They had agreed to meet the other party that morning on the western edge of the city; and it was there they met amidst the impending tidal wave of other voyagers. The hodgepodge group consisted of the Clarkes, Mr. Smith, the Waltons, three men (Horne, Pelley and Malone) whose whiskers barely hid the green behind their ears, and the Pruitts, a family of four who Henrietta could have handpicked out of the tenements of Chicago had they had a foreign accent of some sort.
Their wagons were prepared, although it was hardly a communal matter. The Waltons were very exclusive, hardly speaking to anyone except Charles on occasion or Mr. Horne. Henrietta watched them keenly as she folded some blankets in the back of their wagon, their affluence like a sparkling gem among the rocks she'd become accustomed living with.
Mrs. Walton mostly hovered around her husband, a moth devoted to its candle. Or she was more akin to a butterfly, with her exceptionally fine dress for the occasion. Perhaps, Henrietta wondered, she wore it on account of the occasion. What would it be like, to only have such fine things that you had nothing else to wear on a journey?
Mr. Walton was handsome; taller than Charles and most men in their group, save for Mr. Malone. Although he wasn't very muscular or large, he carried himself with importance. She could easily see him on the streets of a city, dismounting a chestnut steed, and striding into the capitol on important business. Henrietta watched as, in between directing Malone and Horne onto lashing some barrels into their wagon, he took time to tenderly answer his wife's anxious questions.
"Henrietta. As far as I know, folding blankets isn't a two man job." Charles' voice came suddenly into her thoughts. She blinked at him out of her reverie. "I'm going over with Mr. Boyd to meet the other parties. Care to come along? Miss Smithers will be there."
"Oh - certainly." Henrietta alighted from the wagon with a rough jump and shook her skirts. Better get used to it - she sighed. You'll be swimming in dust by the time this is over.
The siblings joined Mr. Boyd, a man that was like a saw - rough around the edges but continually moving and cutting his way through things. He was not the most diplomatic of folks, but a good leader, although he tended to get caught up in some nostalgia for the Californian gold rush a few years past.
As they strode over to meet the other group, Henrietta spotted Pearl. "Good morning," she called with a wave of her hand. "Ready to go?"
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Their wagons were prepared, although it was hardly a communal matter. The Waltons were very exclusive, hardly speaking to anyone except Charles on occasion or Mr. Horne. Henrietta watched them keenly as she folded some blankets in the back of their wagon, their affluence like a sparkling gem among the rocks she'd become accustomed living with.
Mrs. Walton mostly hovered around her husband, a moth devoted to its candle. Or she was more akin to a butterfly, with her exceptionally fine dress for the occasion. Perhaps, Henrietta wondered, she wore it on account of the occasion. What would it be like, to only have such fine things that you had nothing else to wear on a journey?
Mr. Walton was handsome; taller than Charles and most men in their group, save for Mr. Malone. Although he wasn't very muscular or large, he carried himself with importance. She could easily see him on the streets of a city, dismounting a chestnut steed, and striding into the capitol on important business. Henrietta watched as, in between directing Malone and Horne onto lashing some barrels into their wagon, he took time to tenderly answer his wife's anxious questions.
"Henrietta. As far as I know, folding blankets isn't a two man job." Charles' voice came suddenly into her thoughts. She blinked at him out of her reverie. "I'm going over with Mr. Boyd to meet the other parties. Care to come along? Miss Smithers will be there."
"Oh - certainly." Henrietta alighted from the wagon with a rough jump and shook her skirts. Better get used to it - she sighed. You'll be swimming in dust by the time this is over.
The siblings joined Mr. Boyd, a man that was like a saw - rough around the edges but continually moving and cutting his way through things. He was not the most diplomatic of folks, but a good leader, although he tended to get caught up in some nostalgia for the Californian gold rush a few years past.
As they strode over to meet the other group, Henrietta spotted Pearl. "Good morning," she called with a wave of her hand. "Ready to go?"