Chapter 23: Past Fort Laramie

 

Saturday morning the wagons set out across the narrow, dry plateau between the Laramie and North Platte rivers and resumed their trek along the south bank of the Platte. A high mountain range loomed to the southwest, capped by Laramie Peak.

Jenny rode her mare, which she named Poulette. “It means ‘little chicken’ in French,” she told Mac. “That’s what the groom called my pony in New Orleans, where I learned to ride.”

Mac towered above her on Valiente. The warm sun shone on Jenny’s back and a summer breeze teased her hair. She felt happy in a way she had not since before her father’s death. “Thank you for the pony,” she said, stroking the mare’s neck. No matter how often she thanked Mac, it didn’t seem like enough.

When the trail narrowed between sandstone cliffs to not much more than the wagon’s width, Jenny urged Poulette ahead of the wagons. Mac stayed by the team.

“I don’t suppose you’ll walk with me much, now you have a horse to ride,” Esther said, as Jenny passed by.

“Don’t be silly,” Jenny said, stopping. “Poulette can carry both of us for a while.” She pulled Esther up behind her.

The mare snorted but plodded along.

“I bought cloth in Laramie. For a wedding dress,” Esther said. “Light blue with pale yellow flowers. Ma says I can cut it out tonight.”

“I thought you weren’t getting married until Oregon.”

“I ain’t. But the print was so purty. And it may be the only trousseau I get.”

Jenny laughed. “People leave lots of goods along the trail. You could have a whole wagon of new things by the time we get to Oregon.” They’d seen many heirlooms abandoned by earlier travelers.

“Did you have a trousseau?” Esther asked.

“Mac wanted to leave for Oregon right away,” was all Jenny said in reply. She hoped Esther wouldn’t count the months, as Mrs. Pershing had.

“I want all new things,” Esther said, sighing. “Quilts and blankets and dishes. Won’t happen, I know. I’ll mostly get Ma’s cast-offs. I still dream about it. My own home.”

“Keeping house won’t be easy,” Jenny said.

“I know. I’ve watched Ma all these years. All that cooking and laundry while Pa was away.” Esther sighed again. “My own family.”

Jenny cradled her belly as the baby kicked. In three months she would have a child to care for. Where would she be when it was born?

They camped that night at Warm Springs, which bubbled tepid water onto sandy banks. Sagebrush and greasewood covered the dry plateau along the Laramie, but small trees and grass sprouted near the spring.

Jenny wrote:

 

Saturday, June 12th—Camped at Warm Springs. No need to heat the water for washing dishes. Rode Poulette. A fine day.

Jenny hummed as she fixed breakfast on Sunday. Every time she thought of Mac bringing her the pony she smiled. Silly how the thoughtful gift pleased her so much. Mac was no longer coughing, and she didn’t worry about him any more.

Pershing held a brief prayer service, but no one mentioned laying by. They traveled up and down ravines cut into the highland. Many of the creek beds were dry, and none of them wet enough to be dangerous. Jenny’s good mood remained despite the difficult, monotonous route, but others in the party grew cantankerous.

During the afternoon Jenny found herself walking beside Mrs. Pershing. The older woman panted as they climbed out of a ravine.

“Gracious,” Mrs. Pershing said, “I can’t hardly walk a step without losing my breath.”

“How long until your confinement?” Jenny asked.

“’Bout a month. I seem to get bigger with every baby.” She stopped and wheezed at the top of the gully.

“Are you anxious?” Jenny couldn’t imagine getting used to being pregnant, even if it were her eighth time.

Mrs. Pershing laughed. “Anxious? That don’t help none. Baby comes whether I worry or not.” She looked at Jenny. “Are you scared, girl?”

Jenny nodded.

“Birthing’s just part of being a woman. Not a thing you can do once it’s planted.” Mrs. Pershing patted Jenny’s arm. “Don’t you fret. I’ll be there when your time comes. Mrs. Tuller, too. Lots of us to help.”

Thinking about her child’s birth dampened Jenny’s mood.

“What you think about my Esther and young Abercrombie?”

“Esther seems to love him very much.”

Mrs. Pershing snorted. “Love ain’t important. It’s whether a man and woman can work together. Daniel’s a good boy, but I don’t know if he’s ready for a family, if he’s strong enough to manage Esther. She ain’t one who’ll push a man to better himself. Some women do. Others just want a man to dote on ’em. I’m afraid Esther’s in that last batch.”

“She might surprise you, Mrs. Pershing.” Jenny wanted to defend her friend, though Esther could be silly. “Maybe she thinks about dresses and such because she doesn’t have much else to think about.”

“You’re steadier than Esther, Jenny, no matter what your past. She’s got to learn to govern her own self. Won’t always have me to keep her in line.” Mrs. Pershing sighed and leaned on Jenny’s shoulder as they walked.

Later Esther asked Jenny, “What were you and Ma talking about? Did she say anything ’bout me and Daniel?”

“She just wants to be sure you’re ready for marriage.”

Esther laughed. “I’m older’n you are. I’m ready.”

“It’s not me you have to convince,” Jenny said. “It’s your mama.”

Jenny stared into the campfire that night, seeing her mother’s face in the flames. She wrote:

 

Sunday, June 13th—Mama must have had her baby by now. Esther argues with her mother. How I wish I could see mine, no matter the terrible terms on which we parted.

With every passing day, the hills grew steeper and drier, with little grass for the teams. The emigrants found enough water and meat for themselves, but the oxen and mules on which they depended lost weight.

The Laramie Range rose to their south—snow-covered peaks, even in June. Jenny worried what terrors awaited them. Rivers crossings? Indians? More sickness and death?

“The mountains are so high,” she said to Mac.

“This is only the beginning. Rockies lie past the Laramies. And more ranges after that.”

“Mon Dieu! How will we ever get over them?”

“One step at a time,” Mac said. “If the oxen make it. We’re not even half way to Oregon, and they’re weakening.”

Through the night Jenny listened to the restless oxen lowing. Valiente and Poulette grazed during the day on brush when they could find it, but the oxen were trapped in their yokes as they pulled the wagon. At night they complained.

Finally, on the fifth day past Laramie, they came upon a creek with a large field of green grass. “Horsetail Creek,” Captain Pershing said. “Full of them reedy plants. We’ll lay by tomorrow and let the oxen feed. But don’t let the horses get at it. Stuff poisons horses.”

The emigrants made camp with a light heart. After supper fiddles came out, and the travelers sang and danced. Jenny sang ballads in both English and French for her companions, but shook her head at Mac’s offer to dance.

The next morning Esther told Jenny, “Pa says there’s a rock bridge nearby. Daniel and I want to see it, but Ma says we need a chaperone. Would you and Mr. McDougall please come? Pa’ll let me take his horse.”

Jenny asked Mac, who agreed, and they saddled their horses. The two couples rode up Horsetail Creek through a narrow gorge. About a mile away from camp, a bridge of red rock arched over the stream.

“Let’s climb down,” Esther said, swinging off her horse. She clasped Daniel’s hand, and they headed down the slope to the rushing water beneath the natural span.

“You want to go?” Mac asked.

Jenny hesitated. “You go,” she said. “I’m afraid I’ll fall. I’m getting clumsy.”

“I’ll stay with you,” Mac said, lifting her off Poulette.

Jenny watched Esther and Daniel laughing on the creek bank. When the courting couple returned to Jenny and Mac, Esther’s skirt was wet to her knees.

“The water’s cold,” Esther said, giggling. “I don’t know what Ma will say when she sees how wet I am.”

“Then we’ll wait till you’re dry,” Daniel said with a grin.

Jenny and Esther had packed food. The couples ate their dinner under the warm noon sun. Jenny smiled at the cloudless blue sky and was happy again. She might not be as nimble as before her pregnancy, but she could enjoy the beautiful day.

“We’d best be going,” Mac said when they had finished eating. “I need to check on the oxen when I get back.”

Jenny sighed as he helped her to her feet. That night she wrote:

 

Friday, June 18th—Warm today, very pleasant. We rode to a natural rock bridge—a wonder to behold. Mac is thankful the oxen’s hooves are better.