Ella, p.2
Ella, page 2
“I’d be happy to bag us some wild foul. Maybe a few wild hares, although I can’t say I’m very fond of rabbit stew.”
Trainor chuckled. “They can be a tad gamey, that’s for sure.”
“How many of the wagons are going all the way to Washington?”
“Just three, besides me and you. A Miss Lucy Wagner. She’s planning on setting up a saloon in Olympia so she’ll finish her trip there. Two brothers named Micah and Cyrus Temple. Don’t know their story, but they’re traveling pretty light with barely more than a buckboard.”
“And the last wagon?” Tuck asked.
“A widow lady with three young’uns. Last name is Winslow.”
“Why would a widow with children be traveling all the way across the country?”
“Beats me. She mentioned something about owning property near Boney Lake when she sent in her deposit to hold the spot.”
Tuck gave the older man an up-and-down perusal. “How many of these trips have you made over the Oregon Trail?”
“This is my twentieth trip, and my last,” Trainor explained. “I’ve got a woman in Yakima who’s been waiting on me to retire for nearly two decades. Business isn’t what it used to be, with the railroad making its way west. It was a wild ride at first, then it tapered off up until the miners started coming. Even that’s petered out now. What’s left are the few who have a reason, good or bad, to leave the comfort of a big city for the unknown dangers of unsettled territory.”
“Anyone I should worry about?”
“We won’t know that until we’re on our way. It’s usually the second or third week before travelers start sorting themselves out.”
“What does ‘sorting themselves out’ look like?”
“You’re going to get the lazy ones who expect stuff done for them, those who do nothing but complain, some who don’t take the dangers of the trail seriously, and then the few who are hardworking and helpful. Guaranteed, there’ll be someone who runs out of food before we hit the turn off for Naches Pass, and one or two who give up and root themselves somewhere along the way.”
Tuck took in the man’s words, wondering which he’d figure out first. A good lawman should be able to read people, a skill he intended to hone to perfection on the trail. Lifting the list of wagons in his hand, Tuck asked, “Any sense of which is which from this lot?”
“Nope. No matter how long I've been at it, someone always surprises me. Or, with any luck, impresses me. It’s a fifty-fifty chance of getting it right.”
“Do you mind if I take this with me to look it over?”
“Go ahead,” Trainor responded. “I’ve got another copy for myself.”
Tuck let himself into his room at McGruder’s boarding house and settled into the rocking chair beside the window. He had a few minutes before the evening meal and intended to spend his time looking over the list of travelers.
He liked the idea of having a reverend along for the majority of the trip. In his experience, most people tended to lean toward their best behavior when in the presence of a man of the cloth. The reverend’s wagon was followed by one belonging to a pair of newlyweds, and the one after to the lady saloon owner Trainor had mentioned.
Methodically, Tuck scanned the remainder of the list, his attention coming back time and again to the widow’s wagon. Most widows of his acquaintance were older, and surely not able bodied enough for such a long haul. However, if this one had children with her—hopefully—she’d be the exception to his past experience.
After supper he planned on sorting through his few belongings and pare down as much as possible. A couple changes of clothes, his guns, and his bible were all he truly needed. Everything else was just window dressing.
Hailstock Livery
St. Joseph, Missouri
Friday, April 22, 1870
Tuck withdrew his watch from the pocket of his vest and thumbed open the latch on the silver casing. Five-twenty. The train was to depart in forty minutes, at dawn’s first light.
He glanced around the open field behind the livery. Eight wagons, the wagon master’s included, sat in the open field. Most were fitted appropriately with canvas covering, pulled either by a team of oxen or donkeys. The smaller wagon owned by the Temple brothers was fitted with two horses, both pulling at their leads. Riding horses, no doubt, and likely the first time either had been put into a harness.
Off to the far side of the field sat the biggest wagon he’d ever seen, the center arch at least seven feet high above the base. Four huge animals were tethered to the front by way of some fine looking tack. Two children played off to the side, a young girl, and a smaller boy. Obviously, this was the widow Winslow’s conveyance, and a mighty impressive one at that.
A large group of people stood in a circle not far from where the wagon master was loading his gear. About to close the distance between himself and the other travelers, Tuck was stopped short when Clute Trainor climbed up to stand on the seat of his older, but well cared for, Conestoga.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen,” Trainor called out. “Welcome to Prairie Traveler’s first spring train.” A few shouts went up, the widow’s children waving their hands and laughing, prompting the wagon master to chuckle. “I’m sure you’re all excited about our upcoming journey. However, please remember the list of instructions you’ve been given. It will help guarantee the success of our trip, and your safety as well.”
Trainor withdrew his spectacles from his shirt pocket and nudged them up his nose. “I’ve assigned you all a spot in the traveling order. You should do your best to maintain your place in line. As I call out your name, please wave a hand to acknowledge your presence, and then once everyone has their spot, we’ll ready ourselves to move out.”
“The lead wagon will be mine, although I’ll be on horseback most of the time so I can double back to check on everyone. My brother, Zeke, will be driving my wagon.” A tall, thin man rose to his feet at Trainor’s side and waved his arm. “The second in line will be Reverend William Barrett and Missus Elvira Barrett. Next, Michael and Bridget Nicholson.”
The two couples raised their hands in response, and Tuck committed their names and faces to memory. The pastor and his wife looked to be in their mid-forties, the young couple in their very early twenties.
Mister Trainor continued. “Following the Nicholson wagon will be Miss Lucy Wagner.” As soon as her name was called, a woman in her late thirties raised her hand, shaking it from side to side, a gaggle of fancy beads adorning her wrist. “Micha and Cyrus Temple’s wagon will come next, followed by Mister Cyril Stephens.” All three men responded.
That left the widow and the last man Tuck knew to be a local businessman.
“The last two wagons will follow, Missus Ella Winslow and her children, followed by Mister Archie Gable.” Once the tall woman with the long chestnut hair had lifted her hand in the air, and Gable had tipped his fancy hat, the crowd began moving toward their wagons, their steps halting when Clute Trainor raised his voice. “One last thing. We’ll be accompanied by Marshal Tucker McAlister who’ll be part of our security, as well as assist me with keeping the train moving and on time.”
As the others had done, Tuck removed his hat and lifted it into the air. He was about to turn toward his horse when one of the Winslow children tugged on his sleeve. He glanced down and met the dark brown gaze of a young boy, probably no more than five or six.
“Are you a real marshal?”
“I sure am. Or, at least I will be officially sworn in once we reach the Washington Territory.” He ruffled the boy’s hair and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Jacob, sir. Jacob Winslow. Me, Tommy, and Callie are going on a grand adventure with our mama.” The boy drew a breath and asked, “Do you have a six-shooter? How about a rifle?”
He was about to respond, when Missus Winslow arrived to fetch her son.
“Jacob, don’t bother the marshal. He has work to attend to, as do you. Your jumping rope isn’t going to find its own way back into the wagon.”
“Sorry, mama.” Turning back to where Tuck stood, Jacob added, “It was nice to meet you, sir.”
“It was nice to meet you too, Jacob. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months,” Tuck acknowledged. “Now scoot, and go tend to your chores.”
Once the boy scurried off, Tuck raised his head and met the widow’s gaze.
“I apologize if my son was pestering you. You’re the first lawman he’s seen up close, which makes you even more interesting than the idea of a wagon train.”
“He was no bother.”
“Well, then, I’d best be getting back to my wagon. It’s almost time to leave.”
“Is there anything you need help with, ma’am?”
“I’m fine, but thank you for asking.” She gave a slight nod of her head and then turned and walked away.
Tuck stood there for a few minutes, his attention drawn to her narrow frame, the firm conviction in her step as she made her way across the bumpy field.
Mentally, he moved Ella Winslow’s name from the column he’d labeled, ‘needing help’, to the ‘fully capable’ list. He got the sense she’d been through some trying times, and came out all the stronger for it. If the firmness of her step, and the sharpness of her gaze, was anything to go by. Ella Winslow was not a woman to be trifled with. Not at all.
Day 1
Leaving St. Joseph
Ella raised her head, the reverend’s prayer for protection under His watchful eye still ringing in her ears. She pulled in a breath. It was now or never. Was she being as foolish as Connor had suggested? Or, was she doing the right thing for herself and her children?
The next few months were sure to test her mettle. However, how could she expect to survive in the Washington wilderness if she couldn’t make the trek across the country on her own?
“That’s some wagon you got there, Missus Winslow.”
Ella turned toward the gruff voice and met the lopsided grin of the man introduced as Cyril Stephens.
“Yes, it is, Mister Stephens. Custom made by my late father.”
“He must have been a fine craftsman,” Stephens added.
“That he was, sir. An inventor, a carpenter, and an adventurer.”
“A trait it seems you’ve inherited.” The man doffed his hat and added, “If I can be of any assistance during our travels, please don’t hesitate to call on me.”
“Thank you for the offer. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
Once Stephens had stepped away, Ella made a point of circling the wagon one last time, checking each and every cinch to assure herself Miller’s Folly was travel ready. Giving one last tug on the straps holding the canvas flap closed in the back, she made her way to the front of the wagon.
“Are the three of you ready?”
Jacob and Callie poked their heads out from behind the driver’s seat. “Yes, mama,” Callie said, a slight quiver in her thin voice.
“You betcha,” Jacob agreed.
She spared a quick glance to where her twelve-year-old, Thomas, sat tall and proud on the right-hand side of the front bench. On his lap, he held a brand new scribbler. A half-dozen pencils poked out of his shirt pocket.
“I’m ready too, mother,” he assured her.
“And no doubt planning to record our adventures in your journal.”
“Yes, ma’am. I intend to write a book about our travels.”
“I’m sure it will be a fine book,” she said honestly.
Hitching her skirt, Ella grabbed hold of the carved handles and lifted herself onto the hardwood bench. “Well, children, it’s time to go. The first few wagons have pulled out. Our turn will come soon.”
“Don’t worry, mama,” Callie whispered. “God’s watching. He’ll protect us.”
Drawing a deep breath for both strength and courage, Ella lifted the reins in her hands. When Mister Trainor gave her a nod, she snapped the leather leads sharply, setting the horses in motion. Sending herself and her beautiful children out into the unknown.
Tuck circled around the back of the train, and began a second pass. Four hours into their travels and the sun was already beating down on them. In another two, the heat would likely be cause for a rest break for both the animals and the men and women.
When he passed Missus Winslow’s wagon, he couldn’t help but notice the firm grip she’d taken on the reins. Tuck pulled up beside her and asked, “Is everything okay, ma’am?”
“Yes, marshal, we’re fine,” she assured him.
The smooth tone of her voice, a mixture of thick honey and sharp whiskey, made his heart skip a beat. “You’ve got a mighty hard grip on those reins. Are the horse’s giving you trouble?”
She laughed softly, the sound causing another skip, followed by a race. He pulled in a breath to calm himself.
“Only if you count the fact that they want to go faster. I’m having to draw them in to keep from running over the back of Mister Stephens’ wagon, or pulling too far ahead of Mister Gable.”
“I can speak to Mister Trainor if you’d like,” he suggested. “See if maybe we can move you up closer to the front of the train.”
“I’m fine here, as long as it’s not causing anyone else trouble.”
“I suppose we couldn’t put you in the very front,” Tuck teased. “You’d probably end up in Oregon City a month ahead of the rest of us.”
“We wouldn’t want that.”
“No,” he agreed. “We definitely wouldn’t want that.”
The wagon master pulled them to a stop a few hours later, each wagon rolling into place one after the other. “We’ll rest the animals for a spell,” Trainor announced. “There’s a small creek just over the rise if you want to grab water for your teams, and a stand of bushes just over yonder should anyone feel the need. Have yourselves a bite to eat as well. We won’t be stopping for the night until dusk has settled in.”
Tuck turned his horse around and headed toward the far side of the clearing, checking on each wagon as he passed.
“Reverend, are you and the missus doing okay?” Tuck asked.
“Yes, marshal, just a little parched and a mite stiff in the joints, but we’ll be as good as the Almighty made us once we’ve stretched our legs.”
He drew to a stop beside the young newlyweds. “Mister and Missus Nicholson,” Tuck greeted, tipping his hat. “Anything you need help with?”
Michael Nicholson waved him off. “We’re good. Thank you.”
Tuck moved on to the wagon belonging to Lucy Wagner. “Miss Wagner, do you need anything?”
Lucy Wagner shot him a bold grin. “Not now that you’re here, marshal. I was getting lonely, all by myself.”
“It’s not company I’m offering, ma’am,” he responded with a grin of his own. “Just assistance if it’s required.”
“This is my second trip west, marshal. I know what I’m doing.”
“Second? Why’d you go back east, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“My first trip was with my two brothers. When my older brother passed, we took him back to Minnesota to be buried.”
“My condolences, ma’am,” Tuck said quickly.
“Thank you. By the time I decided to head west to set up my business, my other brother had already met and married.” Shrugging, she added, “So, I’m going it alone. At least until we reach Fort Laramie.”
“Why Fort Laramie?”
“Got a man friend waiting there. He’s going the rest of the way with me and plans to become my business partner. Among other things.”
By the time Tuck reached the wagons belonging to the Temple brothers and Cyril Stephens, all three men had gone off to either the creek or the bushes. About to make his way to the huge wagon belonging to Ella Winslow, Tuck was stopped when Archie Gable came toward him.
“Marshal, do you have the time? My pocket watch seems to have stopped working.”
Tuck dug into his vest. “One-twenty, Mister Gable. Is everything all right?”
“Yes, fine. Other than knowing we’ve still got another six hours to travel. I have to admit, I never gave much thought to how bad my backside was going to hurt.”
A chuckle passed between the two men. “It’s just as bad in the saddle,” Tuck assured him. “If you’ll excuse me, I want to check on Missus Winslow and then water my horse.”
“She’s not there,” Gable said. “She and the little girl went off toward the bushes designated for the ladies.”
“Thank you. I’ll just check in on her boys.”
Gable shook his head. “They went off toward the creek with a couple of buckets.”
“It would seem they’ve got everything under control,” Tuck commented.
“Something tells me Missus Winslow’s capable of handling most anything that crosses her path,” Gable returned.
“Yes, I reckon she is.”
The thought should have made him happy. One less thing to do, one less person to worry about. Yet, if he were being honest, he looked forward to coming to the widow’s aide. Should she require it, of course.
Ella grasped Callie’s hand in hers and led the way back to the camp.
“I don’t like going in the bushes, mama,” Callie admitted. “It’s scratchy.”
Ella pursed her lips to hold in an outright laugh. “Unfortunately, sweetheart, there will be a lot of trips to the bushes in our future. You’ll get used to it after a spell. I promise.”
“Can I get the dried apples for the horses when we get back?” Callie asked.
“Yes, you may. Just two slices each, please. We need to ration. And, they’re not to have them until your brothers are back with the water.”
“Why did they have to get water from the creek when we have our own barrels under the wagon?”
“We must save our water as best we can. There’s no telling when we’ll hit a dry spell going forward.”
“Nobody else has got big barrels like ours, mama,” Callie commented.
“No, they don’t. Which is all the more reason to conserve when we can, in case we’re called upon to share our bounty.”
