“You all have to get out of my wagon,” Mr. Olsen said firmly.
The youngest Mudge boy shouted, “Like hell!”
Adelaide looked up sharply. It was the first time she’d heard any of the Mudge children speak.
Mr. Olsen stopped the horses, set the reins in his lap and lifted a lash. He hadn’t used it on the horses yet. Was he about to beat the child? When he lifted the lash, it bent like a dowsing rod discovering water. Montana wind wouldn’t let anything stay straight.
“Got a coulee ahead,” Mr. Olsen said calmly. “Easier for the horses if we take out some of the weight.”
Adelaide climbed out. Mrs. Mudge stepped down next and helped the oldest boy, holding his hand. He then turned and helped the next oldest down, and on like that until they’d all come down. They worked with precision, a sign of routine.
Up ahead the road dropped into a deep bowl of earth. This, apparently, was a coulee. A steep drop in and then, on the other side, a steep rise to get out. Bigger than a gulch, not as grand as a valley. The passengers would cross on foot while Mr. Olsen got the horses and wagon through.
The earth in the coulee was muddy and sucked at their shoes. Adelaide and Mrs. Mudge wore dresses; the Mudge boys wore suits. All hems were dirty by the time they’d taken twenty steps.
Mr. Olsen lashed the four horses and they trod down into the coulee, the loaded wagon bucking behind them. They hit the muddy bottom and the horses’ power seemed halved. Mr. Olsen’s lash finally got used, driving them harder, and soon he moved to the back of the wagon and pushed as well.
But it became clear, quite quick, the wagon wouldn’t make it out.
“Well, shit,” Mr. Olsen said, nearly as breathless as the horses. Adelaide only heard him because she’d been standing nearby. She’d been about to volunteer to help push.
He went to the horses to calm them and let them catch their breath. By now, the Mudges had reached the other side of the coulee.
“I suggest you climb the rise with them,” Mr. Olsen told Adelaide.
She peeked at her trunk only once, then climbed the slope and found her place near the Mudges. The winds that had been so powerful during the day only picked up as night approached. And now they were even colder. The Mudges huddled together.
Adelaide, having no one, crouched low and crossed her arms. Hugging herself.
Mr. Olsen soon climbed the slope and called his passengers together. He’d brought a Dietz kerosene lantern with him from the wagon. Not a one of them, not even Adelaide, came up to Olsen’s shoulder. Two women and four boys stood in the shelter of the wagon driver.
“I’m going to unload the wagon and haul your things up here one by one. Empty it enough to get the team up. Then I’ll reload everything.”
“But it’s almost night,” Adelaide said.
He nodded, but didn’t look at her. She thought that if he’d looked her in the eye, he might’ve shivered at the specter of all the labor he was about to do.
“Nothing for it,” he said, swallowing hard.
“And what about us?” Mrs. Mudge asked. “My boys can’t help you. They’re not fit for the task.”
Mr. Olsen gestured northeast. “I’m going to get you all to shelter. Then I’ll come back.”
Mr. Olsen turned and walked east. As soon as he moved, Adelaide felt pummeled by the gales again. She’d left warm nights in California for this? She walked beside the big man if only for the feeling of company.
The Mudge family trailed behind them, Mrs. Mudge in the lead and her oldest boy just behind her, his hand set on her right shoulder. The second youngest set his hand on his older brother’s right shoulder. As did the third boy and then the youngest. Obviously, Adelaide understood the hardship of their circumstances, but her gaze lingered on their hands, the unbroken family chain.
“I’m embarrassed,” Mr. Olsen told Adelaide. “And confused. My team has hauled much bigger loads than this one. I don’t understand what could be weighing it down so bad this time.”
Adelaide walked along, nodding her head as if she, too, were confused. Of course, she was not. She could have answered the man’s question easily. After all, she’d packed the trunk herself. Adelaide had brought her burden with her. She knew exactly how heavy it was. Those horses never stood a chance.