WE TRAVELED NORTHWEST ACROSS country until we reached the muddy Platte. It was late in the season, and most of the settlers and gold seekers heading west to Oregon and the honeyed hills of California had already left some three months prior, in hopes, as it were, of crossing the mountains before the passes were closed with winter. As a result, we had the road mostly to ourselves in the early stages of our journey. There were only a few tradespeople along the waterway moving freight between the upstart towns that were sprouting like weeds on the shore. I was so occupied with my charge, and earnest in my duties, that I do not think it fully registered with me what an oddball troupe we appeared to be. We solicited more than a few sardonic and quizzical stares, but generally, at first, I hardly noticed.

Then a man pulled up next to us in his buckboard. We rolled along side by side on the rutted road. He looked over, and then, dumbstruck, and nearly tumbling from his cart, he looked again. He even stood up, balancing precariously on his seat, so he could get a clearer view.

“Is that there what I think it is?” he hollered over the rattle of his team.

“That depends.”

His cheek was abulge with tobacco, and he spat a quantity of sickly brown liquid into the road at my goat’s feet. He wiped his chin on his sodden sleeve. “Depends on what?”

I did not answer, as he appeared bereft of intellect, and not worth the trouble of the breath I would need to draw in order to form the words to make an answer. But he persisted.

“Is it a runt person?”

The heat made it difficult to be cordial. “It is a gift from God,” I informed him. “An angel sent to light our darkened way.”

He sat back down and scratched the stubble on his throat. “Say,” he said with a grin. “Are you the mama?”

He was a dolt, but his question irked me. “No, friend,” I replied with mock good nature. “I am merely the wet nurse.”

He thought this was tremendously humorous and started in on a fit of laughter that caused tobacco juice to squirt from his nose. “Well, mister,” he cackled. “You sure are one ugly woman!”

Generally, except in extreme situations, I am not quick to temper, but if I had not had a baby hanging from my neck right then, I might have jumped over and punched that man senseless. Clenching the reins in my fist, I fantasized briefly about that very act. But then again, had I not had a baby hanging from my neck, I suppose there would have been no need. As it was, I just kicked Brownie in the ribs, urging him to a trot, and leaving the man to gag on his own maniacal mirth.

“Sorry, Brownie.” I stroked the horse’s neck. I felt ashamed for taking my frustration out on such a gallant beast.

I peered down at Virtue and shrugged an apology to her as well. “That there was a duck of the variety most commonly referred to as a crétin,” I said. “Dumb as a rock, and not worth the space he takes up on the planet.”

Virtue smiled.

I had to smile too.

There was no denying that we were joined in a most comedic situation.

*****

From then on that is how it went for a while. Every time we encountered people on our route, they felt it necessary to make comment on the peculiarity of our procession, and, specifically, on my position as the baby-toting leader. Traveling sideshows got less freakish attention than we did. It was as if these people had never seen a baby, a man, two horses, and a goat all in one place at the same time. Most amazing! They seemed to think I had given birth to the child myself, and now they wanted to chide me for my aberrant accomplishment.

“Howdy, ma’am,” they heckled me.

And, “Is this your first? Why, darling, your hips don’t seem near wide enough to pass such a healthy child!”

And, “What a pretty little thing! You just let me know if you ever need a man to help you make another one just like it.”

After a time, I must confess, these jibes began to wear on my patience and self-worth, not to mention the subtle harm it was inflicting upon my masculinity. “Remain calm, Rain,” I told myself, trying to shrug it off with a smile. “Stay the course.”

It proved good that I did not have a gun, as I might have filled more than one of my tormentors with holes. I found myself tensing my jaw, riding in a state of relentless apprehension.

Until, at last, we drew near to Delight’s.