with surprise as she prepared their evening meal that they had been on the trail for almost four weeks. In some ways it had seemed forever; in others, it seemed not so long at all. But after this amount of time, why was she still feeling that inner homesickness and loneliness? Time, she had thought, would lessen the pain, ease the burden of loneliness. How long would it require for her to be at peace with her circumstances?

  As Missie’s body ached less by each day’s end, it seemed that her spirit ached more. How she missed them—her family and friends. How good it would be to feel her mama’s warm embrace or her pa’s hand upon her shoulder. How she would welcome the teasing of Clare and Arnie, enjoy watching the growing up of her younger sister, Ellie. And Luke in his soft lovableness—how she ached to hug his little body. Would she even recognize him when she saw him again—whenever that time might come? Oh, dear God, she prayed over and over, please make me able to bear it.

  With all her might, Missie fought to hide her suffering from Willie. But in so doing, she didn’t realize how much of her true self she was withholding from him. She often felt Willie’s eyes upon her, studying her face. He fretted over her weariness and continually checked to be sure she was feeling all right, was not overworking, was eating properly.

  The truth was, Missie was not feeling well. Apart from her deep homesickness, she also was suffering with nausea and general tiredness. But she hid it from Willie. It’s not the right time yet. Willie would just worry, she kept telling herself. But she sensed—and did not like—the strain that was present between them.

  Each day followed the last one in very similar fashion. The LaHayes always rose early. Missie prepared breakfast for Willie and Henry while they checked and watered the animals and prepared them for the new day’s travel. They ate, packed up, and moved out. At noon they took a short break, and Missie again prepared a quick meal.

  When they stopped at the end of the day, there was the fire to start, the supper to be cooked, and the cleaning up to be done. Very little fresh food now remained, so Missie had to resort to dried and home-canned foods. She was fast wearying of the limited menu. She wondered if it was as distasteful to Willie and Henry as it was to her. What wouldn’t she give to be able to sit down to one of her mother’s appetizing meals with garden produce and fresh-baked bread? She shook her head quickly and determined to put her mind on other things.

  The amount of walking Missie included in each day’s travel depended on the terrain and the intensity of the heat. Becky Clay did not attempt to walk very much at all. John refrained from prodding her to do more than she felt comfortable doing after Mrs. Kosensky had told him that all women were not as hardy as his mother. Becky did welcome her short episodes with the other women, though she had to be careful not to overdo.

  The travelers began to know one another as individuals, not just faces. For some, this was good. Mrs. Standard and Mrs. Schmidt seemed to accept and enjoy each other more every day. They hoped to be close neighbors when the journey ended.

  Kathy Weiss and Tillie Crane also became close friends. Kathy spent many hours with Anna, as well, the oldest of the five Standard girls. But Anna and Tillie shared no common interest and seemed to have no desire to spend time in each other’s company. In turn, Mrs. Standard appeared to enjoy Kathy and embraced her right along with her own recently acquired brood of eight. Missie imagined that Mrs. Standard would have been willing to take almost anybody into the family circle.

  Henry, too, was a welcome visitor around the Standard campfire. Missie often wondered if the attraction for him was one of the young girls or the motherly Mrs. Standard. Henry, whose mother had died when he was young, no doubt yearned for the care and nurturing he had missed growing up.

  As well as fast friendships among the travelers, there were also a few frictions. Mrs. Thorne still carried herself stiff and straight, never making an effort to seek out anyone’s company. Neither by word nor action did she invite anyone to share time or conversation with her. There were no neighborly visits over a coffee cup around the Thornes’ fire.

  Most of the travelers tried to avoid the chattering Mrs. Page, but she had a way of popping up out of nowhere and making it virtually impossible for one to escape without being downright rude. It seemed she would have cozied up to a cactus if she had thought it had ears. Yet even Mrs. Page was not willing to share her goodwill with everyone.

  Missie never did know what had started it in the first place, but for some reason a deep animosity had grown between Mrs. Page and Mrs. Tuttle. Mrs. Tuttle was a widow, traveling west with her brother. Unlike Mrs. Page, she had very little to say, but what she did say was often acidic and painful. So she, too, was avoided but for the opposite reason from the voluble Mrs. Page.

  The woman simply did not know when to stop her running commentary on this and that. Her elaborations on any subject included expounding on the reason Mrs. Tuttle was going west. According to Mrs. Page, a trapper was waiting at the other end of the trail, having made a proposal of sorts by mail. Mrs. Page announced she was sure the trapper was “trapped,” that if he’d been able to get any kind of look at Mrs. Tuttle’s stern face, he would have preferred solitude. So the war waged on.

  Most of the battles between the two women were carried on through messengers. “You tell Jessie Tuttle thet iffen she doesn’t learn how to crack the ice on thet face of hern, she’ll lose thet trapper as soon as she finds ’im.”

  “You tell Mrs. Page”—Jessie Tuttle would not allow herself to use Mrs. Page’s first name, Alice—“thet when she cracked the ice off’n her own face, she did a poor job of it. Now the button fer her mouth don’t hold it shut none.”

  Of course, the emissaries never did deliver the messages, but it wasn’t necessary for them to do so. The insults were always spoken loudly within earshot of the opposing party. The running battle provided no real alarm and even a small measure of amusement for the other members of the wagon train. There was little enough to smile at, so even a neighborly squabble was welcome.

  Occasional meetings of all adult members of the train provided opportunity for the wagon master to give reports on progress, or to issue a new order, or to explain some new situation. Even such a meeting was looked upon as a pleasant diversion from the mundane and the usual.

  Mr. Blake now told the travelers he was pleased with their progress and that they were right on schedule. His concern was the large river they were approaching. They would reach the ford in four days’ time at the current rate of travel. He was sure the river would be down, making the crossing an easy one. High water from heavy rains was the only possible obstacle that could hamper the crossing, Mr. Blake said, and they had been particularly blessed with sunny, clear days. Once across the Big River, as it was called by the local Indians, they were well on their way to their final destination.

  Everyone seemed to rejoice at Mr. Blake’s news, but deep down, Missie knew she did not. Within her was a secret wish that the river would not be fordable and that Willie would decide to turn around and go back home.

  Willie obviously did not share her yearnings to return. At the wagon master’s encouraging announcement, he had cheered as loudly as any of the travelers. Missie did notice there were a few other women who had remained silent—Becky, Sissie Collins, and Tillie Crane among them.

  Missie was quiet on their way back to the wagon, but at first Willie was too energized to notice.

  “Jest think,” he enthused, “only four more days an’ we cross the Big River, an’ then... then we’ll really start to roll!”

  Missie nodded and tried to work up a smile for Willie’s sake.

  “Are ya still worryin ”bout Becky?” Willie queried, trying to look into her face and no doubt hoping for some reasonable explanation for Missie’s restrain
t.

  “Yeah, kind of,” Missie responded, feeling the answer was both safe and, to a measure, truthful.

  “But there’s something else... isn’t there? I’ve been feelin’ it fer a long time. Aren’t ya feelin’ well, Missie?”

  It was asked with such genuine concern that Missie knew somehow she must attempt to put Willie’s mind at ease. This wasn’t the way she would have planned to break the news to Willie. She had pictured the intimacy of their own fireside of an evening, or the closeness of their shared bed in the privacy of their covered wagon. But here they were walking over a rutted dusty path with people before, behind, and beside them. There seemed almost no way for her to speak low enough so she wouldn’t be heard by others. Yet she knew she must tell him.

  “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but the time never seemed right,” she said quietly. She took a long breath. “Willie... we’re going to have a baby, too.”

  Willie stopped walking and reached for Missie, his face very sober.

  “Ya aren’t joshin’?”

  “No, Willie.”

  “An’ yer sure?”

  “Quite sure.”

  Willie stood silently for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m not sure thet wagon trains an’ babies go together.”

  For a brief moment Missie hoped maybe this would give Willie a reason to head for home, but she quickly pushed the selfish thought from her and managed a smile. “Oh, Willie, don’t fuss. We’ll be in our own place long before our baby ever arrives.”

  “Ya sure?”

  “Of course. How long you think we’re going to be on this trail, anyway?”

  The expression on Willie’s face suddenly changed and he let out a shout. Missie reached out to hush him before he’d announced his news to the whole wagon train. Willie stopped whooping and hugged Missie tightly. Relief flooded over her. He was truly excited about it—there was no doubting it.

  Suddenly Missie wanted to cry. She wasn’t sure why, but she felt such a joy at telling her news to Willie, seeing his exuberance, and feeling his strong arms about her. She had been wrong to withhold it from him. A great wave of love for Willie washed over her. She would go to the ends of the earth with him if he wanted her to.