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prairie_schooner2012-11-14 11:02 pm
pearl_smithers) wrote in prairie_schooner2012-11-14 11:02 pm
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When grey dawn reached the western edge of Nauvoo it breathed light upon a flurry of activity. Horses braced themselves against the tug of men who had become their owners but the night before, and now reeked of tobacco and liquor. Crates and barrels, were stacked and lashed upon the bed of wagons while children climbed over them, shouting to each other as their parents struggled to stretch the limp, bleached canvas over wooden bows, that would be their only roof for the next few months.
Amidst the confusion, Pearl, holding the hands of the two youngest Vandenberg children, Rachel, all of four with her round brown eyes and tousled hair, and seven year old Zeke, followed Mrs Vandenberg, carrying the baby, as she threaded her way through the crowd, consisting mainly of large Mormon families and hard eyed trappers, till she reached the small string of wagons that waited to the side of the main camp.
There, they found Mr Vandenberg and ten year old Jeremiah loading sacks of cornmeal, while Bjorn Lundgren checked the oxen’s harness. He waved cheerfully when he spotted them. She had only met Mr Lundgren and his wife Ina the day before, a newlywed couple from Sweden. Farmers, they seemed pleasant, but between them spoke only just enough English to get by.
At least she consoled herself, the Zalinskys, of Polish stock from New York, were quite conversant, though the husband, a blacksmith, had a thick accent, while his wife spent most of her time fretting over her baby and walking round the wagon to double check everything was lashed, hammered and tied firmly in place.
“Good morning!” Mr Brady shouted, his tone that of a man sitting on his porch, reclining after a hearty meal, while bathed in golden rays, rather than occupied in securing a large cooking pot to the side of the wagon, fingers, numb and stiff in the dim chill of early dawn. Pearl paused to give Rachel and Zeke a boost into the Vandenberg’s neighboring wagon, then darted forward to help him.
“There!” Pearl’s slender fingers had an easier time weaving the coarse rope through the iron handles. She stepped back to study her work. Suddenly the wagon lurched forward, causing them both to start, there was a shout at the front, followed by a string of profanities and the snorting of oxen as the wagon bolted forward. She recognized the man trailing in the wake of dust as one of the animal handlers someone who they had found loitering outside a saloon, and engaged on the spot for what she and Mrs Vandenberg agreed was far too high a fee.
“Kathleen!” Mr Brady ran forward and seized his wife’s arm. Mrs Brady appeared shaken, but little the worse save for a fine coating of dust. The front of skirts appeared rather odd, and it took Pearl a moment to realize that some cloth had been ripped away by the wagon wheel. She suppressed a shudder as she remembered stories she had heard back in town of how many died beneath the wheels, limbs or head crushed beyond recognition. She had dismissed such stories as the stuff to turn a traveler’s stomach. But suddenly it seemed like only one of the smaller dangers that lurked along the trail ahead, like sharp toothed creatures in the underbrush.
Yet somehow, she thought as she swung into the saddle and idly knotted one hand in Iris’ mane, she could hardly wait to set off.
Amidst the confusion, Pearl, holding the hands of the two youngest Vandenberg children, Rachel, all of four with her round brown eyes and tousled hair, and seven year old Zeke, followed Mrs Vandenberg, carrying the baby, as she threaded her way through the crowd, consisting mainly of large Mormon families and hard eyed trappers, till she reached the small string of wagons that waited to the side of the main camp.
There, they found Mr Vandenberg and ten year old Jeremiah loading sacks of cornmeal, while Bjorn Lundgren checked the oxen’s harness. He waved cheerfully when he spotted them. She had only met Mr Lundgren and his wife Ina the day before, a newlywed couple from Sweden. Farmers, they seemed pleasant, but between them spoke only just enough English to get by.
At least she consoled herself, the Zalinskys, of Polish stock from New York, were quite conversant, though the husband, a blacksmith, had a thick accent, while his wife spent most of her time fretting over her baby and walking round the wagon to double check everything was lashed, hammered and tied firmly in place.
“Good morning!” Mr Brady shouted, his tone that of a man sitting on his porch, reclining after a hearty meal, while bathed in golden rays, rather than occupied in securing a large cooking pot to the side of the wagon, fingers, numb and stiff in the dim chill of early dawn. Pearl paused to give Rachel and Zeke a boost into the Vandenberg’s neighboring wagon, then darted forward to help him.
“There!” Pearl’s slender fingers had an easier time weaving the coarse rope through the iron handles. She stepped back to study her work. Suddenly the wagon lurched forward, causing them both to start, there was a shout at the front, followed by a string of profanities and the snorting of oxen as the wagon bolted forward. She recognized the man trailing in the wake of dust as one of the animal handlers someone who they had found loitering outside a saloon, and engaged on the spot for what she and Mrs Vandenberg agreed was far too high a fee.
“Kathleen!” Mr Brady ran forward and seized his wife’s arm. Mrs Brady appeared shaken, but little the worse save for a fine coating of dust. The front of skirts appeared rather odd, and it took Pearl a moment to realize that some cloth had been ripped away by the wagon wheel. She suppressed a shudder as she remembered stories she had heard back in town of how many died beneath the wheels, limbs or head crushed beyond recognition. She had dismissed such stories as the stuff to turn a traveler’s stomach. But suddenly it seemed like only one of the smaller dangers that lurked along the trail ahead, like sharp toothed creatures in the underbrush.
Yet somehow, she thought as she swung into the saddle and idly knotted one hand in Iris’ mane, she could hardly wait to set off.