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As they moved out onto the grass of Kansas heading towards Nebraska, Erin breathed in the immense spaces. The animals cropped grass when they could, but she and the dogs kept them moving. As the spring rains turned the ground into mush, she helped more than one mired wagon get out of the sods. Looking around, she didn’t completely understand why they called this the Great American Desert. Sure, the water sources were few and far between, and maybe the rains didn’t come all year round, but this was land...beautiful land. She could picture Indians roaming it on their ponies. No one had seen any Indians other than the tame ones that hung around the towns, and for that they were all grateful, but Wallace and his men assured them they were out there watching and waiting for an opportunity. They might stampede the cattle and horses only to pick them up later.
“The government should come out here and move those Indians. They don’t use the land for anything useful. Look at all this grazing land. A rancher would do well with cattle, even sheep,” someone commented one night beside the fire and others agreed with him. The word sheep had been said in a tone that left no doubt Erin was being included but also derided for owning the animals.
“I bet a good farmer could plow up these fields and raise a good crop,” another settler stated.
“I don’t know. It’s too...wide open,” another complained.
Erin didn’t contribute unless she was directly asked a question. She did listen and heard things that disturbed her. The comment on the sheep was one. Molly thought she was being a bit touchy, but she felt by keeping to themselves there would be less controversy or the chance of being found out. She didn’t count on the children.
“Ma, Missus Johnson says....”
“Pa, I heard Mr. Sackett say....”
The conversations like that were endless, and both Molly and Erin knew it went both ways. They were being gossiped about, and there was nothing they could do about it except caution the children about not spreading gossip. Still, the children were looking for playmates, and it was only natural that they’d meet the children’s parents.
“You adopted five children?” one woman shook her head in disbelief.
“You must be rich...or crazy,” another man put in, as though he had been asked for his opinion.
“We didn’t just adopt them. They were chosen. That makes all the difference,” Molly answered the first one gently, knowing that Tabitha overheard them. She didn’t want any of her children to think they weren’t wanted, that they were just adopted. They were family.
“Why would you adopt five?” the woman wasn’t letting the subject go.
“I didn’t want to break up a family. They are my family now, and they are wonderful.”
Tabitha did hear these things and it warmed her to know that Molly and Erin wanted them all. She knew it was hard to feed them, and she tried not to eat too much. But that didn’t stop Theo from inhaling everything on his plate and asking for seconds. He was growing like a weed since Ohio and rapidly approaching her in height. He thought, despite being only eight, almost nine, that because he was a boy he should have the same privileges she did at ten, almost eleven.
“No, Theo. You just proved that you aren’t old enough to handle the horse alone. Maybe when you are twelve, at this rate. Tabitha there has more sense than you are showing. If you can’t behave yourself and prove to me and your ma that you can do the work we assign you, then no, you can’t ride alone on the mare,” Erin told him when he insisted he could gather the flock by himself.
Tabitha was pleased at Erin’s confidence in her abilities. She knew it was a big responsibility. This small flock of sheep were the seed stock for a bigger flock they hoped to grow once they were settled in Oregon.
“We can weave our own clothes if we can figure out how to do that,” Molly told her. “Those dyes the man made of the skeins of wool were just beautiful, weren’t they?” she remembered. She had a few of those skeins, thanks to Erin. She’d been delighted to find them in the supplies and smiled at the surprise. “We’ll cut our own wool from the backs of those sheep and make our own dyes.”
“Shear,” Erin corrected around a mouth of food.
“Shear?” Molly asked, looking at her spouse in surprise.
“You don’t cut wool, you shear it from the backs of the sheep,” she explained once she had swallowed, taking a drink of the water in her cup.
Molly smiled at the correction. Although Erin claimed to know nothing about sheep, she was eagerly anticipating the products from their own sheep. The farmer had already sheared them early in the spring, removing their heavy wool coats before they gave birth. He’d traded them mature ewes and a ram. Erin now knew this was because younger sheep were known to have twins, triplets, and even on occasion, quadruplets. These more mature sheep would have less lambs and a shorter life span. However, she wasn’t angry with the trade, knowing younger sheep would be flightier and herding them all the way to Oregon wouldn’t be easy. On their side, the Tervurens made herding a lot easier.
“Your pa makes you work a lot,” a twelve-year-old boy said as he walked alongside Tabitha’s horse in the long grasses of Kansas. He was looking enviously at the mare they were riding.
“I help my family and our animals need to go with us,” she indicated the flock before her as she sat up on the horse and looked down curiously at the boy. Today, Theresa was riding with her for a few hours, her arms wrapped firmly around her middle. She too looked curiously at the boy, having seen him around the encampment.
“Oh, no. I wasn’t criticizing, honest,” he was quick to reply. In fact, he wished he had a horse to ride instead of walking. He wondered if there was room for all three of them to ride the mare. He glanced at the dog that was walking behind the flock, keeping it tightly bunched. The Herriot family seemed to have some of the best animals. He wished he could buy one of their pups. Mr. Herriot showed no signs of getting rid of the last two pups of the litter. His sister wanted one of the kittens, but their pa had said they couldn’t have one. He thought desperately of things to talk about with the girl but became tongue-tied and eventually wandered away.
“I bet he’s sweet on you,” a very young but astute Theresa teased her older sister.
“Is not,” Tabitha asserted instantly, though she wondered about the sudden interest. She knew a lot of the children were jealous that she got to ride the mare, but it was just as tiring as walking or riding in the wagon. She heard hoofbeats and turned to see Erin riding up with King.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes, Pa. They’re coming along,” she answered.
“I’ll herd them for a while. Someone relieved me of my duties back there, and I thought you’d like to ride with your Ma for a time,” she offered, indicating the drag where the cattle and horses were. It was a dusty spot to ride for any length of time, but today, the rain kept down the dust.
Tabitha nodded and kicked the mare slightly to hurry her and catch up to the wagon. Ma was surprised to see her there, but she explained that Pa had taken over her duties for a while. She managed to hand Theresa off into the moving wagon before climbing over herself and tying the mare where she could still walk beside the wagon. She heard one of their roosters sounding off, announcing his prowess even though he rarely had a chance to interact with his own hens due to the cages they were in.
“Tired?” Molly asked her, smiling down at the young girl. She held the long, leather reins to the oxen and horses easily despite the strain on her shoulders. They were already used to the trail, unlike others whose horses were becoming worn down.
“Oh, no, Ma,” she said, sitting up straight on the seat.
“Tabitha’s got a beau,” Theresa teased even though she didn’t know what a beau was.
“I do not,” she protested immediately.
“That’s enough of that, Theresa,” Molly stopped the teasing immediately. She knew how cruel children could be to each other. She’d never had siblings of her own, but the tales Erin told of her brothers and what she had seen for herself in the schoolyard told her a lot. “What makes her think that?” she asked Tabitha, who blushed.
“Just some boy who tried to talk to us when we were herding the flock,” she shrugged.
“I bet he wished he was doing something important like that.” Molly impulsively put her arm around Tabitha and gave her a sideways hug before returning to holding the many lines and keeping her eyes on the teams. They hadn’t had to dig their wagon out of the mud or the sods, mostly due to the enormous strength of their teams pulling consistently.
Tabitha sat up straighter, not only from the hug, but also from Molly telling her what she was doing was important. The girl didn’t have a lot of self-confidence. Another piece of the puzzle was the Herriots; they fit into place and relaxed the young girl. There was no hidden agenda, and she knew herding the sheep was helpful even if Queenie did do most of the work. She appreciated the compliment and loved feeling useful. She hadn’t felt that way at the orphanage where the control she’d had in helping with her siblings was taken completely out of her hands by adults who didn’t even know them. Molly and Erin both encouraged her, teaching her anything she wanted to know.
Molly was singing a nonsense song about the alphabet with Tommy, and Theresa tried to join in. Even Timmy, who was already sleepy and playing with the kittens and pups on the mattress would pipe up with A for apple. That was one of the few words he could remember.
“Okay, what starts with an E?” Molly would call to them, and one of the children would nearly shout. “Not so loud, not so loud,” she’d admonish them for their enthusiasm.
“Okay E, for egg,” she’d singsong. “What begins with an F?” And on they would go through the alphabet.
Everyone knew the alphabet song, but Molly’s variation helped them learn new words. Later, she would spell out some of the words. “E for egg, e-g-g, egg.”
It helped to pass the time and Tabitha, who hadn’t had much schooling, learned words with Theo, Tommy, and Theresa. Even Timmy learned the smaller words. Later, when she had time, she’d write the words in the dirt or on the slate they had bought and show the children what the words looked like, reminding them of the singsongs they had created.
“Those children don’t even realize they’re learning,” Erin smiled, pleased with their progress. Tabitha had read through the McGuffy Readers they had in the trunk already, catching up to her age level in no time.
“I started her on the Bible, since we don’t have schoolbooks beyond the eighth grade,” Molly almost sounded as though she were apologizing.
“Well, our school didn’t go beyond the eighth grade.”
A lot of schools didn’t. Even the eighth grade was a lot to ask as most children around age fourteen were being readied for marriage in the next couple of years. The boys usually didn’t even make it that far as they were needed to work on the farms.
Both Erin and Molly could see their ideas about educating the children were a lot different than other parents, whose children were politely ignored or used for chores well beyond their capabilities. It wasn’t that the other parents were cruel or indifferent to their children, but there was a lot of work to be done, and they had no one else to do it. Since there was nothing for the children to do while they rode in the wagon, Molly used the time to teach them, even if they weren’t aware they were getting book learning. Erin sometimes wished she was driving the wagon and one day, they switched. Molly rode the mare despite her skirts and Erin drove the teams. It seemed to upset those in the other wagons more than it did them.
“You let your missus herd your flocks?”
“A woman doing the work of a man?”
“With all them children to look after, she’s out herding sheep!”
“I wish I could do something besides driving this wagon.”
“Herriot treats his wife a whole sight better than my man does.”
The endless days of wagon travel lulled some into a false sense of security. Wallace tried to keep them from becoming complacent.
“There are Indians out there, and they are watchin’,” he told the men and women. The wagon circle was only limited protection against their arrows.
“They’ve been known to kill a man alone, and God help any woman out there.” He’d even warned Erin about allowing his daughter to ride the mare while herding the flock of sheep.
“If Indians attack, you hightail it to the wagon. We can afford to lose the sheep, but we can’t afford to lose you,” Erin instructed the young girl. Somehow, this made Tabitha feel good. She knew it was Erin’s way of telling her things without spelling it out. Begrudgingly, after all this time, she was learning to love these parents of hers. Suspicious of their original motives, she’d relaxed as they showed genuine affection to all the children. Not just the children they had originally wanted to adopt, but all of them. She admired them more and more, and while she had originally called them Ma and Pa because they asked it of her, now she considered them to be her parents although she remembered her real parents.
“Won’t Queenie protect us?” Theo asked Erin when they had the conversation about Indians.
“Sure, she would. But an Indian would kill a dog and eat it. They look at things differently than we do. It ain’t...isn’t wrong, it’s just different. They were here long before we came along. We’re just passing through their territory and naturally, they might want things we have.”
“Mrs. Sacket says they’re heathens,” Tommy informed them importantly.
“No more than we are. They are just people who live differently than we do,” Erin tried to explain, exchanging a look with Molly. She wanted to strangle some of their neighbors who spouted their beliefs to the children without regard for what their parents would like them to learn.
Not every wagon train that went across the plains encountered Indians, and so far, they had been lucky. As they headed northwest, farther onto the prairies, several farmers expressed interest in the sods and what kind of crops they could bear.
“Waste of land leaving it for the Indians.”
“Fine, fertile soil. Bet I could raise some fine crops.”
“We’re seeing it at a good time. It can’t possibly rain like this all the time.”
Driving the wagons and the stock in this weather, they were wet all the time. The only relief was in the tents or in the wagon itself. Molly tried to keep the children out of the wet, but sniffles and colds were prevalent, and of course, they caught them from the other children.
“We did so well on our way out from Ohio. I can’t believe how often they are sick,” she fretted.
“Well, it’s still cold and rainy. They are copying the other children. All we can do is keep them warm and dry,” Erin consoled her wife, knowing how much added work a sick child was.
It was easier said than done. They couldn’t keep the children away from the others, and some of those children didn’t even have shoes. While the Herriots didn’t have much and hadn’t expected to clothe five children, the hand-me-downs they did have allowed them to clothe their children. Some of the settlers’ children were wearing flour sacks sewn into shapeless dresses that were as dirty as when they held flour.
“Why do I have to wash? I’m just gonna get dirty again.” Theo complained.
“Children who don’t wash up don’t get fed at my table,” Molly repeated the familiar refrain they had been told from the first night in Ohio.
“We ain’t eatin’ at a table,” he tried to point out.
“Don’t be impertinent, and don’t use the word ‘ain’t’.”
“What’s impert...importanent,” he tried.
“It means you’re being too smart-mouthed for your own good, and if you don’t want me washing your mouth out with soap, you’ll mind your ma and wash up as she asks. Won’t be the first time you went to bed without supper,” Erin warned as she walked up and caught the tail end of that conversation. She’d just put their horses and oxen away with the other settlers. She hated doing that, but there were just too many to keep them by their wagon. Already, Wallace had questioned him about keeping the mare and stallion tied on a long rope to the wagon.
“Well, I thought it would be nice to have them close if I needed them to go round up my own cattle in the event of a stampede,” she’d explained.
The man had harrumphed through his nose, the point well taken. He looked at the many cages of ducks, geese, and chickens and shook his head. The hooks that hung them from the sides of the wagon were clever, and no one else was as well-stocked with animals. Still, it made the wagon look ungainly as they drove across the plains. The man, his wife, and even his children worked industriously to set up their campsite each night, and he could find no fault there. He helped with the stock, even others’ stock, and didn’t complain like the others.
“I wish I could have gotten a good team back in Independence,” one man complained. “Mine is wearing out.”
“Your load is too heavy, and they aren’t used to it.”
“I tried to trade with that Herriot, but he wouldn’t budge,” another put in. Wallace noted who it was. It was the man who had tried a couple times to trade with Erin but had been rebuffed. He was a natural-born troublemaker.
“You don’t know the ass end of a cow, the way you hook up them oxen,” he insulted Erin one day, still smarting that she wouldn’t trade him her horses.
“I know an ass when I see one,” she returned, not bothering to look up from her work, her ears telling her who was speaking. King’s low growls had told her the person approaching was no friend long before she heard the man’s stride or words.
“Are you calling me an ass?” the man challenged, ready for a fight.
Erin looked up, determining if she should let King take him. The dog was growling louder now, not liking the man or his tone. “If that’s the way you want to take it, there ain’t...isn’t anything I can do.” Slowly, she straightened up from attaching the chains to the oxen.
“Why, you,” the man started and came in swinging.
Erin, dodging back from the first swing, saw it miss. The man was off balance. She shoved him back and he went down.
“Why, you dirty...” he started cussing, using words that made Erin’s ears burn. Several people came running upon hearing the commotion. The man got up and tried to bull his way into Erin’s midsection.
Knowing that letting the man hit her would do her no good, Erin side-stepped, trying to avoid him, but he wasn’t going to stop. Having been in tussles with her brothers as a child, even some with other children at school because of her looks, she knew how to fight. But she had not fought as an adult, and she had never had a fistfight with anyone in her life. As he came at her again, determined to teach her a lesson and take out his frustrations over her not selling to him, she avoided him once more, her thin body turning as he tried to slam his body into hers. She clapped her hands down on his ears at the same time, causing a ringing in his ears and unbalancing him. She knew that only speed would finish this and give her an advantage. As he tried to grab her around the middle to hold himself up from falling, she punched him, getting in a lucky shot and hitting him on the nose, which immediately spurted blood. He went down again.
“I suggest you stay there for a moment,” she said, breathing a little harder from her exertions.
“What’s going on here?” one of Wallace’s men came hurrying up. He’d been helping people get started, and fighting was strictly against the rules.
“That man attacked Herriot,” someone told him honestly.
“He was just defending himself. Herriot called him an ass,” another contested.
“Fighting ain’t allowed,” the man said to Herriot.
“I’m not fighting,” she pointed out as she walked away from the downed and bleeding man, several people looking on admiringly at what she had accomplished. The man was a bully, and she didn’t have a scratch on her. She went to take the team that Molly had brought up, looking on, concerned.
“I’m sorry,” she immediately apologized to her wife.
“I heard and saw it all. Next time try not to bruise your knuckles,” she answered, handing the team off to her. Erin wasn’t fooled. She saw the twitch of Molly’s mouth and the humor in her eyes. She was relieved. She thought Molly would be upset. Erin took the team to the front of the oxen. The man had gotten up with the help of someone who defended him, and he was wiping his nose with his sleeve, the blood still oozing out. He glared at Herriot, who studiously ignored him.
“This ain’t over, Herriot,” he warned, but the farmer ignored him.
Word of the fight spread through the wagon train. Those who had heard of what happened in St. Charles repeated that story too. Naturally, Wallace had to do something. As Herriot rode her horse along, encouraging the cattle, he approached the man.
“We can’t allow fighting in the wagon train,” he started.
“I agree.”
He studied the man, wondering if he was mocking him and his rules. He had agreed to the rules when he signed on. He recalled the conversation about the incident in St. Charles when he arrived. “I’ll put you out of the train if you do it again.”
Erin fixed the man with a look. She knew that meant death if she was separated from the protection of the wagon train. He hadn’t said her family, but she knew if she was put out Molly would go too. They needed the wagon train to get them to Oregon. “I didn’t start the fight, but I sure as hell am gonna finish the fight if someone else starts. I got no call to start one, but I’m not gonna stand by if someone takes a swing at me.”
Wallace wasn’t sure how to take that answer. He’d been ready for protestations of innocence, maybe a bit of belligerence as the bully had tried, but Herriot had always been agreeable. He respected the man. He did more than his fair share. Nodding slightly, he considered the words. From what he had gleaned, Herriot hadn’t started the fight, and he knew the bully wanted Herriot’s horses, but Herriot wouldn’t sell. He had seen the set-up and knew the horses were valuable. Not once had the Herriot teams held them up like others in the train. He turned his horse away, not saying another word to the man.