May 9, 1852
St. Joseph, Missouri
Never in her life had Maggie seen so many wagons, not even at midday on Lake Street in Chicago. She watched the throng of emigrants and their canvas-topped vehicles swarming along the banks of the Missouri River at St. Joseph. Wagons and prairie schooners drawn by horses, mules, and oxen were lined up, waiting for the ferry to take them to the far side of the river. People were in a hurry. It was late in the season to depart for the gold fields. The ministers had hoped to leave earlier, but they had been caught up in the myriad of details that planning the trip required.
Maggie pointed to the painted wheels on the wagons and asked Clara which color she liked best.
“Blue,” she replied. “No, yellow. Yellow is my favorite color. Like the sun.”
Maggie smiled, remembering that Dick had preferred red.
Drivers, impatient at the delays, cracked whips over their teams as they inched along. Women and children walked beside the wagons, dodging the animals and riff-raff. A driver cursed, incensed that someone had shoved in line ahead of him. He and the other driver swore at each other over the sounds of cattle and horses and the howls of two dogs that were fighting to the death. Maggie, gripping her daughter to keep her out of the traffic, hoped Clara did not notice the swear words but thought it unlikely the child would get to California without picking up some of the profanity.
Peddlers called to her, naming their wares. One sold tinned oysters and sardines. “Last chance till California,” he said. Maggie ignored him but was tempted by the woman who offered loaves of fresh bread, although she would not waste her money buying one.
She had had just twenty dollars when she signed up for the California trip, but now she had a great deal more, thanks to Mary. Not long before the two women left, Micah had told his sister he would not sell her half of the farm so that she could go larking off to California.
“I did not tell you to. Three hundred dollars, enough for Maggie, Clara, and me, will do,” Mary said.
Maggie held her breath at the amount. Three hundred was a fortune.
Micah thought so, too. “’Tis a great amount.”
“There is that and more in our account.”
“Is it true?” He seemed surprised, and Maggie realized that Mary kept the books.
“I will not see you again in this life,” Micah said suddenly, and tears came to his eyes. Maggie supposed the two had been close as children. Later, when his wife was not listening, he told Mary to take the red horse. It might have been a gesture of kindness, although he had never ridden the horse and perhaps knew that Mary would have taken the animal anyway.
Louise did not soften. Maggie had to beg her for an old dress that Louise had put aside to be torn into rags, as well as a pair of overalls that Louise’s son had outgrown. In exchange, Louise insisted on a length of silk that Maggie had brought with her. Louise thought herself generous when she threw in an old hat that had been set aside for a scarecrow. Maggie was so disgusted with the way Louise treated Mary that for spite, she hid the china teapot with the roses on it in the trunk Mary had given her. It was not stealing, Maggie told herself. She was only taking what belonged to Mary, and she would give it to her friend once they were on their way.
Now Maggie steered Clara away from a wagon where men were sharing a bottle of whiskey. A crude sign advertised liquor by the bottle or the drink. Maggie hated liquor.
Mary pointed to an Indian lying near the whiskey vendor. Maggie thought at first that he was injured or perhaps even dead. Then she saw a woman nearby, an empty bottle beside her, and realized the woman was drunk, her husband most likely passed out. She had seen Jesse lying senseless like that, and the sight repelled her. A small boy sitting beside his mother picked up the bottle and rolled it back and forth. Then the child began banging it on the ground. Maggie stepped forward to take the bottle from the boy before he broke it and hurt himself.
“Let him be,” Joseph told her. She had not seen him come up beside her.
“He is only a child with an empty bottle,” Maggie protested. She knew that the minister and Caroline had no children, and perhaps he did not realize the child could cut himself on the glass shards.
“They are heathen, an inferior race. There is nothing you can do.”
“He could injure himself,” Maggie said.
“It is said about them that nits breed lice.”
Maggie opened her mouth to tell him that was a horrid thing to say about any child, but she stopped herself. It would not do to anger the minister. She had tried her best to blend in with the other women. She had changed her hairstyle from a fashionable center part with long curls to a knot on the back of her head and bangs, so she would be less recognizable in case Jesse followed her or sent someone after her. She did not know if he had survived, but if he had, he would have searched Chicago for her and realized she was no longer there. She did not want to give the reverend a reason to remember her in case a man inquired about her and described her appearance.
She and Mary had been cautious when they met with the other women in Chicago to board the boat that would take them on the first part of their journey. Mary had insisted Maggie wear an old coat of hers, one that was outsized and sloppy and would hide her trim figure. She also wore Louise’s large hat with a veil that shaded her face. At the boat, the two women had separated, Mary taking Clara with her. The little girl was dressed in the outgrown clothes of Mary’s nephew, and she wore a cap over her hair, which had been cut short like a boy’s. “I’m just like Dick,” Clara had said when she donned the clothing. If Jesse was there, he would assume the child was Mary’s son and ignore her.
The minister left, and Caroline joined Maggie, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and holding it to her nose as she looked around the camp. The smell of rancid grease, filthy clothing, and human and animal waste was overpowering.
“I had not expected the Overland Trail to be like this,” she said. “I thought it would be like the paintings—green valleys with white-topped wagons moving west into fiery sunsets.”
Maggie nodded. In finishing school, she had been taken to a museum to see such pictures. She felt more comfortable around the minister’s wife now that they were far from Chicago. She still didn’t know if Caroline recognized her. “It is quite a sight,” Maggie said.
“My brother tells me that tomorrow we will cross the river and be away from it. He says we will like it better on the other side.” She smiled. “We could scarcely like it less.”
“Have more women left us?” Maggie asked. She knew that two women already had deserted. Forty-four had signed up for the journey and boarded the boat for the first leg of the trek, the trip from Chicago to St. Joseph. One had quit halfway, debarking and finding passage back to Chicago. Then, just that day, Maggie had seen the second one point to the crush of people and wagons at St. Joseph and announce that she, too, did not care to go farther. “I would rather be an old maid,” she told the ministers.
“It is just as well,” William had said. “These are the easy parts of the trip. If a woman cannot tolerate a few days on a boat or camped beside a river, she will never make it to California. Frankly, I am surprised so many are going ahead with us.”
“We will tolerate no slackers,” Joseph had said.
Maggie had expected Mrs. Whitney to be one of the go-backs. The other women showed up at the boat with only what was necessary—clothing, bedding, medicine, and a few personal items such as photographs and books. Some, like Mary, had brought farm implements and even guns, not ladies’ pistols but rifles and shotguns. They knew how to use them, too, they said. Joseph had presented each of them with a Bible when they left Chicago, but Maggie had seen several Bibles abandoned on the boat. Perhaps they’d been given to women who couldn’t read, she thought charitably. She realized that Mary had forgotten hers and picked it up, but Mary had refused it. “I shall share yours on the unlikely chance I shall need it,” she said.
Mrs. Whitney was different from the others. She arrived with a four-burner sheet-iron stove, twelve apple trees, and three trunks that she said contained only necessities. “I have put not a single thing in them that is not of the greatest importance,” she insisted.
“Of course, dear lady,” Joseph told her.
Mary whispered that perhaps he didn’t object because he himself had insisted on taking along a black-walnut pulpit.
William surveyed Mrs. Whitney’s heavy items and said, “Take what you want. I would wager half will be discarded before Fort Laramie.”
Mrs. Whitney seemed surprised when she found that she and her servant were sharing a cabin on the boat with Maggie and Clara. Mrs. Whitney had been a gracious roommate, however, and had not murmured a word about returning to Chicago. The night before, she had slept in a tent near the river with the rest of the women instead of finding lodging in a hotel. Nonetheless, she invited Maggie and Clara along with Caroline to go into town in search of a tea shop, where she treated them to tea and pastries as a farewell to civilization.
“Ghastly fare, but I suppose it is no worse than what we will eat the next five months. Pray God, it will not be that much worse,” she said as they returned to camp.
“You are not used to this,” Caroline said.
“Are you?”
“No.”
“I should think you would find it no worse than the smell of hypocrisy at the parsonage, Caroline.”
“My husband—” Caroline began, defending Joseph.
Mrs. Whitney interrupted. “I am not speaking of Reverend Swain. I mean those self-righteous women who gather to cluck their tongues over the sins of the poor. An unforgiving lot they are.”
“But you are one of them,” Caroline said, then added quickly, “I did not mean…”
“Do you not think that is one of the reasons I chose to escape Chicago?”
“You are a contradiction, Mrs. Whitney.”
“Bessie. You are to call me Bessie, and so are the other women. I will not stand out as different. We are equals.”
Caroline chuckled. “Since we are equal, then, I shall enjoy seeing how you drive the ox team.”
Bessie thought a moment and said, “I had not intended to be that equal.”
Bessie went on ahead, taking her servant’s hand and pointing to the wagons lined up to cross the river, chatting happily with the girl.
“She is a good mistress. Do you know she is a supporter of the abolitionist movement?” Caroline asked.
“I am not surprised. She is very kind to the Negro girl.”
They stopped because Clara had found something in the mud. Maggie told her to leave it be, but Clara held up a dirty coin. “Look, Mama,” she cried and gave it to Maggie. “Are we rich?”
“Of course you are. You have each other,” Caroline answered for Maggie.
Maggie smiled and started to respond, but Caroline cleared her throat. “Something odd happened not long before we left,” she said.
The smile left Maggie’s face as she caught the seriousness in Caroline’s voice. “What was it?”
“Oh, it has nothing to do with you. It was just a strange thing. I do not know why I even remark on it.” She smiled. “A police officer came to the church a day or two before we embarked. There were a few of the broadsheets still posted in Chicago, and I suppose he saw one.”
Maggie didn’t want Caroline to see her fear, so, using her skirt, she wiped off the coin Clara had found and put it into her pocket. Clara was busy searching the mud in hopes of finding more money. “What did he want?” she asked.
“He said a woman murdered or tried to murder her husband; I cannot be sure which, because at first I was not listening. At any rate, the police believe the wife ran away with their child. He wanted to know if they might have joined our company.”
Maggie looked off into the distance. “What did you tell him?”
“I said we had no one like that. He showed me a photograph of the couple. The woman was quite indistinct, but I remember the man. He had come to the Kitchen, a place where I volunteered my time. Perhaps you have heard of it. He was a boorish fellow who berated his wife for being there. I hope his wife found a safe place to hide from him. The man seemed unbalanced.”
“Did the officer believe you?”
“I do not know. I looked for the husband when we boarded the boat but did not see him. That does not mean he does not believe the woman is with us.”
“Why do you tell me?” Maggie’s hands were damp. Caroline knew, she thought. Otherwise she would not have told her about the policeman. What if she had told the ministers, too, and they would refuse to let her go on? Would she have to return to Chicago? Perhaps she could stay in St. Joseph. Would there be employment for a dressmaker? She held her breath, waiting for Caroline’s answer.
“No reason. Only that you are a woman with a daughter. Perhaps if you see another widow with a child, you will warn her to stay close to her wagon. I think this man must have been evil. I do not blame his wife for running away. I would not want her to be arrested.”
“That is a good idea,” Maggie said, as Caroline slipped an arm through hers. Jesse had been evil. But if she had known evil at his hands, she had just experienced goodness, thanks to the understanding of the minister’s wife. “Thank you,” she murmured, knowing Caroline might have saved her life.
THEY SPOTTED THE two ministers up ahead, and Caroline, still holding Maggie’s arm, hurried to them. Clara followed, her head down, still searching for coins.
Joseph was frowning as he and William surveyed the wagons and oxen and the mountain of supplies that William had purchased. He had ordered fifteen wagons made from hickory, the beds and wheels painted blue, and six teams of oxen for each wagon at sixty dollars per team. “A steal, as the animals are young, only five years old,” he was explaining when the women reached him. He had supplied the train with tools, guns, powder and ball, and cooking equipment. And he’d purchased enough sugar, flour, bacon, beans, and other foodstuffs to last for five months.
“So much, Willie? Do you not think a hundred and fifty pounds of flour and twenty-five of sugar for each woman excessive? If we run out, surely we could supply ourselves along the way,” Reverend Swain said.
“Yes, we could if we were lucky. And if we had the money. The prices at Fort Kearny and Fort Laramie are usurious.”
“We could resupply in Salt Lake City, then.”
“Of course, if we go that way. I have not yet decided. Still, the Mormons are shrewd people. They charge what the market will bear. And the market bears a great deal.”
“They would rob us? Do they not profess to be Christians?” Joseph protested.
“As are the merchants in St. Joe, but as you have seen, they drive a sharp bargain.”
“Well, I do not believe we need so much coffee,” he said.
His brother-in-law laughed at that. “Coffee is perhaps the most important item we will have with us. We can face Indians, rain, snow, dust, even starvation, but we will not make it without coffee. By the time we reach California, you will willingly sell your soul for a swallow of it.”
“I heartily doubt it. Do not blaspheme,” Joseph told him.
“Just wait, and you shall see.”
Caroline drew Maggie aside and said, “Joseph does not approve of stimulants. I am grateful William bested him in that argument. I do not know if I could travel two thousand miles without my coffee. Do you drink it?”
Maggie nodded. She had considered coffee and tea a luxury when money was scarce and had not bought them in a long time. Until she went to Mary’s farm it had been months since she had had a cup of either one. “I believe I could travel a long way on coffee,” she said.
“They are like brothers, those two. They were roommates in divinity school, and it was William who introduced me to Joseph. William and I are close, and William thought so highly of Joseph that he considered him a suitable match for me. I had always been too plain and headstrong to attract a husband on my own. William sought to save me from spinsterhood. As you can see, I am fortunate. Joseph is steadfast and has strong religious convictions. I could not imagine that a man so blessed with a fine face and body as well as a strong intellect would find me suitable. The Lord blesses me.”
And you repay the Lord by seeing Joseph in the best light, overlooking both his humorlessness and his intolerance, Maggie thought.
Clara had stopped searching for coins and was now caught up in watching the men load the wagons, so Maggie lingered with her, holding her daughter so that she did not get in the way.
“I hope the men you have chosen to go with us are of a religious bent,” Joseph said to his brother-in-law, as he, too, watched the wagons being loaded. He called to the men to be careful with the pulpit. It had been a gift from his congregation.
“I am sure they are, although I did not think to inquire. I selected them because they are young and strong, and many have knowledge of the trail. In fact, I turned down several who were too anxious to accompany a wagon train of women. I have told those we hired that the women are intended as brides for the miners in California.”
“And we do not pay the men?” Joseph asked.
“No, most want to go to the gold fields and think it is a stroke of luck that we will provide them with food and companionship in exchange for their work. Some will go only as far as the Great Salt Lake.”
“Mormons, are they?”
“I did not ask, but I hope so. Mormons are known as hard workers, and they are honest.”
“They also have more than one wife.”
Maggie gasped. She had heard of the strange sect. She wondered if the women were allowed to have more than one husband. The thought made her smile. If that were true, she might then find someone to marry even if Jesse were still alive.
“Perhaps they would want the women for their harems,” Joseph said. “Women are not as smart as we are. Who knows what will turn their heads. They can be foolish.”
“Not Caroline,” William protested.
“No, but I must tell you that she does not always show good judgment. She would rather dish up dinner for poor women than meet with the ladies of our prayer group.”
“Imagine that,” William said and turned to Caroline. His sister was gone, however. Only Maggie, Clara beside her, stood there, and he gave her a sly smile.
He turned to the wagons, checking the packing of each one. He told a driver to put the water where the women could get to it on the trail. Another man, who had filled a bucket with water and hung it on the back of the wagon, was told, “Pour out the water. We will add cream to the bucket before we leave camp each morning, and the movement of the wagon will churn it into butter.”
“You will make the women lazy,” Joseph said.
“No one will be considered lazy who makes the trip to California,” William told him.
ALTHOUGH WILLIAM FRETTED at the delay, saying they should have been under way weeks earlier, the company lingered in St. Joseph for a few days. Maggie had thought they would leave the day after they arrived. She was anxious to be gone, now that she knew that an officer of the law had been looking for her. It was unlikely he had gone all the way to St. Joseph searching for her, but still, she did not want to chance encountering him. If the man found her later on, she hoped she would be so much a part of the wagon train that the ministers would deny she was the woman who had killed her husband.
Mary and William used the time to teach the women how to drive the oxen, while Caroline developed their morning routine of preparing breakfast over a campfire and storing dishes and cooking utensils in the wagons. Cooking over campfires and sleeping on the ground were a surprise to some of the women, although Maggie had known the accommodations would be primitive. To her delight, she discovered that Clara loved the freedom of living that way.
“I shall marry the first man in California who tells me he has a feather bed,” Sadie told Maggie as the two sat together, Maggie hemming the other woman’s skirts. They had been told their long skirts would be ragged in no time from dragging on the ground and must be shortened. Maggie had already hemmed her dresses as well as Mary’s, but Sadie confessed she did not know how to sew. At first, a few of the women refused the shortened hems, saying it was improper, but after walking in the muck by the river, they agreed that long skirts would hamper them. Maggie thought Sadie had asked for her skirt to be too high—well above her boot tops—but said nothing. After all, Sadie had shown up at the boat in a plain calico dress instead of the fancy satin frock she had worn to the church and seemed to be making every effort to blend in.
“Are them the marrying women, like the kind that advertises for a man in a magazine?” an immigrant lady asked her husband as the two stopped to stare at Maggie and Sadie. The word was out that two ministers were taking a wagon train of unmarried women to California, and many of those who were camped along the river had come to inspect them. Some made unkind remarks, but others were merely curious. One woman glanced over her shoulder at her husband, who was spitting a chaw of tobacco onto the ground, and said she wished she’d married after she reached California instead of before.
“Bunch of old maids,” the husband of the nosy woman replied now. “They’s touched in the head going all the way to California for a pig in a poke.”
“Better than marrying a hog with his breakfast on his beard,” Sadie told him. The couple hurried off, the man brushing crumbs and bits of sausage from his face.
A few minutes later, after Maggie had finished Sadie’s hem and was biting off the thread, a young woman who had been sitting on a rock watching them approached the two. “Is it true? Be you truly a wagon train of women?” she asked.
“We did not advertise for husbands, but we are going to California in hopes of finding them,” Maggie replied.
“You the one that’s in charge?” The woman was thin and poorly dressed, and she could not look Maggie in the eye.
“There are two ministers who organized the company.”
“Are you filled up?”
“Are you of a mind to join us?” Maggie asked.
“Would you take me?”
Maggie studied the girl a moment. “Why do you want to go with us?”
The girl pushed aside her sunbonnet to show that half of her face was bruised and there was a cut near her eye. She might have been pretty at one time, but her face was now thin and haunted, like a mask of sorrow. She was of medium height with gray eyes and hair so pale it was almost white. It was snarled and uneven and as lank as a horse’s mane. Maggie saw that her arms were bruised and scraped. She was sure that worse injuries were hidden by the girl’s dress.
Without realizing it, Maggie reached out and took the young woman’s hand, knowing she had been beaten by some man, probably her husband. Her heart went out to the poor creature. Maggie was well aware of the pain, the constant worry of being hit again, the fear that the next time would be fatal. She wondered if all men were like that, if all wives were afraid of their husbands. She could not imagine that Reverend Swain hurt his wife, who worshipped him. But what did she know about what was hidden behind closed doors?
The girl’s eyes flicked back and forth, as if she were afraid of being spotted. “Yesterday he beat me awful with his whip. I can’t walk hardly. Last time it was his belt, although mostly he uses his fists. Next time he’ll kill me.” She removed her hand, and Maggie saw that two of the fingers were bent, as if they had been broken and hadn’t healed properly.
The words brought back Maggie’s own pain. “How awful! Your husband?”
“Asa says he is, but we never had the words said over us. He was real nice at first, said I was the prettiest thing he ever saw and brought me flowers he picked hisself.”
Maggie remembered how Jesse had brought her violets.
“He got me to go off with him. ’Course he didn’t have to say much, because it was bad at home. Pa died, and Ma married a man…” She shook her head. “Getting beat ain’t new, but beat like this is. Sometimes I wish I could die. I stood it for a time, because he’s always sorry later, always says he wouldn’t do it no more if I didn’t rile him. I try. I don’t talk back, and his supper’s always ready, but it don’t do no good.” She paused and said in a rush, “I got to get away. You think I could join up with you?”
“Yes,” Maggie said. She had never told anyone but Mary what Jesse had done to her. This woman seemed to have been beaten even worse than she had. She wanted to put her arms around the girl and hold her safe. How could she refuse to let her join them?
“Won’t your husband—that is, your man—come after you?” Sadie asked.
“I thought it all out. He don’t plan to leave for a week or two, maybe longer. We are waitin’ here for his least brother. There’s three of them Harvey boys—Asa, Reed, and Elias. I can tell him I’m going in town. When I don’t come back, he’ll be thinking I found a place there to hide.” She shivered. “I fear the other two as bad as I do Asa.” The girl shook her head. “Them brothers together, they do things to me…”
Maggie frowned, not understanding, but Sadie spoke up. “They take you at the same time?” she asked.
The girl turned away, as Maggie blurted out, “All of them?” Maggie had never imagined such a thing, and her face reddened.
“It shames me.”
“We could hide her in one of the wagons until we leave,” Maggie told Sadie.
“We would have to ask the ministers first.”
Maggie’s face fell at that. Of course. The ministers would have to approve. She had a thought. “Perhaps we should ask Caroline instead.”
“And she would ask Reverend Parnell.” Sadie grinned. She spotted Caroline and waved her over. “This is … What is your name?”
“Pennsylvania House,” the girl said.
“That’s your name?” Sadie asked.
“I ain’t picked it. Ma named me after where she come from. She called me Penn for short. My step-pa called me Girl, and Asa, he knows my name, but he just calls me Woman—or God-damn Woman.”
Caroline looked at the girl curiously, and Maggie said, “She wants to join us. Look at her face.” Quickly she told Penn’s story.
“I will have to ask my husband,” Caroline said.
“Ask your brother,” Sadie told her.
Caroline gave a faint smile. Then she called to William and explained about the girl. “She is not married, so it would not be bigamy if she found a husband in California,” she said. “You know one of our women quit yesterday, so we already have provisions for her.”
William thought that over. “I would worry the man would come after her and put the others in danger,” he said. “Still, if we hid her in one of the wagons, that might work. He would not know she had gone on west, and if he did, he would not know which train she had joined. We will have to have Joseph’s permission, however.”
Caroline sighed, and Maggie’s heart dropped. If they turned away the woman, she would die. That was as true as anything. Maggie herself might be dead if the ministers had not allowed her to join the train. She reached out and took the girl’s hand again and nodded, as if to say they shared the same pain. Maggie understood what it was like to hear footsteps and pray that her man was not angry, that he would not strike her because a carriage had splashed mud on him. Or take her by force because he was upset that he had been refused credit at a saloon. She wanted to tell the girl they were sisters that way, but the others thought Maggie’s husband was a loving man who had died.
“It would be best if you did not mention she has been living with a man,” Caroline told her brother.
William smiled. “Joseph is a good man. He will take her in. We shall ask him now.”
The two turned to see Joseph striding up to them.
“We were talking of you just now. We have a dilemma,” William said. “A young woman has just approached and asked to join our train. She would replace the woman who quit yesterday. I believe it is a fine idea.”
“What do you know of her? Is she a Christian?”
“Of course. She spoke to me of God,” Caroline said. It wasn’t a lie. Penn had said the man called her a God-damn woman.
“Perhaps she is a troublemaker.”
“No, she is just a poor woman. She was with another train and has had an unhappy experience. She has been abused. She is unmarried and would feel safe with us. I believe we should take her into our fold. It is our duty as Christians.”
Joseph thought that over, then nodded his approval. “If you put it that way,” he said, adding, not unkindly, “You always do.”
Caroline touched her husband’s arm and smiled. “I do not believe we will be sorry.”
“I suppose she is running away from something,” her husband mused.
William glanced at Maggie and Sadie. “We all of us are running from something,” he said.