Chapter 9

 

It took from early May until the end of September to reach this flat valley from Independence, Missouri. Anselm sorted out his cattle. When he headed the herd across the valley, Miranda gave Sarie Lee and Jefferson Davis one last hug and drove the wagon away from the rest of the settlers. Anselm traveled until he found the land that was their claim.

It was almost dark when Miranda parked the wagon in a grove of black hawthorn trees. She climbed down and walked around to limber up.

Anselm tied his horse to a branch and came to her. “I believe dis iss de place to build de log cabin. De trees vill be shade from the sun. De flat land around de grove vill make a good place for de orchard. De nearby creek vill furnish plenty of water all year long until I dig a vell. Vat do you dink?”

“I agree. This is a good place. I can have a vegetable garden near the house and the water is handy when I need it,” Miranda agreed as she studied the black hawthorn trees.

She wasn't familiar with them. Fruit the size of buckshot covered the branches. Miranda reached up and picked a hand full of sweet black berries. They only had one seed so they were easy to eat and fairly tasty. She'd figure out how to make jelly and cobblers with the berries.

Anselm pitched a tent he bought in Portland close to the wagon for their shelter until they had a house. Miranda said it would be a time saver to quit taking the camp apart every morning.

Miranda set her cast iron kettle and coffee pot on the ground near the fire Anselm built. The fall night air was cool. The fire felt good. The kettle was still half full of rabbit track soup left over from lunch. She heated the soup and pulled it away from the fire.

Anselm cut enough wood poles to build a make shift corral to hold his cattle and horse. When he was about ready to stop for the night, Miranda placed the kettle on the fire to warm.

They forced themselves to eat and were ready to go to bed right after Miranda cleaned the dishes. Anselm took the time to whistle the whippoorwill tune to see if he received an answer. When he did, they were both thrilled. It was like something familiar from home was with them when they heard the birds answer.

After they crawled under the covers, Miranda said, “Anselm, I have something to tell you.”

Anselm yawned loudly. “Wat?”

“We're going to have a baby,” Miranda said quietly.

“Dis iss good,” Anselm said, sluggish with sleep.

“You don't mind?” Miranda asked.

Anselm bolted upright. “Vat did you just say?”

Miranda giggled at how thunder struck he looked. She repeated slowly, “I am going to have a baby.”

“Ven?”

“Maybe seven or eight weeks from now,” Miranda said calmly.

“So soon. Vhy didn't you tell me dis before now. Ve haf to hurry up and build de house before de baby comes,” Anselm exploded.

“Calm down. Everything will be all right. You said Clarence was going to make sure everyone had a roof over their heads. It will happen,” Miranda said calmly.

“Ja, dat iss right.” Anselm laid down and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he bolted up again. “I don't know anyding about birthing. Vat vill ve do.”

“That's taken care of already. Sarie Lee said to get her when the time comes. She will stay with me until I can manage alone.”

“Dat iss good.” Anselm gathered her in his arms and closed his eyes.

Miranda was happy for the first time in a long time and full of hope for her expanding family. They had so much to look forward to now. A baby topped the list. Anselm was full of dreams and eager to begin their new life in Willamette Valley.

The first night on their new land didn't start as they would have liked. Anselm was tired when he stopped for supper. He tied his horse to a low limb on a hawthorn tree and forgot to put him in the corral with the cattle. Most of the time that wouldn't have been a problem.

About midnight, a gut wrenching scream woke them. Anselm bolted up. “Vhat vas dat?”

Before Miranda could answer, the horse let out a high pitched neigh. “Anselm, something has happened to the horse.”

Another scream sounded so very close. Anselm grabbed his rifle. “You stay here.”

After the rifle went off twice, Anselm came back to the tent. “De horse iss gone.”

They went back to bed, but Anselm tossed and turned as he waited for daylight. Now Miranda leaned against the covered wagon and listened to Anselm whistle Old Dan Tucker as he trotted across the prairie after his runaway horse.

When her husband disappeared from sight, she went over in her mind what he told her to do while he was gone. He warned her he might be away for some time. He said she shouldn’t make a fire after dark. Even a day time fire shouldn't be very smoky. That would disclose her location if Indians happened to be in the area.

If only the horse hadn’t run off, thought Miranda. She rubbed a few strands of brown hair back along side her head as she took in her surroundings. She liked what she saw better than any of the countryside they had traveled through.

At least, it was a sunny day full of bright promise. Miranda busied herself doing laundry in the creek which she spread over some bushes to dry.

She made a cake in the camp fire oven while she waited for Anselm. Toward evening, she held her hand over her eyes and studied the distant horizon, hoping she'd see Anselm with the horse in tow. That was when she plan to start supper.

By the time dark took over, Miranda decided Anselm probably camped out somewhere until morning. That is if he caught the horse yet. No need to start a fire to cook. She'd worry about fixing a meal when Anselm came back.

Anselm heard in Portland the valley had its share of wild animals. Since they tended to prowl at night, Anselm told her to get in the wagon before dark and stay there until he came back or until daylight. Which ever came first.

Twilight set off the whippoorwill cries. Such a lonesome call they seemed to make now that she was by herself. In the middle of nowhere and alone, Miranda felt as lonesome as those whippoorwills.

For the first time in a long time an overwhelming homesickness came over her. She had second thoughts about this trip. She longed to see her family again. She wished she hadn’t agreed so quickly to pick up stakes and leave Minnesota. Perhaps after the other farmers left, Anselm would have lost his desire to go west. Now she would never know for sure.

Four months was long enough for her to be away from her folks. She wondered if her mother and father were well. Were they missing her? They would be so proud to know she was having their grandchild.

After a walk around the grove, Miranda watched the western horizon fill with red streaks as the sun sank. It would be dark soon so she'd better take Anselm's advice while she could still see what she was doing.

She started for the wagon and froze when she realized how close she was to the source of their problem. Stretched out in the grass lay a cougar, teeth bared in an ugly grin and eyes sightless, with a gaping, bloody hole Anselm had shot in his side. She felt sorry about that beautiful animal’s death. If the large cat had only stayed away from the clearing for the night, he’d be loping among the trees now, searching for a meal.

Just the sight of the dead cougar made a frightened knot in the pit of her stomach. They were asleep in the tent, which wasn't a very safe place, when that hungry cougar was on the prowl. He might have picked them to prey on, before he was through hunting.

The remembrance of his blood curdling scream as his long, sinewy body lunged out of the tree on to the back of the dozing horse was enough to bring Miranda and Anselm out of a sound sleep.

Anselm shot the cougar before he injured the horse, but the bay's fright was enough to make the horse break loose and run away.

Just the thought of that wild animal's horrifying scream hasten Miranda's climb into the wagon. She eased down on the pile of quilts, hugged her legs to her, and relaxed back in the small space between the coffin and stack of canned food. She untied her bonnet and slipped it off her head.

On edge now that she didn't have anything to occupy her mind, she got up and peeked out the canvas opening again. With her ear cocked, she listened intently for horse hooves or her husband’s good natured whistling. It had been a long day since he took off across the prairie, following the horse tracks. Now her idleness and loneliness made time crawl.

Tree frogs commenced to sing. Wings fluttered on sleepy birds trying to balance on the tree limbs. Whippoorwills called each other around the wagon. That made Miranda recall the time on the trail when the Indian's signaled each other before they attacked.

With a start, Miranda remembered the chicken crate. She should put the chickens in the wagon with her. She made it this far with four of the six hens and one rooster. She didn't want to lose her start, before the hens laid and hatch out her new flock.

She climbed out of the wagon and picked up the crate. She eased the crate in to the wagon, causing some of the sleepy hens to make a growling protest. Once Miranda crawled in, she pulled the piece of clothes line and closed the opening. She carried the crate to the front of the wagon.

Night blackened the inside of her wagon, making her thoughts even scarier as she filled with panic. Were there Indians prowling close by? Would they accidentally come upon the wagon hidden in this grove of trees?

A shrill screech close to the wagon startled Miranda. The sound sent waves of smothering panic through her down to her toes. She tightened her hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound. Was that another cougar? No, that's probably not what it was. The repeated, high pitched screeching sounded different somehow.

She suddenly wished she'd learned more about the critters in the wilderness before she started this journey. She peeked out the crack. The eerie sounds came from high in the tree nearest the wagon. Whatever it was didn't plan on leaving anytime soon. Her nerves were on edge. Her breathing was erratic. She couldn’t put up with that racket all night. She had to do something to stop it.

Miranda rummaged through the small crate she'd rested her elbow on and came up with a tin can. If her aim was good, that should do the trick. She untied the line that gathered the canvas and stuck her head out the opening.

With a tight hold, she drew back and hurled the can up into the tree. The leaves rattled until the can connected with a limb and noisily descended, hitting the ground with a thud. A quick flutter of wings preceded a small, scared bird gliding in front of the large, yellow moon that peeked above the tree tops.

Taking a deep breath, Miranda felt relieved and angry at herself as she closed the opening and tied the line. That horrible noise came from a small, harmless screech owl. She wasted a precious can of food to scare it away. She didn’t hold out much hope for whatever was in that can to be edible by morning. Even if she could find it in the tall grass.

A coyote barked a series of short yips in the distance. Miranda tensed again. Another coyote with longer yelps answered from the opposite direction. Was that the signal of Indians or just nightlife on the prowl?

How was she supposed to protect herself against Indians? Anselm took their only rifle with him. Not that it really mattered since she didn’t know anything about firing a gun. Anselm offered to teach her before they began this journey, and she laughed at him. Why would she need to know how to shoot? She could never harm one of God’s creatures. Of course, she was thinking about wild animals and not savages.

She remembered the anxious look on Anselm’s face. Miranda realized there was much he'd left unsaid, possibly for fear she'd refuse to come west with him.

Anger at her husband welled up in her. She didn’t know the worse she could expect to happen, because Anselm hadn't seen fit to tell her. Her husband left her in this helpless position totally unprepared. What if something happened to him out there, and he never came back? What would happen to her in this land of wild animals and savages?