Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852 (5 page)

“You need to be more vigilant,” he said tensely. “You’re not in your backyard in New York City anymore. We don’t know anything about these Indians. Count yourself lucky that this one was friendly.”

Brenna looked up into his eyes. She had never been so close to him before. He seemed different—not the easy-going Ben she thought she knew. His gaze was intense and unblinking as his hands squeezed her arms tightly. “Promise me that next time you’ll think twice before doing something so foolish.”

Brenna angrily wrenched herself away, her heart pounding. Her electric blue eyes seemed to shoot sparks as she gave him a venomous look. “I’m not responsible to you, Ben Hansson,” she shot back at him. “Who appointed you as my protector?” Her heart was pounding, and she struggled to control her voice. “Don’t you worry about me. I can take care of myself.” She stomped off toward camp. Ben watched her rigid back as she walked away from him and he slowly exhaled and relaxed his clenched fists.

The rest of the day was uneventful, but the news of the Indian encounter spread like wildfire through the camp. That night, Mary entertained the travelers with a much-exaggerated version of the story. Brenna watched in amazement as Mary acted out in great detail her near-death experience and the heroic rescue from the dark native. Brenna observed the girl’s animated face in the firelight. She was a born actress. Someone else was watching Mary intently. Brenna looked at Conor. He was engrossed in Mary’s story. She smiled, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t be so aloof towards Mary anymore.

Then she saw Ben sitting behind Conor. He wasn’t watching Mary. He was looking at her. Brenna blushed and looked away, but not before Ben saw what he was looking for. A slow smile spread over his face. He folded his arms over his broad chest.
It’s a long way to Oregon
, he thought.
A long way
.

The Crossing

Chapter Four

Platte River crossing

“Calm down, Miss Emily. You may as well get used to these river crossings. I’m told this is one of the easier ones.” Nellie looked nervously at her young mistress.

Emily Hinton’s brows knit together over her deep brown eyes. Her perfectly groomed dark coiffure was neatly tucked into a frilly blue bonnet that shielded her face from the sun. The pretty dress she wore flattered her figure but was impractical for the trail. Emily didn’t care. She was going to look presentable, even in this God-forsaken country.

“One of the easier ones?” Emily scoffed. “Why, look at that rushing water, Nellie. I will surely drown if I try to cross!”

Emily Hinton could barely bring herself to watch the wagons crossing the Platte River. She wasn’t just nervous about the crossing—she was petrified! She had always been unreasonably afraid of water. She couldn’t trace this fear back to any traumatic event from her childhood. When her brothers and friends played in the pond, she hung back, unsure of what lay beneath the surface. She had never been a timid child. She was bold in other areas. She loved riding horses, and she and her mare were often at the front of the hunting parties. Her sometimes-risky behavior was often admired by the other young men and women. She was outspoken in mixed company and often got disapproving looks from her mother. Her father, however, was indulgent and secretly smiled at her self-confidence.

Nellie sighed loudly. “Miss Emily, I know how stubborn you can be. There’s only one way to get from here to the other side of this river. Mr. Hinton is going to insist you cross. You’re just making it harder on yourself.”

Emily’s jaw was set firmly and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. She had refused to attempt the crossing earlier in the day when it was their turn. Her husband had moved their wagon to the side to let the others cross. He looked frustrated and preoccupied, and he wasn’t sure how to convince his wife to make the crossing.

“Emily, we have to cross this river,” Ernest had implored.

“No, Mr. Hinton, I will not. You never told me this journey would require crossing rivers!”

Emily had been difficult from the beginning of their marriage. They had been wed less than a year, and she was only eighteen. Ernest knew she still resented his taking her away from her family and the Ohio farm where she had grown up, but he was her family now, and she finally and reluctantly had consented to accompany him on the overland trail to Oregon. It was her father who had decided for her.

“He is your husband, Emily. You go where he goes. I don’t like it one little bit, but I can’t make him see sense.”

Ernest Hinton recalled a conversation weeks before with his friend Abel Brown in a saloon in Missouri.

“Her father doted on her—gave her everything she wanted,” he confided to Abel. “I don’t believe he has ever refused her anything.”

They had just finished the last poker hand, and it had been a good night for Ernest. He was feeling superior and savoring a particularly smooth shot of whiskey.

“What attracted you to her, Ernest?” Abel asked.

“You mean aside from the obvious?” Ernest laughed. Abel joined in. Emily was a beautiful woman.

“I believe it was her spirit. She has always been independent, and that has sometimes been a problem for me. I love that in her, but I don’t quite know how to control it.” He tipped the glass, draining it of the last swallow of the amber liquid.

Abel masterfully hid his contempt as he listened to his young companion. Aside from Emily’s physical beauty, he admired her fiery spirit that animated her features.
She’s above and beyond anything you could ever hope to control
, Abel thought disdainfully.

Ernest regarded his wife’s profile as she watched a wagon crossing the river. Her chin jutted out stubbornly, and her brows met in angry furrows. Nellie stood next to Emily looking uncertain. Ernest felt like wrapping Emily in his arms and shaking her at the same time. His feelings were often conflicted when it came to his wife. She could drive a man to distraction. He decided it was time to be firm.

“Emily, we have to cross now. We can’t make these people wait on us again.” He was referring to her habit of painstakingly packing everything from the tent each morning while the other travelers waited for them to take their place in line.

A few nights ago he had complained about this to her. “Why do we have to make this tent look like a parlor every night? Most of these people are happy if they’re moderately comfortable.”

“Moderately comfortable is not acceptable, Mr. Hinton.”

Ernest looked exasperated. “All this furniture—your frilly doodads,” he was referring to her collection of intricately crocheted doilies.

Emily’s face darkened. “These things are my treasures, Mr. Hinton, and you won’t bully me into abandoning one more item.” She was referring to the end of the first day when she had been pressed to leave the cook stove and a small organ on the side of the trail when their wagon lagged behind the others. The captain had insisted they lighten their load or be left behind. She had unsuccessfully tried to sweet talk Captain Wyatt. Ernest had watched her batting her eyelashes and putting her hand on his sleeve.

“Why, Captain, I’m going to need my stove when we get to Oregon. What am I going to cook on if I don’t have my stove? And that organ was my grandmother’s. Why, I’ve played hymns on that organ for twelve years. Surely the wagon train can go a little more slowly so that we can keep up.”

The captain had been polite but firm. His shadowed eyes regarded her from under the wide brim of his western hat. His raspy voice was firm. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hinton. Other families have had to lighten their wagons. We all need to be able to keep on schedule if we are going to make good time and get to Oregon by next October.”

No amount of cajoling would change the captain’s mind, and in the end, he and Ernest had unloaded the stove and the organ.

“You are both heathens and barbarians!” Emily had cried, while Nellie had stomped around muttering under her breath about having to leave the stove.

Over the next few days, Ernest had endured accusing looks from Emily, and her stony silence had lasted until he had brought her a puppy from one of the wagons where a dog had had a litter before they left Independence. She had tearfully hugged the little dog, exclaiming over his “precious little face,” and had promptly named him Buster.

Ernest walked over to talk to some of the men who were helping wagons cross the Platte. Emily could barely hear their muffled conversation, and when they looked over at her, she imagined they were complaining about her obstinacy. Nellie stood next to Emily, intently watching the activity on the water.

“Well, they can just complain all they want, because there is no way I am going into that water. No self-respecting woman would debase herself by floundering around in that filthy river.”

It was true. The water was a muddy brown from all the wagons and livestock that had crossed over. There were shallow stagnant pools and mud flats. A three-foot-deep main channel meandered from side to side, and there were numerous sandbars between the shores. Previous travelers had set willow poles out to mark the stable sand bars that would support the weight of the wagons.

Nellie looked at her mistress. She recognized that determined jaw-set.

“I don’t want to go into that water either, Miss Emily, but I don’t see any way around it.”

Abel Brown separated himself from the group of men, walked over to Emily, and tipped his hat.

“Afternoon, Miss Emily. If I could have a word with you?” He was secretly amused by the little drama, but he played along with the men and did his part. He was supposed to distract Emily while the other men unloaded the wagon and transferred everything to boats for the crossing.

Emily liked Abel. He was polite and good-looking, and he always paid her a compliment when he saw her. She smiled at him tightly.

“Don’t think for one minute, Mr. Brown, that you’re going to talk me into crossing that river.”

Abel regarded her studiously. “Ma’am, I will personally guarantee that you will arrive on the other side safe and sound. Don’t you worry one little hair on that pretty head of yours.” His dark eyes regarded her solemnly, but she detected a glint of humor around the corners. Behind Emily, men had commenced unloading the Hintons’ wagon. Abel kept her attention on him and off the activity.

“Why Mr. Brown, you are too kind. I thank you, but I will not be needing your assistance today. Perhaps Mr. Hinton and I will cross over in a few days when the water settles down a bit.”

Abel looked up at the gathering clouds in the sky and then back to Emily. His eyes seemed to be calculating the best strategy to convince this obstinate but very pretty woman to cross the river.

“Ma’am, that river isn’t going to settle down, and if it rains it will only get worse. Today is the best day to cross. Believe me; most of the wagons have had no trouble, and we haven’t lost any stock. I know it looks fearsome, but it’s an easy crossing.”

Emily’s heart pounded in her chest as she watched a wagon maneuver through the muddy water. Many men were helping to keep it stable through the deepest part of the river. She shivered as she thought of herself tipping out of the boat and being swept downstream. Abel watched the play of emotions across her face. He knew Ernest was sometimes beside himself over her stubbornness, but he admired her feminine wiles, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to her compelling eyes and the firm set to her chin when she made up her mind.

“Mr. Brown, I do appreciate your offer, but I must decline.” A motion caught her eye and she turned and saw some men carrying pieces of her furniture from the wagon to a boat. “No! Wait!” she cried. She ran up to one of the men to detain him, but Ernest stepped in front of her. His expression was stony and his voice was low and controlled.

“Emily, we’re crossing today, and I don’t want to hear any more objections.”

Emily stamped her foot angrily. “We are not going near that river, Mr. Hinton. Have I made myself clear?”

Ernest looked at his wife. Her hands were on her hips and her stormy eyes regarded him fiercely. Behind her Abel tried to hide a smile, and Nellie looked distraught.

“Emily, you have no choice,” Ernest said, and then he bent down, grabbed her behind her knees, and threw her over his shoulder. She screamed and kicked and beat his back with her fists.

“Put me down, you brute!” she cried. “I will never forgive you for this! I insist that you put me down this minute!”