Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852 (13 page)

“No, it wasn’t. The man was German, and he spoke in German. He thought my husband was wrong to allow the Irish into the church.”

Nellie sucked in her breath. It couldn’t be true!

“And the man who came to my rescue and saved my life was an Irishman.”

Nellie’s head was spinning. This was wrong. Maybe Mrs. Mueller had gotten confused and mixed up the murderer with the hero.

“That can’t be true!”

“Nellie, you’re not angry with the Irish. You’re not even angry with the man who beat your husband.”

Nellie started to protest, but Mrs. Mueller continued.

“The Irish and the Germans are all the same, Nellie. We create the differences in hopes of placing blame for the bad things that happen to us. Really, no one is to blame. It’s just the way it is. I loved my husband, but I hold no animosity for the man who killed him. He mistakenly thought he was doing the right thing. My husband used to say we are all here for a reason, and it has nothing to do with power and hatred, but everything to do with love. I’m sorry for what happened to your husband, but you can’t let that ruin your life.”

“But it has ruined my life!” Nellie cried.

“Only because you have allowed it to.” Mrs. Mueller took Nellie’s hand. “All you have to do to have a better life is to quit living in the past and appreciate what you have now.”

“The past is all I have, Mrs. Mueller,” Nellie whispered.

“No. The past is nothing. You have a life now and people who care about you. We have all had difficult times in our lives. We can’t let those difficulties drag us down.”

“But your husband…you loved him and he was murdered! How can you ever forget that?”

“Oh, I’ll never forget it, Nellie. I will always love my husband. I miss him and think about him every day. But what happened in the past will not determine how I live my life today. If it did, I don’t think I could go on.”

As Nellie walked back to the Hintons’ wagon, she contemplated all that Mrs. Mueller had said. All of these years she had nursed a hatred for the Irish because of what had happened to her husband. Mrs. Mueller’s husband had been murdered also, and yet she had forgiven the man who killed him. Nellie wanted to think of her life differently. She wanted to put the past behind her.

Lost in her thoughts, she suddenly found herself near the Flannigan’s wagon. Kate Flannigan was bent over the fire, and the others were talking quietly. Nellie remembered what Mrs. Mueller had said about Irish hospitality. If she was going to think of her life differently, she needed to change her thinking about the Irish. Before she thought about how she was going to do that, she took a deep breath and stepped into the light from the fire. They all looked up. Brenna’s face was apprehensive, but she didn’t say anything.

“Hello,” Nellie said.

“Good evening, Miss Nellie,” Kate said. “Please come and join us for a cup of tea. The water is just boiling.”

Nellie smiled and moved close to the fire. Conor got up and offered her his seat.

“I was just talking to Conor and Brenna about some of the inscriptions we’ve seen on Register Cliff today.”

“One of them is A.H. Unthank. That’s a strange name!” Conor said.

“That one was just inscribed two years ago,” Michael added.

“Maybe we’ll meet him in Oregon City.”

“It’s possible, son.”

Nellie smiled at Conor. She spent the next minutes in conversation with the Flannigans. When she got up to leave, she looked at them solemnly.

“This has been nice. You are all so kind, and I haven’t been civil to you. I want to apologize for my behavior, especially to you, Brenna. I hope that things will be different between us from now on.”

“Please visit us anytime. We’ve enjoyed your company,” Kate said.

Nellie walked into the darkness. She was amazed at what had just happened. She could hardly believe what she had done. She marveled at her boldness. What had gotten into her? And yet, look what had come about. She and the Flannigans had carried on like old friends. And they were decent people, too. She felt light—like a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Maybe Mrs. Mueller was right. Maybe she could change her life. She made a resolution to try.
What have I got to lose?
She thought. And maybe there was everything to gain.

The Legacy

Chapter Ten

Independence Rock
July 4, 1852
Mile 815

Conor Flannigan ambled through the wagons pulled up for the afternoon meal and rest. The wagon train had made its goal of reaching Independence Rock by the fourth of July. Later, there would be celebrations and a much-needed lay by. He didn’t feel like celebrating. He was angry with his father and with Brenna. His father had lost patience with him when Conor was helping him unhitch the team.

“Conor, watch what you’re about. All I need is for you to get stepped on by one of these beasts.”

Then Brenna had irritably told him to go amuse himself somewhere else when he accidentally kicked over the frying pan that the bacon for the noon meal had been sizzling in just minutes before. As he walked past the wagons, everyone was occupied with chores except for the small children who chased after each other. The other boys his age were helping their fathers, and they glanced at him as he passed. Conor scowled.
They’re probably wondering why I’m not helping my Da
, he thought. He was small for his eleven years, but he was already developing the wiry muscular frame of his father.

Two younger boys ran past him, laughing. These children and their games seemed frivolous. Just a couple of months earlier he would have joined them, but now he wanted desperately to be of help to his father. Conor kicked a stone vigorously and it flew through the air and landed on the flank of an ox still hitched to a wagon. The beast jerked in the yoke and bellowed loudly. A young man looked around from the back of the wagon.

“Hey, what did you do that for?”

“Sorry,” Conor mumbled miserably. Even strangers were angry with him. He couldn’t do anything right today.

The tall young man walked up to him, eyeing him curiously. His dark hair fell over his eyes. “Good thing old Dobb’s a calm one or he’d be halfway back to Missouri by now.” Conor looked at the ox who was now calmly chewing his cud. He heaved a huge sigh.

“I wasn’t trying to hit him—I didn’t even see him.”

“That’s alright. No harm done. Name’s Ezra Meeker,” the young man said, extending his hand.

“I’m Conor Flannigan.”

“Happy to make your acquaintance, Conor. As long as you’re here, why don’t you give me a hand? I need to water these oxen and my mule Doris. She’s tied to the back of the wagon. My hired hand has been in bed all day so he’s no help to me.”

“Sure!” Conor brightened. He wanted to show this man that he wasn’t a silly boy and that he knew his way around livestock.

“Now, if you’ll take old Dobb, I’ll grab Burns, and we can get them to the river. Then we’ll come back for the other two.” Half an hour later, they were hitching the oxen back to the wagon again.

“Doris is a good mule, but she can be stubborn. I don’t think she’ll give us any trouble, though. I’m sure she’s thirsty,” Ezra stated. Conor followed him and Doris to the shallow bank of the river. They sat on the grass while Doris drank greedily.

“Who’re you traveling with, Conor?”

“My family—we’re about twelve wagons up. My Ma, my Da, and my sister Brenna.” Conor hesitated, unsure whether to confide in this stranger, but the morning’s events weighed heavily on him. “They’re all mad at me.” He scowled again, remembering.

“Oh, well, you probably deserve it!” Ezra said with a chuckle.

“I just try to help, and I get in trouble,” Conor complained, picking at the long grass.

“Well, you’re learning, so you’re bound to make mistakes. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re probably more upset than they are.”

Conor watched Ezra. The young man was loosely holding the rope that was knotted around Doris’s neck, allowing her to eat the rich grass growing along the riverbank. Ezra turned and looked at him. “I’ll bet you’re a great help to your Da. Look how much you helped me just now.”

“I try to help, but I can’t do anything right.”

“Now you’re feeling sorry for yourself.” Ezra smiled at the scowling youth. “Your father needs you. Try to see it from his eyes.”

Conor was silent for a moment, thinking about how he had stormed off like a child when his father seemed impatient with his awkward handling of the oxen. His anger left him suddenly, and he sighed deeply.

“My da has a lot on his mind. I guess I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

“It’s easy to do. I have my moments, but when I lose my temper, I lose respect—my self-respect and the respect of others.” Conor looked at Ezra’s kindly face and sincere eyes. Ezra smiled at him, and Conor smiled back. He had made a friend, and he knew Ezra would be someone he could talk to.

“Why are you going west?” Conor asked.

“Oh, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to settle in a new land, uncivilized, untamed. The trip alone is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. Is your family going all the way to Oregon?”

“Yes, my da’s a farmer. He wants to claim a half-section. He says the land is rich and fertile in Oregon.”

“That’s what I hear,” Ezra replied. They both turned at the sound of someone approaching. A young willowy woman walked up carrying a small baby swaddled in a blanket. She carefully lowered herself to the grass next to Ezra and put the baby in his lap.

“Ah! Here’s my hired hand. As you can see, Conor, he’s not quite up to the task yet.”

Conor looked at the small baby and laughed.

“Your son is fed, dry, and ready for his mid-day nap,” the woman said in a melodic voice. The chubby baby gazed up at his father and cooed contentedly from his blanket.

Conor looked at Ezra’s wife. She was a delicately beautiful woman. Her heart-shaped face was framed by auburn hair pulled back into a loose braid. Light smiling eyes regarded him, and her cheeks dimpled when Ezra leaned over and kissed her forehead affectionately.

“Conor, this is my wife Eliza Jane, and my son, Marion,” Ezra said. “Conor helped me water the oxen,” he explained to Eliza Jane as he played with the infant.

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“It’s my pleasure, Conor,” Eliza Jane replied with a sweet smile. “Will you stay and have lunch with us?”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I have to get back to my family. My da needs my help,” Conor said, glancing at Ezra.

“Yes, Conor’s a big help,” Ezra said. He leaned over and tickled the baby’s stomach. “Someday you’ll be a help to me like Conor is to his father.” The baby gurgled and grabbed Ezra’s finger. Conor blushed with the praise.

“I have something to send with you for your family,” Eliza Jane said.

Conor carried the pie to his camp where his family was eating their mid-day meal. Apple pie was an unusual item to find on the trail. They hadn’t had anything so grand since they left Missouri. They all exclaimed over the rare treat, and Conor described the Meeker family’s hospitality as he ate his bread and bacon and drank his tea.

“Ezra said he could use my help from time to time,” Conor said, holding his breath and looking at his da.

Michael Flannigan regarded his son. “As long as your chores are done, there’s nothing wrong with helping a neighbor. I’m sure Mr. Meeker could use your help. You’re a good hand.” Conor let his breath out and smiled appreciatively at his da. A moment later he bowed his head, and his face reddened. “I’m sorry about leaving you with the chores. You’re right—I need to learn patience.”

Michael Flannigan let out a sigh and roughly tousled his son’s dark hair.

“I could use a little of that meself,” he said roughly. They all laughed as Conor’s mother cut the pie and served it up.

That night in front of Independence Rock, Reverend Mueller led the travelers in a prayer. Afterwards he talked about the journey and the triumphs and losses they had had, and about how important it was for everyone to help each other. Conor listened as the reverend spoke of each person being a pioneer and making a mark on the world.

“Each of you is leaving a legacy for those who will follow. Each of you, through your actions and your words, are creating a small part of a larger history. Make sure your part matters.”