Love's Long Journey (Love Comes Softly Series #3) Read online

  While Willie and Henry were gone, Missie wrapped a heavy shawl tightly about her and went in search of firewood. The other ladies and children were seeking dry material for their fires as well, and there was very little to be found. Missie felt cold and muddy and cross as she scrambled for bits and pieces of anything that she thought might burn. At one point she heard a commotion and then a hoarse voice shouting, "You tell Jessie Tuttle thet once a body is headin' fer a stick of firewood, thet body is entitled to it." Missie smiled in spite of herself. They were at it again!

  Only Mrs. Schmidt did not have to join the searchers. Her ever-abundant supply of dry wood was unloaded from under the wagon seat. Missie wondered why she hadn't had the presence of mind to plan ahead as well.

  Missie finally had what she hoped would be enough to cook a hot meal, then sloshed her way back through the wetness to her wagon. The fire was reluctant, at best, but Missie finally coaxed a flame to life. It sputtered and spit and threatened to go out, but Missie encouraged it on. The coffee never did boil, but the reheated stew was at least warm, and the near-hot coffee was welcome to shivering bodies.

  Missie cleaned up in a quick, half-hearted manner, with Willie's help, and they crawled into their canvas home to get out of their wet clothing and into something warm and dry. It was far too early to go to bed, even though the day had been a strenuous one. Willie lit a lamp and settled down beside it to bring his journal up-to-date. Missie picked up her knitting, but her fingers were still too cold to work effectively. At length she gave up and pulled a blanket around herself for warmth. Willie stirred, noticed her shivering, and started fretting again.

  "Ya chilled? Ya'd best git right into thet bed--don't want ya pickin' up a cold. Here, let me help ya. I'll go see what I can find for a warm stone fer yer feet." He bundled Missie up, right to the chin and reached for his coat.

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  "Don't go back out in the rain--please, Willie. My feet aren't that cold. They'll be warm in no time. I'll just slip on a pair of your woolen socks." And Missie did so immediately so that Willie could see that she meant what she said.

  It was too early to go to sleep, Missie knew. She also knew that it was unwise to protest being tucked in, so she snuggled under the blanket and gradually the chill began to leave her bones. She even began to feel drowsy.

  Willie finished his journal entries and picked up a leather- covered edition of Pilgrim's Progress which had been a wedding gift from Missie's school children. Missie murmured, "Iffen you don't mind, would you read aloud?"

  Willie read and the long evening somehow passed by.

  The rain continued to fall, splattering against the canvas of the wagon. Before laying himself down to sleep, Willie checked carefully all around the inside of their small dwelling to make sure that there were no leaks. He then crawled in beside Missie and pulled the warm covers close about himself. In a very few minutes Missie knew by his breathing that he slept. She wished that she could fall asleep as easily, but she instead lay and listened to the rain. Again her thoughts turned to home.

  She used to love to listen to the rain pattering on the window as she snuggled down beneath the warm quilt her mama had made. The rain had always seemed friendly then, but somehow tonight it did not seem to be a friend at all. She shivered and moved closer to Willie. She was thankful for his nearness and his warmth.

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  Chapter 9

  Delays

  When Missie awakened the next morning, the rain was still falling. Puddles of water lay everywhere. Shrubbery and wagons dripped steady little streams in the soggy morning air. Willie arrived just as Missie was about to crawl down from the wagon; she was wondering what in the world she would ever do about a fire. Ordering her to stay where she was, he managed to get a fire going and make some coffee and pancakes. He served Missie in the covered wagon, ignoring her protests.

  "No use us both gittin' wet," he reasoned. "'Sides Mr. Blake hasn't decided yet whether we move on or jest sit tight."

  But Mr. Blake was concerned about reaching the Big River before the waters were swollen with the rain. So in spite of the mud, he ordered them to go on as usual.

  Willie was already wet as he climbed up onto the wagon seat and urged the balking horses out.

  It was tough going. The wagons slipped and twisted through the mire. Wheels clogged up and had to be freed from their burdens of mud. Teams and drivers were worn out in two hours'

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  time. When one poor horse finally fell and needed a great deal of assistance regaining his footing, an order was called to halt. It was useless to try to travel under such conditions.

  Missie didn't know whether to feel relief or dismay when the wagon creaked to a stop. The rain had slackened somewhat, so she wrapped her heavy, woolen shawl closely about her and went in the inevitable search for firewood. But when Willie returned sometime later, Missie still had not succeeded in getting a fire going. She was close to tears and felt like a complete failure. The wood just would not burn. Willie took charge, chasing Missie into the wagon to change her wet clothes; he dared to beg some hot water from Mrs. Schmidt whose fire was burning cheerily, seeming to stick its tongue out at the whole camp. Mrs. Schmidt was pleased to share her hot water--though a bit smug. Missie made tea in the confines of the wagon and she, Willie and Henry enjoyed the hot refreshment with their cold biscuits.

  Still the rain continued. Missie knitted while Willie mended a piece of harness. When that was done, he pulled out his journal; but this source of activity was soon exhausted as well. He picked up the John Bunyan volume again and attempted to read, but eventually his restlessness drove him from the wagon and out into the rain, muttering an excuse about checking on the teams and the cows.

  With Willie gone, the time dragged even more for Missie. She was just on the verge of venturing forth herself when Willie returned. At his call from the back of the wagon, Missie raised the tent flap. He handed her a bundle; it was the Collins' baby.

  "Their wagon is leakin'," he explained. "There ain't a dry place to lay the younguns. I'll be right back with the boy."

  Missie busied herself with unbundling the baby. True to his word, Willie was soon back with Joey. Meggie fussed and Missie gladly spent her time hushing her, rocking her back and forth and coaxing her to settle into a comfortable position. Willie entertained Joey, helping him to make a cabin with small sticks. Then he read to him out of Pilgrim's Progress, and even though much of the story the young boy could not possibly understand, he listened intently. Missie finally managed to get the baby to sleep. She joined Willie and Joey now involved in a little-boy game.

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  Sissie Collins dropped by later to check on her children and nurse the baby. Willie again made the rounds of the camp to see if there was anyone else needing a helping hand.

  When the long day came to an end, they drank the remains of the now cold tea, and ate some cold meat with their biscuits.

  Willie moved into the other wagon with Henry and let Sissie and her two little ones stay with Missie.

  As Missie went to sleep again with the sound of the rain on the canvas roof, she wondered if it would never stop. How could they ever endure another day such as this had been?

  But they did. Somehow. Day after day. At times the rain slackened to a mere drizzle and at other times it poured. Each time that the rain slowed its pace, Missie pulled her shawl tightly about her and left the confines of the wagon--but actually there was no place to go. The ground looked like a lake with only a few high spots still showing through. At first Missie tried to keep to the high ground; then giving up with a shrug, she sloshed through the water.

  Finally even Mrs. Schmidt ran out of firewood, so the men made a combined effort to find something that would burn. Eventually it was decreed that one fire, built under a stretched- out canvas, would be shared by the whole camp. The women came by turns, three or four at a time, to hastily prepare something hot for their families.

  The Collinses weren't the only ones ha
ving problems with leaking canvas. Other wagons, too, were wet--inside and out; families were doubling up and sharing quarters wherever possible.

  The rain heightened the tension between the two antagonists; but the howls of outrage from Mrs. Page and the biting retorts of Mrs. Tuttle were often the very thing that kept the rest of the company sane. It was a nice diversion to be able to laugh--even at one another.

  On the fifth day the sky began to clear, and the sun broke through on the dripping and miserable wagon train.

  The people, too, came out, stringing lines and hanging clothing and blankets to dry. The ground remained soggy. It could be days before the stands of water disappeared and even a longer

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  time before the ground would be dry enough to allow the wagons to roll.

  Missie felt somewhat like Noah as she descended from her wagon. There was water everywhere. How good it would be to see the dry land appear and the horses kick up dust again. Oh, to be on the move again!

  Mr. Blake felt impatient, too, but his many years on the trail told him that it would be useless to try to travel on in the mud. No, they'd have to wait. Mr. Blake also knew that with the rains of the past few days the Big River would be impossible to cross very soon. But there was no need to pass this information on to the group. They'd take the problems one day at a time.

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  Chapter 10

  The Big River

  For six days Mr. Blake kept the wagons in the camp. He would have held them longer, because he knew the unwelcome surprise that probably awaited them at the Big River, but he sensed the growing impatience to be rolling again. The ground in the immediate vicinity was dry enough to travel and the people were beginning to get restless. He did not want to risk trouble developing from tense nerves and idle hands, so he reluctantly called for the travelers to break camp.

  Nonetheless, the six days had not been lost in inactivity. Harnesses had been repaired, wagons reinforced, canvases carefully patched and oiled where the relentless rain had found a way in. Clothes were washed and mended, blankets aired and bodies scrubbed. A hunting party had also been sent out. The men returned to camp with two deer, which were shared by all. The fresh meat was a welcome change from the dried and canned food diet.

  The scent of frying steak wafted over the camp that evening, bringing an unusually intent interest in the supper preparations.

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  The women had found a berry patch and in short order stripped it clean. The tangy fruit made that special meal seem like a banquet. All were refreshed and ready to begin the journey again.

  It took the train three days to reach the Big River. When they finally arrived, Mr. Blake found exactly what he had expected to find--a current far too strong and swift to allow safe wagon passage. He again called a meeting and explained the situation to the entire train. Another camp would have to be made beside the river until the waters subsided. The travelers were all disappointed, but even the most impatient agreed with the decision.

  So camp was set up and the people again tried to establish some sort of daily routine to keep boredom from overtaking them. The men formed regular hunting parties and the women again ranged out in search of berries. Missie spent a part of each day gathering wood, as did the women who did not have children to assign to the task. As she gleaned her daily supply, she also added to her stack of surplus piled under her wagon. If the rains should come again, Mrs. Schmidt would not be the only one who was prepared.

  Some of the older ladies began to suspect that Missie was "in the family way." Although no comments were made, Missie often noticed the motherly looks that they bestowed upon her. The birth of her baby was almost five months away by Missie's reckoning, and that seemed like a long, long time into the future.

  Missie enjoyed the company of Becky Clay. There was no doubt in anyone's mind as to Rebecca's condition, and the women of the train found many little ways to make the girl's work load lighter. Dry sticks were tossed on her pile as the women walked by with their load of wood, extra food was presented at her campfire, and her pail went along to the stream with someone who had a free hand.

  Missie felt concern over the travel delay, for Becky's sake. She was hoping with Becky that they would reach Tettsford Junction and the doctor in time. Each day Missie wished that by some miracle the swollen waters would be down and the train could be on its way. But just when the river appeared to be going down, somewhere along its banks another storm would raise the waters again. Day after day passed, and the wagons were still

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  unable to cross. Rafting the wagons to the other side was out of the question in this deep, swift river.

  On the fifteenth day by the Big River, the whole camp came alive as another wagon train made its appearance, slowly wending its way down a distant hill. Many went out to meet it. Those who remained behind waited in feverish eagerness for any news that the newcomers might bring.

  It was a smaller train than the Blake group and the wagon master seemed a good deal more impatient. After sitting down- river for only two days, he decided that the water had gone down enough for him to get his wagons across. Mr. Blake tried to dissuade him but the man laughed it off, declaring Blake to be as skitterish as an old woman. He had taken wagons across safely when the water had been even higher, he maintained. He then turned to the waiting wagons and ordered the first one over.

  Murmured complaints about Mr. Blake were passed through his group of watching drivers--"Here we been a-sittin' when we coulda been days away from here."

  The women and children joined the men on the bank to watch the first wagon cross. If it had no trouble crossing, they felt they might all be free to go.

  Mr. Blake did not choose to watch. With a look of defeat, and a few well-chosen words directed at the other wagon master, he spun on his heel and marched off.

  It seemed for awhile that all would go well with the wagon; and then, to the horror of all of those on the bank, it suddenly hit the deeper water and the current lifted it up and swirled it about. The horses plunged and fought in their effort to swim for the distant shore, but the churning waters were too strong for them. When the driver realized his predicament, he threw himself into the murky deep trying desperately to fight his way to the shore. The wagon, weaving and swaying, was swept downstream as the frantic horses neighed and struggled in their fright. The pitching canvas cover gave one last, sickening heave and then toppled over on its side. The sinking wagon and team were carried downstream and out of sight around a bend in the river.

  Meantime, the driver was fighting to keep his head above water. At one point he managed to grab a floating bit of uprooted

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  tree that was also being carried away by the muddy current. A cheer went up from the shore, but the next instant a groan passed through the entire group--the tree struck something under the surface and flipped in midstream, jarring the man loose and leaving him on his own again.

  The riverbank became alive with activity as men ran for their horses in an effort to reach near enough to at least throw him a rope. The observers watched the bobbing spot of his dark head as the water swirled him around the river bend. A young woman in the group from the other train collapsed in a heap as the man disappeared, and some of the ladies who travelled with her bent over her to give her assistance.

  "Poor woman," Missie gasped. "It must be her man!" She covered her face with her hands and wept.

  The body was pulled from the river about a half mile downstream. All attempts to force some life back into the man were futile. The horses and wagon were never seen again.

  The following day the travelers from both wagon trains met together; a grave was dug and a service held for the drowned man. His widow had to be helped away from the heaped-up mound that held the body of her young husband. A feeling of helplessness and grief settled over both camps. Respect for Mr. Blake mounted. Eyes were averted when the other wagon master passed by.

  A new determination passed through the Blak
e train: they would wait. They would wait if it took all summer! Horse and wagon were no match for the angry waters.

  After breakfast one day a week later, someone in the camp drew their attention to a hill across the river. There on their ponies, faces painted and headdress feathers waving in the wind, sat several Indian braves. The almost-naked bodies glistened in the morning sun. In silence they gazed across the river at the ring of wagons; then, at a signal from their leader, they moved on and out of sight over the hill. Missie shivered as she wondered what could have happened if the swollen river had not been between them. Maybe this was one fulfillment of God's promise, "Yea, I will help thee."

  After four weeks of patient and not-so-patient waiting, the

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  river finally did recede. Mr. Blake, who had carefully watched it each day, crossed it on his horse before he allowed any wagon to put a wheel into the water. When he felt satisfied, the order was given to move out.

  It took the whole day to make the crossing. The women and children were taken across on horseback to await the coming of their menfolk and temporary homes. Some of the wagons needed two teams in order to pull them across. Many outriders traveled beside each wagon, steadying it with the many ropes that Mr. Blake insisted upon; thus no wagon got into trouble in midstream from a current that tried to take it sideways rather than forward. Missie couldn't help but remember the tragic death in the other group; if the other wagon master had used such precautions. . . . Mr. Blake was a cautious and experienced wagon master--another of God's provisions.