This Road We Traveled Read online

  “I think your temperature is going down.” Pherne touched Virgilia’s cheeks.

  “I feel better walking than riding in this stuffy wagon.”

  “You need to stay out of the sun for now. You never have managed heat very well.” Pherne tore a piece of her bottom petticoat off and dipped it into water she’d placed in a bowl. “It’s not as cool as I’d like but it’ll feel good.” At least they had plenty of water following or crossing streams and always camping beside one.

  They made fifteen miles almost every day, nothing holding them back, despite her mother’s insistence that she and her wagon be left alone to tend to everything themselves. Still, Pherne watched over her mother while strolling beside their ox team or walking beside her mother’s wagon when put into rotation behind theirs. Pherne scanned the actions of her young ones, watched with concern her boys working the teams. She looked at the sun when Virgil rode off, wondering how long it would be before she’d see him again. She lacked a word for the feeling of constant concern despite things going well. They had good milk cows along, and the milk and butter made while the churn hung from the side of her mother’s wagon made their meals a blessing. The boys trailed sheep they’d need once they arrived in Oregon, her sons’ laughter reaching her now and then. They often had milk enough to give away and did. Her mother expressed her indomitable happiness at offering up butter each evening.

  Wagons from Georgia overtook them at one point, and while they chatted for a moment or two, mostly people kept their bonnets in a westerly direction. The Georgia group had been on the road since March. They looked tired already. Virgil had been right about one thing: there was a certain rhythm they’d gotten into. She had long hours when she wasn’t cleaning or cooking. Sunrise to bedtime she walked, talked, watched how her children handled challenges. She witnessed sons and daughters growing in ways she hadn’t had the time to notice before within the busy business of raising a family in one place.

  She didn’t like her family being sick, though. Illness wasn’t easier to manage on this moving tidal wave sucking them out through prairie seas of grass and grit. As she left Virgilia sleeping in her wagon, she heard coughing from the wagon in front of her. Mother. Pherne hurried her pace until she was beside her mother’s team. “How long has she been sick, Judson?”

  “Just came on last evening, Mrs. Pringle.” The boy nodded with his chin. She guessed she should think of him as a young man. He did look older with the bowl cut of rust-colored hair moved out of his eyes.

  “I’m right here,” Tabby shouted from the wagon back. “I’m fine.”

  Pherne lowered her voice. “I need for you to let me know whenever something like that happens, when she falls ill.”

  “She asked me not to tell.”

  “She would. But she doesn’t always know what’s best for her, so you need to come get me or Lavina Brown or Virgilia if anything changes for my mother. Agreed?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Should I tell the Captain too? He rides off most days.”

  “Yes. But tell me first.”

  Her mother sneezed, then coughed again. “You’re mumbling out there.”

  Pherne touched Judson’s arm, his eyes affirming their agreement, then waited until the wagon moved past. She lifted her long skirts, measured the pace, then hiked herself up onto the backboard and crawled inside. “You don’t sound good.”

  “Did you jump up with that wagon moving?”

  “I did.”

  “Well, don’t. That’s a dangerous act, Daughter. A dress caught, toe stubbed, and we’ll lose you.”

  “I hadn’t thought.”

  Her mother waved her hand, dismissing. “All I’ve got’s a little cold.” Her voice came through a stuffed nose. A coughing fit took her with the effort. Finished, her mother flopped back on the feather mattress she’d pulled over the top of trunks. At least the weather had been perfect with no rain. They had clean water to wash one’s hands with, even though the water had to be hauled from a distant stream or boiled first for safe drinking. The constant motion of the wagon may have added to her mother’s pale face—except for the red around her nose, which she now blew.

  “Get me my Perry Davis Vegetable Pain Killer, Daughter. This may be seasickness more than a cold that’s got me down.”

  “Are you vomiting, Mother?”

  “No, no, my guts are where they should be. I just feel dizzy when I sit up and the bows on this wagon float around when I lie down, if I keep my eyes open. So I won’t. Thank you.” She gave her mother the Perry Davis pill. “I hate to ask, but could you remind Judson to check Beatrice’s water when we stop? I’m not sure I can sit up.”

  “I’ll make certain. And John can do that, can’t he? Does he have no daily duties?”

  “Ha.”

  “Well, you need to rest.”

  “Ha,” she said again.

  Pherne laughed. “I know. It makes little sense that word, rest.”

  “Oh it’s a good word all right. Just hard to manage here. But I will. I’m not complaining. You’re not hearing me complain now, are you?” Pherne shook her head. “Don’t you even let Virgil or Orus think that. Do you want to sit in your chair?”

  Pherne shook her head. “No, I’ll hop out and walk.”

  “You be careful.”

  Pherne patted her mother’s folded hands. “I’ll catch up with Clark. He’s got the lead ox team. I did envy those Georgia wagons and their fine mules. They make better time, I think.”

  “We’re steady and our oxen are faithful beasts. We’ll do fine without mules, though I think John might wish he had a mule before this is over. His horse doesn’t seem to like his daily workout.”

  “I guess we’ll all adapt.”

  Her mother sneezed and blew her nose, then coughed, nearly barked.

  “You sound like Buddy.”

  “That hound is a good companion for your brood.” Her mother sighed. “I’m sad you couldn’t bring all the hounds.” She coughed. “Keep the children away from me.”

  “I’ll have Virgilia bring something over to the wagon for your and John and Judson’s suppers this evening.”

  “No, no, I’ll get myself pulled together for the evening stop. I won’t have anyone coddling me. I said we wouldn’t be a burden.”

  “Mother, be reasonable.”

  Her mother closed her eyes. “Quiet-like, then.”

  “Orus won’t notice that you are willing to accept a little help. That’s being independent too, you know. Exercising good judgment.”

  Her mother lifted her chin. “You’ve made a point.”

  Pherne pressed her palm against her mother’s forehead. It wasn’t feverish, so that was good. She gathered her skirts and crinolines. She had donned seven at the start, knowing she’d be tearing strips of cloth from them as the weeks went on—for bandages, monthlies, face rags. She leapt out from the wagon as far afield from the wheel as she could so as not to get caught up in the turning. Dust rolled up to her face and she coughed too. Maybe it was trail dirt that affected her mother. She hoped, though, that it was something specific like a cold or food she’d eaten, because if dust was the cause, her mother would be sick the entire trip and there’d be nothing Pherne could do about it. One more thing to make her feel powerless: dust. Maybe that was the word that described her feelings: powerless.

  The two sat outside the wagon, Virgilia’s grandmother in the hickory rocker, Virgilia picking at her skirt seams beside her on a quilt spread on the hard ground. They’d managed another two days and already “sameness” was the first word that came into her head when she awoke under her tent canvas each morning. The evening meal finished, someone played a harmonica in the distance. Uncle John and Judson had meandered to the menfolk gathered to discuss the day’s journey, help with harness repairs, or just smoke their pipes. Her gramo felt a little better this evening, hadn’t coughed hardly at all. Virgilia’s ague had cleared, and she felt bad reading the night before in her father’s diary “Mrs. Brown complains of a co
ld.” That didn’t seem fair. Her gramo never complained, about anything. She thought he should cross that out, but she didn’t say anything. After all, she’d be distressed if someone read her diary and thought she should change words. And she didn’t want her father to tell her she couldn’t read what he wrote each day.

  They’d crossed rivers and streams, some of the banks without timber of any kind. Her father had commented in his diary about how strange it was to see a timber mill a good two miles from trees, the mill operated by a stream that had no drop at all, just ran through a level prairie. That same evening they’d had to scrounge for firewood, picking up pieces left over from the great floods of 1844, or so Clark opined. The late sunset cast a rainbow glow of colors across the horizon. Crickets sang into the quiet.

  “I sure haven’t had much conversation with Judson, Gramo. I thought having him drive your wagon would give me time with him, but Mama has me rushing here and there, entertaining Emma and Sarelia and helping Aunt Lavina too. I suppose it’ll even be worse when Manthano and Catherine join up, her with a new baby and all.”

  “Ever think your mother might be occupying your time on purpose?”

  She hadn’t thought of that. “She needn’t worry.” She leaned back on her elbows, staring up at her grandmother. “As soon as he’s finished unyoking the oxen Judson waters them, then washes them down and heads for Orus’s wagon, walks right past ours, talks with Albro or Clark if they’re around.” She knew she sounded pouty, but his behavior was a huge disappointment. How could she try out her efforts at complimenting him to see if that would bring him around if he was never, well, around?

  “There will be other beaus to banter with before long. You’ll see. Meanwhile, enjoy the time with your old gramo or, even better, with your mama. She’s grieving all the changes.”

  “Why aren’t you doing that?”

  Her gramo sighed. “I’ve lived through my share of ups and downs, I guess. And great changes like we’re having now, those always bring up the upheaval of previous ones we thought we’d put to rest. I’ve learned to prepare for that.”

  “Like what?”

  Her grandmother cleared her throat, halted her rocking. “Your gramo had a baby brother who didn’t live long. And then we had our own baby who gained his heavenly wings early, like your brother Oliver. It took time for me to forgive God for that. Eventually I learned to say ‘thy will be done,’ though my dear Clark always corrected me, telling me it was God’s will that we spend eternity with him, not that he take little children to him.” She began rocking again. “Those things were part of the human breath of in and out, the way of living on this earth. We’re to do the best we can for each other while we’re here, but he didn’t want me blaming God for what’s part of living, the saying yes or no, go or stay, up or down, in or out. Ultimately we really only have the choice of trusting that God’s with us, willing ourselves to walk with him as we walk this earth, learning from the roads we take.”

  “I give things to God, but then I—”

  “Take them back.”

  “Yes.” She loved it that Gramo understood her.

  “Don’t I know it. That lesson took your old gramo a long time to figure out. We can’t make room for the treasures we’ll be given if we keep the trunk closed on all the old ones that are gathering dust and taking up room. We have to keep opening up our hearts, even in the disappointments.” She leaned in. “Even when we’re afraid.”

  “What treasures are you looking for in Oregon, Gramo?”

  “The same ones I have right now.” Her grandmother stroked Virgilia’s hair, pushing the damp strands from her temples. “You being here, time with my other grandchildren, my children, even Uncle John. And the new friends I’ll make. And a new purpose. Think of all the discoveries about life and living and myself that I’ll enjoy. That’s what journeys are about, you know. It’s not just the destination. Don’t waste your time not having happen what you want; make what you want to have happen, happen. As best you can.”

  “How do I happen to get Judson to notice me? That’s what I want.”

  “Is it? Or do you want to have a friend? Because if that’s the case, you might just tell Mr. Morrow what your intentions are, put him at ease. Then see what he does with that. Could be he’s more nervous than you are. He’s all alone on this trek without any family. Making a friend might be the best way to get noticed by a potential beau anyway.”

  Virgilia sat in the quiet. She could hear frogs singing at the river. The air smelled cool, and if there’d been a cloud in the sky, Virgilia might have guessed that rain was on its way. “I think tomorrow I’ll bake a cake in the little oven. May I set it beside you?”

  “And torture your old gramo with that wonderful smell all day as it sun bakes?” Virgilia laughed. “Yes, you may. But you have to save a piece for me . . . after you’ve iced it using my pewter knife and given Mr. Morrow the largest piece, of course.”

  Virgilia stood as though to kiss her gramo.

  “No, no. I don’t want you getting this cold.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you before I head back?”

  “I’ve enjoyed our little chat here. You come back for more of that and I’ll be happy.” Virgilia nodded. “Oh, and Beatrice laid an egg, at last. Take that for your cake.”

  Time with her gramo always made her feel better. She hoped she could make Judson feel the same—after she gave him cake.

  Tabby did not want to be a burden. Even asking Pherne to get her the vegetable pills bothered her. She had to be able to do those things herself, despite a cold. Now if John wanted to pull out hardtack and spread it with blackberry jam, chop off a hunk of dried meat for his and Judson’s supper, that was fine. The three of them were a unit. But she didn’t want anyone else having to lift a finger for them, especially while they were still anywhere near civilization. Orus at any point might throw up his hands and tell her she had to stay behind. This cough was a trial, but she’d get through it and be stronger for it, she was certain. She’d make sure she stifled any signs of weakness around Orus.

  12

  We Are Call’d

  The storm came up in the night. Tabby felt the wagon shake. She still slept inside, not having taken to the ground on her feather tick while she suffered the cough. She didn’t want to get her blankets and quilts wet from the dew. So she first pulled her quilt over her shoulder to try to get back to sleep, hoping the rain would wait until morning. A flash of lightning brightened the dark wagon. Maybe only heat lightning, she hoped. But then she heard John grunt. “I’m coming up, Tabby. Rain’s started.”

  “Come along then.” He’d need to sit on the bed too. It wasn’t a big four-poster like Virgil and Pherne had left behind but a smaller, single-person bed with a rope mattress. She slid toward the headboard when John sat down at the opposite end, nearly falling before finding the solid edge.

  Thunder cracked and she felt herself shudder, pulled the quilt around her like a cape. “Not liking the sounds of that.” Flashes of lightning startled them and helped them see that the rain was in earnest. “Guess we’ll find out if the linseed oil keeps us waterproof.”

  “Reminds me a little of being on the sea. Wind and salt spray on my face, challenging the elements.”

  “You’re missing your boat. That figures. Is Judson in his tent?”

  “Aye. This wagon rocks like one. Whoa, that was a goodly blast.”

  They huddled and could feel more than hear cattle moving, restless in the circled area. A couple of dogs barked. It was the first time they’d circled their evening stop. Someone must have sensed a storm and been wise about it so they wouldn’t have to waste time looking for stock in the morning.

  “I won’t be much good out there or I’d put my slicker on and get out in that to help calm the cows.” John stood to look out the back of the wagon opening. Then he pulled the thongs to narrow it, keeping the rain out as much as he could. He crawled over trunks and squeezed between barrels to tie the front cover cl
osed as well. “Yours and Pherne’s chair isn’t going to weather this well.”

  “I never thought of that. I figured I’d keep it from the hot sun because I’d be sitting in it. But rain. Hmm.”

  “Want me to throw my slicker over it? Or have you got an old Hudson’s Bay blanket?”

  “In the trunk but it’s a little late now. We’ll hope the oil finish protects it, and I’ll dig out my slicker in the morning. I wonder if we’ll hear orders or any cries for help. That rain’s really pelting the cover.” She looked up. Everything was dry above. “An advantage of being one of the ancients is we don’t have to be the first ones to the rescue.”

  “So true.” In the pause of their making new settling spaces, Tabby put her walking stick on the floor. Their wagon was tight as a cabin. John said, “Kind of cozy here, Mrs. Brown.”

  “That it is. Can’t let you sit out in the rain.”

  “I appreciate that you convinced me of this trip. I find myself invigorated. And already there are new people who haven’t heard my stories.”

  Tabby laughed.

  “I’m glad you made that visit to find out Manthano was going west too. Gave me good pause to consider what I wanted to do, and it became clear I wanted to be with all of you. But I couldn’t have done it alone. I do have some aches and pains, not that I’ll let on to Orus, and I sure didn’t want to hold anyone else back. You’re my only family, you know. You and your kin.”

  “You have a sister.”

  “I do, but I mean family who has stood by me and wanted me with them.”

  “I know.” She patted his hand. “We’re in it together, John. Happy to have a companion on the trail.”

  Rain pattered on the canvas. “Wouldn’t my brother have loved being a part of this?”

  “He is, in a way. I think of Dear Clark every day and ask him about things like will my wagon tongue last the journey or will we be able to fix it on the way?”