“Mrs. Cartwright, Mrs. Cartwright,” a demanding voice called impatiently.  “A little service, if you please.”

    Inger turned to face the plumpish, but pretty matron, whose golden brown hair was dressed in the ringlets ordinarily favored by much younger women.  “Yah, sure, I be there in yoost one moment.”  She turned back to the customer whose payment she had been receiving.

    “Some folks don’t know how to wait their turn, I reckon,” the man said.

    Inger’s chin dipped slightly, but she made no comment as she gave him the correct change and thanked him for his business.

    “My pleasure, ma’am,” the man said, doffing his brown felt hat.  He walked past the plumpish woman with a disapproving shake of his head.

    Pushing a straggling lock of blonde hair back into the bun at the nape of her neck, Inger approached the woman.  “How can I help you, Mrs. Larrimore?” she asked.

    “You know I shop here every Wednesday,” the shop’s owner said peevishly.  “I don’t see why you can’t arrange to be free to take my order.”

    Inger laughed softly.  “Vell, it is hard to make the other customers arrive in just the right order.”

    “I expect to be given first priority,” was the haughty response.  “Don’t forget who pays you, Mrs. Cartwright.”

    “You pay my husband, Mrs. Larrimore,” Inger replied sturdily.  “I am only here to help him because the store is so busy this season.”

    Mrs. Larrimore looked taken aback.  “Well, it’s true you have no real obligation to assist, I suppose.”  She tossed a ringlet back with her mittened hand.  “Nonetheless, I expect better service when I come here, whether by your husband or yourself.”

    Inger forced a smile she did not feel onto her lips.  “Yah, so how may I help you?”

    Mrs. Larrimore drew a narrow slip of paper from her crocheted handbag.  “Here is my list.  I expect to be at the dressmaker’s about half an hour, and I insist this be filled by the time I return.”

    Inger scanned the list.  “Yah, ve have all this in stock.  Ve vill have it ready for you.”

    Mrs. Larrimore turned to leave.  “Oh, I want a dozen of your pastries, too.  Sterling and Jewel are quite fond of them.”

    “There are none left, I’m afraid,” Inger replied.  “Since I started vorking here days, I have only time to make one batch each night, and they sold before noon.”

    “Well, really, this is too much,” Mrs. Larrimore snapped.  “After all, Mrs. Cartwright, you did have an agreement with my husband.”

    “And I have kept it,” Inger said.  The edge in her voice showed signs of strained patience.  “The agreement vas to share the profit on what I bake.  There was no requirement of how much I vas to prepare each day.”

    “But the children have their hearts set on them,” Mrs. Larrimore pouted.  “You don’t understand how disappointed they’ll be.”

    She had found the right note to pluck Inger’s heartstrings.  “Why don’t I make a dozen especially for you tonight, Mrs. Larrimore?” Inger said gently.  “The children vill be less disappointed if they know they can have their treat tomorrow, yah?”

    Mrs. Larrimore sighed.  “Well, I suppose, if that’s the best you can do.  You know our house?”

    Inger nodded.  “Yah, the large white one on the edge of town.  Ve are very busy here, though, as you see, Mrs. Larrimore.  Perhaps Sterling could come by after school for them,” she suggested.

    Mrs. Larrimore stiffened.  “My son is not your errand boy, Mrs. Cartwright.  If you’re too busy yourself, send your own boy!”

    Inger gasped in shock, unable to think of a response.  Fortunately, Mrs. Larrimore spun on her heels, muttering something about being late at the dressmaker’s, and left abruptly.

    Inger was shaking as she returned to her duties behind the counter.  Escorting a more satisfied customer to the cash register, Ben noticed his wife’s distress.  He touched her elbow lightly.  “Inger?”

    Inger shook her head and pulled away.  “It is nothing, Ben,” she said, and then in evident contradiction, added, “Ve have no time to talk now.”

    Adam carefully crooked the basket of pastries over one arm and rapped firmly on the back door of the white house.  “How do you do, ma’am?” he said politely when his knock was answered.  “My mother sent these to you,” he added, holding out the basket.

    Camilla Larrimore bent down to pat his dark hair.  “My, aren’t you a bright-eyed little fellow!  And so early, too.”

    “I’m on my way to school,” Adam said.

    “Well, wait just one minute and I’ll give you a penny for your trouble, child.”

    “Oh, no, ma’am,” Adam protested.  His small chest swelled with pride beneath his red plaid flannel shirt.  “My pa already promised me a penny for this job.”  His black eyes sparkled at the thought of his expected wealth.  “It’s the first money I ever earned all my own.”

    A boy with hair almost as dark as Adam’s edged past Mrs. Larrimore’s skirt.  “I get spending money every week——lots more than one old penny——and I don’t have to do a thing for it,” he taunted.

    “Hush, Sterling,” his mother said, but the affectionate hand she ran through his curls dampened the effectiveness of her rebuke.  “You must remember that not everyone has your advantages.  Children of emigrants and foreigners must learn early to earn their bread by the sweat of their brow, and you must always deal kindly with those less fortunate.”

    “Yes, mother,” Sterling replied in sugary tones.  But the condescending look he gave Adam soured the youngest Cartwright’s stomach.  He left the Larrimore home dragging his heels, and for the first time Josiah Edwards found it necessary to send a note to the parents of his most avid student.

    As Ben inquired into the reasons for his son’s inattentiveness, Adam poured out the questions he had brooded over all day.  “What’s wrong with emigrants and foreigners, Pa?” he demanded.  “Ain’t we just as good Americans as the Larrimores?”

    “Aren’t,” Ben automatically corrected.  “Yes, of course, we are, son.  There’s nothing wrong with being emigrants, a status we share with most of the people passing through town these days.  It just means we’re people in pursuit of a dream.”

    Adam cocked his head and gave his father a puzzled frown.  “But I thought that was good,”

    “It is good,” Ben said.  “It’s that dream that kept me going after your mother’s death.  If I hadn’t had a dream of a better life for you and me, there’d have been little to live for.”

    “But Mrs. Larrimore—”

    “Is a foolish woman,” Ben finished, cupping Adam’s angular chin in his palm.  “How could anyone with sense look at this solid, New England face and call you a foreigner?”

    “I think she meant Inger,” Adam said quietly.

    “I am sure she did,” Inger sputtered.  “Oh, Ben, I told you I should have taken the pastries myself.  Adam is too young to deal with such people.”

    Ben reached over to rub her arm with calming strokes.  “I disagree, Inger.  Adam will meet difficult people all through life.  He might as well learn early.”  Ben turned his attention back to the boy.  “Now, Adam, Inger’s parents came to this country in search of a better life, just as we hope to find in California.  Do you see anything wrong with that?”

    “No, Pa,” Adam said stoutly.  “I think it’s a good thing.”

    “So do I, and these ‘foreigners,’ as Mrs. Larrimore calls them brought much that was good with them,” Ben said.  “Why, just look what happiness Inger’s parents brought you and me by coming to America.”

     Adam grinned at Inger, and Ben smiled as he saw her tense face relax.  He pulled Adam close.  “Will you promise me something, Adam?  Whenever you meet someone who looks or talks different from others, remember Inger and the good changes she brought with her.  Then look for the good that stranger can bring, instead of all the ways he’s different.  Promise?”

    Adam nodded solemnly.  “I promise, Pa.”

    Mr. Edwards had no complaints about Adam’s diligence the following day.  The young scholar was back to his usual absorption in his lessons.  But Jamie, who normally vied with Adam for top marks, seemed listless and inattentive.  It was not until the noon hour, however, that Josiah realized his son was feeling unwell.  He dismissed school early, to sounds of rejoicing from everyone except Adam, and canceled his weekly dinner visit to the Cartwrights.

    The next morning Josiah responded to a rap on his door and found Inger smiling at him.  “I brought Jamie some chicken soup,” she said.

    “I appreciate the thought, Inger, but I’m afraid Jamie won’t be able to eat,” Josiah said.  “He’s been vomiting all night and he’s had severe diarrhea.”

    “Ach, no!” Inger commiserated.  “Such a frail boy he has alvays seemed and now so ill.  You have sent for the doctor?”

    “I expect him any moment,” Josiah said.  “Perhaps it would be better if you didn’t come in until we know what we’re dealing with, Inger.”

    Inger shook her head.  “For myself, I have no fear, but I had to make Adam stay home.  He vas much vorried for his friend.  Please, I may come in and vait vith you?”

    Josiah swung the door open.  “I should say no, for your sake.  But it would be a relief to have company.”

    Inger entered and, without waiting for an invitation, went directly to Jamie’s bedside.  She took the little boy’s thin hand and was surprised to find it cold and clammy.  “Adam sends his love, Jamie,” she said softly, “and his hopes that you vill feel better soon.”

    Jamie said nothing, but his head rolled off his pillow toward Inger.  She knelt beside him, taking his pale cheeks between her hands, and he looked up at her with sad, suffering eyes that wrenched her heart.

    “Poor lamb,” Inger soothed, stroking the honey hair from his forehead.  She started to croon a soft Swedish lullaby her mother used to sing on the rare occasions little Inger had been ill.  A soft smile curved Jamie’s lips and his weary eyes closed.  He had just started to drift to sleep when the doctor arrived.

    It took the doctor only a few minutes to arrive at a diagnosis.  “It’s cholera, Mr. Edwards,” the doctor said, stroking his gray beard gravely.  “I’ve seen a number of cases among the emigrants camped outside town.  I believe it came upriver with them from New Orleans.  The German families seem especially hard hit, and they mentioned seeing several cases in the city there.”

    “Cholera,” Josiah whispered in horror.  “Dear God, doctor, he’s such a delicate child.  How can he possibly survive a scourge like that?”

    The doctor took the younger man’s arm firmly.  “Don’t allow yourself the luxury of despair, my boy; he can survive, but you must be strong for him.  If he survives the first day or two, there is good hope he will recover.”

    Inger took the shaken Josiah in her arms.  “What can ve do for the child, doctor?” she asked as the schoolmaster laid his auburn head against her shoulder.

    “He needs complete rest,” the doctor ordered, “and as much fluid as you can make him take.  Add some salt, as well.  It will help replace what he’s losing through the vomiting and diarrhea.”

    “I had brought some chicken soup,” Inger said.  “This vould be good for him, yah?”

    The doctor smiled as he straightened his tweed vest.  “Exactly what he needs, ma’am.  Any kind of broth will do nicely.  And—uh—it might be best to procure it elsewhere than the boardinghouse kitchen.  With so many assorted people dining there, there is greater risk of contamination.”

    “Is—is that where he contracted this?” Josiah croaked, raising his head.

    The doctor shrugged.  “I can’t say with certainty, but there are a lot of unknown elements in a situation like this.”  He took a small writing pad from his jacket pocket and scribbled on it words so indecipherable they would have earned any of Mr. Edwards’ pupils a failing mark.  “I’ll prescribe some laudanum.  It should calm his bowels, but be careful to give exactly the dose I order.  It’s a dangerous drug, though it can be helpful in these cases.”

    Josiah took the prescription from the doctor.  “Yes, thank you,” he murmured absently.

    The doctor frowned at Mr. Edwards’ evident distraction and motioned Inger toward the door.  She followed, a questioning look in her eyes.  “You’re a member of the family, ma’am?” the doctor asked quietly once they were away from Josiah.

    “No, a friend,” Inger said, “but almost they seem like family.”

    “These people need help, ma’am,” the doctor said.

    “That is why I am here, doctor.”

    The doctor smiled and gave her arm a grandfatherly pat.  “Obviously, you’re not a fair weather friend, then.  Take precautions for your own health, as well, my dear:  get plenty of rest, and be careful not to eat or drink from anything the child has touched.  Be careful how you dispose of his bodily wastes.”

    “I vill do as you say,” Inger replied.  “You think Jamie vill be better soon?”

    “The next forty-eight hours should tell the story,” the doctor said, taking his tall beaver hat from a table by the door.  “I’ll try to stop by again tomorrow to see how he’s progressing.”

    Inger thanked the doctor and opened the door for him.  She took her shawl from the same table where the doctor’s hat had rested.  “Give me the prescription, Josiah,” she said, holding out her hand.  “I vill go to the apothecary for you.”

    “Thank you,” Josiah said as he gave her the sheet containing the doctor’s scrawled note.  “I would hate to leave him.”

    “I vill be back soon,” Inger promised, giving his elbow a sympathetic squeeze.  She returned in less than fifteen minutes and spooned a teaspoonful of the opiate into Jamie’s mouth.

    Turning to the schoolmaster, then, she commanded in a gentle, but firm voice, “It is time for you now to rest.  I am sure you have not slept at all this night.”

    “No,” Josiah said quietly, “but I can’t—”

    “You can and you must,” Inger said with determination.  “The doctor has said you must be strong for Jamie, and that you cannot do vithout sleep.  Rest now, my friend.  I vill stay by Jamie until suppertime.”

    At the edge of Josiah’s consciousness was an impression that he should refuse.  But, too weary to argue, he simply bowed to her logic and lay down upon his bed.

    “Finish your oatmeal quickly, Adam,” Inger admonished the following morning.  “You do not vish to be late for church.”

    Adam gave his cereal a lackadaisical stir.  “I don’t want to go; I want to help you take care of Jamie.”

    “Do as your mother says,” Ben ordered sternly.

    “Yes, sir,” Adam muttered irritably and spooned in a mouthful of oatmeal.

    Inger fluttered her fingers through the youngster’s hair.  “He means no disrespect, Ben.  He is just vorried about his friend.”

    “I know,” Ben said and smiled gently at Adam.  “I’m sorry, son.  But you must understand that Jamie is very ill, and it isn’t safe for a little lad like you to go near him.”

    “Yes, sir,” Adam sighed.  “I just wish I could.”

    Inger walked to the stove to fork the chicken she was boiling.  Finding it tender, she lifted it from the pot and began to debone it and cut it into chunks.  “Ben, you vill remember to have the pastor tell everyone there vill be no school this veek?”

    Ben rubbed her shoulders. “I will remember, of course.  And you see that you remember the doctor’s advice and don’t overtax yourself.”

    Inger nodded absently.  “I vill leave enough chicken and dumplings here for you and Adam.  I do not think Josiah should eat at the boardinghouse until the danger of this sickness is past.”

    “He really appreciated what you sent over last night.”

    “I vish ve could do more,” Inger sighed.  “For the first time I vish ve had a large home, so they could have a room here.”

    Ben turned her around and embraced her.  “Inger, my love, you can’t mother the whole world.”

    “I’m not trying to!” Inger said hotly.  “These are our friends, Ben.”

    “And a week ago it was two children of a total stranger you wished you could shelter,” Ben said with a smile.

    “Yah, I know,” Inger said, shaking her head at being convicted by her own actions.  “But I cannot help it, Ben.  I have been so blessed all my life——first in the home of my parents, and now in my joy vith you.  Perhaps it is a veakness, but I cannot bear to see others vith less to rejoice in.”

    Ben kissed her.  “It is a great strength.  Never change, sweetheart.  And I promise, when we reach California, we’ll build a house big enough to hold all our sick friends and whatever other waifs may wander in.”

    Inger laughed.  “Now you are teasing me, but I may hold you to it, mine husband.  I am just glad you vill let me leave the vork of the store to be vith Jamie.  I think he vill need much nursing before he is strong again.”

    “It’s my work anyway, not yours,” Ben pointed out.

    Adam twisted around in his seat.  “I could help you, Pa, since there’s no school.”

    Ben and Inger exchanged a look of infinite parental pride.  “That you could!” Ben agreed heartily.  “And that will be helping your friend, Adam, since it makes your mother feel more free to stay with him.”

    Adam dark eyes brightened.  “Honest?”

    “Oh, yah, I feel much better,” Inger said, patting his shoulder and turning back to her chicken.  “Now, you, Ben, quit dawdling or I shall have to scold you instead of our son.”

    Ben winked at Adam.  “Yes, ma’am.  We’ll be good boys and get to church on time.”

    Inger turned.  “Ask everyone to pray for Jamie,” she whispered.  Ben nodded and went into their bedroom to adjust his black string tie before the cracked mirror hanging above the four-drawer chest.

    Camilla Larrimore pulled her full skirt aside to avoid touching the buckskin-clad emigrant leaving her husband’s store.  The thought of his greasy garment brushing against her new green brocade sickened her, and the other customers jostling her on every side didn’t seem much cleaner.  If she hadn’t been so low on sugar and syrup, she would have skipped her weekly shopping trip this Wednesday.  But Jewel wouldn’t eat her cereal without generous additions of sweetening, and Sterling loved to drown his pancakes in pools of maple syrup.

    She stood on tiptoe and tried to see beyond the broad-shouldered men crowding the store.  Now, where was that Cartwright fellow?  “Howdy, Mrs. Larrimore,” a small voice called.  She turned and saw the little boy who had delivered her pastries the week before.  “Why, hello there,” she said.  “I’m looking for your father, child.”

    “He’s in the storeroom,” Adam explained, “getting some more cornmeal.  Folks are buying a lot of cornmeal today.”

    “I see,” Mrs. Larrimore said.  “Well, I suppose your mother can wait on me.  Where is she?”

    “Oh, I’m taking her place today,” Adam announced, his shirt puffing out just a fraction of an inch.  “She’s taking care of my sick friend.”

    “My gracious!” Mrs. Larrimore sputtered.  “It’s getting harder and harder to get waited on here.”

    “Just tell me what you need,” Adam said.  “I’ll get all the small things for you, and Pa’ll get anything heavy soon as he can.  Me and Pa’s working partners this week.”

    “Well, I suppose you could get most of what I need,” she said, twirling one of her golden brown ringlets absently.  “I want ten pounds of sugar and a can of maple syrup, a slab of bacon and a dozen eggs.”

    “I can do all that,” Adam promised proudly.

    Entering from the back room, Ben saw his son talking to Camilla Larrimore.  Since he didn’t want the boy to deal with his most difficult customer alone, Ben hurried over.  “Mrs. Larrimore,” he said with energy.  “I had begun to think we wouldn’t see you this week.”

    “Well, I thought if I waited until later in the day, I wouldn’t find you as busy,” Camilla said petulantly.  “But I see that was a vain hope.”

    “We stay busy until closing time,” Ben admitted, “but that’s to your advantage, of course——in a business sense, I mean.”

    “Yes, but it’s quite a nuisance in a personal sense,” she said, crinkling her nose as another aromatic emigrant came too close.

    Ben gave a short laugh in hopes of arousing her sense of humor.  “The price we pay for success, ma’am.  Now, what can I help you with today?”

    “She already told me, Pa,” Adam interrupted.  “I can get everything she needs.”

    Ben gave his son’s small shoulder a sturdy clap.  “Well, that’s fine, Adam.  You go right ahead and gather things up.”

    “Just how long does your wife plan to play nursemaid, Mr. Cartwright?” Mrs. Larrimore demanded.

    Ben pursed his lips.  “As long as she’s needed, Mrs. Larrimore.  Jamie Edwards is a very sick little boy.”

    Camilla looked horrified.  “It’s not the schoolmaster’s boy she’s with!  The pastor said Sunday he had cholera!”

    “That’s right,” Ben replied gravely.  “The doctor thinks he will recover, but he’s still very weak.”

    “But think, Mr. Cartwright,” Camilla protested.  “Your wife is risking her own health——yours and your boy’s, as well.”

    “She’s being very careful,” Ben said quietly.  Camilla started to speak again, but Ben interrupted.  “I appreciate your concern, but the Edwards are our closest friends.  And, in any case, Inger would not leave a motherless boy to suffer alone when he seems so comforted by her presence.”

    Camilla shook her head reproachfully.  “Foreigners seem to have no sense whatsoever.  I understand this plague was brought to our community by some German emigrants, and now it’s likely to be spread by your Swedish wife.”

    Ben bristled, but managed to choke back the angry words crowding into his throat.  A moment later Adam arrived with Mrs. Larrimore’s filled shopping basket; and as she busily checked its contents, she forgot all about foolish foreigners.

    As Ben had indicated, Jamie made a turn for the better; but his recovery was slow.  Not until the end of April was he well enough to leave his bed; and, to Inger, he still seemed weak.  In body, he was; but his attachment to his gentle Swedish friend had grown stronger during his illness and convalescence.  He still missed his mother, but no longer with an aching heart.  He felt he had found her love beating again in the breast of another.
 

On the first Thursday in May a tall, dark-haired man in his early thirties entered Larrimore’s Mercantile and Outfitters Headquarters, doffing his black hat to the attractive blonde woman behind the counter.  The man looked so familiar Inger thought for a moment he must be one of her regular customers, but a second look confirmed he was another emigrant passing through St. Joe in search of a golden horizon.  “Could you tell me which of these men is Mr. Larrimore, ma’am?” the newcomer asked.

    “Oh, I am sorry,” Inger said.  “Mr. Larrimore has gone to California, but if it’s supplies you need, my husband vill be glad to help you.”

    The man shook his head, seeming disappointed.  “I was looking for a little more than just supplies,” he said, “but I can use some of those, too.  I’m headed for California myself.”

    Inger laughed.  “Who is not these days?”  She pointed across the crowded room.  “That is my husband.  He vill be glad to advise you on what supplies to take.  There are several ahead of you, though, I am afraid.”

    “No problem,” the stranger said and ambled toward the corner where Ben was surrounded by emigrants eager to purchase whatever he suggested.  As he came closer to the group, the man in the black hat cocked his head and a wide grin split his face.  Then, instead of taking his place with the others, he moved to one side and lounged against a barrel of crackers.

    When Ben hefted a sack of cornmeal and headed outside to load it on a customer’s wagon, the stranger followed him with his eyes.  Ben soon came back inside, and though his vision was unimpaired now by a load on his shoulder, he still barely noticed the man by the cracker barrel.  He went directly to the next emigrant awaiting his help.

    “The apron looks real natural, little brother.”

    Ben spun abruptly at the sound of the soft, teasing drawl; and he stared for a moment at the man who had spoken.  Then his face exploded with joy.  “John!” Ben cried as he pushed past other customers to engulf his older brother in strong arms.  John gave him an equally fierce bear hug in exchange.

    Ben pulled back and held John at arms’ length.  “Man, it’s good to see you!” he declared.  “What on earth brings you to Saint Joseph?”  Ben looked through the window to the street.  “Where is Martha——and Will?”

    “They’re not with me,” John explained.

    Inger had come from behind the counter.  She lifted quizzical eyes to Ben’s face.  He reached for her hand and pulled her into a one-arm embrace.  “Inger, my love,” he said, thumping the slightly taller man on the chest, “this is my brother John.”

    Inger’s eyes glowed with welcome.  “Oh, vonderbar, Ben!”  She stretched a hand toward her brother-in-law.  “It is good to meet you, John.”

    “And you,” Ben’s brother responded.  “She’s everything you said in your letter, Ben——a real beauty.”

    “Ach, no!” Inger protested.  “Only in the eyes of mine husband.”

    “And his brother,” John said, tapping her nose playfully.  “It’s not proper to correct a guest, missy.”  He looked over at Ben.  “You do have a berth for me, don’t you, little brother?”

    “Aye, aye!” Ben jibed back. “For as many nights as you anchor with us.”  He inclined his head toward the back of the store.  “It’s not large, but there’s room in Adam’s bed.”  He suddenly realized he had a line of customers waiting, some relishing the brothers’ reunion, others showing definite signs of annoyed impatience.  “I—I have to work now, John,” he said, “but Inger can show you to your room, and you two can get acquainted.  Then I’ll see you at supper.”

    “Fine, Ben,” John laughed.  “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your work.  Like I said, the apron looks real natural.”

    Ben gave the other man a playful shove.  “Will you stop?  Take this big galoot out of here, Inger, before he causes any more uproar.”

    “Yah, sure,” Inger said slowly, not quite knowing how to take the brothers’ sparring.  “Please to come vith me, John.”

    John followed her to the back of the store and through the connecting door to the Cartwrights’ small living quarters.  Inger went directly to the stove.  “You vould like some coffee?” she asked.

    “Sounds fine, ma’am,” he responded, “but I’m afraid I’m keeping you from your work.”

    “Please, it is Inger,” she corrected, “and I am leaving only a little earlier than usual.  I try to be here when Adam returns from school——to give him cookies and milk and to hear all the news of his day.  When you are six, it is hard to hold it all in ‘til suppertime.”

    John laughed, a deep, resounding laugh similar to Ben’s.  “Adam’s a lot like his cousin Will in that.”

    Inger smiled as she dipped water from a gutta-percha bucket into the metal coffee pot.  “Your son is close in age to Adam, yah?”

    “A year older, and like two peas in a pod,” John replied.  “They got to be great friends while Ben stayed with us.”

    “Yah, Adam vill be disappointed his cousin could not come vith you.”  She set the pot on the stove.

    John stepped quickly toward her.  “Here, let me build up that fire for you.”

    “Oh, thank you,” Inger agreed, standing back so he could reach the stove.  “Tell me, John,” she said a moment later, “why did you ask for Mr. Larrimore instead of your brother?”

    John was too busy coaxing the flickering flame in the stove’s fire box to turn around.  “I was just looking for information about Ben,” he explained.  The fire caught, so John stood, slid the coffee pot onto a burner and turned around.  “Since Ben’s letter said you planned to get an early start for California, I assumed you’d already be gone.  I knew you had rented this place from Mr. Larrimore, so I thought he could tell me how far ahead you were and what train you’d gone with.  I was hoping to catch up to you.”

    “I see,” Inger said, then puzzlement again flickered in her lake-blue eyes.  “But Ben wrote again about our change in plans.”

    John shrugged.  “Must have come after I left.  Why are you still here, Inger?”

    “Ve are not going to California this year, John.  Ve decided to vait until next spring.”

    “What!” John ejaculated.  “Whatever for?”

    Inger pulled out a chair.  “Sit here, John, and I vill tell you while ve vait for the coffee to brew.”

    John listened to Inger’s explanation without comment, but his forehead creased with frustration.  He had plenty to say, but now wasn’t the time and Inger wasn’t the person.  Later tonight, though, John intended to have a few pertinent words with his irritating and, at times, unfathomable younger brother.

    Adam, followed closely by Jamie, came bursting through the side door from the street.  “We’re home!” he shouted, his noisy announcement totally unnecessary.  No one could enter those small quarters unobserved anyway.

    Suddenly the youngster caught sight of their visitor and gave a war whoop worthy of an Indian brave.  “Uncle John!”   Completely forgetting Jamie, Adam pounced on his uncle’s lap and staked a claim there.

    John wrestled the boy back and forth, then wrapped him in a tight hug.  “Missed your old uncle, did you?”

    “I sure have!” Adam said.  “Did Cousin Will come with you?”

    “I’m afraid not, Adam.”

    “Aw, shucks!”

    “Adam,” Inger chided.  “You are forgetting your manners.  Please introduce your friend.”

    Adam looked abashed.  “I’m sorry, Mama; I just got all excited.  Uncle John, this is my best friend, Jamie Edwards.”

    John stood and shook hands with young Jamie as if he had been an adult.  “How do you do, young fellow?”

    Unlike Adam, Jamie hadn’t forgotten his manners.  “I do very well, sir, and it’s a real pleasure to meet you.”

    John chuckled at the boy’s almost exaggerated politeness.  “The pleasure’s mine, my boy, I assure you.  I hear cookies and milk are available in the mess.  You’ll stay for some, won’t you?”

    “I always do,” Jamie said frankly.

    Inger looked around her immaculate little home and lifted her chin proudly.  “I see no mess, Brother John,” she declared stiffly.

    John guffawed.  “Oh, Inger, I’m sorry; I forgot I was talking to landlubbers.  ‘Mess’ is our word for mealtime on board ship.  I can’t find a thing to fault with your housekeeping; the place is spotless.”

    Inger smiled then.  “It is plain, I know, but when the busy season in the store is past, I vill sew some curtains and cushions and make it more presentable.”

    John took her hand between his two.  “Believe me, Inger, the only fault I find in you is that you were foolish enough to marry that rascally little brother of mine.”

    Inger withdrew her hand and spatted his in playful rebuke.  “That vas the wisest choice I ever made,” she stated proudly.  “Now behave yourself or you vill get no cookies!”

    John grinned, and the twinkle in his gray eyes made him resemble Ben more than ever.  He sat down at the table, folded his hands and smiled angelically.  Adam winked at Jamie and aped his uncle’s posture; and, taking the hint, so did Jamie.  Inger shook her head at the naughty trio and began to set out the cookies with milk for the boys and another cup of black coffee for John.

    When everyone felt stuffed full of cookies, John pulled his chair back and reached for the black hat he had laid aside when he came in.  “I need to stable my horse, Inger,” he explained in answer to her quizzical look.  “Is there a livery you’d care to recommend?”

    “Yah,” Inger replied.  “Ve keep our horse at Abramson’s Livery.  Adam can show you the vay.”

    John stood and brushed cookie crumbs off his gray flannel shirt.  “Sounds good.  Adam, you ready to navigate, lad?”

    Adam popped a playful salute at his uncle.  “Aye, aye, captain.”

    John laughed and swung the youngster up onto his shoulders.  “Best climb to the crow’s nest then, aye, matey?”

    Adam giggled and took firm hold on his uncle’s hair, which was just a shade lighter brown than Ben’s. “Aye, matey!”  He looked down at his friend from his perch.  “You coming, Jamie?”

    Jamie grinned.  “Just as far as the boardinghouse.  Father said not to dally today.”

    John, with Adam riding piggyback and Jamie trailing close behind, headed for the door.

    “Be careful, Adam!” Inger called.  “Vatch you do not bump your head!”

    “Oh, Mama!” Adam chided.  “I got more sense than that!”

    “Of course, he does, Mama,” John chuckled.  “After all, he is a Cartwright.”

    Inger folded her arms and pasted a frown on her face.  “It seems to me Cartwrights are more full of sass than sense,” she said with what she intended as severity.  The twitching of her lips tattled her true feelings, though; so John just grinned, bent his knees and waddled through the door.

    Jamie crinkled his nose and pointed as Adam’s uncle maintained the comical posture on his way down the steps and into the street.  “Quack, quack!” the youngster giggled and copied John’s duck-like walk.

    From the stoop Inger smiled, happy to hear Jamie laugh again.  The boy still had not fully recovered from his bout with cholera.  But, waddling along behind John, he seemed almost as sturdy as his stalwart friend riding in the “crow’s nest.”  Inger watched contentedly until the trio of clowns had turned onto the main street out of sight.  Then she went inside and tried to figure how to make the simple supper she had planned seem special, so Ben’s brother would feel truly welcome.

    Inger need not have worried.  John declared he had not tasted a supper as appetizing or as filling since leaving home.  “Or even before, if the truth be told,” he added with a wink at Ben.  The younger Cartwright coughed and turned his head away quickly, so his face wouldn’t betray his thoughts.  John’s wife Martha was a good enough cook, but tended to carry frugality to a fault.  Ben had usually left her table hungry; but, feeling guilty about sharing his brother’s meager board, he had never complained.

    “Would you care to walk down and see our waterfront, John?” Ben asked, to change the subject.

    “Aye, I would,” John readily agreed.

    “Inger?” Ben asked.

    John cut a quick glance at his sister-in-law.  He really preferred to be alone with Ben for awhile, but could not, of course, have refused if she wanted to accompany them.  That would be a surly way for a guest to behave.

    “Ach, no, Ben!” Inger said so quickly John hoped she had not sensed his reluctance to include her.  “I have dishes to vash and pastries to bake.”

    “Can I come, Pa?” Adam asked eagerly.

    Ben started to assent, but he caught a glimpse of his brother’s face and changed his mind.  “Not tonight, Adam,” he said.  “Stay here and give Mama all the help you can.”

    Adam’s lower lip puckered out with disappointment, but he knew better than to argue.  As the boy started to help clear the table, Ben rubbed his neck approvingly on the way to the door.

    Ben and John walked along the riverside, the smell of the moisture-tipped breeze reminding both of their years at sea.  John stood half-a-head taller than his brother, but that wasn’t obvious when he leaned over the dock railing to look at the steamers anchored nearby. “Oh, to be afloat again,” John sighed.

    Ben nodded, understanding the emotion; for at times he, too, missed the feel of a swaying deck beneath his feet.  He looked sympathetically at John.  His older brother’s face was more weathered than his, for John had spent more years braving the salt gales of the Atlantic.  But the moonlight glinting on the older man’s angular cheekbones reflected more than the passage of time.  “Something on your mind, John?” Ben asked quietly.

    John looked sharply at his younger brother.  “Aye, Ben, there is.”  His tone grew harsher.  “When did you get to be such a blame fool, boy?” he demanded.

    Ben stuffed his hands in his pants’ pockets and kicked at a pebble near his foot.  “You’re upset because I can’t go to California with you, aren’t you?”

    “Upset doesn’t spell the half of it, little brother,” John sputtered, pacing with his hands behind his back.  “I all but beg you to stay in Ohio with me, but you can’t be budged.  No, no, you’ve got to rush off to California in quest of your fool dream.  But some storekeeper you barely know quirks his finger, and you throw it all to the wind at his command!”

    Ben chuckled.  “You’re jealous, John!”

    John turned to face Ben, his eyes sparking like firecrackers on the Fourth of July.  “Jealous, am I?  Of a cock-sure, smart-mouthed pup like you?”

    Ben sucked in a slow breath.  “Sorry, bad choice of words.  But, John, you surely can’t think I hold Mr. Larrimore in greater respect or affection than I do you.”

    John surveyed Ben coolly.  “How can I think otherwise when it’s his wishes you follow?”

    Ben shook his head.  “It wasn’t a matter of following his wishes.  He made me a fair and, I believe, favorable business proposal, and I accepted.  I had no idea you’d suddenly take it into your head to go west!”

    John spread his hands in frustration.  “I know that!  But, Ben, now is the time to go, don’t you see?  There’s a fortune in gold just waiting to be scooped off the ground.”

    Ben snorted.  “Oh, John, not you, too!  Tell me you’re not just another gold-crazed fool with no thought for his future or his family.”

    John’s broad nostrils flared.  “It’s my family and my future I’m thinking of, boy!  You think it’s good for my family to scratch along year after year on that stony excuse for a farm?”

    “No,” Ben said quickly.  “No, I don’t.  But there’s good land in California, John.  Why don’t you go home and sell your worthless rock pile?  Then, you can pack up Will and Martha and travel west with us next spring.  Nothing would please me more than to have you settle nearby.”

    John took a long, slow breath.  “Oh, Ben, we’re hopelessly different——always have been.  I can’t think of much we’ve ever seen eye-to-eye on.  Maybe I’d best push on at first light.”

    Ben reached for his brother’s elbow.  “No, John, please——please stay——a few days, at least.”

    “But, Ben—”

    Ben raised a silencing hand.  “No, hear me out.  I may not always agree with the choices you make, and I know you don’t often think much of mine.  But there’s love and respect between us.  And once you leave, there’ll be half a continent and who knows how many months or years between us.  Can’t we set aside our differences and enjoy each other a few days before parting for so long?”

    He didn’t add “perhaps forever,” but both brothers knew the possibility of that in the wilderness through which each would ultimately travel.  John looked down at Ben, and a new respect flickered in his  eyes.  “You’re right, Ben; we’re brothers; we need each other too much to let a difference of opinion separate us.  I’ll stay on ‘til Monday; and if I can’t persuade you to come with me by then, I’ll accept your decision and go on my way alone.”

    Ben smiled in relief.  “Good, John, good.”  He threw an arm around his brother.  “It means the world to me to have you share my home, even for just a few days.  You’ve given so much to me.”

    John felt a lump rising in his throat.  To disguise it, he grabbed Ben’s head under one armpit and scrubbed his younger brother’s noggin.  Then, arm in arm, they sauntered back.

    The next morning John volunteered to help Ben in the store, and Ben readily agreed so Inger could have a day of purely domestic pursuits.  The brothers worked well together, instinctively forming the kind of team they had as boys in their father’s chandlery.  During a mid-afternoon lull in business, Ben clapped his brother’s muscular shoulder.  “It feels good, working together like we did when we were lads, eh, John?”

    John nodded, but couldn’t resist casting a superior eye on his brother.  “Could be that way again if you’d stop being pigheaded.  I’d be willing to work share-and-share alike with you in the gold fields.”

    Ben’s jaw jerked in irritation.  “You know, now that I think about it, this is exactly the way it was back home:  you always bossing, always thinking you knew best.”

    “I’m five years your elder, boy,” John snorted.  “I think I have a bit more perspective.”

    Ben raised an eyebrow.  “Yeah?” he said sharply.  “Well, why don’t you apply your perspective to a sack of flour?  We need some brought in from the stockroom.”

    John ruffled and, biting his tongue, turned abruptly on his heel to get the flour.  It frayed his dignity to be ordered around by his baby brother, but that realization had no sooner crossed his mind than it was replaced by another.  John suddenly found himself wondering if this was how Ben had felt taking orders from him.  In a moment of soul-searching honesty John acknowledged that he had been an imperious overlord to Ben back in New Bedford.  Too caught up in the pride of his position as his father’s right-hand man to give any thought to how the younger boy might feel about his bossy ways.  Well, then, any irritation he felt now had been richly earned, and he’d be man enough to take it graciously.  Returning with the flour, John gave his younger brother a deferential smile.  “Where would you like this, boss?” he asked quietly.

    Ben’s brown eyes blinked at the dizzying change in the older man’s demeanor.  “There——next to the cornmeal.”   As John dropped the sack at the spot indicated and, without being asked, headed back to the stockroom for another, Ben shook his head, perplexed.  Now, what had gotten into his big brother all of a sudden.  Ben had no time to ponder that quandary, though.  The lull ended as three customers entered the store simultaneously and Ben stepped briskly to inquire into their needs.

    The brothers worked in greater harmony throughout the rest of that day and their congenial partnership continued on the next.  Saturday was, as usual, the busiest day of the week, for local farm families, making their weekly excursion to town, joined the throngs of emigrants crowding the store.  For the first Saturday in weeks Inger was able to stay away from the business, and she spent the better part of the day preparing a huge picnic lunch for Sunday afternoon.

     Driving three miles south of town, the Cartwrights found a private spot along the banks of the Missouri and spread a sumptuous feast of fried chicken and fixings under a cottonwood.  Afterwards, the two brothers tossed a ball with Adam until both were exhausted while Inger packed the leftovers back into their wagon.  Then she took her turn playing with the indefatigable youngster while Ben and John collapsed, exhausted, under the shade tree.

    Ben gave a spacious yawn.  “I always thought it was children who needed naps, but that boy can outlast me any day.”

    Lying down, John stretched his shoulders back.  “Sign of old age, my boy!”

    “Old age!” Ben chortled.  “Look who’s talking, older brother.”

    John stuck a bony finger into Ben’s ribcage.  “I am your older brother and don’t you forget it.  I’ll thank you to respect your elders, sonny.”

    Ben gave him a wry grin.  “I try, sir; I try.”  He stretched out, propping his head up on one elbow.  “Seriously, John, I want to say how glad I am you spent these days with us.”

    John rolled onto his left side to face Ben.  “Even if it hasn’t been all sugar and spice?”

    Ben chuckled.  “There’s been plenty of spice, John!”

    John rolled his eyes.  “Nothing dulls your sharp tongue, does it, boy?”

    Ben smirked.  “Amazing, isn’t it, when I had nothing but your sweet speech to pattern mine after?”

    John gave his younger brother a light slap across the cheek.  “That for your impudence, you young scamp!”

    Ben sat up and hugged his knees.  “Duly noted, sir.”  He sighed deeply.  “Oh, John, if I’d only known your plans, nothing would have kept me from going with you.”

    John sat up, too.  “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?”

    Ben shook his head.  “I wish I could turn the clock back and make a different decision,” he admitted, “but I accepted an obligation here.  I just wouldn’t feel right abandoning it.”  His expression pleading for understanding, he looked directly into his brother’s gray eyes, so reminiscent of their father’s.  “It isn’t the way we were raised, John.”

    John looked soberly at the grass beneath them.  “No, it isn’t,” he conceded.  “Father always believed a man’s word was his bond.  I can hardly fault you for keeping faith with that.”  He pulled a blade of grass and twirled it around his thumb.  “I’ve said some hard things to you the last couple of days, Ben, but it’s because I was so disappointed to have all my plans fall through.  I’d hoped to have the pleasure of your company on the journey and your help in the venture.”

    Ben squeezed the back of John’s wrist.  “I’m disappointed, too, John.  Maybe someday the mails will move faster, and people won’t have so much trouble making plans.”  Ben withdrew his hand and rubbed his own thigh self-consciously.  “You—you do believe I’m doing the right thing in staying, don’t you, John?”

    John nodded slowly.  “In my heart, yes.  I guess I’d have been ashamed if you’d broken your word to that Larrimore fellow——and ashamed of myself for making you.”

    “And that would have been a barrier between us.”  Ben said.

    “Aye,” John agreed.  He sat up straighter.  “Ben, I want you to know I’m proud of you.  You’ve weathered a lot of storms in your life, sailed into many a stiff gale of ill circumstance.  But you’ve kept your compass on a straight heading.  You’re hard-working, steadfast and honest to a fault. I know no one with greater potential for success.  That’s why I’m sure you can be whatever you set out to be.   And if all I ever have to show for my life is being a decent brother to you, it’ll be enough.”

    Ben had to blink quickly to keep the moisture in his eyes from spilling over.  He felt like he’d just been handed a treasure worth more than all the gold in California, the esteem of the person whose opinion, save Inger’s and Adam’s, he valued most on earth.

    Monday morning came too soon for all the Cartwrights.  They were all up at dawn, for John wanted to get an early start.  He had made arrangements with an emigrant he met in the store Saturday to exchange his services herding cattle for storage of his supplies in the man’s wagon.  Eager as he was to start his adventure, however, he felt reluctant to leave the warmth of his brother’s home.

    Saying good-bye was hard.  A tearful Adam clung to his uncle until Ben pulled him away.  Inger’s eyes were misty, too, for though she had known John only a few days, he had found a welcome place in her affections.  “You vill be sure to write us when you can?”

    “Every chance I get,” John promised, “and I’ll try to locate your brother once I get to California and send you word where to find him.”

    “Thank you,” Inger said.  “Gunnar vas never good to write, but he did promise to leave word at the San Francisco post office.”

    “I’ll check there first thing,” John assured her.  “Families ought to keep in touch.”  He bent to kiss her cheek, then turned to Ben, who had finally managed to settle Adam down.

    “Little brother,” John murmured warmly as he grabbed the younger man in a tight bear hug, then released him.  “You’ve got a standing invitation to share in my diggings if you ever do manage to tear yourself away from this store.”

    “I’ll be there next year,” Ben assured him, “but I plan to do my digging in rich bottom land.”

    John grinned and shook his head.  “Hard to picture you as a landlubber, mate, but you’re too stubborn to throw your dream overboard.”

    Ben smiled at his older brother.  “Do you really think I should?”

    John raised Ben’s chin with one long finger.  “You do, and I’ll personally tan your britches.”  Adam giggled, and John gave him a conspiratorial wink before turning back to Ben.  “Cling to your dream, brother,” he ordered.  “Remember, it’s the stars we steer by.”

    Ben gave his older brother a slow and solemn salute.  “Aye, aye, captain.”  John returned the salute, evasively dragging his hand past the dampness at the corner of his eye.  Then, he gathered his belongings and after another round of hugs and kisses left to meet the emigrant train.
 

Larrimore’s Mercantile remained busy throughout the month of May and into June.  Though Ben worked long hours, the toil rarely seemed irksome, for assurance of his brother’s approval and anticipation of sharing a bright future together in California bolstered his flagging spirits whenever he grew weary.  Still, he was content to see business slacken toward the end of the month.  At least, it meant Inger no longer had to spend her days helping him in the store.

    But if Ben expected his wife to devote the extra hours to relaxation, he sorely misjudged her industrious nature.  No sooner was Inger freed from responsibilities in the mercantile than she set to work breaking up a small garden plot behind the store.

    “But, Inger,” Ben protested when she first asked him for vegetable seeds, “we can get all the produce we need from the store.  There’s no need for you to work so hard.”

    “To me, it is more play than vork, Ben,” she said liltingly.  “I enjoy feeling dirt between my fingers.  Besides, fresher is better, and I vant only the best for my family.  Ve can eat food from our own garden all summer, perhaps even dry some vegetables to take on our journey.  And ve can let some go to seed and take that, yah?”

    “Yah,” Ben agreed.  “Seed ve vill need.”

    Inger tittered at his silly rhyme.  “So indulge me then, mine husband.”

    Ben kissed her forehead.  “As often as I can, my love.  Take whatever seed you want and grub in the earth as much as you like.”

    With Adam’s and Jamie’s help Inger planted beans and onions, corn and carrots, turnips and radishes and, providing each boy with a hoe, enlisted them in her war against weeds.  To them, working in the garden seemed like a new game, for Inger never kept them at it long enough to make their labor arduous.  As the tiny plants began to sprout through the dark, rich soil, the boys watched with fascination the daily changes in the garden, eagerly awaiting the day they could harvest the fresh vegetables and appease the appetites their exercise was whetting.

    As Inger watched the youngsters picking the first ripe green beans for one of their Friday night feasts, she smiled at their pride in their produce.  It reminded her of how she had felt as a girl on her father’s farm in Sweden, as if she personally were responsible for supplying the table with flavorful food.  It was good, too, to see color coming back into Jamie’s pale face, to see warm sunshine bake strength into his bones and fresh air flood his lungs with vitality.

    Despite all these reasons for happiness, however, Inger felt an unaccustomed sadness.  While she had always loved seeing the earth come to life each spring, this year every green stem, every colorful bloom, reminded her of a secret sorrow.  Why, why, why——the ominous echo of that question pounded her heart with its doleful drumbeat.  Why did the earth all around her blossom so lavishly when none of the seed Ben planted in her germinated?

    Adam and Jamie came running up, their metal pails filled to the brim with slender green pods.  “We picked all we could find the size you told us.  Is it enough for dinner, Miss Inger?” Jamie asked eagerly.

    Inger smoothed his windblown hair.  “Yah, is plenty,” she said.  “You and Adam run play now while I snap them.”

    “We can help,” Jamie said, “can’t we, Adam?”

    “Sure!” Adam agreed readily.

    Inger laughed.  “Such eager helpers I have.  All right, then, take a bean each.  Snap off each end——like so——and pull the string down the side.  Yah, that is right.”

    With the boys’ help, the beans were soon boiling briskly in the pot and, flavored with bacon drippings and onion, furnished the centerpiece for a meal of roast beef, potatoes and carrots.  The Cartwrights and Edwards alike heaped their plates, the boys, especially, digging in with the legendary hunger of harvest hands.

    “May I have some more green beans, please?” Jamie asked, eagerly holding out his plate.

    “Mercy, Jamie!” his father remonstrated, though he was grinning as he said it.  “At this rate, Inger will have nothing left to feed her family the rest of the week.”

    “Do not chide the child, Josiah,” Inger scolded.  “It is good he eats vell.  He is a growing boy and must alvays take as much as he vishes from my table.  And you, Josiah, could use a second helping yourself, so thin you are.  Give me your plate.”

    Ben gave Josiah’s arm a solicitous pat.  “Forgive my wife, sir,” he said with exaggerated solemnity.  “She thinks every underfed person on the face of the earth is her child, and it is her task to tyrannize them into health.”  He scowled eloquently at Inger.  “I know you’re a notorious old mother hen, my dear, but you mustn’t bully our guests into stuffing themselves.  Save your nagging for your own babies.”

    There had been no real rebuke in Ben’s words, but Inger felt as if a pan of scalding water had been poured over her.  She reddened and staggered abruptly to her feet.  “Is it my fault I cannot give you children?” she cried.  Then seeing everyone wide-eyed with shock at her sudden outburst, she covered her face in her hands and rushed into the bedroom, slamming the door.

    The others stared at the closed door in awkward silence.  Jamie’s small chin began to quiver.  “Is Miss Inger mad at me?” he asked, his voice quavering.

    Josiah stretched an arm toward him.  “No, son, of course not.”  Jamie quickly buried himself in the comfort of his father’s breast.

    “I’m sure it has nothing to do with you,” Ben soothed.  He raised dazed eyes to his friend’s face.  “I can’t imagine what did set her off, though.  I’ve never seen Inger behave like that.”

    “I think I can guess,” Josiah said softly, “and if I’m right, you and your wife need some time alone tonight.  Why don’t you let Adam come home with us?  Jamie’s been begging to have him sleep over, and this looks to be an ideal time.”

    Adam looked troubled.  “Is—is Mama sick?”

    “I don’t think so, Adam,” his father replied.  “She seems upset about something, though, so maybe you should go along with Jamie to give us a chance to talk it out.”

    “Run get your nightshirt,” Josiah suggested, “and we’ll clear out—that is, if Ben will cut us three slices of that cake to take with us.”

    “Yes, of course,” Ben said, moving to the sideboard to slide a knife through the pound cake sitting there.  He wrapped them in a page of the previous day’s St. Joseph Gazette.  “I’m so sorry about this.  It’s just not like Inger to—”

    “For mercy’s sake, Ben,” Josiah chuckled, “don’t say that to her!”  He rubbed his friend’s shoulder sympathetically.  “Be gentle, Ben; you’re the only one who can mend her broken heart.”

    Ben gasped.  “Broken heart!” he exclaimed.  “How do you know—?”

    Josiah shook his head quickly.  “I don’t know; I’m only guessing.  Just tread softly, Ben:  a woman’s emotions are delicate ground.”

    Ben’s head wagged back and forth in bewilderment.  “I don’t feel like I’m on ground at all,” he said, “more like I’m lost at sea without a compass.”

    Josiah laughed lightly.  “The woman always has the compass, Ben.  Don’t worry; you’ll work it out.  You love each other too much for it to end otherwise.”

    Adam, nightshirt in hand, came out of the his bedroom and, with Jamie, tiptoed past the closed door next to his.  “Ready, boys?” Josiah asked, putting an arm around each of them.  At their nod, he took the wrapped cake from Ben and said good-bye.

    Ben stared at the bedroom door and realized with a sharp pang that never before had it been closed between him and his wife.  Should he go to her or just sleep in Adam’s room tonight ‘til she settled down?  Scorning such cowardice, he took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.  “Inger?” he whispered softly.

    Inger was lying across the bed, her face buried in the coverlet.  “Leave me alone, Ben,” she sobbed.  “I am so ashamed.”

    Ben walked across the tiny room and sat next to her on the bed.  “There’s no need, sweetheart,” he crooned, stroking her heaving back.

    Inger pulled away.  “Please, Ben, go back to our guests.  It is rude to desert them, I know, but I cannot face them.”

    “They’ve left,” Ben said quietly.

    Inger turned to look at him with red, puffy eyes.  “Oh, I am sorry, Ben.  I have spoiled everyone’s evening.”

    Ben brushed a tear from her cheek.  “No, my love.  No one feels anything but concern for you.  Can’t you tell me what troubles you, dearest?  Is it something I said?”

    Wiping her cheeks, Inger sat up.  “No, Ben.”  She choked.  “Well—yah.”

    Ben looked desperately at the ceiling, wishing he could see through it and into the heavens, for it was surely the wisdom of God he needed in this moment.  “Inger, sweetheart,” he demurred.  “It can’t be both ‘yes’ and ‘no.’

    Inger buried her face in her hands.  “Don’t scold me, Ben!”

    “But I wasn’t—”  Ben stopped in mid-sentence, realizing with surely heaven-sent insight that what Inger needed wasn’t words.  He took her in his arms and held her close as she wept out her grief.

    After several minutes she quieted and laid her head against Ben’s shoulder.  “Don’t you remember, Ben?” she murmured.  “You said I should save my bullying vays for my own babies.”

    If she had not looked so serious, Ben would have been tempted to laugh.  “Sweetheart, I wasn’t scolding you,” he explained as patiently as if he were consoling little Adam.  “I was teasing.”

    “I know that!” Inger sputtered.  “But you said ‘my babies.’  Don’t you see, Ben?  I have no babies!  It is seven months ve are married now, and no sign of life in me.”

    Ben’s face relaxed.  “Is that all, sweetheart?” he asked.

    “All?” Inger demanded.  “How can you say ‘all’ about the dearest vish of my heart?”

    Ben pursed his lips.  Obviously, he’d made another monstrous marital misstep.  “Forgive me, dearest,” he said gently.  “I only meant that we are young yet.  We have plenty of time for children.”

    “Oh, Ben, I am afraid,” Inger confessed.  “What if I cannot have children?  What if I am barren?”

    Ben took her face between his large palms.  “Aren’t you the one who always reminds me that our lives, our dreams, are in God’s hands?”

    Inger nodded slowly.  “Yah, that is true, but—”

    “No, listen to me, Inger,” Ben insisted.  “Certainly, I want more children.  I want a house full of boys as bright as Adam and girls as beautiful as you.  But if Adam is all the good Lord sees fit to bless us with, then Adam will be blessing enough.  Of course, with the amount of love you have to lavish on children, he’ll probably turn out the most spoiled boy in California!”

    For the first time Inger laughed, though it was a short, choked sort of laugh.  “You vill not be disappointed in me?”

    Ben pulled her close.  “Never, my love, never.”  Feeling her relax in his embrace, Ben sighed with relief and just held her quietly for a few minutes.  Then he said hesitantly, “Inger, I want you to do something for me.”

    Inger sat up.  “Yah?  What is it, mine husband?”

    Ben took her hand.  “I want you to see the doctor, the one who treated Jamie.  You liked him, didn’t you?”

    “Very much, but—”

    Ben laid a finger across her lips.  “I don’t want any argument.  You’ve carried this worry long enough.  Let the doctor check you out and tell us if there’s any reason you can’t have children.”

    “But it is such a foolish expense, Ben.”

    “No, no.”  Ben shook his head vehemently.  “You wouldn’t hesitate to consult a doctor if you were physically ill, and your peace of mind is even more important.  Why, Inger, you’re the very sunlight of our home!  If a cloud obscures that light, we’re all plunged into darkness.  You do as I say, young lady, and see the doctor first thing tomorrow.  Then if it’s bad news, we’ll grieve together and go on from there.”

    “All right, Ben,” Inger said meekly.  “I suppose it is better to know than to vorry, yah?”

    “Yah,” Ben said firmly, then smiled.  “I just realized, sweetheart:  we’re completely alone for the first time since we married.  Adam’s spending the night with Jamie, so we could give that doctor a little something extra to look for, eh?”

    Inger looked pained.  “Oh, Ben, not tonight,” she pleaded.  “I am sorry, but I just couldn’t—”

    Ben stroked the blonde hair that had tumbled loose from its customary bun.  “No, no, not tonight,” he soothed, secretly berating himself for his lack of sensitivity.  “Just let me hold you and I’ll be content.”

    Without undressing, they lay down and Ben caressed Inger gently, demanding nothing in return.  In the quiet of the night they drifted to sleep, her head on his shoulder and neither stirred ‘til early morning.

    Saturday afternoon Inger breezed through the mercantile’s front door.  She moved quickly behind the counter to encircle Ben in her arms and, ignoring the customers’ amused chuckles, kissed him with the passion she ordinarily reserved for their bedroom.

    Ben gave an embarrassed laugh and pulled her into a corner.  “Not bad news, I take it,” he said, smiling, for his wife’s face glowed with gladness.

    Inger giggled.  “No, not bad news.”

    “Well, what did the doctor say?” Ben asked.  “Tell me quickly, dear.  There’s a roomful of people gawking at us!”

    “I don’t care if the whole vorld gawks, Ben!” Inger whispered.  “The doctor says there is no reason I cannot have children.  He thinks maybe I put too much pressure on myself to give you a child right avay, and this tension makes it harder to conceive.  He says I must relax and trust that a child vill come in God’s good time.”

    “There, you see!” Ben said, giving her shoulders a squeeze.  “Isn’t that just what I said?”

    “Yah,” Inger agreed.  “I have heard from two wise men now, and I vill do just as they say.  I vill not vorry, but, Ben, I vill need some fabric.”

    “For the curtains?” Ben asked slowly, his head spinning from the sudden subject change.  “I told you to pick whatever you like.”

    “For that, too,” Inger said, “but I meant for baby clothes, Ben.”

    “Baby clothes?” Ben asked.  “You—you don’t think you’re rushing that just a bit, do you, Inger?”

    Inger snickered.  “Yah, maybe.  So call it an act of faith, mine husband.  I vant to keep my hands busy, so my mind has no time to dwell on foolish fears.”

    Ben gave her a quick hug.  “In the interest of that, sweetheart, make all the little diapers and dresses your heart desires.”  He glanced quickly over his shoulder.  “Now, in the name of mercy, woman, let’s quit making a spectacle of ourselves.”

    Inger just laughed and gave him another lingering kiss while one customer applauded and several others joined in.

    Late one Saturday in mid-July Ben trudged wearily up the side steps to his home.  His brown eyes shone with renewed luster, however, when Inger met him at the door with a kiss.  “I vas vatching for you,” she said.  “You are later than usual coming back from Mrs. Larrimore’s.”

    “Yeah,” Ben muttered, “and more put out than usual, too.  If there’s one part of my job I truly hate, it’s making regular reports to that woman.”

    “Yah, I know,” Inger soothed, taking his hat. “I kept your supper varm.  Vash up and I’ll get it for you.”

    “Sounds good,” Ben said.  He dipped his hands in the basin of warm water Inger had, as usual, prepared for him.  “I tell you, Inger,” he grumbled as he lathered his hands with a bar of lye soap, “it’s no wonder Larrimore was frantic to find someone trustworthy to manage the store.  His wife has absolutely no business sense.  A dishonest man could rob her blind.”

    Inger set two bowls of stew on the table.  “She is lucky to have you, my love.”

    Ben dried his hands on the towel lying by the basin.  “I wish she felt that way.  So help me, I think she believes I’m cheating her!”

    Inger’s blue eyes widened in alarm.  “You are not serious, Ben?”

    “Almost,” Ben said with a crooked smile.  He noticed the second bowl on the table.  “You haven’t eaten yet?”

    Inger took his hand.  “I fed Adam early and sent him to bed, but I vanted to vait for you.”

    “You shouldn’t have,” Ben said, pulling out her chair, then, dropping a kiss atop her fair head, added, “but I’m grateful for the company.”

    “Tell me what you meant about Mrs. Larrimore,” Inger urged.

    Ben shrugged.  “Oh, it’s nothing, really.  She just can’t understand why the store’s receipts have dropped so suddenly.”

    “But surely she realizes the emigration season has passed,” Inger reasoned.  “She must have seen sales drop like this in other years.”

    Ben chuckled.  “Dearest, I doubt she ever looked at receipts in other years.  I tried to explain it to her, but it wasn’t until I took her back to the books for last year that she understood how well the business has been doing, even since the overland traffic tapered off.”  He raised an eyebrow.  “At least, I think she understands now.”

    Inger reached across the table to stroke his stubbled cheek.  “It must be hard for her, Ben, vith her husband avay, when she has left all these things to him before.  Ve must be patient.”

    Ben rolled his eyes.  “Darling, maybe you have that degree of patience; but I, for one, am no saint.”

    Inger frowned.  “If you’re going to be like this, Ben, I may just not give you the special mail that came today.”

    Ben’s hand froze midway between his bowl and his mouth.  “Mail?  The only person who writes us is Martha, and it’s too soon for another letter from her.”

    Inger tapped the table playfully.  “No, nothing from Martha.  And this did not come by regular mail.  It came, like I say, special.”

    Ben dropped the spoon and scowled.  “You’re trying my patience, Inger, and this is definitely not the day for it.”

    “Yah, I can see your patience needs much vork,” Inger teased.  She took a bite of stew and chewed slowly.

    “Inger!”

    “I think it vill do you good to vait, Ben,” Inger said with a maddening smile.  “Of course, the soldier vas so eager to get the letter to you, perhaps it is not fair to him to delay.”

    “Soldier?  What soldier?” Ben demanded.

    Inger took another leisurely sip of stew broth.  “Why, the one from Fort Kearny, of course.”

    “Fort Kearny?”  Ben’s brow furrowed, then his face lit up like a phosphorous match.  “John——it’s from John!”

    Inger patted her lips demurely with a napkin.  “Yah, I think it may be.”

    Ben wiggled his fingers, palm up.  “Unhand my mail, young lady!”

    Inger appeared to give his order some consideration.  “No, I think ve should vait ‘til morning, Benyamin,” she said with a pointed nod.  “It vill teach you patience.”

    Ben jerked out of his chair and came around the table.  “Inger, give me that letter,” he sputtered, “or so help me, I’ll tickle you!”

    Too late, Inger tried to elude the fingers digging into her side.  “No, no, please, Ben,” she gasped helplessly.  “I vill be good, I promise.”

    Ben tapped the palm of his hand.  “The letter, then, my dear, the letter.”

    Inger giggled.  “On the table by your pipe.  If you hadn’t been such a grumpy bear, you’d have seen it when you came in.”

    Ben chucked her under the chin and headed for the table.  Lifting the sealed envelope, he gave Inger a surprised look.  “You didn’t read it?”

    “Of course not, Ben!” Inger said.  “He is your brother.”

    “And yours now, too,” Ben insisted, giving her a quick hug.  “You could have read it, sweetheart.”

    “I like better to share vith you,” Inger said sweetly.  “Come back to the table, dear heart, and read it to me when you’ve finished eating.”

    They sat down again, but the stew grew cold while Ben tore open the envelope and began to read:

    “Dear Ben, on hearing that a party of soldiers here at Fort Kearny would be returning to Saint Joseph for supplies, I hurriedly put pen to paper, hoping my words will reach you.  The trail thus far has been soggy beyond my power to describe:   torrential downpours worthy of a passage around the Horn, winds such as I haven’t seen since my days at sea and fiery flashes of lightning, the like of which I’ve never seen anywhere!  When I first started out, the prairie seemed a sea of grass, but with all the rain, it’s become a bottomless ocean of mud.  The wagons bog down in it, and the cattle struggle to keep their footing.”

    “The poor animals,” Inger moaned softly.

    Ben nodded absently.  “Our progress has been slower than we hoped,” he continued, “but our party has fared better than many.  So far we have lost no animals, and we have been little hindered by sickness.  I met a man here at the fort who is headed back east.  He said there has been a real outbreak of cholera between here and Fort Laramie, but I’ve seen no cases as yet.  I did spend two miserable days laid up with dysentery, though.  Too much salt pork, I think.  I can’t stress enough, Ben, the importance of fresh meat.  I know you got to be a fair shot while you stayed with us; but for mercy’s sake, buy your rifle early and put in some target practice when you can.”

    Ben looked up at Inger.  “That’s sound advice, don’t you think?”

    “Yah,” Inger agreed readily.  “Of course, the guidebook says to take bacon and salt pork.”

    “Because they keep well,” Ben inserted, “and because you can’t count on finding game along the trail.  But I think John is right:  we’ll stay healthier if we eat fresh meat whenever possible.”

    Inger smiled.  “So buy a rifle and prepare yourself, Benyamin.  What else does Brother John say?”

    Ben scanned the letter to find his place.  “Once in a while we find greens along the road.  I don’t fix them too well, but I seem to feel heartier after a mess of them.  Tell Inger that there are more families than she expected on the trail this year.  We are not all ‘gold-crazed fools,’ as my brash young brother called me.”

    “Oh, Ben, you did not!” Inger reprimanded.

    “I’m afraid I did,” Ben admitted with chagrin.  “Don’t worry; John and I made our peace before he left.”

    “Vell, that is good,” Inger conceded, “but to treat a guest so, Ben—”

    Ben flashed her an irritated frown.  “Do you want to hear the letter or not?”  At her contrite nod he read on.   “Most of them seem like good people.  Some hard cases, though.  Many brought more supplies than their draft animals could pull, especially with the weather as it is.  It pains me to see good bacon and flour cast aside, but what hurts more is seeing supplies deliberately spoiled just so no one else can use them.  Even this early in the journey some folks need extra supplies, due to wagons tipping over at river fords, etc.  And to see others so hard-hearted they won’t give of their bounty to help a fellow traveler in distress is appalling to civilized men.  There are others, though, willing to share, though they have barely enough for themselves; and their courage and humanity is an inspiration.

    “Tell Adam I’m keeping a sharp look out for Indians as he asked.  I have seen a few——Pawnees, I was told——but mostly they keep their distance.  I traded a red shirt to one here at the fort for some fresh fish, the first I’d had since our picnic by the Missouri.  Sure were tasty, but nothing to compare with Inger’s!  I hear the Indians are fond of red shirts——beads, too,——so you might bring some along as trade goods.

    “I miss you, little brother.  How I wish you and your family could have shared the journey with me!  I’m learning how important it is to have good-hearted folks to travel with.  Choose your companions wisely, Ben; your success on the journey may depend on it.  I’ll try to send further messages to you as I have opportunity, but I’m not sure what the chances are.  Sure hope these soldiers prove reliable!  See you in California next spring.  With warmest regards, your brother John.”

    Inger sighed contentedly.  “Ah, that vas good, yah, Ben?”

    Ben folded the letter and carefully reinserted it in its envelope.  “To hear from John?  I’ll say it was!  I hadn’t hoped for news ‘til he reached California.”

    “At least, he writes,” Inger said, “not like that vorthless scamp of a Gunnar.”

    Smiling, Ben shook his head.  “Inger, Inger,” he chuckled.  “Gunnar thinks we’re on the trail.  How could he write?”

    “I wrote our change of plans, Ben,” Inger insisted.

    “I know, I know,” Ben soothed, “but Gunnar could not have received your letter and sent one back this quickly, dear.”

    Inger laughed.  “Yah, you are right.  But I know my lazy brother:  he vill not write.  I am glad yours is of a different sort.”

    Ben took a bite of stew.  “Yeah, it was good to hear—”  His face wrinkled in distaste and he pushed the bowl away.  “Inger, my love, would you mind reheating this?” he wheedled.

    Inger bobbed her head from side to side, as if weighing the question.  “Vell, I don’t know, Ben.  There is the matter of your tickling me.”

    Ben arched a bushy brown eyebrow.  “Reheat this stew, woman, or there’ll be more tickling once I get you to bed.”

    Inger’s chin tilted provocatively.  “I thought there were others things you liked better to do in bed.”  Seeing Ben’s face droop like a woebegone waif, she laughed and reached for the bowl.

Inger pulled back the blue and yellow calico curtains to peer at the garden plot behind her home, barren now but for the dry stalks and stems offering mute testimony to a productive summer.  Barren——like her body.  A sad smile touched her lips.  Then she smoothed the curtains and the smile became real.  It had, indeed, been a productive summer in all ways but that one.  The ruffled curtains and matching rocker cushions made the small apartment homey, and across the new tablecloth she had made from the same yellow fabric scattered with sprigs of blue flowers had marched a seemingly endless succession of green and golden vegetables.

    Inger walked into the next room and drew a small basket from beneath the bed.  She sat down on the mattress and, placing the basket in her lap, began lovingly touching the miniature garments it held.  Whenever she felt discouraged, she instinctively reached for the little basket of baby clothes and the hope they represented.  Somehow, though her dream continued unfulfilled, she felt she held a promise from God with each wee shirt or diaper.  If she prepared for a child, a child would surely come.

    She pressed one small blue bootie to each cheek and laughed.  How Ben had teased her about those blue booties!  “You seem to be set on a boy, Inger,” he had joked.

    “Yah, that is what I vant,” Inger admitted, “so I make only clothes for baby boys.  Don’t laugh at me, Ben, but I believe God vill not keep me vaiting so long and not send what I vant.”

    “And if He sends a girl?” Ben asked, his brown eyes sober.

    Inger shook her head carelessly at his concern.  “Then I vill love her, Benyamin.  Have no doubt of that.  I think it vould be good for Adam to have a brother to play vith, that is all.  For myself, it does not matter; I intend to have many sons and daughters, Ben!”

    Ben had laughed and kissed her then.  Now, sitting on the bed with the crocheted booties against her cheeks, Inger felt the kiss anew and her heart was cheered.  Rising quickly, she returned the basket to its place and went into the kitchen.  Adam, back in school now, would soon be home, doubtless bringing a hungry friend with him.  Inger opened the canister of flour and measured out enough for a batch of oatmeal cookies.

    Since September seventh fell on a Friday in 1849, it seemed only natural to include the Edwards family in the Cartwrights’ celebration of Ben’s birthday.  As Josiah slipped out of his brown tweed jacket that evening, he juggled a square package from one hand to the other, then held it out to his friend.  “Happy birthday, Ben.”

    Surprised, but pleased, Ben took the gift.  “You didn’t have to do this, Josiah.”

    “Oh, yes, I did,” Josiah laughed.  “It’s really more the repayment of a debt than a gift, I’m afraid.”  He waved to the woman standing by the stove.  “Hello, Inger.  Something special tonight?”

    “Nothing you have not had before,” Inger called, “but tonight ve eat all Ben’s favorites.  Sit down to table now, please, and I vill dish up.”

    “Yes, ma’am,” Josiah replied with his most obedient smile.  “Come here and take your place, Jamie, and you, too, Birthday Boy.”

    Adam tittered at the name Mr. Edwards had given his father and scooted into the chair next to Jamie’s.  “Eat good,” he whispered to his friend.  “There’s chocolate cake with the fluffiest white icing I ever saw for dessert.”

    His eyes fixed on the package in his hand, Ben ambled toward his place at the head of the table.  “I’m still trying to figure out what debt you owe me, sir.”

    Josiah chuckled.  “That, sir, should become obvious when you open your gift.”

    Inger set the pot roast, flavored with horseradish to make it the New England style Ben favored, in the center of the table and stood with arms akimbo.  “Open your gift, Benyamin, so ve can eat.”

    Ben sat down and snapped the string tying the brown paper-wrapped parcel.  “Tobacco!” he cried with delight.  “Thank you, Josiah.”

    Josiah nodded acknowledgment of Ben’s courtesy.  “Considering how much of yours I’ve smoked away these last months, you see why I call it a debt repaid rather than a gift.”

    His chin twitching, Ben shook his head.  “No, no, sir.  This is a far better grade of tobacco than you ever borrowed from me.”

    Josiah spread his hands.  “Let’s just say I prefer to borrow the best in future.  But before we test it out, let’s see if a meal of your favorites is fit for consumption, shall we?”

    Inger stopped slicing the loaf of fresh-baked bread long enough to thump Josiah on the head with her thumb.  “Ow!” he cried, his hands leaping to hold his offended pate.  “What was that for?”

    “For calling my food not fit for consumption,” Inger responded in her sweetest tone.

    Ben clucked his tongue.  “After all you’ve consumed, too!  For shame, Josiah!”

    The thumb landed on Ben’s head this time.  “Behave yourself, Ben, or the birthday boy vill get no cake.”

    “Yea!  More for me!” Adam yelled, then ducked as he saw the punishing thumb raised over his head.  “Well, chocolate’s my favorite,” he pouted.  “Jamie’s, too, I bet.”

    Inger laughed and kissed the top of his head instead of thumping it.  “And you shall both have all you can hold, my sweet, but dinner first.”  She sat down.  “Please to say grace for us, Josiah?”

    Josiah gave his head one last comforting rub and grinned good-naturedly at Inger before folding his hands.  “Father,” he prayed, “for this food, which I affirm to be not only fit for consumption, but undoubtedly delicious, I thank You heartily.”  His tone grew more serious.  “I thank You still more for the loving hands which have prepared it and the warmth of this home my son and I have enjoyed so many other nights.  Amen.”

    Ben carved the roast beef and handed a plate, first, to each of his guests and then to Inger and Adam.  “How’s my boy doing in school this year?” he asked as he passed the potatoes to Josiah on his left.

    Josiah beamed a smile toward Adam.  “The school term’s just started, of course, but our young scholar seems as interested in learning as ever.  In fact, he’s providing Jamie some stiff competition, especially in arithmetic.”

    “He likes it better than me,” Jamie said with a shrug.

    “Than I,” his father corrected, giving the youngster’s slim shoulder a squeeze.  “That’s no excuse, my boy.  If you’re not careful, your friend will soon surpass you in that subject, if not others.”

    “I wouldn’t mind,” Jamie replied with a carefree laugh.  “It’s fun having someone to match wits with.  No one ever came close before.”

    “I believe what Jamie is trying to say is that he enjoys the challenge Adam’s quick mind represents,” Josiah commented, “and I think that’s all to the good——for both of them.”

    “It is good to hear Adam does vell,” Inger said.  “For this reason I am glad ve stayed the extra year here.  He is learning much from you, Josiah.”

    Josiah nodded, gazing seriously at Adam.  The boy had such an intense love of learning that Josiah hated to see him travel so far beyond the reach of formal schooling.  But this was a night for celebration, not for somber pondering about the future.  Josiah put off his schoolmaster garb and turned to his friend.  “Have you heard more from your brother, Ben?”

    Ben shook his head.  “Not a word.  John promised he’d write when he could, but we’ve heard nothing since that letter from Fort Kearny.”

    Josiah sliced a bite of tender roast.  “Well, there’s no regular mail, Ben.  He may not have found anyone to carry a message east.  Most are going the other way, you know, and those who do return may not be entirely reliable postal carriers.”

    “Yah, I am sure that is why,” Inger said.  “The soldier who brought the first letter said John had done him a good turn.  That is why he vas so glad to carry his letter.  Others might not be so—so—”

    “So motivated?” Josiah suggested.

    “Yah, that is the vord I vant,” Inger said with a smile.  “But ve are much blessed to have heard from John at all, I think.  Poor Mrs. Larrimore has had no vord from her husband.”

    “Well, he should be in California by now; and John should, at least, be near there,” Ben said.  “I’m sure they’ll each send word when they arrive.  The Pacific Mail Steamship Company was formed last year, you know, to bring mail from San Francisco across the isthmus.”

    “I remember reading about it,” Josiah said.  “Amazing, isn’t it, to be able to communicate with the far west so quickly.”

    Ben reached for the other man’s hand.  “Amazing and wonderful, my friend.  Be assured, you’ll hear from us.”

    “And you from us,” Josiah promised.  “Miles may separate us, but somehow, I think our friendship will survive.”

    Inger stood quickly.  “I think it is time for the cake,” she said, lifting her voice to lighten everyone’s suddenly solemn mood.  “Who vants the first piece?”

    “Me!” cried four voices at once, and the solemn mood dissolved into laughter.

    The time between Ben’s birthday and the end of the year was particularly festive for the Cartwrights and their friends.  Inger felt she barely finished one celebration before it was time to plan the next.  She had intended to observe her own birthday in October with a quiet family dinner.  But when she learned that only three days separated it from young Jamie’s birthday, the simple observance became, instead, another gala gathering, this time with all of Jamie’s favorite foods on the menu.  In November, at Ben’s insistence, he and Inger celebrated their first year of marriage with dinner in a restaurant.  Then, though Inger protested the expense, they had daguerreotypes taken, one together and one of Inger alone.  Afterwards, at home, they toasted what each declared the happiest year of their lives with a glass of inexpensive red wine, storing the rest away to welcome in the new year when it came.

    Then began preparations for the year’s most anticipated holiday.  December had barely commenced when Adam and Jamie started to whisper secret wants and wishes in the supposed privacy of Adam’s room.  Since they left the door open, however, their soft voices were often——perhaps intentionally——overheard and their “secrets” shared later in beneath-the-covers whispers by Ben and Inger.

    One desire, though, was expressed plainly and, considering it was timid Jamie doing the talking, boldly.  “I wish we could spend Christmas here instead of that old boardinghouse,” he confided to Inger.  “Mrs. Martin wouldn’t even let me hang a stocking by the fire last year and dinner was just awful!”

    Inger knelt to hold the child in her arms.  “I promise dinner vill be vonderful this year, little one, a real Svedish Christmas feast like when I vas a girl.  You and your papa vill like much, I think.”

    “You mean it?  We can come?” Jamie asked, his bright eyes shining like stars above his pale cheeks.

    “Yah, sure!” Inger laughed.  “How could our celebration be complete vithout you?  Tell your papa I vill not take no for an answer.”

    Jamie grinned.  “He won’t say no, not when I remind him about that burnt duckling.”

    “Tell him also you are invited to spend the night vith Adam December twelfth,” Inger added as she stood and patted his head.  “The next morning is when ve start our Christmas celebration in Sveden.”

    Jamie did a quick calculation on his fingers.  “The twelfth’s on a Wednesday,” he said.  “Father won’t like me to stay here on a school night, I’m afraid.”

    “I vill talk to him,” Inger promised, smoothing the wrinkles Jamie’s embrace had left in her apron.  “What I plan vill take little time, so you vill both be on time for school, as alvays.”

    “We didn’t do anything special on the thirteenth last year, did we, Mama?” Adam asked.

    Inger laughed and pinched Adam’s cheek.  “No, but this year ve add something extra.  Is all right, yah?”

    Adam grinned.  “Sure!  Will there be presents then, too?”

    Inger shook her head.  “No, no, it is only a special breakfast to velcome back the warmth of the sun as the days get longer.  No presents, but you vill like, I think.”

    “I know we will!” Jamie declared, winning a smile of approval from Inger.

    “Mama,” Adam began tentatively.  “Isn’t there some way Jamie could have his whole Christmas here?”

    Inger looked into the earnest black eyes.  “I don’t know what you mean, Adam.”

    “You know, the whole day,” Adam explained, “presents and all.  And could we have a tree?”

    Inger’s brow furrowed.  “A tree, Adam?  I do not know about that.  Ve have so little room here.”

    “Oh, please!” Adam pleaded.  “Sterling Larrimore is bragging all over school about the huge tree they’re going to have——bigger even than Queen Victoria’s, he says——with real candles and tons of candy and presents tied on all the branches.”

    “Ooh,” Jamie cooed.  “That sounds pretty.  Could we, Miss Inger?  Could we have a tree like that, just a little one?  I’d help make the decorations.”

    “So you shall,” Inger agreed impulsively.  “But you must write Santa a nice note and ask him to deliver your presents here.”

    “How’ll we get a letter to Santa?” Adam asked.

    Inger rumpled his straight black hair.  “You give to your Papa.  He vill know where to send it.”

    “Come on!” Adam ordered Jamie as he ran toward the connecting door to the mercantile.  “Pa’ll give us a sheet of paper, I know he will!”

    Inger laughed at their eagerness.  Perhaps she had been a bit overeager herself to make such plans without consulting Jamie’s father.  But she was sure he would agree that Christmas would be happier in their home than in a boardinghouse with a stockingless fireplace and a burnt duckling.
 

    Thursday morning, the thirteenth of December, Inger rose earlier than usual to prepare the St. Lucia buns that had traditionally signaled the beginning of the holiday season in her girlhood home.  She hummed an old hymn to the saint of Sicily, who had been adopted by the Swedish, even in staunchly Protestant homes like Inger’s, as the patron of light.  Adding a pinch of saffron to color the bread sunny yellow, she thought about how long it had been since she had celebrated this day she enjoyed as much, if not more, than Christmas itself.

    Not since her parents’ death had she observed Luciadagen.  Gunnar had never wanted to continue the Old World customs.  To him, they were a reminder of old-fashioned ways not suitable to a new land.  To Inger, they recalled the warmth and love she had known as a girl, both in Sweden and in the home her parents had made here in the States.  Inger could think of no better way to express her contentment in the life she had found with Ben and Adam than to share with them all that had given her joy before.

    She kneaded the dough to the proper texture, then set it to rise near the stove kept burning low through the night since it provided the only heat in their lodgings.  While she waited, she placed small candles in the wreath of evergreens she had made the previous day and laid a match nearby to light them later.  Next to it she placed the wide crimson ribbon hidden until this morning in her basket of baby things.  All the festive symbols ready, she stepped onto the stoop, closing the door behind her, and sat down on the top step.

    Chilly in nothing but her linen nightgown and flannel wrapper, Inger hugged her knees tightly to her chest.  She welcomed the cold as an old friend, though, another reminder of home.  The only thing that could have made this day more perfect would be a soft snowfall.  Inger laughed lightly, knowing Ben would tease her about her fondness for winter weather if she shared such a thought.  But he would understand, too; he could be as syrupy sentimental about ocean spray as Inger ever was about breezes off the snow-covered mountains of Sweden.

    At last the breakfast buns were ready, the coffee and hot cocoa steaming hot, so Inger slipped off her wrapper and tied the crimson ribbon around the waist of her white nightgown.  Then she lighted the candles of the wreath and set it carefully on her head, picked up a plate with two buns and a cup of coffee and headed for the bedroom she shared with Ben.  “Joyous Luciadagen, Benyamin,” she announced as she approached him.

    Ben’s sleepy eyes widened at the vision before him.  An angel could not have seemed more beautiful to him than this Nordic messenger of good will.  The ring of candles cast such a halo of soft light over Inger’s fair face that Ben wouldn’t have been surprised to see wings sprouting from her shoulders.

    “Good morning, Ben,” Inger said, and the voice, too, was that of an angel in Ben’s ears.  He sat up and Inger handed him the plate of rolls and the coffee.

    “Breakfast in bed!” he exclaimed.  “If this is how the Swedes celebrate Christmas, then may all my Christmases be Swedish.”

    Inger laughed gently.  “They vill be, my love, through all our years together.  You like Luciadagen, yah?”

    Munching on a yellow bun, Ben mumbled his response, but Inger understood his words.  “No, I can’t join you yet, Ben.  I have to bring the boys’ breakfasts to them.  But I vill be back soon.”

    Armed with more St. Lucia buns and cups of hot cocoa, Inger went to Adam’s room. “Good morning, my darlings,” Inger cooed to the two boys in the small bed.  “Are you ready for the special breakfast I promised?”  Contrary to Jamie’s fear, his father, in the interest of expanding the boy’s knowledge of another culture, had readily agreed to his spending the night with his friend.

    The youngsters sat up almost simultaneously, and Jamie clapped his hands in delight.  “Oh, you’re beautiful, Miss Inger, like a fairy princess.”

    “A strange fairy,” Inger laughed, “in only my nightgown.  It should be a beautiful white dress, but I have none.”

    “You are beautiful, Mama,” Adam insisted.  He eyed the buns hungrily.  “Those look beautiful, too!”

    Smiling as she shook her head in amusement, Inger handed him his plate and gave the second to Jamie.  On each was a single sweet bun with a cup of cocoa balanced beside it.

    Jamie took a bite and sighed happily.  “They’re really good!  Miss Inger,” he began tentatively, “will you tell us about how people celebrate Christmas in Sweden?  Father said I should ask.”

    Inger laughed.  “Your papa makes everything into a lesson, little one.”

    Jamie blushed.  “I’d really like to know,” he said.

    “You shall hear then.  Let me first take off this crown.”

    “Oh, no,” Adam protested.  “Leave it on.  It’s so pretty, Mama.”

    Inger pulled Adam’s ear.  “It vill not be so pretty if I catch my hair on fire, silly son.”

     “No, I guess not!” Adam tittered.

    Inger took the coronet of evergreens from her head and blew out the candles.  “Besides, if ve are to speak of Jultomten, ve should not have candles burning.  He is afraid of candles.”

    “Jultomten?” Jamie asked.

    “Yah, that is our name for Santa Claus in Sveden,” Inger said, sitting on the bed to face the two boys munching contentedly on their breakfast buns.

    “I never heard of Santa being afraid of fire,” Adam said, his nose wrinkling skeptically.

    “Vell, I am only telling you what I vas taught as a girl,” Inger replied, tweaking the youngster’s nose.

    Jamie swallowed a sip of cocoa.  “So, why is Jultomten afraid of fire?” he asked.

    “Oh, I don’t know,” Inger replied with a shrug.  Secretly she thought that part of the legend had been concocted by parents who wished to discourage their children from playing with fire themselves, but that explanation wouldn’t do now.  “Perhaps he is afraid his long beard vill catch fire or his red suit vill get all sooty,” she suggested instead.

    “He sounds exactly like St. Nicholas,” Jamie pointed out.

    “Yah, sure,” Inger agreed.  “Is mostly another name for the same thing, but Jultomten is a little different.  He is not vith us just at Christmas.  Though ve never see him, he often flits through the house, moving things around, upsetting milk buckets.”

    “That’s not very nice,” Adam said indignantly.

    Inger laughed.  “Oh, he is just a playful little elf, having fun.  But on Christmas Eve he loads his sleigh vith gifts and the Christmas goats—”

    “Goats!” both boys shouted.  “Santa doesn’t use goats,” Adam scoffed.  “It’s reindeer, Mama.”

    Inger spatted the top of his head.  “Goats, reindeer, what does it matter?  People tell the old stories a little different in every country, Adam, but everywhere there is a bringer of gifts to remind us of the great gift God sent to earth at Christmas.”

    Adam shrugged.  “I guess so, but goats still sound funny.”

    “There is one other difference in what I vas taught as a girl,” Inger said.  “Here Santa brings gifts to all good children, but in Sveden ve believe Jultomten also leaves spanking svitches for naughty boys.”

    “Ugh!” said Adam.  “I wouldn’t like that!”

    Inger cuddled his cheeks between her palms.  “You have nothing to fear, little one, nor does Jamie.  Jultomten knows you have been the best of boys.”

    After Adam had been snuggled into bed that night, Inger seated herself in the rocker near Ben’s armchair and folded her hands in her lap.  “Ben, I must talk vith you,” she said.

    Ben took a farewell puff on his pipe and laid it aside on the table between them.  “You have my undivided attention, my love.”

    “It is about Christmas,” Inger began.

    “You want to invite the Edwards,” Ben stated matter-of-factly, certain he had read her mind.

    “Of course,” Inger replied impatiently.  “That goes vithout saying, I should think.  What I vant to speak to you about is the tree.”

    Ben cocked his head.  “The tree?  What tree?”

    The expression on his face was so bewildered Inger had to laugh.  “The Christmas tree, Ben!  I promised the boys ve vould have one.”

    “A Christmas tree?” Ben repeated, still feeling dazed.  “Since when do we put up a Christmas tree?”

    Inger ducked her head, almost embarrassed to admit the reason.  “Since Sterling Larrimore boasts to our son about how their tree vill be more splendid than Queen Victoria’s.”

    Ben’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized his wife’s face.  “Since when do we line our lives up with what the Larrimores do?”

    Inger flushed deeply.  Ben’s words hurt, perhaps because she sensed a hint of truth in them.  But only a hint, she was sure.  “Ve don’t, Ben, and I do not mean our tree to measure against theirs.  But many people do put up trees nowadays, and if so simple a thing gives joy to our child, why should ve not?”

    Ben chuckled.  “I can think of a number of reasons, Inger.  The biggest problem that comes to mind is where to put it.”

    Inger tapped the table between them.  “Here,” she smiled.

    “On the table?” Ben scoffed.  “You weren’t kidding when you said it wouldn’t measure up to the Larrimore’s——not to mention Queen Victoria’s!”

    Inger slapped his knee sharply.  “I have told you that is not my purpose.  And not on the table, you provoking man——in place of it.”

    “All right,” Ben said slowly, deliberately trying to sound rational to emphasize that Inger so obviously was not.  “And where does the table go——back to Mrs. Larrimore?”

    “Ben!” Inger snapped.  “You are being impossible.  Ve vill store the table in Adam’s room.  It is only for a few days, and he vill not mind, I am sure.”

    “All right, all right,” Ben murmured as if pacifying a child.  “How on earth are we supposed to decorate this regal evergreen?  Had you thought of that?”

     “Yah, sure,” Inger said buoyantly, “but I vill need your help.  I found some old shingles behind the house, too worn for roofing, but they vill make fine ornaments.”

    “Wood shingles,” Ben said, nodding blankly and mouthing each syllable as though it were a separate word.  “Of course.”  He reached out to take Inger’s hand and patted it soothingly.  “Do you think Queen Victoria would hang shingles on her tree, my love?”

    Inger pulled her hand out of Ben’s clasp.  “If you say one more vord about Queen Victoria, Ben, I vill—”

    Ben pressed his broad palms against her cheeks.  “I’m trying to understand, Inger.”

    Still angry, Inger turned her head.  “You vould understand better, mine husband, if you vould listen, instead of making such foolishness.”

    Ben threw up his hands in protest.  “I’m am listening, Inger.  You’re just not making sense.”

    Inger gave him a perturbed glance.  “Vell, I am trying, Ben!  I vant you should use the shingles to carve some simple shapes.  Then the boys could paint them and ve could hang them from the branches vith pieces of ribbon.”

    Ben’s brow furrowed.  “What kind of simple shapes?” he asked gingerly.

    “Everyday things,” Inger said brightly.  “Stars, candles, trees, birds.”

    Ben looked horrified.  “Birds!  Good lands, Inger, I’ve never done much whittling at all.  And birds!  How you call birds simple?”

    “I show you,” Inger said.  She opened her Swedish Bible, so large it almost covered the small table, and took a folded piece of paper from it.  “I drew these this afternoon.  See?  Simple!”

    Ben took the paper and unfolded it.  “Well, they don’t look as complicated as I thought,” he admitted.

    Inger beamed.  “There, you see!  I know you can do this, Ben, and Adam vill love helping to make them.  It vill give him and Jamie something to do now that it is getting so cold outside.”  Inger’s face sobered.  “I’m vorried about Jamie, Ben; he coughs so much.”

    Ben took Inger’s hand and kissed it.  “All right, little mother, I’ll try.  I just hope Adam won’t be too disappointed.”

    “They vill be beautiful in his eyes, Ben,” Inger promised, “because they come from the hand of his father.  Trust me, my love.”

    Though Ben felt little confidence in Inger’s prediction, Adam’s admiring eyes as he stretched across the table to watch the shapes emerging from the old shingles proved her accuracy as a prophet, at least in matters of the heart.  And Ben felt his own bosom swell with pride as Adam and his friend gaily painted trees, birds, stars and candles with three small cans of primary colors Ben had been glad to donate to the project.  With what he was sure was only small prejudice, Ben considered their ornaments works of art worthy of hanging even on Queen Victoria’s tree.

    On a Saturday afternoon three days before Christmas the boys were finishing up the last few ornaments to hang on the tree at one end of the kitchen table while Inger rolled out cookies at the other.  “What do you think of this one, Miss Inger?” Jamie asked, holding up a blue bird with red heart-shaped wings.

    “Oh, I like it!” Inger said.  “He seems a very happy bird.  Make some more like that, Jamie.”  Turning her attention back to her own craftsmanship, she drew a sharp knife around a wooden bird laid atop the cookie dough, for she had saved some of the shingle shapes back to make gingersnaps matching the painted ornaments.  On each cookie she place a sliver of almond as wings for birds, pinecones on trees, the flame of a candle or the center of a star.

    When the first sheet of cookies turned golden brown in the oven, she had another ready to slide in.  With a flat knife she lifted the warm cookies onto a plate and set it on the table between the boys.  “I need tasters,” she said.

    Jamie’s grin matched the one on his friend’s face.  Warm cookies were one of the reasons he preferred to visit Adam’s home rather than have Adam come to his room at the boardinghouse.  While cookies were occasionally available where Jamie lived, they were rarely as good and never as warm as the fresh ones popping regularly from Inger’s oven.

    Adam sank his teeth into the crispy star.  “Um, good!” he announced.  Taking another from the plate before him, he gave it an appraising scrutiny, then laid it on the table and tried to poke a hole in it with the end of his paintbrush.  The cookie splintered in three pieces.  “Aw, shucks!” Adam said.  “I thought we could put some of these on the tree——instead of candy, you know.”

    “Yeah, they’d have been prettier than candy, too,” Jamie commiserated.

    Inger laughed.  “If you vant to hang them on the tree, you have to make the hole before they bake, my foolish ones.  Give me your brush, Adam.”  Taking it, she pressed a hole near the top of the tree she had just cut.  “There, now it vill bake vith a hole in it for the ribbon.”

    “Yeah!” Adam cried.  “Will you make some more like that?”

    “Yah, sure,” Inger agreed, “but not too many.  These are mostly for eating Christmas Eve while ve decorate.  You and your father are coming, yah, Jamie?”

    “Yes, ma’am,” Jamie replied politely.  “Father said to tell you he will bring some popcorn, so we can string it around the branches.”

    “Oh, that vill make it very pretty indeed,” Inger said.  “Give your father my thanks.”

    “I wish you could spend the night here,” Adam pouted.

    “Adam,” Inger admonished firmly.  “Ve have discussed that before.  Ve have no place for Jamie’s father to sleep, and family should be together on such a special night.  But you and Jamie vill be here until time for the service at church and together again the next morning.  It vill have to be enough.”

    “I know,” Adam whimpered, “but that way we have to wait so long for our presents.”

    Inger rested both hands on her hips, ignoring the flour they dusted onto her gray muslin skirt.  “Continue that attitude, Adam Cartwright, and you vill vait until after supper for your presents!”  Seeing his crestfallen face, she softened her tone.  “Santa does not like to see such impatience,” she reminded the boys.  “Ve vould not vant him to change his mind about the gifts he plans, vould ve?”

    “Or change them for switches,” Jamie added gravely, thrusting his elbow into Adam’s side.  “Behave!”

    The cedar tree stretched just to the top of the window near which Ben’s armchair and Inger’s rocker used to sit.  The branches spread so wide that the chairs, as well as the table, had to be moved to accommodate them, but no one seemed to mind the inconvenience.  Birds, both wooden and baked, their way lighted by stars and candles of similar substance, fluttered through a simulated forest of evergreens resembling the real one on which they hung.  Festooned from bough to bough were strands of fluffy white popcorn puffs that reminded Inger of clouds.

    When everything was in place on the tree, Ben on one side, and Josiah on the other, began to light the small wax candles attached to the outer branches.  The last two sparked into flame almost simultaneously, and both men stepped back to survey their work.  Ben rested his broad palm on Adam’s slim shoulder.  “There!  What do you say to that, my boy?”

    Adam and Jamie both clapped their hands.  “It’s grand, Pa!” Adam declared.  “I knew it would be.”

    Jamie gave an emphatic nod of agreement.  “I bet Sterling would be pea-green.”

    “Jamie,” his father cautioned.  “That attitude is not in keeping with the spirit of Christmas.”

    “Yes, sir,” Jamie responded dutifully, but the grin he tossed toward Adam told his friend his opinion remained unchanged.

    Josiah didn’t see the naughty exchange between the boys, however, for he was too busy admiring the tree.  “I must say, my friends, this is the finest Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.”

    Inger tittered.  “And just how many how you seen before?”

    Josiah gave her a sheepish grin.  “Just one,” he admitted.  “Three years ago, before we came here, I visited some of my students of German descent.  They had decorated a tree, and while it was nice, I honestly find this one even more attractive.”

    “I must say it turned out better than I expected,” Ben said.  He winked at Inger.  “Even Queen Victoria would be proud.”

    Inger flapped a disdaining hand toward Ben.  “Oh, you and your talk of the Queen!”

    Josiah laughed.  “Well, now, Inger, it’s appropriate.  After all, it’s largely due to the influence of her royal highness that this custom is becoming so popular.”

    “Why is that?” Inger queried curiously.

    “Well, when she married Prince Albert, he brought his German customs with him to England,” Josiah explained, “and when the picture of the Queen’s family gathered around their Christmas tree was published a few years ago, everyone on both sides of the Atlantic found it such an attractive symbol of Yuletide harmony that they began to copy the custom.”

    “Yah, I remember seeing the picture in the newspaper now,” Inger said.  “You are right; it did seem warm and homey.”

    “Not as much as this,” Jamie insisted, the longing for home so evident in his voice that no one had the heart to contradict him.

     Inger stooped and gave him a kiss.  “Ve vill light it again tomorrow when you come,” she promised, “so ve can all enjoy its beauty again.”  Jamie gave her a warm hug in response.

    “I’ve been toying with the idea of setting up a tree, a really large one, at the schoolhouse next year,” Josiah said, “and seeing this has just about made my decision for me.”

    “Oh, that is a vonderful idea, Josiah!” Inger exclaimed.  “Then everyone could enjoy it.  I vill leave these ornaments here vith you then, if you do not think them too roughly made.”

    “They’re perfect,” Josiah assured her, “and the children could use them as samples to make more.  I thought, too, we might have a short program with the children reciting seasonal verses.”

    “Oh, Father!” Jamie cried.  “We’d all like that, wouldn’t we, Adam?”

    Adam’s face fell.  “I won’t be here,” he mumbled.

    A cloud crossed Jamie’s face.  He and Adam rarely thought about their impending separation, but when they did, both were inevitably saddened.

    “Here, now!  No long faces,” Ben ordered briskly.  “It’s Christmas, my lads, a time for joy!”

    “Yah, you have plenty of time to store up happy memories of each other before spring,” Inger pointed out.  The boys’ faces relaxed.  Spring was a long way off yet; no need to spoil Christmas with thoughts of sadness so far away.

    “Now, I think ve have time for one more cup of hot chocolate and some cookies before ve leave for church,” Inger said brightly.

    Josiah held up a protesting hand.  “Please, no more cookies for me, or Santa Claus and I will be visiting the same tailor.”

    “All right,” Inger laughed, “but you must have something varm to drink before ve go out into the night.”

    Josiah smiled back.  “That I won’t refuse.”

    The Cartwrights and their guests lingered so long over their cocoa and cookies that they had to hurriedly blow out the candles on the tree and hustle into their coats.  “Does everyone have their candles?” Inger queried.  On being assured that everyone was prepared, she pulled on her mittens and followed the others out the door.

    It was only a short walk to the church through a clear, crispy cold night.  No one noticed the dropping temperature, though, for their hearts were warmed by greetings from friends and the glow of happy faces smiling back at them.  Ben slid into his accustomed pew, followed by Inger, Adam, Jamie and Josiah.  Ben’s rich baritone and Josiah’s soaring tenor blended harmoniously with Inger’s mellow alto and the boys’ lilting soprano voices as the worshippers sang a few opening hymns celebrating the birth of Christ.  Following the congregational singing and a surprisingly sweet-toned solo by Camilla Larrimore, the minister delivered a brief sermon from the first chapter of John reminding his listeners of the light that had come to pierce the gloom of a world blackened by sin.

    As he spoke, two ushers extinguished the lights in the room until all that remained was the faint glimmer from the candle in the minister’s hand.  Holding it aloft, he announced, “Let this represent that twinkle of light that came to us in a manger in Bethlehem.  Even though it was a heavenly light, the miracle of its radiance would never have reached us had it been held within the hearts of those who first saw it.

     “The shepherds, however, did not harbor that light; they spread its beams far and wide, and I invite you now to become like the shepherds.  Use the candles I asked you each to bring, first to receive and then to share the light of God’s love with one another.” He stepped first to his right and then to his left, lighting the candles of the two men sitting at the end of each front pew.  Spreading from one reverent heart to the next, the light passed down the rows.  Inger gave Adam a tender smile as he cautiously lighted her candle, then turned to gaze lovingly into Ben’s eyes as she shared her light with him.

    Soon the entire room glowed with soft candlelight.  “You see how the darkness is completely banished when we each reflect the light of Christ,” the minister declared.  “I urge you, dear friends, to remember that our Lord has called you the light of the world.  Let your light so shine that men will see your good works and glorify your father which is in heaven.”

    “Amen!” called a masculine voice seated somewhere behind Ben.

    “Indeed!  So be it,” the minister responded enthusiastically.  “As you leave, take your light with you and share its message joyfully with all you meet.”  He offered a brief benediction and the organ began to play in muted tones as friends and neighbors filed quietly from the sanctuary.  No one wanted to disrupt the sanctified silence with idle chit-chat, so the only words heard were whispered farewells.

    “Until tomorrow,” Ben murmured as he clasped Josiah’s hand.

    “Until tomorrow,” Josiah responded, his ocean-blue eyes gleaming.  “Go with the light, my friend.”

    The Cartwrights walked home at a leisurely pace through the light snow that had started to fall during the service.  Just before turning into the alley that led to the side entrance to their quarters, they turned and looked back down the street at the flickering lights moving this way and that away from the church.  From a distance they could not see who carried the small flames, but each, they knew, represented a friend, someone unknown a year ago, but cherished now.  Ben slipped his free arm around Inger’s shoulders and she smiled up into his eyes, seeing in them a reflection of the light he held.  Neither spoke nor felt the need to.  Each knew the other was basking in the glow of blessings discovered during their sojourn in St. Joseph.

    Ben was up before Adam this Christmas morning——of necessity, for he had to sneak Jamie’s presents in from the mercantile storeroom where Josiah had hidden them.  As he placed the gifts under the tree, he couldn’t help but notice the difference between the gifts for the two boys.  Josiah had not been lavish with his son, but it was obvious Jamie’s presents had cost considerably more than Adam’s simple toys.  Ben sighed.  Someday, maybe, he’d be able to shower his little lad with all his childish heart desired.  Then he chuckled softly.  In the long run, that might mean more to the father than the son, anyway.  For now, he could only hope Adam would be pleased with what he could provide.  Certainly, it was more than the youngster had ever seen on previous Christmas mornings.

    Ben stood and looked at the arrangement of gifts beneath the tree.  “What do you think?” he asked Inger.

    Inger gave the lump of dough on the table an extra thump, then dusted the flour from her hands and looked at the tree.  “It’s fine, Ben,” she assured him.  “You’re sure you have everything?”

    Ben kissed her.  “Everything, including a package or two with the name of a lovely lady on them.  Santa hopes you’ll like them.”

    Inger gave him a quick hug, then went back to kneading the dough for Christmas breakfast.  “Santa alvays chooses wisely,” she said.  She winked at her husband. “So you vill, of course, be pleased vith what he brings you.”

    “Of course,” Ben laughed.

    Inger smiled a secret smile.  There was one present for Ben, one she was sure would please him, that wouldn’t fit beneath the tree.  She’d give it to him later in her own way.

    Inger had just put the apple torte in the oven when Adam came bouncing into the room, stocking in hand.  They had agreed that he might investigate it as soon as he woke, though the larger gifts would wait until Jamie and Josiah arrived.  The stocking clattered to the floor, though, when Adam saw the large, unwrapped present leaning against the wall behind the tree.  “A sled!” he screamed.  “Santa brought me a sled!”

    Ben’s heart flew into his throat.  “No, no, son,” he stammered, reaching out to stop Adam’s pell-mell rush toward the object of his excitement.  He took the boy in his arms, then reached for the tag tied to the sled and held it for Adam to see.

    Adam read the large letters with a dejected face.  “Oh, it’s for Jamie.”

    “There is much for you, too,” Inger said.  “Look and see, but no touching.”

    Adam went on a prospecting expedition under the tree and emerged with the same forlorn face.  “The big ones are all for Jamie,” he said.

    Ben felt crushed by the disappointment in the youngster’s eyes.  Why on earth had he ever consented to this idea of sharing Christmas with the Edwards?  It had seemed right at the time, an act of kindness to a lonely family, but now Ben feared it would do nothing but point out the difference in their financial status.  He had no words with which to respond to Adam’s doleful proclamation.

    Inger, however, had.  “Come here, Adam,” she said softly.  He went to her immediately and melted into the comfort of her arms.  “Santa did not bring you big presents this year because he knows you could not take them vith you on our trip to California,” she explained.  “You remember ve must be careful not to load the vagon vith things ve do not need.”

    “Yes,” Adam said slowly, “but I like that sled, Mama; I really, really do!”

    Inger brushed his dark hair from his forehead.  “Do you not think Jamie vill share, Adam?”

    Adam’s head lifted proudly.  “‘Course, he will!  Me and Jamie share everything!” he said emphatically.

    “And do you not think Santa knows this?” Inger asked with a gentle smile.

    A slow grin lifted Adam’s face.  “So he gave Jamie big things to share and me little things to take with me, but they’re really all for both of us?”

    Ben clapped his son on the shoulders.  “That’s right!  The best gifts are the ones we share, my boy.”  He looked gratefully at Inger.  How easily she had handled what he had thought an insurmountable problem.

    The Edwards arrived around mid-morning.  Jamie didn’t even have time to take off his coat before Adam dragged him over to the tree.  “Look what Santa brought us!” he ordered.  “A sled!”

    “Adam,” Ben rebuked, a slight pucker at his lips.

    “Oh, all right,” Adam said, impatient with his father’s emphasis on facts Adam now considered totally irrelevant.  “He brought it to you, but you’ll share, right?”

    Jamie stared at the sled with open-faced bedazzlement.  “You bet I will!” he shouted.  “Can we try it out now, can we?  I’m still dressed for outdoors.”

    “Now, Jamie, Adam’s waited all morning to open his presents just so you could be here, too,” Josiah admonished.  “Perhaps he’d rather do that than rush right outdoors.”

    Jamie gave his friend a chagrined look.  “I’m sorry; I forgot.”

    “Why don’t you open just one, Adam?” Inger suggested.  “Then you could sled awhile and still have time to open the others before lunch.”

    “That’s a good idea,” Ben said.  He leaned to whisper in Josiah’s ear.  “Nothing Adam’s getting is likely to live up to that sled, anyway.”

    “Nothing of Jamie’s, either,” Josiah whispered back.  “I should have disguised it, but it just seemed too big to wrap.”

    Adam took one of his gifts from beneath the tree and tore the paper from it.  His face wrinkled in bewilderment.  “What is it?” he asked.

    The adults laughed.  “Hold it to your eye, Adam, and turn the bottom part,” Ben suggested.

    Adam did and his mouth dropped in wonder.  “Ooh, pretty!  Look at this, Jamie.”

    Jamie took the kaleidoscope and turned it to watch the ever-changing geometric patterns.  “I like this,” he said.  He looked up at Adam with an ingratiating smile.  “Share-and-share-alike, right, Adam?”

    Adam laughed.  “Right!”  As pleased as he was with his gift, though, Adam saw no reason to change their original plan to share Jamie’s present first, so he crowded his arms into his overly-snug winter coat and was soon dragging his friend down the snow-covered street toward the nearest elevation.

    “If Inger has time,” Josiah said after the boys had left, “I brought you each a remembrance of the day.  Perhaps you’d just as well open them while the boys are out.”

    “Yah, everything is on schedule,” Inger giggled, “and I am alvays ready for a present.”

    Josiah wriggled his nose at her.  “Well, then, Miss Greedy, we’ll let you go first.”  He took a small package from his pocket and laid it in her hand.  “Nothing to compare with all you’ve given me and my son, but I hope you’ll like it.”

    With awestruck eyes Inger examined a length of intricately patterned, obviously expensive, lace.  “It is beautiful, Josiah,” she murmured.  “I have had nothing so elegant ever.  Thank you.”

    Josiah smiled at her evident delight.  He gave her a wink.  “I had better not see any of that on those baby didees you’re always making, either, young lady.  That is for you.”

    Inger laughed.  “It vill go on my Sunday best, I promise.”

    “Now, Ben,” Josiah said and handed him his gift.

    “Now, what could this be?” Ben asked, turning over and over in his hands the package that could be nothing but a book.  He frowned eloquently at his friend.  “No doubt a text on grammar to improve my careless speech.”

    “No doubt,” Josiah chuckled.

    Ben tore the paper away and turned the title so Inger could read it, The Oregon Trail by Francis Parkman.  “How perfect!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands.

    “Parkman only went as far as Fort Laramie along your route,” Josiah explained, “but I’m sure you’ll be seeing many of the same sights he describes along the trail.”

    Ben engulfed his friend in a bear hug.  “You couldn’t have given me anything I’d enjoy more.  But wherever did you find it?”

    Josiah shrugged.  “I ordered it.  I’ve been following the serialization in the Knickerbocker, which I subscribe to, and found it most interesting.  It’s just recently come out in a single volume, so it seemed ideal.”

    Inger handed the first of two packages to Josiah.  “These are not so fine as your gifts, but they come vith much love.”

    Josiah pressed her hand.  “The greatest gift of all, Inger, and one I’ve received in abundance from your hand.  There is no way any gift could repay you for the open-hearted affection you’ve shown my child and your endless efforts to give us the warmth of a home.”  Seeing her wipe a tear from her eye, he tore into his present.  “Well, well now,” he said brightly, “what have we here?”  He wrapped the navy muffler around his neck.  “Yes, sir, I’m all ready to go sledding now!”

    Ben gave a round box to the schoolmaster.  “And here is the finishing touch for your first run down the hillside!”

    Inger slapped his arm.  “Oh, Ben!”

    Josiah grinned as he took the stylish silk hat from the box.  “I can just see me landing right on this if I did take a fling at that sled!  This, my friends, I wear with my Sunday best.”

    The boys ran in later, red-cheeked and ready for the quieter excitement of opening presents, and each found himself content with what Santa had brought him.  Some of the gifts were remarkably alike:  each boy had a leather pouch filled with glass marbles and an identical pair of navy mittens, oddly enough a perfect match for Josiah’s muffler.  In addition, Jamie received a Noah’s Ark to play with during his all too frequent stays in bed and Adam an educational card game with pictures of the birds of North America, as well as a new quilted flannel jacket that was a miniature copy of the one his father found beneath the tree.

    Inger was entranced by her new lacy shawl and a dress length of pale blue satin fabric that would be beautifully set off by the exquisite lace she had received earlier.  Looking from Ben to Josiah, Inger shook her head in amusement.  It seemed Santa had had some conspiring cohorts this year.

    When all the surprises beneath the tree had been revealed, Josiah pulled a slim volume from his deep coat pocket.  “One more gift for Adam,” he said, “but this one is from me, not Santa——and there’s an assignment that goes with it.”

    Adam opened the book and cocked his head as he saw the blank pages.  “It’s a journal,” Josiah explained.  “Beginning with the New Year, I want you to write a little each day about the things you see and do.  At the end of the year, when you’re in California, you’ll send it back to Jamie, so he can read all about your adventures.”

    “I got one, too,” Jamie said hurriedly, “and I’m supposed to send it to you next year.”

    “What a fine idea, Josiah!” Ben said.  “It’ll help the boys stay close despite the miles between them.”

    Josiah nodded, pleased that Ben had perceived his purpose.  “I realize, of course, that the first few months will probably describe things you both already know about, but it will be fun to remember later the things you did together.  And the latter half of the books should be news.”

    Adam and Jamie grinned at each other.  Like their fathers, they thought exchanging the journals a grand idea.  It would, in fact, become a habit they continued into their adult years.

    At noon everyone sat down to a Swedish feast of corned pork roast; sauerkraut cooked with onions, apples, pork jowl and brown sugar; green split peas with bacon; caramelized potatoes and lutfisk, a lime-cured fish in cream sauce.  “In my country ve vould serve much more, a true smorgasbord,” Inger said apologetically, “but perhaps this vill give you a sample of our foods.”

    “If this is a sample,” Ben laughed, “may we never see a full smorgasbord, my love.  I am stuffed to the gills.”

    Josiah nodded in agreement.  “It’s been absolutely wonderful, Inger.  Tasting the foods of your country and learning some of your customs has made this a unique Christmas, one we’ll remember for many years to come.”

    Inger blushed with pleasure at the warm reception her meal had received.  She had been somewhat concerned that the unfamiliar dishes would taste odd to the American palates of the others at the table, but even the boys had enthusiastically tried everything and pronounced it good.  Inger stood and pushed her chair under the table.  “There is one more custom to be shared,” she said, “and it goes vith the dessert.”

    “Dessert,” Ben groaned.  “The woman has no pity.”

    “I want dessert,” Adam declared.  “I’ve got plenty of room.”

    “You must all have at least a taste,” Inger insisted.  “It is, as I say, a Christmas custom.”

    “Keep mine small, please,” Ben pleaded.  Inger frowned slightly, but did as he asked.

    When everyone had been served a small dish of the rice pudding, Inger told them about the custom associated with it.  “This is risengrod,” she explained, “just a simple pudding, but one of you vill find an almond in his portion.  Let us see who vill be the lucky one.”

    Adam and Jamie eagerly dove into their portions, each hoping to be the winner, although they didn’t know the prize.  But the almond had somehow found its way into Ben’s small dish of pudding.  “Other than a morsel extra food, which I’m far from needing, what makes me so lucky to have found the almond?” Ben laughed as he held his spoon so everyone could see his discovery.

    Inger looked at him coyly.  “When I vas a girl, ve alvays said that whoever found the almond vould be the first to marry.”  Everyone laughed at the expression on Ben’s face.  “Since that cannot apply to you, Benyamin,” Inger added with a smile, “ve vill follow the other tradition and give you a special present.”

    “Much better,” Ben said heartily.  “Now, where is this marvelous present?”

    “Marvelous, it is,” Inger laughed, “but you cannot have it ‘til later.”

    Ben thrust out his lower lip in an eloquent pout and turned sad-puppy eyes on his heartless wife, but the only response was a series of hoots circling the table.  Inger shook her head and smiled.  Having deliberately ensured the almond would land in Ben’s bit of pudding, she was determined to deliver the prize at the time and place of her choosing, as well.

    Ostensibly to soothe Ben’s ruffled feathers, Josiah sent the boys to bring his new chess set from the boardinghouse and spent the afternoon teaching Ben the game.  Then after a light supper of leftovers from dinner, followed by hot, spiced glogg with gingersnaps left from the night before, the Edwards went home.

    Adam, tired from a day of sledding, fell asleep before Inger finished the evening dishes, and Ben carried him to bed.  Finally, the dishes were washed, dried and put away; and Inger came to perch on Ben’s lap.  Ben wrapped loving arms around her.  “Have you had a merry Christmas, my love?” he asked.

    “The merriest ever,” Inger said, “and the busiest.  I am glad for a quiet moment at its end to spend vith you.”

    “You are, as always, my best Christmas gift,” Ben said, nuzzling his head against her neck.

    “You do have one more, remember?” Inger said.

    Ben chuckled.  “Actually, I’d forgotten.  Don’t tell me I finally get my famous almond-in-the-pudding present?”

    Inger shook her head playfully.  “No, not yet, but by summer’s end you should have it.”

    Ben’s brown eyes flickered with bemusement.  Inger took his cheeks between her hands.  “Some gifts take months to prepare, my love,” she murmured.  “Nine months, to be exact.”

    The light of understanding flashed into Ben’s eyes.  “A baby?” he whispered.  “Oh, Inger, are you sure?”

    “It is a little soon to be completely sure,” Inger admitted, “but I am past my time; and, yes, in my heart I am sure.  I think sometime in July or August Adam should have a little brother or sister to keep company vith in our vagon.”

    Ben pulled her tight to his chest and just held her.  There were no words to express the joy they shared in the prospect of a dream fulfilled.

Like yeast slowly working its magic in bread dough, the new year of 1850 brought a rising sense of expectation to the Cartwright family.  Inger’s hopes of pregnancy were confirmed, and Adam was thrilled at the prospect of his new baby brother——he was sure it would be a boy——who would arrive that summer.  Even before that eagerly-anticipated event, though, would come the long-awaited, oft-delayed departure for their home in California.  Though Ben considered it his dream, the rest of his family had so thoroughly adopted it that they, too, greeted the new year with growing excitement over its realization.

    Only one cloud hovered on the horizon to threaten the sunshine in their hearts, the continuing silence from California.  Ben had received no word of John’s safe arrival; and as the weeks passed, he waited with growing concern.  He had learned indirectly, in a letter from Martha, that John had reached Ft. Laramie safely, thus surviving the scourge of cholera that had been epidemic on the trail the previous spring.  But tales had begun to filter east of the dangers of the journey beyond that point, especially the suffering of emigrants along the Humboldt; and these added to Ben’s fears for his brother.

    The edgy suspense ended on January fifteenth when a letter arrived with San Francisco as its return address.  For once, Ben put personal concerns above his obligations at work and let customers wait while he tore into the letter.  Fortunately, at this early part of the year, there weren’t many shoppers; and most of them were regular customers and friends who didn’t mind delaying their transactions while Ben relieved his anxiety about a family member.  They understood because many of them, too, were eagerly watching each post for news of a loved one.

    Inger had planned a supper of beans and cornbread, and since that was a meal that needed little attention, she simply let the beans simmer while she rocked Adam in her lap and listened to Ben read the letter from John later that evening.

    “Dear Ben, Inger and Adam,” Ben began.  “‘As I promised in my last letter, I will try to describe San Francisco—’”

    “His last letter?” Inger asked.  “But, Ben, ve have had no such letter.”

    “I know,” Ben said, his words clipped and sharp.  “I hoped for better things when the postal service began making regular deliveries to California, but it’s abominably unreliable.”

    “Gently, Ben,” Inger admonished, nodding toward the boy in her lap.  “Little pitchers, you know.”

    Ben shrugged.  “Yeah.  But it’s frustrating, at best.”

    “I know, I know,” Inger soothed.  “Go on vith the letter, Benyamin.”

    Once more Ben lifted the thin paper, written edge to edge in small characters.  “‘As I promised in my last letter, I will try to describe San Francisco for you and the prospects for mining.  But before I do I want to share a few cautions about the trail that there was no room for in my last letter.  As you know, there are a number of cutoffs along the trail and we traveled several of them.’”

    “What’s a cutoff, Pa?” Adam asked.

    “A shorter way of getting to the same place, son,” Ben replied.

    “Oh, that’s good,” Adam said.

    Ben smiled.  “Sometimes, Adam, but not always.  Listen to what Uncle John says next.  ‘We took the Sublette Cutoff, which does save time; and as we arrived early in the season, we made out well enough.  But it is a hard, hot, waterless trail and would be more so in late summer.  You will have to judge for yourself whether it would be best for your family, depending on the weather and the condition of your equipment and supplies.  The road to Fort Bridger is longer, but perhaps safer for a family who would have to travel more slowly than our party of only men and, thus, could not make the dry drive as quickly.’”

    “So, is that one good or not, Pa?” Adam asked.

    Ben shook his head.  “I’m not sure, son.  Like your uncle says, we’ll have to decide when we get to that point.  Uncle John was definitely opposed to the other cutoffs he took, though.  Listen to this:  ‘We also tried two new cutoffs opened just this year.  Hudspeth’s Cutoff brought us no undue hardship, but when we rejoined the established trail, we were surprised to learn, on comparing mileage with emigrants who came by Fort Hall, that we’d saved only a few miles.  I would advise you to go on to Fort Hall by the regular route, as it will give you a chance to resupply and refurbish your outfit.’”

    “That sounds wise,” said Inger, “if ve save only a few miles the other vay.”

    “I thought so, too,” Ben agreed, “but wait ‘til you hear what John says about the last cutoff they took.  ‘Our final attempt to shorten our trip was the new Lassen’s Cutoff by which we hoped to avoid the rigors of the Forty-Mile Desert to the south.  Ben, if ever you have given credence to any advice of mine, heed this as you would the word of a commanding officer:  do not, under any circumstances, allow yourself to be persuaded to take this route.  We not only ended up crossing a wider desert than the one we missed; but when we finally did cross the Sierras, we hit California two hundred miles further north than we had been led to believe.  Our party survived intact; but many who came behind us suffered inexpressible hardship, a number dying of starvation and exposure.  The loss of life would have been even greater but for government relief parties that were able to save some.  I beg of you, Ben, to stick with the main trail, either the Truckee or the Carson route, and take no untried cutoffs.’”

    Adam frowned.  “It don’t sound to me like there’s any good cutoffs, Pa.”

    Ben laughed.  “Uncle John does paint a gloomy picture of them, doesn’t he?  They’re not all bad, I’m sure, but there’s good reason to stay with the main trail most of the time.”

    “Perhaps, if there are more gloomy vords, ve should save them for later,” Inger suggested, smoothing Adam’s hair.

    “No, that’s all,” Ben said.  “Next he describes San Francisco.”

    “Oh, good,” Inger said with a smile.  “That vill be better for the little pitchers.”

    Adam squirmed.  He knew perfectly well what “little pitchers” referred to and wondered why they thought he was so dumb he couldn’t figure out they meant him.  Besides, he was going to California, same as the grownups; he had a right to know everything, too.  “Tell about San Francisco, Pa,” he demanded loudly.

    Ben raised an eyebrow and started to read.  “‘San Francisco is a booming city of almost fifteen thousand now, Ben—’”

    “So many!” Inger cried.  “It is bigger than St. Joseph.”

    “Oh, just by seven or eight times!” Ben laughed.  “May I continue?”

    “Yah, sure, I am sorry.”

    “I’m teasing, my love,” Ben said.  “I don’t mind interruptions——not even the ones from our little question box here.”   He winked at Adam, then turned back to the letter.  “‘A booming city of almost fifteen thousand now, Ben, but unfortunately, it has grown so quickly that construction and services have been unable to keep up.”

    “Just what Josiah feared,” Inger commented.

    Ben nodded and continued, “The clay streets become bottomless pools of mud after a rain and pose great danger for man and beast.  Some mules and horses——even a drunken man I heard of——have actually drowned in the deep mud.  The only solution anyone has come up with so far is to throw brush and tree limbs in to try to make some solid surface, but then, horses become tangled in the brush and break their legs.  Some wag printed up a sign and stuck it at the corner of Clay and Kearny streets:  This street is impassable, not even jackassable.’”

    Adam laughed.  “That’s a funny poem.  I’ll have to recite it to Mr. Edwards.”

    Ben coughed.  “Yes, I’m sure he’ll appreciate its literary merits.  John goes on to say, ‘Tobacco crates are used for sidewalks, but sometimes the rains are so heavy they are completely submerged.  Miners here pan out, on average, an ounce of gold dust a day, worth about sixteen dollars, and that is close to what it costs to feed oneself each day, prices here being highly inflated due to shortages.  Can you imagine six dollars a pound for butter?’”

    Inger’s hand flew to her mouth.  “Six dollars!  Oh, Ben, ve had better take our own cow.”

    Ben chuckled.  “I’ll put that on our list, love, but listen to these other prices.  ‘Eggs are ten dollars a dozen and onions and potatoes a dollar apiece.  Yes, Ben, that’s a dollar for one onion!  And tacks——why, they’re worth their weight in gold.  Don’t load your wagon with them, though.  More shipments of all kinds of goods are arriving daily and prices are going down.  Hopefully, by the time you arrive, they will be more reasonable.’”

    “I should hope so!” Inger said sturdily.  “Is John finding enough gold to pay for all these luxuries, like onions and potatoes?”

    Ben cocked his head.  “I think so, but not much beyond, if I read between the lines correctly.  Here’s what he says:  ‘As to my own prospects, they are not as bright as I had hoped.  So many have responded to the siren call of gold that what was easily plucked from the ground in ‘48 must now be urged out by back-breaking work in icy streams.  I’m not complaining; unlike some here, I’m not averse to hard work, but it will take longer to make my pile than I originally thought, perhaps as much as two or three years.’”

    “Martha vill not like to hear that,” Inger put in quietly.

    “Or Will either,” Adam said.  “I bet he misses his pa something fierce.”

    “I’m sure he does,” Ben agreed.  “It makes me all the more glad we’re traveling as a family.”

    Adam bobbed his head rapidly.  “Yeah, me, too!”

    “Does John say where he is exactly, Ben?” Inger asked.  “If he is to stay so long, it vould be good to settle close perhaps.”

    Ben guffawed.  “Oh, Inger, Inger!”

    “What is so funny?” Inger demanded, her face flushing.  “It is good to be near family.  If only I knew where Gunnar—”  Her voice broke.

    Ben took her hand quickly.  “Forgive me, sweetheart.  I’ve been so concerned about my brother, I forgot you haven’t had word from yours since before John left here.  You must be terribly worried.”

    Inger shook her head.  “For his safety, no.  Gunnar is a strong, healthy bull of a boy.  I am sure he survived the trip better than most and is in California now.  I only vorry that he may fall in vith bad companions.  He is easily led, and if he should do wrong, his shame could keep him from facing me.  John does not mention seeing him?  He promised to look.”

    Ben gently stroked the hand he still held.  “No, he makes no mention of Gunnar, but he may have in that letter we missed.”  As Inger sighed, Ben gave her hand an encouraging squeeze.  “We’ll do our best to find your brother once we arrive, I promise.”

    Inger wiped a tear from her eye.  “Yah, I appreciate, but I still do not know why you laughed at me, Ben.”

    Ben suppressed the impulse to repeat his offense.  “Your idea of settling near John isn’t practical, my love.  Mining takes place in mountain streams, farming in valley lowlands.”

    “Oh, of course,” Inger said, blushing again.  “What a dunderhead I am——and I a farmer’s daughter, too!”

    “A beautiful farmer’s daughter,” Ben said, kissing her fingertips just before releasing her hand.  “But to answer your other question, John is working the Feather River at present, but may try other areas once that is worked out.  He promises to meet us in San Francisco in mid-October.  If the rains come early, he’ll be there sooner; and, hopefully, we will, too; so we might see him as early as September.”

    “Is there more to his letter?”

    “He just sends his love and wishes us a good journey.”

    “For that I pray daily,” Inger murmured.

    “I’m sure John will, too.  Now, how about stirring up that batch of cornbread you promised, woman.”  Ben stood and took Adam in his arms.  “She’s got two hungry emigrants here, right, son?”

    “Half starved, Pa!” Adam announced.

    Inger laughed and tweaked the youngster’s ear.  “Then I vill stir quickly so you do not perish on the trail to the table.”

    January had not far advanced before it became obvious that statehood for California would be the year’s most hotly debated issue.  No one denied that California’s burgeoning population made it an obvious candidate for statehood, although Josiah Edwards contended that since that population was largely transient, it did not provide the proper foundation for self-government.  Few others raised that point, however; their sole concern was the effect the admission of California to the Union would have on the tenuous balance between slave states and free.  Californians had submitted a slavery-prohibiting constitution the previous November, and President Taylor had urged acceptance of the new state the following month.  But southern Congressmen had threatened secession were California to be admitted as a free state, and no one wanted to see the Union dissolved.  It became clear there would be no easy solution to the impasse.

    By mid-February all anyone talked about was Henry Clay’s proposals for compromise, and Larrimore’s Mercantile became more honestly the headquarters for loud and increasingly bitter contention than the outfitter’s headquarters the sign proclaimed it to be.  Though staunchly opposed to slavery, Ben tried to avoid taking sides.  Had he actually owned the store, he might have felt he had the right, if not the moral duty, to voice an opinion.  But he hesitated to alienate customers when it wasn’t really his own future he’d be jeopardizing.  So he just listened to southern supporters quote the words of their advocate, John Calhoun of South Carolina, insisting that not only must the North concede the right to extend slavery, but it must also “cease the agitation of the slave question.”  And he listened in equally noncommittal silence to the opponents of slavery recite the impassioned declaration of William Seward of New York that “there is a higher law than the Constitution which regulates our authority.”

    Fortunately, just when Ben’s tongue felt rawest from being bitten all week long, Friday would arrive; and he could let it flap to his heart’s content in free and open discussions with Josiah Edwards.  Only to his friend could he admit not only his true opinion of Clay’s proposed compromise, but also his mixed feelings about the admission of California as a state, feelings that had nothing to do with the political issue of the day, but with a secret and, Ben feared, selfish personal disappointment.  “I’ve dreamed for years of being one of the first to settle in a new area and being one of the builders of a new community,” Ben sighed.  “Now, it looks like I’ll be moving to a settled state; and though I hate to confess it, I feel like a little lad whose balloon has just burst.”

    Josiah laughed gently.  “I wouldn’t worry about your balloon just yet, Ben.  Most of the people in California now aren’t planning to stay.  You will be, and I’m sure you’ll soon find yourself a leader among the true builders of your new state.  You have qualities that will assure a position of prominence wherever you go.”

    Ben turned fiery red at what he considered elaborate and unearned praise, but Inger immediately agreed with Josiah and Ben hadn’t the heart to argue.  He heard too much argument at work all day long to welcome it in his home.  Besides, he couldn’t help hoping they were right.

    Before many days passed in February, however, Adam made concerted efforts to focus everyone’s attention on the far more important concern ——to him, at least——of his seventh birthday.  He was quick to point out that his birthday fell on a Friday; and so, of course, Jamie and his father would surely need to be invited.  Trying to avoid laughing at his needless stratagem, his parents readily agreed.

    Adam also had definite opinions about what should be served.  Since his father had been allowed the privilege of choosing the menu on his birthday and Jamie on his, Adam felt he should be accorded the same right.  “It is good you told me early,” Inger said when he announced he wanted a repeat of the pickled pork she had cooked for Christmas dinner.  “The roast takes ten days to pickle properly.”  Adam’s request had come well within that limit, though; so Inger gladly consented; and when February 22nd arrived, all the guests declared their delight with Adam’s choice.

    The gifts Adam received that evening might not have pleased many children, but he could imagine nothing better than a stack of schoolbooks to take on their journey.  Ben had purchased them from a list compiled by Josiah Edwards, but he had not expected the coordinating gift the schoolmaster offered.  “I know there may not be schools where you are headed for quite some time, so I would still like you to consider me your schoolmaster, Adam.  Before you leave, I will make up a list of assignments you can complete on your journey.  Mail your lessons back to me whenever you have opportunity, and I will grade and forward them to San Francisco.  There should be mail waiting for you when you arrive.”

    Adam smiled.  “I’d like that, and can I ask questions if I don’t understand?”

    “Certainly,” Josiah chuckled, “though the answers will be months in arriving.  I imagine your father can answer most of your questions, my boy, so try him first.  But I will do my best to see that your inquiring mind is both challenged and satisfied.”

    “How good you are to take such interest in our child, Josiah!” Inger exclaimed.

    “Indeed!” Ben agreed.  “What you’re proposing will be a significant amount of trouble to you.”

    “Nothing compared to the satisfaction I expect to reap,” Josiah demurred.  “Adam is too promising a scholar to allow his love of learning to deteriorate from lack of stimulus; so, please, let me give him what guidance I can until you find someone better.”

    Ben clapped his friend on the shoulder.  “We may find someone nearer, sir, but never anyone better, I’m sure.”

    Josiah raised a hand in semi-protest.  “Well, then, I will be available to Adam as long as he wants me, as a mentor first and later, perhaps, as his friend.”

    While their elders were talking, Adam and Jamie had slipped into the bedroom.  Jamie handed Adam a small package.  “This is from me,” Jamie said.  “Father gave it to me just after I started to read, and it’s my favorite.”

    “I know,” Adam said appreciatively, for he and Jamie had shared many of the stories in Lessons from Nature for Youth, their favorites being the ones about animals Adam was likely to see on the prairie to the west.  “Thanks, Jamie.  I’ll keep it always.”

    Beginning in March, the earliest emigrants began arriving in St. Joseph.  Some, anxious to avoid the hardships that had befallen late-starters the previous year, headed directly toward California despite admonitions from Ben and other outfitters to wait until the grass was high enough to support their oxen.  Most, however, heeded the advice; and the town’s four hotels quickly filled to capacity, even the Edgar House, noted for its meager meals and filthy sheets.  But the available housing came nowhere close to meeting the demand, and by April hundreds of tents spread through the valley at the base of the Blacksnake Hills.

    The travelers had a long wait, for the prairie flowered late after an unusually cold and wet winter.  Many passed the time gambling and drinking in local saloons; others, desiring to save their funds for the needs of the journey, gathered around the stoves in local stores to discuss whatever news they could garner.  The debate over California’s admission to the Union became more heated, for the emigrants came from all parts of the country and brought with them views as differing as the geography of their former homes.

    Ben found himself more weary at the end of each day this spring than he had the previous one.  Partly, that was due to his increased workload, for there were almost twice as many emigrants this year as there had been in 1849.  People had figured out that they could cut two weeks off their overland journey by traveling two days upriver by boat from Independence; so St. Joseph, along with Council Bluffs to the north, was receiving the majority of the outfitting business this year.

    Ben’s weariness, however, did not stem primarily from the extra work, but from listening dawn to dusk to the enflamed rhetoric of opposing political factions.  He was more grateful than anyone when word reached the town of Daniel Webster’s decisive speech of March 7th.  Though himself an opponent of slavery, Webster had argued that the North must be prepared to accept even slavery in order to preserve the Union.  Not everyone agreed with his sentiments, of course; but from that point on a willingness to compromise seemed to calm the spirit of conflict.  The loud voices in the mercantile softened, and the conversation turned to the more immediate concerns of what to take on the trail.

    Still, Ben found himself mentally marking off each day until the first of May, the date by which Lawrence Larrimore had hoped to return.  When the day came, bringing with it no sign of the mercantile’s owner, Ben was disappointed, but not alarmed.  He hadn’t really expected Larrimore to arrive on that exact date.  Everyone knew by this time that the number of passengers seeking steamer transport from Panama far exceeded the capacity of the ships covering that route.  Though Ben had promised to remain until the end of the month, if necessary, he heartily hoped he would be free of his obligations to Larrimore weeks sooner than that.

    Just past noon on May 10th, Camilla Larrimore came running into the mercantile wildly waving an envelope.  “Oh, Mr. Cartwright, I absolutely must speak to you immediately!” she cried.

    Ben took one look at the lady’s frantic features and turned to Inger, who was again helping out during the store’s busy season.  “Can you hold the fort a bit, my dear?”

    Inger’s brow furrowed with concern.  “Of course, Ben.  Why don’t you take Mrs. Larrimore to our place where you can talk in private?”

    “Yes, yes, please,” Mrs. Larrimore responded in Ben’s stead and headed directly for the door leading to her former home.

    Ben shrugged toward his wife and followed.  Closing the door behind him, he gestured toward the dining table.  “Won’t you have a seat, Mrs. Larrimore?”

    Camilla stopped pacing.  “Yes, I suppose that would be best.”  She sat down on the edge of the chair Ben pulled out for her and turned pleading eyes on her store’s manager.  “Oh, Mr. Cartwright!  You must help me.  I simply don’t know what to do.”

    Ben took the seat opposite her.  “Certainly, Mrs. Larrimore,” he said in a calming voice.  “I’m sure there are times you must feel the need for your husband’s council; and if I can assist you in any way in filling that void until his return, I will be more than pleased to do so.”

    “Thank you; you’re most kind,” Camilla replied.  “Perhaps you should just read this letter from my husband.  Then you’ll see my predicament.”

    Ben took the proffered letter and scanned its contents.  “I see,” he said slowly.  “You want me to do as your husband asks and help you find a buyer for the store?”

    “Heavens, no!” Camilla squealed.  “I want you to talk my husband out of this insane notion of moving to California.”

    Ben coughed, more to give himself space to think than anything else.  “But, Mrs. Larrimore, surely you don’t expect me to come between you and your husband.”

    “But this idea of his of a store in San Francisco is sheer lunacy!” Camilla insisted.  “I know I have no head for business, but it’s obvious we’re making more money every year here.”

    “For now, that’s true” Ben said.  “But I think you should realize this current boom will drop off once the easily obtainable gold in California has been gathered.  According to my brother, that’s already happening, so—”

    “I know,” Mrs. Larrimore interrupted.  “That’s why Lawrence started doing business in San Francisco.  He found he could make more money in merchandise than mining.”

    Ben shrugged.  “I think many men made similar discoveries, ma’am; and most of those who go west this year will find it even harder to make their fortunes in mining.  That’s why I expect the emigrant traffic to drop to normal numbers soon, perhaps as early as next year.  You could still earn a good living, of course, but this may be the last big year for business in St. Joseph.  That may be why your husband wants to relocate.”

    “I believe you’re taking his side, Mr. Cartwright,” Camilla pouted.

    Ben felt anger rising at her accusation.  “I was trying to explain his position, not defend it, Mrs. Larrimore.  But I can’t try to talk him out of it as you suggest; it simply isn’t my place to take sides in a marital dispute.”

    Tears welled up in Camilla’s brown eyes.  “Oh, dear, I suppose it isn’t; but I don’t know what to do.  I can’t abide the thought of starting from scratch in another frontier town.  St. Joseph is so provincial, you know, Mr. Cartwright.”

    Ben suppressed a smile.  “I suppose it seems so to a woman of your refined taste,” he said gently.  “But according to my brother’s last letter, San Francisco is already a city of substantial size.  A bit raw perhaps, but it might in time afford you the amenities you find lacking in St. Joseph.”

    Camilla bit her lip nervously.  “Do you really believe that’s possible?”

    Ben nodded decisively.  “I do.  I expect to see great growth in California over the next few years, not just in number, but in quality of life.  How else could I plan to make my home there?”

    “But I dread that long, frightening journey,” Camilla whimpered.  “I know your family is looking forward to it; but you’re of peasant stock, while I—”  She clapped her hand to her mouth.  “Oh, dear, I meant no offense.”

    Ben shook his head.  “None taken,” he said.  Over the past year of dealing with Mrs. Larrimore he had come to realize that most of her outrageous remarks were made in ignorance rather than intended slight.

    “I only meant that I feel ill-suited to the trip,” Camilla explained.

    “Yes, I’m sure you would find it difficult,” Ben conceded.  He couldn’t help smiling as he pictured Mrs. Larrimore walking beside an ox team in the neatly tailored butternut suit she wore today.  “Many do,” he added, “but I’m also sure you can learn to face the challenges, should you and your husband determine to go.”

    Camilla sighed.  “I suppose I shall have to.  You read the letter.  You see how determined Lawrence is.  I’ve never been able to change his mind once it’s truly set.  That’s how we came to St. Joseph in the first place.”

    Ben smiled.  He knew from his own experience just how determined Lawrence Larrimore could be.  “Would you like me to sound out some prospective buyers?” he asked quietly.

    Camilla nodded slowly.  “I suppose that’s best.  We really have little time to settle our affairs and outfit ourselves for the journey.  It would be good to have buyers waiting for him.”

    “I’ll help in any way I can,” Ben promised.

    Camilla raised an earnest face.  “Oh, then, do say we can travel in your party, Mr. Cartwright.  I’d feel so much safer with people we know and trust.”

    Ben paled.  “I—I don’t know, Mrs. Larrimore,” he stammered.  “I hesitate to delay our departure past the time of your husband’s return.  He’ll need time after that to conclude the sale of this business and make preparations for your journey.”

    “Oh, but he’ll be here soon,” she insisted.  “He thinks by the fifteenth.  Please, Mr. Cartwright; it would truly ease my mind.”

    “I’ll speak to Inger,” Ben said softly.  “But we cannot wait longer than the end of the month, as per our previous agreement.”

     Camilla stood.  “Yes, I understand.  But with your help I’m sure we can be ready to leave before then.”  She stretched a hand toward Ben and gave him her most ingratiating smile.  “Thank you so much, Mr. Cartwright.”

    Ben assured her she was welcome and escorted her to the door.

    “I really didn’t know what to tell her,” Ben said late that night after relating Mrs. Larrimore’s request to Inger.  Inger burrowed under the covers and snuggled against Ben’s chest.  “You are vorried about the delay,” she said.

    “I am,” Ben replied.  “If we don’t leave ‘til early June, we’ll be among the last emigrants out.  The reports we’ve had back warn about trying to cross the Sierras after the snows start.”

    “Yah, I know,” Inger said, “but since ve cannot leave until the middle of May anyvay, ve are talking about a difference of only a veek or two.”

     “A week or two could make the difference,” Ben said gravely.  “Is it worth the risk to calm the fears of a foolish woman?”

    “I have fears, too, Ben,” Inger said quietly, twirling the blue ribbon at the neck of her nightgown around her index finger, “so it is easier, perhaps, for me to understand hers.”

    Ben pulled her close.  “What fears, sweetheart?”

    Inger looked away.  “You remember the tales ve have heard of people abandoning the sick and spoiling food so others could not use it?”

    Ben smoothed a lock of blonde hair from her forehead.  “Um-hmn.”

    Inger looked intently into his warm brown eyes.  “I think I vould feel safer from such things in the company of friends, Ben.”

    Ben frowned.  “The Larrimores aren’t really friends, Inger——just acquaintances, really.  And Mrs. Larrimore is not an easy person to get along with.”

    “Yah, that is true,” Inger admitted, “but they are good, honorable  people, Ben; and that is what matters, I think.  I remember your brother saying ve should choose such people to travel vith.”

    Remembering, Ben nodded.  “Yes, he did.”

    “And Mr. Larrimore has already been where ve are going,” Inger added.  “That could be a help, perhaps enough to make up for the delay.”

    “That’s true, too,” Ben said, his brow wrinkling in thought.

    Inger smoothed her hand across his stubbled cheek.  “There is one thing more, Ben.”  Ben cocked an eyebrow inquiringly.  “I vould feel better to have another voman near when my time comes,” Inger whispered.

    Ben kissed her forehead.  “All right, sweetheart, we’ll see to it you have one, although I doubt Camilla Larrimore would be of much use to you.  A more helpless woman I’ve never seen.”

    Inger giggled.  “That is true, but when the time comes, Ben, I may be more helpless than she.”

    Ben laughed.  “Never, my love, not even in your weakest moment.”

    Due to the crowds, Lawrence Larrimore was unable to book passage in Panama on the steamer that would have brought him home by the fifteenth.  He did, however, arrive safely a week later and, thanks to Ben’s efforts before he returned, quickly found a buyer for the mercantile.  In appreciation, he was even more generous than he had promised in supplying the Cartwrights for their journey.  Ben found himself the pleased owner of the sturdiest wagon available, eight oxen in excellent condition, and so many goods he wondered how to fit them all in.

    Fortunately, unlike many couples, the Cartwrights had few decisions to make about what to leave behind.  None of the furniture was theirs anyway, and there weren’t many family treasures.  Ben was shocked to learn that Inger planned to discard one, however.  “But, darling,” he protested.  “That Swedish Bible is all you have of your grandmother’s, and I know how you cherish it.”

    Inger blinked back a tear.  “Yah, but ve must not be foolish.”

    Ben stroked her cheek.  “We can be a little foolish, my love.  I planned to take my Bible, as well as a few remembrances of Adam’s mother——her music box, our wedding ring and the copy of Paradise Lost we used to read together.”

    Inger smiled sadly.  “It is not the same, Ben; you know it is not.  Ve vill vant the Good Book vith us on the trail; and yours is small, not big and bulky like my grandmother’s.  And Adam should have those small reminders of his mother.  They vill take little room.”

    Ben kissed her tenderly.  “Sweetheart, you’re always thinking of others.  Let us do something for you this time.”

    Inger shook her head with determination.  “No, Ben, please say no more.  It vas a hard decision to make, but I have made it.  Now, I need you to help me be strong to carry it out.”

    On Friday, the twenty-fourth of May, the Cartwrights hosted their farewell dinner for the Edwards.  “Do you know yet the date of your departure?” Josiah asked as he buttered a slice of bread.

    Dishing himself a helping of peas, Ben shook his head.  “Not specifically.  It’s somewhat dependent on when the Larrimores can be ready.  This week sometime, of course.”

    “You’re certain they can be ready by then?”

    Ben rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.  “Not really, but if they’re not ready, we’ll simply have to leave without them.  From what I hear, Mrs. Larrimore is demanding to take all sorts of inappropriate things; and poor Lawrence is spending precious time trying to dissuade her.  Now, with Inger here I have the opposite problem.  She refuses to take her one family heirloom, and I can’t talk her out of her stubborn self-sacrifice.

    “He means my grandmother’s Bible,” Inger explained.  “I have told him a hundred times it is too big.  I only vish I had someone to give it to.  It hurts to throw it in the rubbish.”

    Josiah looked at her with understanding eyes.  “Could I have it, Inger?”

    Inger gave him a puzzled look.  “But you do not read Svedish, Josiah.  Why vould you vant it?”

    “It’s a beautifully illuminated volume in its own right,” Josiah replied, “and I would cherish it still more as a remembrance of its gracious owner.”

    Inger smiled at him.  “I think you do this only to ease my heart, but I am grateful.  Yes, please take it vith you tonight.”

    “Thank you,” Josiah said emphatically.

    Inger gave the tiny baby booties a final kiss and laid them atop the pile of diapers on her bed.  Then she eased them all into the burlap bag with the lengths of fabric that would make garments her growing family would need in California.  Adam came in, his bag of marbles in one hand, his Birds of the World card game in the other and his kaleidoscope under his arm.  “Mama, should we pack these in the bottom of the wagon?” he asked.

    Inger giggled.  “Do you think our journey vill be all vork and no play, Adam?”

    Adam shrugged.  “You said the things we don’t really need for awhile should go on bottom.”

    Inger pulled him close.  “No, my sweet,” she cooed.  “Your little things can stay up top where you can get them easily.  You remember the storage pockets I sewed inside our vagon cover?”

    “Uh-huh.”

    “Vell, one of them shall be yours,” Inger promised.  “You may keep these things and your yournal in it.”

    “Okay,” Adam agreed readily.

    “Now what I need you to do,” Inger said, “is bring me the textbooks you vill not need ‘til later.  You have the list Mr. Edwards gave you?”

    “In my room,” Adam said.  “Shall I get it?”

    Inger shook her head.  “No, you read vell enough to do this yourself.  See which books you vill need for the assignments he made.  Then bring me any others.”

    Adam’s head lifted at her confidence in him.  “I can do that quick as a wink!”

    Inger smiled as the youngster disappeared.  If only her decisions could be made “quick as a wink.”  Since the wagon would be packed in two layers, it was important to determine what should be kept accessible and what stowed deep in the wagon.  Some decisions were easy.  Obviously, she would not sew until she reached the journey’s end, so the fabric would go below.  Just as obviously, she would need to cook every day, so the Dutch oven and spider skillet would have to be packed where they could be easily reached.  But there were countless items, like the medicines, for instance, that might or might not be needed on the trip.  Where to put all those things was what Inger had puzzled over half the morning.

    The outside door opened and Ben came in after wiping the mud from his feet on the stoop.  Fortunately, the rain of the last three days had stopped, so he had decided to load as much as possible today in hopes of starting out by week’s end.  Inger came from the bedroom to greet him with a kiss.  “You have the vagon and our oxen?” she asked.

     “Small point in coming back without them,” Ben chuckled.  “You have things sorted out?”

    Inger sighed.  “As best I can, Ben, but I am not sure I have chosen wisely.”

    Ben gave her shoulder a small pat.  “Don’t worry, my love.  I’m sure we’ll find ourselves packing and unpacking this wagon a dozen times before we’re through.  I’ve got the spare parts already loaded in the bottom and I’ll put all but one sack of flour down below.  Then we’ll fit the other things in as level as we can and stretch a canvas over the top before packing the rest.”

    “Yah, that sounds good,” Inger said.  “Adam is choosing the books he vill need.”

    “I already did,” Adam announced, carrying five volumes from his room and placing them on the dining table.  “I won’t need these for awhile.”

    Ben scooped the boy up in his arms.  “Good lad!  You’ve brought them at just the right time.”

    Adam grinned.  “Can I help pack the wagon, Pa?”

    “You surely can,” Ben said proudly.  “I need to get the heavy sacks of flour in first.  Then you can bring me the smaller things that Mama shows you.  All right?”

    “Yes, sir!”

    After the final amen Josiah turned to Ben, seated next to him.  “I want you all to be my guests for dinner at the boardinghouse,” he stated, “and I won’t take no for an answer.”

    “You vill not have to,” Inger laughed.  “I am sure I vill have my fill of cooking over an open fire before our journey ends.  No need to start today.”

    “No, indeed,” Josiah agreed readily.  “I only wish I could give you as fine a meal as those I’ve enjoyed in your home.  I’m afraid you’ll find the fare today rather Spartan.”

    “We accept your hospitality,” Ben said, “and no need to apologize for the quality of the meal.”  He stepped into the aisle and headed toward the back of the church with Josiah at his side and Inger, in her yellow calico, following with the two boys.  Having already packed her blue satin Sunday best in the lower level of the wagon, Inger had been forced to wear one of her most worn garments to church.  In marked contrast, Camilla Larrimore had dressed in her elegantly trimmed green brocade.

    “I hadn’t expected you to be here this Sunday,” Josiah said to Ben after shaking the minister’s hand at the door, “but Adam told me you’d been delayed.”

    Ben nodded grimly.  “I never expected to still be here the first Sunday in June, either, but the ferries have been crowded.   We’re scheduled to cross sometime tomorrow, though.”

    “The Larrimores will be with you?” Josiah asked as they walked toward the boardinghouse.

    Ben laughed, then turned to make sure the mentioned couple were not nearby.  “Finally,” he said.  “Lawrence broke down and bought a second wagon to haul all the things his wife insists she needs.  He hired Enos Montgomery to drive for him and help tend the stock.”

    Josiah chuckled in response.  “I imagine you’ll have an interesting trip with them along.”

    “I imagine,” Ben agreed wryly.

    “Well, I know the delays have been frustrating,” Josiah said, “but I’m glad to keep you as long as we can.  My boy and I will miss you all.”

    Ben stopped and touched his friend’s shoulder.  “And we will miss you.”

    Josiah swallowed the lump rising in his throat.  “At least, you’ve had one last sermon to ponder on the trail,” he said lightly.  “It’ll be some time before you hear another.”

    Ben wagged a finger beneath the schoolmaster’s nose.  “Don’t be so sure.  We just may have one every week.  There’s a minister in the party we joined, a Reverend Wentworth.”

    “Good, good!” Josiah snickered.  “You need someone to keep you on the straight and narrow.”

    Ben gave his friend a good-natured punch on the arm, and Inger stepped up quickly to rub it in apparent sympathy.  “Your prayers vill do more to keep us on the straight and narrow than any sermon,” she said quietly.

    “You know you have them——every day ‘til I hear of your safe arrival,” Josiah pledged.  “Now, for that sumptuous meal I promised you!”

Inger swiped a damp wisp of hair from her forehead.  Though the heat had made the air muggy all morning, she was glad to see the sun shine on their first day’s journey.  Heavy rains had poured from the heavens the night before, but the contents of their wagon had stayed dry beneath the double osnaburg duck cover coated with linseed oil.  Now the sun and its accompanying humidity drenched Inger’s calico with sweat. She loosened the top button of her bodice to let in a little cool air, then stroked her hand down the back of the lead ox.  “Poor beasts,” she murmured.  “It is hard for you to stand all morning in the heat, too, isn’t it?”

    Looking up, she saw Ben, mud splattering his brown pants with every step, coming from the front of the line.  Reaching her, he took both her elbows and gave them an encouraging squeeze.  “Not much longer,” he assured her.  “Two more ahead of us, then our turn on the ferry.”

    “Ah, good,” Inger sighed.  “And the price?”

    “What we expected,” Ben said.  “Five dollars.”

    Inger shook her head in reluctant acceptance.  “It seems a great deal.”

    Ben shrugged.  “It is, of course.  With the river running seventeen feet deep, the ferrymen know they have us over a barrel.  It’s worth it, though, for your safety.”

    “Yah, I know,” Inger agreed.  “It is hard to see so much hard-earned money leave so quickly, though.”

    Ben chuckled.  “You should hear the complaints up the line.  At least, living this close, we were prepared.”  He looked around.  “Now, where’s Adam run off to?” he asked sharply.

    Inger laid her fingers across his lips before he said words he’d later regret.  “Nowhere at all, Ben.  He thought to use this time to start his lessons.”  She tilted her head toward the wagon.

    Ben shook his head in disbelief.  “I was never that dedicated a scholar.”

    “Today, I think it is more to take his mind from his sadness,” Inger said softly.

    Ben looked surprised.  “I thought he’d be thrilled our first day on the trail.”

    “It is also his first day vithout Jamie,” Inger pointed out.

    “Ah,” Ben said in sudden understanding.  “And waiting in line all morning isn’t interesting enough to provide distraction from his homesickness, eh?”

    “For any of us,” Inger giggled.  “I am even homesick for our tiny rooms behind the mercantile.”

    Ben’s broad nose wrinkled in distaste.  “A sure sign of an idle mind,” he muttered.  Inger gave his cheek a pinch.  “A thousand pardons,” Ben replied with a crooked smile, then leaned into the front opening of the wagon cover.  “Put your books away and come down here, Adam,” he called.

    Adam crawled toward his father, who lifted him to the ground.  “You want me, Pa?”

    “We’ll be crossing soon, son,” Ben explained.  “You don’t want to stay cooped up in the wagon for that, do you?”

    For the first time that day, Adam grinned.  “No, sir!  Will it be real soon, Pa?”

    Ben hoisted him up on his shoulder.  “Look up ahead and see how close we are.”

    “Hooray!” Adam yelled.

    Before long, the Cartwrights’ wagon had rolled aboard the ferry.  Adam rushed to the side and stepped up on the bottom rail.  Ben made a quick grab for the boy’s suspendered blue trousers.  “Hey, hey, now!” he admonished.  “You’d best stay right with Pa, boy, or we’ll be yelling ‘Man overboard.’”

    Adam laughed loud.  “Now I know what sailing’s like, right, Pa?”

    Ben laughed even louder than Adam.  “Well, let’s just say you’re getting a taste,” he said when he’d recovered his breath.  “This is a lot calmer water than the sea, Adam, and though a third mile makes it a wide river, it’s a skip and a jump compared to the ocean.  Wait ‘til you get a look at that, my boy!”

    Adam shrugged and turned back to the rail.  The current adventure was enough for now, and even Ben was forced to admit that the gentle roll of water beneath the ferry stirred memories of his days at sea and recalled that same sense of adventure.  At least, he conceded with an inward chuckle, it was as close to sailing as he was ever likely to be again.  He looked from little Adam, eagerly scanning the ripples passing beneath them, to Inger, eyes shining with joy at taking the first step toward their new home, and knew he’d never miss the sea, except for nostalgic moments now and then.  He’d found so much more away from it.

    By the time everyone in their party had crossed the Missouri, the sun had long passed its zenith, so they were only able to travel two hours before the agreed time of encampment.  Ben was disappointed that they had come only three miles.  According to the guidebooks, oxen were supposed to make about two miles an hour, on average.  Of course, the trail was still muddy from the heavy rains.  Probably, that had slowed them, and they were stopping earlier than they would once they were really out on the trail because there was an important decision to be made tonight.

    Stopping early proved to be wise that first night.  Many of the women were unused to cooking over an open fire, and their efforts at starting one and keeping it burning at the right intensity were nothing short of comical.  Camilla Larrimore, who had brought a small camp stove precisely to avoid open-flame cookery, still seemed so utterly helpless her new neighbors wondered how she’d managed to light her kitchen stove back home.  Some of them, however, fared little better.  Inger had cooked outdoors before, on their journey to St. Joseph, and once her fire was burning briskly, characteristically offered to help her less experienced trail mates.  Even so, dinner was ready far later than anticipated.  Thus, the men were unable to meet until well past dark.  While they congregated on the north side of the camp, the women cleared up the dishes, then gathered around the Wentworth’s campfire.  Being the last started, it was burning brighter than any of the others.

    “There’s still a bit of coffee,” Martha Wentworth offered, “if anyone’s of a mind for some.”  She was a lean-limbed woman whose salt-and-pepper hair made her look older than her thirty-two years.  Her gray eyes smiled hospitably as she held up the coffee pot.

    “I never turn down a cup,” Rachel Payne announced, her hazel eyes twinkling as she flipped a lock of dark brown hair across her shoulder.  Rachel was just a year older than Inger, and like her, sported a protruding belly.  Mrs. Wentworth smiled and poured a cup of coffee for Mrs. Payne, but no one else seemed to want one.  Rachel took a sip and glanced across the way to where the men counseled together.  “Just like men to talk circles around an issue we women could settle in a few minutes,” she said, “but we’re not allowed to vote.”

    “It wouldn’t be fitting,” Mrs. Wentworth said sharply.  “God intended man to be head of the house.”

    “I won’t dispute religion with you,” Rachel told the minister’s wife, “but God did give minds to women, too.  I’m sure He meant we should use them.”

    “Well, I, for one, want no part of choosing our wagon captain,” Camilla tittered, nervously pulling on the jacket of the butternut suit she had donned for traveling that morning.  “It’s all I can do just to fulfill my wifely duties.”

    The other ladies restrained the urge to laugh.  After seeing her struggle to light a stove earlier, most of them agreed that fulfilling her wifely duties on the trail was probably all the challenge the fragile-looking and obviously overdressed Mrs. Larrimore could hope to meet.

    “What about you, Mrs. Cartwright?” Rachel asked.  “You seem pretty much a homebody.  I guess the idea of women’s voting shocks you, too.”

    “From what I see, ve are all homebodies here,” Inger laughed lightly.  “I have not thought before of what you say, but it does not shock me.  For myself, I am content to let Ben speak for our family, but men often find their vords first in the hearts of their wives, yah?”

    “You are right!” blonde, blue-eyed Ludmilla Zuebner declared, her fleshy neck forming a double chin when she nodded firmly.  “It is so with my Fredrich.”

    “And my Robert,” Maggie McTavish added with an impish wink.  Like the rest of her family, Maggie was blue-eyed with reddish hair.

    Rachel Payne grinned good-naturedly.  “Well, I guess I’ll agree, to keep the general peace.  I’m sure each of those men over there will hear an earful tonight if he goes far afield from what he’s heard whispered in his bed.”  Only Martha Wentworth and Camilla blushed.

    As Rachel had predicted, though, there were plenty of beneath-the-covers whispers later that night about the men’s choice of Lawrence Larrimore as captain of the train.  “I didn’t vote for him,” Ben admitted inside their tent after Adam had gone to sleep.  “I’m sure he expected me to, but he’s too easily swayed by his wife.  I’ve already seen him make some foolish decisions on account of her, and I hesitate to put such a person in charge of the lives of so many others.  Most of the men, though, thought his trip last year made him a logical choice.”

    “They have a point, Ben,” Inger said quietly.

    Ben shook his head.  “We’d have had the benefit of his experience without making him leader, Inger.”

    “Who did you vote for?” Inger asked curiously.

    “I was impressed with Jonathan Payne, even if he is the youngest man here.  He struck me as someone who could handle opposition and make clear-headed decisions.”  Ben laughed.  “My vote was the only one he got, though.  So much for my judgment!”

    “I like his wife,” Inger whispered.  “She has strong opinions, but does not seem the type to push them on others.  I think ve might be friends.”

    “She’s nearer your age than the others, isn’t she?”

    “Yah, only one year older,” Inger said.  She giggled as she patted her ample stomach.  “And ve have one other thing in common.”

    “I noticed.”  Ben laid his hand on Inger’s belly until he felt the satisfying ripple of the baby’s movement beneath his fingers.  “When’s her child due?”

    “A little before ours, I think,” Inger said.  “A month, perhaps.”

    Ben was quiet for awhile.  “I’ll support Lawrence, of course, now he’s been chosen,” he said soberly.  “I just hope the way the vote turned out doesn’t make him fear otherwise.”

    Inger pressed her head against his shoulder.  “Why vould he?”

    “Because I came in second in the voting,” Ben said sheepishly.

    Inger raised up.  “Oh, Ben, what an honor!”

    Ben smiled despite his efforts not to.  “I felt honored, I can tell you.  These are good, strong men, Inger; and other than Jonathan, I’m younger than them all.  To have earned their respect on such short acquaintance really moved me.”

    “They know a leader when they see one, Ben,” Inger said, snuggling down again.

    Ben tweaked her nose.  “You are prejudiced, young lady.”

    “But you have led men before——when you were on ship,” Inger insisted.

    “Yeah,” Ben admitted, “and I can tell you I don’t envy Lawrence the responsibility.  I knew the sea, but this is an unknown world we’re entering.  Maybe it is best that someone who’s been there before take the lead.”

    Ben drifted to sleep basking in the esteem of his trail mates, but Inger dozed off totally unconscious of the many whispered conversations that mentioned her name with favor.  Adam, on the other hand, knew exactly who liked him and vice versa.  He was sure Johnny Payne and Billy Thomas would become friends, just as he was sure he wanted as much distance as possible between him and pompous Sterling Larrimore.  Everyone else was either too old or too young or, worse yet, a girl.

    A single rifle shot split the silent darkness.  Ben rolled over with a groan.  Though he’d never been a late riser, four o’clock came early.  Ben shook Inger’s shoulder gently.  “I’m awake, Ben,” she murmured, though her eyes were still closed.  “I am only dreaming I am still asleep.”

    Ben leaned over to kiss her forehead and the blue eyes opened.  “Sleep well?” he asked, the twitching of his lower lip revealing the mischief in the query.

    Inger shook a finger at him.  “Naughty man, to bring me back to such a bed.  I had forgotten how much I hated sleeping on the ground.”

    The mischief faded from Ben’s aspect as he took her hand gently.  “I’m sorry, my love.”

    Inger sat up quickly and gave him a hearty kiss.  “No, I am sorry, Ben, to be such a complainer.  This is what ve both vant, and ve vill soon get used to the discomforts again.  Get dressed now and see to the stock while I get breakfast.”

    Similar conversations were taking place in most of the tents around the camp.  The words in one, however, seemed more irritable than the others.  As Inger coaxed her breakfast fire to life, she could hear quarrelsome voices from the Larrimore tent next to theirs.  The words weren’t always clear, but Camilla’s piercing whine was readily recognizable.  Finally, the lady herself emerged from the tent, her brown ringlets disheveled and her attitude decidedly grumpy.  “Of all ungodly hours to cook breakfast!” she groused.

    “Good morning, Camilla,” Inger called.  “It is early, isn’t it?”

    Camilla wavered a moment before answering.  “Much too early,” she finally said, “although you look cheery enough.”

    Inger chuckled.  “Believe me, I like it as little as you, but what can ve do, yah?  Our families must be fed.”

     “I suppose.”   Looking at the stove that had caused her such frustration the night before, Camilla sighed.  “I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of this thing.”

    “Oh, yah, sure.  Soon it vill be second nature,” Inger assured her as she walked toward the offending device.  “Shall I help you?”

    Camilla looked relieved.  “Oh, yes, please.  You know, I just wasn’t built for this life, Mrs. Cartwright.”

    “Please call me Inger.  Ve are all friends here, yah?”

    Camilla sighed again.  “I don’t think I’ve made many friends.  Everyone was laughing at me last night, you know.”

    Inger smiled sympathetically, noting that Camilla had changed the tailored suit that had evoked so many titters of derision for a simpler frock today.  “I think ve all gave each other something to laugh at last night.  But ve vill do better today.”

    Camilla sniffed.  “I hope so.”  As Inger got her fire burning, she looked up appreciatively.  “I must say, Mrs.——I mean, Inger——you’ve been most kind, especially since it’s obvious from your husband’s vote that you have little confidence in us.”

    Inger bit her lip.  “Ben thinks vell of your husband, Camilla.  If he also thinks vell of others, that does not change his feeling for Lawrence.  He has received a great honor and ve are happy for him.”

    Camilla’s face eased.  “It is an honor, isn’t it?  But, then, I always knew Lawrence was capable of great things.  Perhaps he was right in coming west after all.  Perhaps we will finally rise to our proper station in society there.”

    “I hope you find all you vant,” Inger said quietly.  “Now, I must see to my family’s breakfast.”

    Camilla’s delicate fingers fluttered to her mouth.  “Oh, my yes.  Thank you,” she called as Inger turned away.  Inger gave her a smile over her shoulder and went back to her own fire.  Across the camp, Rachel Payne waved, and Inger returned the greeting.

    A sleepy-eyed boy crawled out of the Cartwright tent.  “Morning,” Adam yawned, pulling a suspender over one shoulder.

    “Good morning, Adam,” Inger said.  “You did not have to get up quite this early, little one.”

    “I heard the noise,” Adam said, pulling up the other suspender, “and it woke me up.”  There was, as Adam indicated, a bustling about the camp now as women rattled pans and men gathered yokes and chains.  “Where’s Pa?” Adam asked.

    “He has gone for our milk cow,” Inger replied.  “Soon you vill have fresh milk to drink, Adam.”

    Adam grinned.  “You think I could milk the cow, Mama?”

    Inger smiled, pleased.  “I am sure you could.  I vas no bigger than you when I learned.  And it vould be such a help, too, vith all the vork your father and I have to do each morning.”

    Adam’s grin widened.  “I better get my socks and shoes on quick!”

    “Yah,” Inger laughed, “and vash your face and hands.  Your father should be here soon.”

    But Ben had not returned by the time Adam was washed, and Inger’s brow began to furrow with concern.  The stock was not grazing that far away.  To keep Adam from sharing her worry, she found a new chore for him.  “Vould you like to help me by grinding some coffee, Adam?”

    “Sure,” Adam said.  Inger gave him the grinder filled with beans she had roasted in a pan over the fire.  “When do you think I’ll get to drink coffee?” Adam asked as he turned the handle.

    Inger tittered.  “Not for awhile, my son.  Milk is what growing children need.”

    Adam frowned.  That wasn’t an answer.  But he wasn’t much bothered, either.  He liked milk and wasn’t sure what coffee would taste like.  He had a natural curiosity about it, but figured he’d have to wait to satisfy it.

    Much later than expected, Ben led their milk cow in and tied her to the back of the wagon.  From the look on his face, Inger knew there was trouble.  “What is it, Ben?”

    “Just put out,” Ben said.  “Some of the other cows in the herd decided to hightail it for home, and Bossy here did her best to follow.  Took me awhile to catch her.”

    “Oh, I am glad ve did not lose her,” Inger said.  “Here, take some coffee and rest while I milk her.  Then I vill fry you some pancakes.”  Tired, Ben just nodded and took the offered cup of coffee.

    “Did the others catch their cows?” Inger asked.

    Ben shook his head.  “Some did, some are still looking.  I think they’re all accounted for except Payne’s and Larrimore’s.  Jonathan and Enos Montgomery are trailing after them now.”

    Inger glanced over to the Larrimore encampment, where Lawrence had just stumbled in and dropped onto a camp stool.  Seeing that his wife had still not finished grinding her coffee, Inger took a cup to Lawrence.  “Ve have had a wearisome start to our day, yah?”

    “Yes, ma’am,” Lawrence agreed, accepting the extended cup.  He raised it by way of thanks.  “This will help, though.  I thank you.”

    “You are velcome.  Do not vorry; I am sure Enos vill find your cow.  He seems a responsible young man.”

    “He is.  I’m not worried about the fool animal, but the delay is bothersome.  This isn’t much of a way to start off as captain.”

    “It vill get better, I am sure,” Inger said encouragingly.  “Now, back to my pancakes.”  Wondering what his own chances were of breakfast anytime in the immediate future, Lawrence looked hungrily after her as she left.

    “Come, Adam,” Inger called when she had returned to her own wagon, “and I vill show you how to milk the cow.”

    “I’m gonna be a helper, Pa,” Adam announced as he stood quickly.

    “That’s my boy,” Ben said proudly.

    Sterling Larrimore emerged from the tent next to theirs.  “How’s a fella ‘sposed to sleep with all this racket?” he demanded.

    “A fellow is supposed to be up and helping out by now,” his father snapped.

    Camilla put a protective arm around her pudgy son.  “Now, Lawrence, the child’s not used to these hours.  Nor am I, for that matter.”

    “Obviously,” Larrimore muttered, “but we’re all going to have to get used to them.  We can’t ask the whole train to wait while you sluggards sleep in.”

    Giving him an angry glare, Camilla turned away.  A bleary-eyed, girl of six with tousled black hair crawled out of the tent.  “I’m sleepy, Mama,” she whimpered, “and everyone’s yelling.”

    “I know, Jewel, sweetie,” Camilla cooed.  “Papa’s upset about that mean old cow and taking it out on everyone.”

    Lawrence bristled and started to make an angry retort, then stopped.  There was truth in what Camilla said, after all.  He was upset about the cow and the delay.  Probably that had made him speak more sharply than he’d intended.  And his family was only out here in the wilderness because of his wishes, not their own.  It would behoove him to be patient, at least until they became accustomed to trail life.  Perhaps seeing the harder lot of the other emigrants would make his children appreciate their privileges more and lessen their complaints.  He looked across at little Adam Cartwright lugging a pail of milk to his father and wondered how Ben managed to sire such a cooperative boy when his own grumbled about everything he was asked to do.

    “Oh, I feel so rich having our own cow,” Inger enthused.  “Not since I vas a girl on the farm have I tasted fresh milk varm from the cow.  And look how much she gave, Ben!”

    “It’s a lot,” Ben agreed.  “Surely, we can’t drink all that.”

    “No,” Inger admitted.  “On a farm it vould not go to vaste, but out here there is no place to store it, no chance to make cheese and butter.”

    “You can make butter, you know,” called the sandy-haired woman camped on the Cartwrights’ other side.

    “I brought no churn, Mrs. Thomas,” Inger explained.  “The extra veight, you know.”

    Nelly Thomas’s plump cheeks pooched out even farther when she laughed.  “You don’t need one, honey.”  She ambled over to Inger.  “Just skim off the cream like you would for the churn, then hang it in a covered pail from the bottom of the wagon.  By the end of the day you’ll have butter.”

    “From the bumping of the vagon,” Inger said, suddenly seeing what the other woman was saying.  “How smart you are!”

    Mrs. Thomas shrugged.  “Just a trick I learned on the trip from Indiana.  Works right well.  Like you, I can’t afford the weight of a churn, not with all the blacksmith tools Clyde just had to bring.”

    “Your husband is a blacksmith?” Inger asked.  “That vill be a useful skill on the trail.”

    “And in California, we hope.”

    “I am sure it vill be,” Inger agreed enthusiastically.  “You are Nelly, yah?”

    “That’s right, and may I call you Inger?”

    “Yah, please.  It is hard to get so many names straight so quickly, but I am trying,” Inger said.

    Nelly gave a short laugh.  “I know what you mean.  I’m especially having trouble remembering the names of that German family.”

    “The Zuebners?” Inger asked.  “Such beautiful names they have—Fredrich and Ludmilla——and the children are Stefán, Katerina and Marta.”

    “Beautiful names,” Nelly said, “but they don’t roll off my tongue as easy as they do yours.  Seem like nice folks, though.”

    “Yah, I think ve have a good group to journey vith,” Inger said.  “I vill try your idea about the butter, Nelly, but I think I vill still have more milk than ve need.”  She turned toward her husband, who was just finishing his plate of pancakes.  “Ben, do you mind if I offer some to the Paynes?  They vill have none this morning vith their cow running off, and Rachel should drink some——for the baby.”

    “Go ahead,” Ben said.

    “Nice, thoughtful girl, your Inger,” Nelly told Ben as Inger headed across the camp to the Payne wagon.

    “An angel come to earth,” Ben said fondly.

    Nelly smiled.  It was good to see a couple so obviously in love as the Cartwrights.  She’d have to make a point of getting better acquainted.

    By the time Jonathan and Enos returned with the wayward livestock, everyone had cleared up from breakfast, struck the tents and loaded the wagons.  All that remained was to yoke the oxen and pull out, hoping to make up the lost two hours somewhere.  It was a vain hope that day, however, for everyone except the farm-bred Zuebners seemed to be having problems with their draught animals.

    Seeing Ben struggle to keep his oxen from overturning the wagon, Zuebner came running forward.  “Let me help you, Mr. Cartwright,” he said.

    “I can’t figure what’s wrong,” a frustrated Ben told him.

    “Der chains is tangled, is all,” Zuebner said.

    “I thought I had them right,” Ben said.

    Zuebner laughed.  “Is nothing you do.  Is just the oxen are new to each other and don’t work together yet.  They learn pretty quick, you see.  Is all straight now, but you watch they don’t pull against each other.”

    “Thanks, Zuebner.”

    “Sure, sure.”

    Ben was not the only one in need of Zuebner’s help before midday.  Most of the teams were, as Zuebner said, ‘new to each other’ and pulled more as individuals than as a team.  Of them all, the minister, Ebenezer Wentworth, had the most difficulty convincing his team to go where he wanted.  “Gee, gee!” he yelled as his oxen pulled to the right.  “You infernal beasts, I said ‘gee!’”

    “Would be better you say ‘haw,’” Zuebner called back.  “You are telling them ‘right’ when you mean ‘left,’ Mr. Wentworth.”

    Wentworth threw his hands skyward.  “Why can’t I keep those straight?  Haw, haw, you maddening creatures!”

    Somehow, the inexperienced teamsters stumbled through the morning, stopping at noon for both man and beast to rest and refuel.  The teams were unhitched from the wagons, but not unyoked as they were driven to water and allowed to graze.  Larrimore had planned to make up time with a shorter stop than usual since the oxen had not done a full morning’s pulling, but though the women served only a cold meal, its preparation and rehitching the reluctant oxen still required almost the full two hours normally allotted for nooning.

    Finally, everyone seemed ready to roll again.  But just as Larrimore was about to give the order to move out a piercing scream rippled up and down the line of wagons.  “Bobby, Bobby!” Nelly Thomas called frantically as she ran toward the narrow stream near which they had stopped.

    Inger ran to the wagon behind theirs where Adam stood near Billy Thomas, who looked close to tears.  “What is wrong?” she asked urgently.

    “I was supposed to be watching him,” Billy stuttered, “but me and Adam was having fun, and—and—”

    “Adam?” Inger asked.

    “We don’t know where Bobby went, Mama,” Adam said.

    “The little one is missing?” Inger cried.  “Oh, dear God, help us find him!”  She ran after Nelly.  Soon the entire party had heard about its lost member, and the men spread out to search the surrounding countryside.

    Inger caught up with Nelly and wrapped comforting arms around the weeping mother.  “Ve vill find him,” Inger promised.

    “But he’s so tiny,” Nelly sobbed.  “This grass is taller than he is, Inger!”

    Inger squeezed tighter.  “Yah, I know, but probably he is frightened and crying by now.  They vill hear him.”

    “I pray so,” Nelly cried.  “Oh, my sweet little brown-eyed boy.  What would I do without him?”

    Inger choked back the sob rising in her own throat.  Nelly felt just as Inger would if anything were to happen to Adam; and little Bobby was only four, so much more vulnerable out in that sea of grass.

    A hour passed with no word, when over the crest of a knoll Clyde Thomas walked toward camp, a golden-haired boy over his shoulder.  With a shout of joy Nelly ran toward them and, gathering the little wanderer into her arms, smothered his tear-tracked cheeks with kisses.

    “I got losted, Mama,” Bobby whimpered.  “I couldn’t keep up with Billy, and I got losted.”

    “That scamp!” Nelly said.  “He’ll get an earful from me, I promise you.”  But by the time she had her younger boy back safe in camp, the elder brother’s threatened scolding was forgotten.

    The men trickled back one by one, and the train headed out again, anxious to make up for lost time.  They met with no further difficulties, but by day’s end they had only gained seven miles toward their goal.  Everyone was disappointed by their slow progress, but each tired traveler said a quiet prayer of thanks that night that none of their party had been lost.

    The next morning offered a reprise of the previous day’s difficulties as untried wagoneers struggled with untrained teams.  Though the weather was pleasant and cool for a change, the trail was still mucky from rains earlier in the week.  Even so, by the time they made camp that evening, everyone agreed it had been a better day than the one before, although they had covered only nine miles.

    The wagon party had stopped for the night earlier than usual because Lawrence Larrimore assured them that Cold Springs was the best campsite they could reach before dark.  The cool, refreshing water and excellent forage for the cattle did much to restore the emigrants’ confidence in their chosen captain, and the women welcomed the early stop.  Not only did it give them a better chance to prepare dinner by the desired hour, but they also found time to rinse out a few garments before sundown.  Although the clothes most of them had worn since leaving St. Joe smelled stale from the accumulated sweat of travel in sticky weather, no one bothered with a thorough laundering.  There simply wasn’t time.

    The sun shone bright and hot on the train’s third full day of travel.  Almost everyone in the party seemed to be falling into the routine of trail life, rising at the rifle signal and performing morning chores in time to leave by seven, as planned.  It was half past that, however, before Camilla Larrimore could drag drowsily through her duties  and be ready to head out.  Since even that represented an improvement, no one complained, and they made camp that night, grateful to have come twelve miles.

    Friday saw their best day thus far.  The sun’s heat had at last dried the trail enough to give solid footing to the oxen.  When they made a respectable fourteen miles that day, Ben’s hopes for a successful journey began to rise.

    Saturday was another productive day.  The first hour’s drive brought the emigrants to Walnut Creek and the comforting sight of the bridge across it.  “Enjoy it while you can,” Larrimore told them as the wagons of their party pulled to the end of the line rumbling over the bridge.  “It’s the only one you’ll see.  From here, we’re mostly on our own, except for a few ferries.”

    “Aye, and costing more than a hound’s tooth, I’ll wager” Robert McTavish growled.

    “True enough,” Larrimore admitted, “but worth the price in most cases.”

    “At least, this bridge is free,” Clyde Thomas said with satisfaction.

    Rachel Payne smoothed her dark brown curls underneath her yellow print sunbonnet and turned to Inger, walking beside her. “Try to figure that!  Ferries charge an arm and a leg; for the greater safety of a bridge, we pay nothing.”

    Inger’s blue bonnet bobbed up and down.  “Ferries take men to vork them,” she offered as explanation.

    “And the laborer is worthy of his hire,” Martha Wentworth called.

    “Agreed, ma’am,” Jonathan Payne replied, his blue eyes twinkling.  “I just wish these ferrymen didn’t prize their labor so much above mine!”  Laughter trickled from one wagon to the next as the joke was repeated, but soon it was time to cross the bridge, so the banter stopped as each man hurried to guide his own team.

    Walking next to his father as they crossed the bridge, Adam looked longingly at the creek below.  “I wish we could stop and fish awhile, Pa,” he said.  “Fish’d be real good for lunch.”

    “That they would, son,” Ben agreed, resting a hand on his lad’s head, “but it’s too early to stop.  We’ve a lot of miles to cover before the nooning.”

    Adam sighed.  “I know, sir.  I was just wishing.”

    Ben ruffled the youngster’s black hair.  “You’ll get your chance, Adam.  Plenty of creeks and rivers ahead.  We’re bound to camp near one sometime soon.  Then you’ll be in charge of providing the meal, all right?”

    Adam looked up and the disappointment faded from his features.  “Sure, Pa.  I’ll catch us the biggest mess of catfish you ever saw!”

    After a satisfying morning’s drive the train stopped for the noon rest.  Inger cleared away the dishes and sat down next to Ben.  As he leaned against one of the wagon’s rear wheels, she lay her head on his shoulder.  “Alvays writing in your yournal, mine husband.”

    “An old habit from my days at sea,” Ben explained.  “I’m not the only one,” he added, cocking his head to the right to indicate the place beneath the wagon where Adam lay sprawled on his stomach with his own journal open before him.  The seven-year-old had faithfully written a few lines each day to be shared with Jamie at year’s end, and, like his father, had fallen into the habit of using the noon rest hour to make his entries.

    Inger laughed.  “Yah.  I have no time to put vords to paper, but my mind is a kind of yournal, full of veather and growing things.  Not many vould vant to read it.”

    Ben closed his book and took her face between his palms.  “I would,” he said softly.

    Inger snuggled against him.  “Someday, I, too, vill write a yournal,” she said, “and in it I vill put all the things I have learned from you——how to find our vay by the stars and how to know the coming veather by the smell of the vind.”

    Ben stroked his hand repeatedly over her golden hair.  “Those things are like nothing compared to the things you’ve taught me——understanding, affection, love.”  He squeezed her tight.  “But then I knew you would the first time I saw you in the store in Petersburg.”

    Inger turned glistening eyes to his face.  “You were something from a childhood fancy,” she murmured.  “So many times yoost before I’d fall asleep after a hard day’s vork in the wheat fields, a man——so strong and swift——vould come and lift me up in his arms as lightly as if I vas a sheaf of wheat.”  She touched his lips with her fingertips and whispered, “It vas you, Ben.”

    Ben leaned his face toward hers, but before they could exchange a kiss, Adam scrambled from beneath the wagon.  “Pa, what word would you use for the McTavishes’ hair color?”

    Ben chuckled.  “Are you writing all that for Jamie, son?”

    “Well, sure,” Adam stated matter-of-factly.  “How else will he know about everyone?”

    Inger patted the youngster’s knee.  “How, indeed?”  She looked across the encampment toward the McTavish wagon.  “It is not fiery red, like Billy Thomas’s, but a reddish brown, yah?”

    “More red than brown,” Ben said, his brow wrinkling as he searched for the right word.  “Something like the color of burnished copper.  I guess you’d say ‘auburn,’ Adam.”

    “Spell it,” Adam demanded.  Ben complied and Adam copied the word into his journal, but neither of them had time to write much more before it was time to reyoke the oxen and head out on the trail again.

    They traveled until just past five that afternoon.  In the beginning, some of the wagoneers had protested the early stops, but they soon learned they had little enough time to complete the necessary chores before nightfall.  The oxen had to be unhitched and turned out to graze along with the other cattle.  Those who had horses needed to hobble or picket them so they, too, could feed.  Then there were tents to set up, fuel to gather, fires to build, supper to cook, dishes to scrub.  After the second day on the trail, no one complained about stopping at five.

    After eating the men from each wagon generally gathered around the Larrimore’s campfire to discuss the next day’s itinerary.  Though Lawrence was the acknowledged leader and everyone listened carefully to what he remembered about the trail ahead, each wagon owner had an equal voice in the decisions made.  To this point the meetings had been amicable, but that changed when Ebenezer Wentworth let it be known that he expected the train to observe the sacred Sabbath as religiously as if they were in their home settlements.

    “Ridiculous!” McTavish charged.  “We can’t afford the delay of resting a full day every week.”

    “Would you challenge the Almighty?” Wentworth demanded, his black eyes flashing.  “How can we ask God to prosper our journey if we refuse to keep His commandments?”

    “He is right,” Zuebner said sturdily.  “We need da Lord to shine on our path.”

    “Bah,” McTavish scoffed.  “As late as we started and with the delays we’ve suffered, every day is precious.  We can’t risk our lives to humor superstitious fools.”

    “There’s no need for name-calling,” Ben inserted quickly.  “I’m sure if we listen to one another, we can come to a consensus of what’s best for all.”

    “All right,” McTavish agreed, cooling down.  “What do you say, Larrimore?  How was it done in your party last year?”

    “Being in a hurry to reach the gold fields before they were stripped bare, we traveled straight through,” Lawrence said, “but we’ve got women and children to consider.  They might need rest more than we did.”

    “So, what are you saying?” Clyde Thomas asked.  Like his son Billy, his hair was red, though its shade was more subdued.  “Do we stop over a day or not?”

    Lawrence looked edgily from Wentworth’s frowning face to McTavish’s glowering visage to the confused expressions of Thomas and Payne.  “I’ll abide by the decision of the group,” he said.

    Clyde Thomas turned away to spit.  “Safe answer,” he muttered to no one in particular.  Zuebner nodded in silent agreement.

    “I know I don’t have Lawrence’s trail experience,” Ben began, “but I have studied the guidebooks carefully.  Some of them recommend regular rest; it’s felt the livestock stay stronger longer and the people healthier, so there are less delays for other reasons.  I tend to agree.”

    “You agree we must observe the Sabbath,” Wentworth stated firmly.

    Ben spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture.  “I agree a day of rest each week is wise, and I’d favor its being Sunday, when possible. I’m sure there’ll come times, though, depending on our location and how our journey’s gone during the week, when another day might be better.  I think we should evaluate our situation each week and decide what to do at that time.”

    “Then we should push on tomorrow,” McTavish insisted.  “We’ve lost time this week.”

    Ben shook his head.  “That’s mostly due to inexperience, McTavish.  The last three days have shown what we’re capable of, so I expect better progress next week.  And we’re all extra tired from the struggles we’ve faced.  I say lay over tomorrow since we have a good campsite here.”

    “Sounds good to me,” Payne chimed in.

    “Yeah, I’m ready to vote,” Thomas added.

    “All right,” Lawrence said.  “Who favors camping here until Monday morning?”  Ben, Clyde, Jonathan, Fredrich and Ebenezer raised their hands.

    “Opposed?”  Only McTavish voted against the stopover.

    “Looks like that settles it,” Lawrence said.

    “You didn’t vote, Larrimore,” McTavish accused.

    Seeing Lawrence’s discomfort, Ben said quietly, “There’s really no need, except in case of a tie.”  Lawrence looked at him, grateful for the intervention.

    Ben gave McTavish a hearty slap on the back.  “Give it a try, man.  If we don’t like the results, I’m sure none of us is too stubborn to change his mind.”  McTavish cut a sharp look at Wentworth.  He was quite sure at least one of them was that stubborn.

    When the small band of travelers gathered at nine the next morning, they experienced not the uplifting worship they had hoped for, but a diatribe on the sanctity of the Sabbath and the harvest of woe those who violated it could expect to reap.  Though there were mumbled complaints as the little congregation dispersed two hours later, most felt Wentworth was entitled to preach the truth as he saw it.  “But if he don’t find a different tune to play by next Sunday,” Clyde muttered to Ben as they left, “so help me, I’ll vote to travel Sundays, worn out or not, just to spite him.”

    Ben chuckled.  From what he’d seen of Clyde Thomas so far, he figured the man’s bark was considerably sharper than his bite.  He couldn’t help agreeing with the sentiment, however.  The service hadn’t been very uplifting.

    The extra rest, however, was.  Everyone, especially Camilla Larrimore and her perpetually groggy youngsters, had taken advantage of the planned stop to sleep later than usual.  After walking fifty-eight miles the previous week, they all enjoyed the quiet pleasure of sitting around talking and getting better acquainted.  They were fine folks, Ben decided.  If you looked close enough, of course, you could see that each had faults, but each had good points, as well.  If Ben hadn’t discovered them in everyone yet——McTavish and Wentworth, for instance——that only meant he hadn’t looked closely enough.  By the time they reached California, Ben was sure he’d know every wrinkle and wart, but he expected the inner radiance of good character to blind him to those lesser faults.

To everyone’s satisfaction the Larrimore train pulled out at precisely seven Monday morning, the tenth of June.  “Hard to believe we’re the same inept bunglers that left St. Joseph a week ago, isn’t it, Inger?” Ben asked as he walked beside his wife through the green-gold grass along the trail.  “We look like seasoned trailsmen today.”

    “Yah,” Inger agreed.  “Even Camilla vas ready on time this morning.”

    “A sure sign God is smiling on our observance of His holy day,” Ben snickered.

    Inger looked shocked.  “Ben, do not mock holy things!”

    “I’m not,” Ben protested.  “I’m mocking Ebenezer Wentworth.”

    “Vell, do not do that, either,” Inger demanded.  “He is our neighbor, as vell as a man of God; and ve must treat him vith respect.”

    Ben gave her a quick squeeze.  “You’re right, my love.  I’ll try to do better, but the man does try my patience.”

    “Which you have in such abundance!” Inger tittered.

    Ben raised an eyebrow.  “Now, who’s mocking?”

    Inger blushed and nodded acceptance of his rebuke.  She drew in a sharp breath and stopped for a moment, laying her hand over the bulge in her gray muslin skirt.  She smiled, then, and continued walking.  “That vas a hard one,” she said.

    “Our boy’s got quite a kick, eh?” Ben smiled.

    “Yah, a good, sturdy one,” Inger laughed.  “No little girl could treat her mother so roughly.  It must be a boy and a big one, at that.”

    Ben ran an appraising eye over Inger’s protruding abdomen.  “Are you sure you’ve got your timing right, Inger?”

    Inger glanced sideways at her husband.  “What does that mean, Benyamin Cartwright?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.

    It was Ben’s turn to blush.  “Well, I was just wondering if maybe—that is—”

    “Are you saying I look so big you expect me to deliver any minute?” Inger asked, her face flaming.

    “Well, not just any minute,” Ben stammered, “but—”

    “Oh, Ben!” Inger cried.  “How can you be so cruel?  I know I am big as a house, but I hoped you still found me attractive enough.”

    “I do!” Ben protested.  “But, face facts, you’re carrying a larger load than Rachel Payne now, and you say her baby’s scheduled to arrive weeks before ours.”

    Inger chuckled and shook her head.  “Oh, Ben, Ben.  You should have seen my mother carrying Gunnar.  She vas as big as this, I am sure.  Did I not tell you once I vas a very large peasant voman?”

    Ben smiled as he recalled their first picnic beside the Sangamon River.  “A very beautiful peasant woman, I said then, and that’s still how I see you.”

    Inger took his arm.  “If you think my load is heavy, Ben, you must imagine how it feels from this side of my belly.”

    Ben reached over to pat her stomach.   “I’m sure you must get weary, especially with all this walking.”

    Inger shrugged.  “Let’s just say that I, above all others, am glad for the day’s rest ve had yesterday.”

    Inger’s sentiments were echoed throughout the train as they made camp that evening.  Even Robert McTavish admitted that the fifteen miles they’d covered were evidence that the Sabbath’s rest had been good for both the emigrants and their draught animals.  Yes, Cartwright’s advice had been sound.  McTavish would have felt better about following it, however,  if only Ebenezer Wentworth had been less arrogantly confident that the day’s productiveness had vindicated his righteous pronouncements.

    “Shh, Ben!,” Inger whispered urgently as she stroked the mare’s flank.

    “Well, hurry it up, will you?  Everyone’s all loaded up and ready to go.”

    “I can’t go now, Ben, not yet.  I have to know that she is all right.”

    “Look, we made good progress this morning,” Ben explained, “but we’ve already nooned here beyond what we should.  That mare may not foal for hours.  Let Payne look after her; he’ll catch up with us.”

    “It vill be any minute, Ben,” Inger said. “I can’t leave her now, Ben, not now.  It is her first.  She’s frightened and nervous.”

    “But, Inger, it’s not your horse,” Ben insisted.

    Inger turned flashing eyes on her husband.  “Ben,” she said sternly, “Adam is not my child, but you have entrusted him to me, just as Mr. Payne has entrusted his prize mare to me.”  Her face softened.  “It vill be only a little longer, Ben, I am sure.”

    The mare whinnied as if in pain, and Inger turned to soothe her.  Ben headed back toward the wagons, but he hadn’t reached them before he heard Inger shout.  “Ben, Ben.  Get Mr. Payne.”

    “Is it time?” Ben hollered back between cupped hands.

    “Quickly, Ben!” Inger cried.

     Ben turned to face the circle of wagons.  “Hey, Payne!  Your mare’s ready!”

    Jonathan Payne came running.  Without a word to Ben, he passed him and raced toward Inger, whose arms circled the neck of a wobbly roan foal with a white blaze on his forehead.  Accepting Jonathan’s breathless thanks, she flapped the front of her damp blue and rose print blouse to cool herself and leaned against Ben.  “Isn’t he beautiful, Ben?” she cooed, laying her hand gently on her husband’s chest and looking lovingly into his velvet brown eyes.  “I’m ready to go on now, Ben.  I’m sorry about the delay.”

    Ben laid his hand over hers.  “I wouldn’t have had it any other way.  Hey, Payne!” he called.  “Slap some diapers on that boy, and let’s get rolling.”

    The wagons pulled into line and headed out.  But though everything went well and the oxen pulled sturdily, the delay meant they made only ten miles that day.  No one seemed greatly troubled, however, except Robert McTavish.  “If we waste this kind of time over a dumb animal, what are we likely to squander when those women take to having their bairns?” he complained to his wife.

    “Shush your mouth, now, Robert McTavish,” Maggie ordered.  “You’d sing a different tune if it were your own bairns coming into the world.”  His two teen-aged daughters, the “bairns” in question, giggled at their father’s sudden discomfiture.

    After heading due west all morning the wagons circled near the Vermillion River.  “Since it’s about time for our noon stop anyway,” Lawrence Larrimore decided, “we’ll rest up here before crossing.”

    Clyde Thomas rubbed his stubbled chin.  “Sounds good.  The oxen should have a rest before tackling a river.”

    Ben nodded his agreement.  For the first time since leaving St. Joseph, except when they’d crossed a few piddling creeks no one had feared, there was no ferry or bridge.  They’d have to find their own way across; and since all but Lawrence were inexperienced at fording rivers, they’d be foolish to attempt it when they were already tired from a morning’s drive.

    Adam came racing across from the Payne wagon, where he’d been walking along with his friend Johnny all morning.  “Pa,” he called, “can I go fishing?  Can I, Pa?”

    Ben scooped the youngster into his arms.  “No, son, not today.”

    “But why, Pa?” Adam demanded.  “You promised I could sometime.  It looks like a good fishing place, too.”

    “I’m sorry, Adam,” his father said, giving him a squeeze.  “I’m just afraid we wouldn’t have time to fry up the fish after you caught them, and we mustn’t let food go to waste.”

    “Aw, please, Pa,” Adam whined.

    Ben set him down.  “No, Adam, you’ll have to wait until we bed down near a river.  I’m sorry, but those are the facts, and I’ll have no pouting, my boy.”

    Adam was pouting, but Ben overlooked the seeming disobedience, knowing it arose from disappointment, not defiance.  “Help your mother get the grub box out of the wagon,” Ben said to give his son something else to think about.

    “Yes, sir,” Adam said, downcast, but submissive.

    Ben sauntered down to the riverbank, where the other men were gathering while the women prepared lunch.  “What you think, Larrimore?” Zuebner was asking as Ben joined them.  “Is too deep to ford?”

    “We forded here last year,” Lawrence replied, “but it does look a little deeper than I remember.  I think it’s still fordable, but maybe we should put it to a vote.”

    “Let’s ford,” McTavish said bluntly.  “We need to make up some of the time we lost yesterday.”

    “True enough,” Clyde Thomas put in.  “I vote to ford.”

    “Why don’t we test the depth first?” Ben suggested.

    “Good idea,” Jonathan agreed.

    “Fine,” McTavish snapped.  “You test it, then.  You’re the reason we’re behind schedule.”

    Payne’s nostrils flared, but he controlled his temper.  “Fair enough,” he said tautly.  “I’ll test it.”  He waded out to the center of the river, which came barely to mid-thigh.  “I’d say about three feet,” he called and stumbled out of the water.

    “Guidebooks say that’s fordable,” Ben said, “but you’d know better than any of us if that’s true, Lawrence.”

    Lawrence looked hesitant.  “Well, that depth is always chancy.  It’s probably safe enough, but anything can happen.”

    “Make a decision, man!” Clyde demanded.

    “Or I will,” McTavish snarled.

    Lawrence took a deep breath.  “We’ll ford,” he decided.

    Each day a different wagon took the lead position, so everyone had a fair turn at avoiding the dust of the wagons ahead.  As they approached the river after nooning by its banks, the Wentworths led the way.  Martha Wentworth waded across first, followed by twelve-year-old Mark and thirteen-year-old Matthew with his five-year-old sister Mary riding piggyback.  Once they reached the other shore safely, Ebenezer led the oxen into the water and aimed for the far side, moving obliquely downriver.  The water came just below the base of the wagon bed, so the goods inside should have been well protected, but when the wagon reached midstream, the strong current began to pull the oxen to the left.  As Wentworth struggled to turn them, he characteristically yelled “haw” when he meant “gee.”  Zuebner ran to help.  Before he could reach the minister, however, the wagon tipped over and water flooded inside.

    Seeing her husband lose his footing, Martha Wentworth screamed.  Ebenezer came up spewing water and coughing, but unhurt.  Zuebner pulled him to his feet and started to unhitch the oxen.    “Come on, Wentworth,” he yelled.  “We got to save your stock.”  Thanks to Zuebner’s quick thinking, the oxen were disentangled and led to shore without injury.  Martha and the children ran to Ebenezer and wrapped him in a bevy of arms as they sobbed out their relief.

    The other men of the party waded out to the capsized wagon and put their shoulders to the task of setting it upright again.  After rehitching the oxen,  they guided the Wentworth wagon safely to the west bank.  Leaving Adam with Rachel Payne, Inger, along with Maggie McTavish, waded across to help Mrs. Wentworth unpack their goods and assess the damage.  The other men returned to the east shore of the river to reanalyze their options.  Camilla Larrimore was pulling frantically on her husband’s arm as he tried to join the others.  “We can’t cross this river, Lawrence.  Please, let’s turn around and head for home.”

    “Don’t be foolish, Camilla,” Lawrence said irritably.  “You don’t hear anyone else wanting to turn tail and run.”

    “All right,” Camilla screamed as he jerked his arm free and walked away, “but if I lose my mother’s china or our grandfather clock, you’ll not hear the end of it, Lawrence Larrimore!”

    Lawrence’s cheeks blazed crimson.  From the way the other men avoided looking at him directly, he knew they had heard.  Feeling his leadership devalued once again, he thrust his jaw out and announced, “It’s obvious we’ll need to caulk the wagons and float them across, men.”

    “It’s not obvious to me,” McTavish snorted.  “Wentworth doesn’t know what he’s doing, that’s all.”

    “I think we can ford,” Zuebner agreed, “if we are more careful.”

    Clyde Thomas sidled over to Ben.  “What you think, Cartwright?”

    Ben shook his head.  “I’m not sure.  Floating’s more work, to be sure, but we’ll lose even more time if we turn over like Wentworth did.”

    “Yeah,” Clyde said.  “Well, I criticized Larrimore before for bein’ wishy-washy.  Now that he’s made a decision, I guess I’d better stand behind him, especially if he’s got the gumption to buck his woman.”  When the vote was taken, the majority decided to turn their wagons temporarily into boats and float them across.  “Guess we’ll have plenty of chance to see how it’s done,” Clyde cackled as he and Ben headed back toward their wagons.

    Ben gave him a good-natured grin.  Sometimes there were advantages to being last in line, as Clyde was today.  And next to last didn’t feel at all uncomfortable to Ben.  Ben looked around and saw his son playing marbles with Johnny Payne.  “Adam!  Come here, son,” he called.

    Adam gathered the glass orbs into his suede bag and hustled over to his father.  “You need me, Pa?”

    “Sure do,” Ben said brightly.  “I need you to catch us a mess of catfish for supper.”

    Adam’s face lit up like a lantern.  “You mean it, Pa?  I can go fishing?”

    Ben gave the youngster’s ear a tweak.  “Yeah.  Looks like we’re gonna be here awhile, boy, so you should have time.  I’ll help you cross the river, then you let your mother know where you’re headed and you can pick your spot.”

    Adam gave a happy bounce.  “Can I ask Johnny to go, too, Pa?  And Billy?”

    “Sure, sure,” Ben said.  “As long as it’s all right with their folks.”

    “It’s all right with Billy’s,” Nelly called from the wagon behind Ben’s.  “I’ll be glad to get that scamp out from under foot.”

    “Run ask Johnny’s parents then,” Ben ordered.  “Tell them I’ll see him safe across.”

    “Yes, sir!” Adam said.  Ben smiled as he saw Adam dash across the camp yelling, “Hey, Johnny!  Guess what!”

    Before half an hour had passed, Adam and his two friends were sitting on the riverbank angling for catfish.  “This is sure gonna make a better supper than more of that old salt pork,” Johnny Payne whispered to Adam.

    “You bet!” Adam agreed enthusiastically as he baited his hook.  It was easy to see what had attracted Adam to the other seven-year-old. Though built sturdier, the boy looked a great deal like Jamie Edwards.  His hair was a little lighter, but he had the same hazel eyes and the same gentle ways.  Johnny certainly didn’t possess Jamie’s zest for learning, however.  He wasn’t a good reader and couldn’t understand why Adam liked it so much.  Johnny thought the trip to California was all the better for the vacation it represented from lessons.  Why anybody would want to sit under a wagon every evening and study the way Adam did was beyond Johnny’s comprehension.

    The red-haired rascal on Adam’s other side agreed with Johnny about that, but he’d already discovered the Cartwright boy could be downright stubborn about doing his lessons each night, as well as writing in that infernal journal of his at every noon break.  Having a wide stubborn streak himself, Billy could understand a fellow standing his ground, though not for something as utterly boring as schoolwork.  He tried every chance he got to pull Adam away from the books——to get into mischief, his mother would have said——and counted himself lucky on the rare occasions when it worked.  Today, he hadn’t had to try.  Adam had been the instigator of the fun, and that made Billy like him all the better.

    Billy gave his freckled arm a hard slap, satisfied to see the bloody squish of the dead mosquito.  “There’s one that won’t live to bite me again,” he announced and reached over to swat the insect sinking its probe into Adam’s neck.  “And that makes two!”

    Adam’s nose crinkled.  “They’re bad, ain’t they?”

    “Biggest bloodsuckers I ever seen,” Billy said.  “They gettin’ you much, Johnny?”

    Johnny scratched at the red welts on his arms.  “Like I was dinner on the plate,” he grumbled.  “I sure hope the catfish are worth the trouble.”

    “They will be,” Adam insisted.  “Just keep thinking about that salt pork.”  Johnny’s face twisted at the thought.

    “Catching anything?” called a high-pitched voice.

    Turning, the boys saw a young girl with flaxen braids and a teasing twinkle in her blue eyes.  “Shove off, Marta,” Billy ordered.  “No girls allowed.”

    “Why not?” Marta Zuebner asked, planting her arms defiantly on her hips.  “I fish pretty good, too, you know.”  Marta, unlike the rest of her family, had been born in the United States, so she spoke with no trace of German accent.  Neither did her sister Katerina, who had been only a year old when her parents immigrated to the United States.  Twelve-year-old Stefán’s speech was slow and plodding, like his father’s, but less noticeably accented.

    “Don’t know no such a thing,” Billy sputtered.  “Push her in, Johnny.”

    But gentle Johnny, who was closest to Marta, couldn’t bring himself to such meanness.  “She ain’t doing no harm,” he said.

    “You gotta be quiet,” Adam admonished, “or you’ll scare the fish away.”

    “If you blabbering boys haven’t scared them by now, I doubt I will,” Marta laughed.  She turned pleading eyes on Adam, who seemed to be the leader of the group.  “Let me stay,” she begged.  “None of the other girls are close to my age except my sister and she’s a sissy.  Jewel and Mary are just babies, and Roberta and Joan McTavish are practically grown women.”

    “We ain’t your age, either,” Billy Thomas snorted.

    “No, you’re a year younger,” nine-year-old Marta said, tossing her braids imperially, “and these other two even less, but you’re the closest there is.  I guess I’ll have to make do.”

    “Let her stay,” Johnny said.  “She’ll be quiet, I bet.”

    “I’m against it,” Billy muttered.  “How ‘bout you, Adam?”

    Adam frowned.  Why did his two new friends have to put him in the middle?  “I guess you can stay,” he decided, “but if you scare the fish, off you go.”

    Marta grinned and squatted down next to Johnny, giving him an even sweeter smile.  “Thanks,” she whispered as she hung her bare feet in the water.  “You won’t be sorry.”

    Ben and the other men worked hard that afternoon, taking the wheels and running gear off the wagon boxes and caulking them to make them as watertight as possible.  Though Ben had plenty of experience piloting ships on the open sea, he wasn’t as accustomed to swift river currents as to billowing waves.  It wasn’t the lack of experience, however, that birthed the fear he felt rising in his gorge as he eased his wagon boat into the water and climbed atop to pole it across.  It was the knowledge that everything his family needed to survive the trip west was inside.  In his mind’s eye he saw all his supplies floating south while he swam frenetically behind.  He shook his head to clear it of the tormenting image.  If there was one thing he’d learned at sea, it was to keep his fears in check no matter how fierce the gale.  If he turned them loose, they became a howling hurricane, wreaking devastation in its path.

    There’d been one close call earlier.  When McTavish had taken his team across before floating his wagon over, one of the oxen had stumbled and gone down.  Jonathan Payne, who had crossed just before McTavish, had rushed back to help, though, and together the two men got the ox to his feet and across the river.  Standing on the east shore waiting his turn to cross, Ben had smiled as he saw McTavish slap Payne on the back by way of thanks.  It looked as though those two had let their differences drown in the river, and Ben was glad.  Their group was too small to let friction fracture it.

    By the time the last wagon had been floated over and reassembled, all the men agreed it was too near time to make camp to make it worthwhile to go on.  They’d spend another night by the Vermillion River and continue on their way in the morning.  Ben got the tent set up, then dropped beside the fire Inger had built to fry Adam’s catfish.  “You look tired,” Inger said as she ran slender fingers through his hair.

    “Frazzled out,” Ben admitted.  “I hope we don’t have to go through that often.”

    “Maybe ve vill be able to ford most of the crossings,” Inger said soothingly.

    “Or ferry over,” Ben suggested as an even better alternative.  “I’m beginning to think that’s a bargain at twice the price.”

    Inger giggled.  “You must not give the ferrymen ideas, Benyamin.”

    Ben tossed her an enervated grin.  “Supper on the horizon?”

    “Yah, soon,” Inger promised.  “Catfish and rice.  Most of the Wentworth’s was soaked, so some of us traded them flour and cornmeal for rice.  If ve cook it tonight, it vill be all right.”

    “I take it the Wentworth’s lost their flour and cornmeal?”

    “All except what was stored below,” Inger said, turning back to watch the catfish, “but how did you know?”

    Ben chuckled.  “I didn’t; it’s you I know.  Why else would you trade flour and cornmeal for rice when we have all we need?”

    Inger smiled.  “I only traded flour; the cornmeal came from Rachel.  Everyone has tried to help all they could.  Camilla even invited the Wentworths to dinner.  Martha has had such a tiring day.”

    “That was good of Camilla,” Ben said.  “I didn’t know she had it in her.”

    “Ben!” Inger chided sharply.

    “Sorry.  Did the Wentworths lose much else?”

      “A few small things floated avay,” Inger said, “but it is food they are short of now.”

    “They can probably pick up some extra supplies at Fort Kearny,” Ben suggested.

    “Yah, they should have plenty to last that long, at least,” Inger said.

    The cornmeal-coated catfish turned golden brown and Inger called to Adam to put his books away and come to dinner.  Ben crunched the crispy fish with satisfaction.  “Adam, my boy, you’ve just made up for all the trials of my day with this tasty supper.”

    Adam beamed with pride.  “They’re good, huh?”

    “Thanks to your provision and Mama’s good cooking, they’re the best meal we’ve had since St. Joe,” Ben declared and gave his son a vigorous squeeze.

    Inger’s gray muslin skirt rustled as she passed through the knee-high grass.  “Isn’t the prairie beautiful, Ben?” she murmured.

    Ben looked across the sea of green blades dotted with spring flowers of pink, purple, yellow and blue.  “Yes, very lovely,” he agreed, then turned to smile at Inger.  “But I thought it was mountain scenery you yearned for.”

    Inger laughed.  “Yah, yah, I miss that, but this is beautiful in its own vay.  What are those blue flowers, Ben?”

    “I wouldn’t know,” Ben smiled.  “You’re the expert on growing things.”

    “I vill ask Nelly,” Inger said.  “She seems to know about such things.  She’s the one who found the wild onions and garlic near where we did laundry yesterday afternoon.”

    “Speaking of which, have I told you how much I appreciate the fresh shirt?” Ben asked.

    Inger shrugged.  “Vell, I had the time and plenty of vater; and I like clean clothes, too, Ben.”  Inger drifted back to ask Nelly to identify the flowers around them.

    “The blue ones are indigo,” Nelly said, “and then there’s lupine and larkspur.  Oh, and some verbena over there.  Those pink ones are just called wild pinks.”

    “They are so beautiful,” Inger sighed.

    Adam, walking along with Billy Thomas, caught the longing tone in Inger’s voice and ran forward to his father.  Pulling on Ben’s gray pant’s leg, he motioned for him to bend down and his father obliged.  “Pa, would it be okay if I picked some of those flowers for Mama?” Adam whispered.

    Ben put his lips to Adam’s ear.  “Yes, you may, but don’t get out of sight of the wagons.  And see if you can get one of the other boys to go with you.”

    Adam nodded and ran back to Billy, passing Inger as she returned to walk beside Ben.  “What vas that all about?” she asked.

    Ben winked.  “Wait and see, oh preacher of patience; wait and see.”

    Inger tilted her head quizzically, then glanced over her shoulder at Adam, who had pulled Billy to one side and was engaged in earnest conversation.  Clearly, those boys were up to something.

    “Flower picking?” Billy scoffed.  “Don’t tell me you’re sweet on that Marta, like dumb ole Johnny.”

    Adam pushed his face close to Billy’s.  “You take that back!”

    “Well, you’re the one said she could stay and pester us yesterday,” Billy accused.

    “I got no more use for girls than you,” Adam sputtered.  He took a breath.  “Except for my mama, that is.  She’s the one I want the flowers for, and I bet your ma’d like some, too.  What’d ya say?”

    Billy’s freckled nose crinkled and his blue eyes squinted.  “Oh, I guess,” he said finally, more because he couldn’t think of anything else to do than for any other reason.  Just walking through flat grasslands day after day got mighty boring; and we must be bored, Billy figured, if we’ve taken to picking flowers to pass the time.

    “Come on, then,” Adam said.  “I’ll race you to that first rise over there.”

    Billy grinned and took out after Adam.  Racing was more the type of fun he relished.

    “Now, where are those boys off to?” Nelly asked, perturbed.  “Billy!” she yelled, but got no answer.  “Oh, that boy. He’ll be the death of me yet!”

    “Adam’s on a sort of errand, Nelly,” Ben called back.  “I told him to get another boy to go with him, but they should have asked you first.  Don’t worry, though; I told them to stay in sight.”

    Nelly waved.  “It’s all right, Ben.  As long as the trip isn’t Billy’s idea, I won’t worry.  You don’t know the devilment that scamp can cook up!”

    Ben chuckled under his breath.  He had a feeling Nelly’d think better of her little scamp when he returned with a fistful of flowers.

    As he suspected, Nelly was totally nonplused when Billy thrust his prairie bouquet toward her.  “My, my,” she said, “what a sweet surprise, Billy, sugar.”  She looked ahead and saw Adam Cartwright presenting flowers to his mother, as well, and smiled.  No need to tell her which boy’d had the idea for the fragrant offerings.  That Adam Cartwright was a good influence on her little mischief-maker.  The more Billy saw of him, the better.

    After a quick lunch of salt pork and cornbread, Clyde Thomas ambled over to the Cartwright’s campfire.  “Say, Ben,” he said, “how ‘bout we leave the womenfolk to guide the oxen this afternoon and walk out a ways to see if we can find some game worth shootin’?”

    Ben looked at Inger, who was pouring a cup of coffee for Clyde.  “Think you could handle the team, Inger?” he asked.

    “Yah, if you vill hitch them,” Inger said.  “They are gentle beasts, Ben, and the country is level.  I see no reason I could not.”

    “Fresh game would be nice,” Ben mused aloud.

    “You bet!” Clyde agreed with an emphatic nod.  “After the fine fish we had for supper last night, that old salt pork tastes worse than ever.  I’m hankering for real meat for a change.”

    “It vould be good,” Inger said longingly.

    “We’ll try, then,” Ben decided.  “No promises, though, so keep the old standby close at hand.”

    Inger laughed.  “I vill, but try hard, Ben.  The two of you have my mouth vatering already for something better.”

    Ben was gone most of the afternoon while Inger, with Adam by her side to shout “gee” and “haw” in his most grown-up voice, led the oxen northwestward.  Near time to make camp Ben and Clyde caught back up with the train, each the proud possessor, respectively, of three and four birds hanging from lines carried across their shoulders.

    “You were successful, I see,” Inger said when Ben trotted to her side and displayed his catch.  “What kind of birds are they, Ben?”

    “Clyde called them prairie plovers,” Ben replied.  “He says you can roast them just like chicken.”

    “They look more like quail,” Inger said, bemused.  “I am glad ve have one apiece.”

    Ben chuckled.  “Yeah, they’re small, but anything beats salt pork.”

    “To be sure!” Inger laughed.  “It is sad ve are tired of it already, though, since ve shall be eating it so many more months.”

    Ben grimaced.  “Don’t remind me.”

    For supper that night Inger made a dressing from the cornbread leftover from lunch, seasoned with the wild onions and garlic they had gathered the day before, and laid the plover to roast on a bed of it in the Dutch oven.  Ben and Adam both declared it their best meal yet on the trail.  “All it needs to make it perfect is some cranberry sauce,” Ben sighed contentedly.

    “Tsk, tsk,” Inger scolded with a merry twinkle in her eye.  “I can see it takes little to spoil you, mine husband.  Two days of fresh food, and you not only reject salt pork, but vant luxuries, as vell.”

    “You’re right, I spoil easy,” Ben said, reaching for her  hand and kissing the tips of her fingers.  “But that’s your fault, my love, for spoiling me so often.”

    Inger pinched his nose.  “In that case, Benyamin, I shall correct my spoiling vays and feed you nothing but salt pork from now on.”  Ben reached for her again, but this time there was no kiss, just fingers digging into her ribs until she collapsed from giggling.

    “Looks like we’ll be getting some rain,” Rachel Payne commented as she looked at the slate-colored clouds overhead.  Her sunbonnet, like Inger’s, was hanging from its strings around her neck.

    “Yah, the sky is much darker now than when ve stopped for our noon rest,” Inger said.  “Ve could use a little rain to settle the dust.”

    “True enough,” Rachel agreed, “though I’d rather it came a little later in the day.”

    Ben looked back to the rear of the wagon where the two friends were walking.  “You ladies are likely to get more than a little rain.  Those are storm clouds if ever I saw them.”

    “Do you think so, Ben?” Inger said anxiously.  She turned to Rachel and whispered quickly, “Ben knows about veather from his days at sea.”

    “I think we’re in for quite a squall,” Ben said.  “You’d better make sure the boys haven’t strayed far.”

    Inger and Rachel looked out across the prairie and saw both their boys, along with Billy Thomas, playing tag to the side of the line of wagons.  “You boys get on back!” Rachel yelled.  Adam and Johnny scampered back promptly with Billy dragging his heels behind.

    “What is it, Mama?” Johnny asked.  “We was having fun.”

    “Mr. Cartwright thinks there’s a storm brewing,” Rachel explained.  “You youngsters all need to stay close to your folks.”

    “Aw, who’s scared of a little rain?” Billy scoffed.

    “It’s gonna be more than a little,” Ben said.  “Get back to your wagon now, Billy.”

    Billy’s mouth twisted disdainfully, but his expression changed moments later when a bolt of lightning hit near enough to make his red hair stand on end.  Without another word, he raced back to his mother.

    “Mercy, that was close!” Rachel cried.  “I think I’ll be getting back to my own wagon now, Inger.”

    Blue sparks flashed as bolt after bolt of lightning stabbed earthward.  “Oh, Ben, this is terrible,” Inger cried, grabbing his elbow.  “I have never seen such a storm.”

    “Nor I,” Ben admitted.  “I’ve seen fiercer gales at sea, but never air so charged with electricity.  And that smell!  As if the whole sky were on fire.”

    The sobs of frightened children drifted up and down the line of wagons, though their mothers, scarcely less frightened, tried to quiet them.  The men, of course, would never have admitted the fear thumping wildly in their hearts as they struggled to move the wagons forward despite the high winds blowing in their faces, but they all felt it.  The oxen pulling the wagons bellowed piteously and from far behind the train the loose livestock being trailed by Enos Montgomery answered with mournful moos.

    Pulling his red flannel collar up to shield his neck and his droopy-brimmed hat down over his eyes, Ben pushed straight into the wind until he caught up with the Larrimore wagon.  “Lawrence, I don’t think we can keep going through this,” Ben shouted.  “And someone should get back to help Enos with the livestock or they’ll scatter from here back to the Vermillion.”

    “You’re right!” Lawrence yelled over the roaring wind.  “I’ll get Zuebner and we’ll head back to the stock.  You take charge of setting up camp, all right?”  Ben nodded and headed back to stop his team and spread the word to the other emigrants.

    “I’ll help you get your tent set up,” Clyde offered when Ben gave the order to make camp, “then our women and younguns can stay there while we fix mine, Larrimore’s and Zuebner’s.”

    “Sounds good,” Ben hollered, giving Clyde a sound slap on the back.  Ben pulled the ground sheet out of the wagon and together they wrestled against the wind to spread it flat and raise the tent above it.  When everything was pegged taut, Inger called to Nelly, who came running with her two boys.

    “Go get Jewel and Marta and Katerina,” Inger told Adam.

    “Okay, Mama!” Adam said.

    “No, wait!” Nelly said.  “Billy can fetch the Zuebner girls.  That way they’ll all be back sooner.”

    “Yah, that is good,” Inger agreed.  “Hurry, boys!”

    The boys ran to do as they were told, Adam feeling like one of the knights of the Round Table Mr. Edwards had read to his students about last year, and Billy just feeling disgusted at the thought of girls in the tent.  “I wish we had room for everyone,” Inger sighed, “but, at least, ve can shelter the little ones.”

    “Don’t you fret, honey,” Nelly comforted.  “The rest can crowd in their wagons that long, and our men will get those other tents up quick.  They’re hard workers, those two.”  Inger smiled at the compliment to her Ben.

    Sooner than even Nelly could have predicted, Clyde stuck his head through the tent flap.  “Tents are all up.  Everybody back to their own!”

    The Zuebner girls grinned and, bare toes squishing in the mud, dashed through the rain to their campsite, but Jewel just cringed in Inger’s lap.  “It’s all right, Jewel,” Ben assured her, but the little girl wouldn’t move.  “Would you like me to carry you to your mother?” he asked gently and Jewel, nervously nibbling her tongue, nodded slowly.  As Ben lifted her from Inger’s lap, she wrapped slender arms around his neck and clung so tight Ben felt close to suffocation.

    After depositing her in Camilla’s outstretched arms, Ben ran for the shelter of his own tent.  Bursting through the flap he fastened it shut.  “Whew!  I’m glad to be out of that!” he said.

    “Oh, Ben, you are soaked through,” Inger fretted.  “You should get out of those wet clothes at once.”

    Ben raised an eyebrow.  “And into what?”

    Inger giggled.  “Into my arms, I suppose.  Ve should have thought to get dry clothes from the vagon.”

    Ben started to unbutton his shirt.  “Your arms are clothes enough for me,” he teased.

    Adam snickered at the reproachful look Inger gave Ben as she reached over to slip his shirt off.  “You can, at least, wrap up in a blanket for awhile.  We brought those.”

    “Won’t help much, I’m afraid,” Ben said.  “I’ll have to go out again before long.  We didn’t get the grub box.”

    “Perhaps the rain vill slow by dinnertime,” Inger said hopefully.  “It vill be hard to cook in the rain.”

    “We can make out on pilot bread if we have to,” Ben assured her.  “We’re still full from that feast last night, right, Adam?”

    “Not me,” Adam said.  “I want supper, Pa.”  His parents both laughed at his forthrightness.

    “So do I, son,” Ben chuckled.  “So do I, but it won’t be anything to compare with that plover and dressing, I’m guessing.”

    “You made a rhyme, Pa!” Adam giggled.

    “Yes, sir, I’m a regular poet.”  Ben gave the youngster’s nose a sound tweak.  He cuddled Adam close as Inger laid a blanket across his shoulders.

    “You finished quicker than I thought you could,” Inger commented.

    “Had some help,” Ben said.  “Zuebner’s boy is only twelve, but he’s a responsible lad.  He’d already started setting up before we got there.  Then he and Sterling helped us with the Larrimore tent.”

    “Sterling helped?” Inger asked, amazed, for Sterling Larrimore was not noted for his willingness to work.

    “Not without protest,” Ben grinned.  “I think Stefán shamed him into doing his part.  The boy looked right proud of himself once the job was done, though.  Maybe all he needs is a chance to prove himself.”

    “There are plenty such chances out here,” Inger said.  “Perhaps Sterling vill find himself on the prairie, yah?”

    “One can hope,” Ben said, giving his wife a hug.  “One can always hope.”

    Hope was a quality residing in each tent that night as the travelers waited for the rain to stop; but the storm raged relentlessly, whipping at the canvas sides of their shelters.  When it became obvious a cold supper was the only option, Ben made a dash for the grub box; and his family made a banquet of cheese and crackers.  It was midnight by the time the storm let up, but no one marked that moment.  Exhausted from a frightening day of fighting the elements, they were all asleep.

    By common consent, the Larrimore train agreed to cover the ten miles between the camp they’d set up during the storm and the Big Blue River before stopping for their noon break the next day.  They had to travel an hour longer than usual to do so, but everyone felt the river would provide the best place to refresh themselves and their stock.  They were prepared, therefore, for a hard drive that morning and a late lunch.  They were not prepared, however,  for the crowd of wagons waiting to cross the ferry.

    Larrimore went forward to consult with emigrants from other trains and the ferrymen.  “Looks like we’re in for a wait,” he reported to the men of his party.

    “How long?” McTavish demanded.  “Can we cross by nightfall?”

    “Best guess is no,” Larrimore said with a disgusted shake of his head.  “A couple of those parties ahead of us are large ones.”

    “Is there no other crossing?” Thomas queried.

    Again, Lawrence shook his head.  “River’s running slightly deeper than the Vermillion was.  We could try to ford, but it would be risky; and if we caulk and float like before, we won’t save enough time to be worth the effort.  We should be first or second across tomorrow morning, anyway.”

    “We can’t cross tomorrow,” Wentworth stated bluntly.  “We must honor the Sabbath.”

    “We’re not staying over an extra day for that,” McTavish fumed.  “We’ve lost enough time this week.”  Even the devotedly religious Zuebner nodded.

    “Cartwright?” Wentworth appealed, remembering Ben’s support the previous week.

    “I’m sorry, Wentworth, but I agree,” Ben said.  “We’ve only had one full, uninterrupted day’s travel this week.  Much as I’d like to take a day’s rest, I don’t think we can afford the time.”

    “And the animals will have the whole afternoon to refurbish themselves,” Payne pointed out.  “We can’t justify a layover on their account.”

    “Most of us seem to be in agreement,” Larrimore said.  “Sorry, Ebenezer, but we’ll lose our place in line if we don’t cross in the morning.  Surely, none of us wants that.”

    Wentworth cast a condemning eye on the other emigrants.  “Mark my words, all of you:  God will not hold you guiltless of this sacrilege.  It would surprise me little if you each found yourself suffering great loss of property or even life for mocking Him here.”

    Zuebner blanched.  “You do not mean this, Reverend Wentworth?”

    “I assure you on my authority as a man of God,” Wentworth said, his black eyebrows knitting together to form a single line above his glowering eyes.

    “You’d best not be spreading that poison to our womenfolk and children,” Clyde warned.

    “It is they who will suffer for your sin, Mr. Thomas,” Wentworth admonished.  “Have they not the right to know why?”

    Clyde fixed a hard stare on the minister.  “The God I serve ain’t one to punish the innocent for the wrongs of the guilty.  Not that I’m admittin’ guilt in this.”

    Wentworth’s face darkened with foreboding.  “You will; one day you will.  I beg you to remember that the Lord will not always strive with man; do not try His patience by delaying your repentance.”  Sweeping his smoldering black eyes around the circle so they would know they were all included in his warning, Wentworth turned his back and stalked away.

    “That’s a hard man,” Payne said.

    “Aye,” McTavish snarled, “and he’s the only one of us that’s suffered any loss of property yet.  Makes ye wonder what sins he’s harboring to have his goods dumped in the river!”

    “That’s enough,” Ben ordered sharply.  “The man’s rigid in his beliefs, but sincere; and we’re asking him to go against those beliefs.  We should offer him understanding, not reproach.”

    “You speak good words,” Zuebner said.  “I still believe the Reverend Wentworth to be a good and godly man; we must show respect.”

    “You changing your vote, Zuebner?” McTavish demanded.

    Zuebner shook his head sadly, the sudden dimming of his blue eyes showing his grief at the need to oppose a man of God.  “No, no.  Even a godly man can be mistaken; and Reverend Wentworth is in this, I think.  But as Ben says, we must not reproach, but show kindness.”

    “Come on, men,” Ben said.  “We’ve got a free afternoon here; let’s use it to enjoy ourselves, not to wrangle over who’s right and who’s wrong.”

    “Now, that I can agree with!” Payne said enthusiastically.  “I, for one, am gonna take my boy down to the riverside for some fishing.  Who’ll join me?”  Several of the men grinned and nodded, but it was Ben and Adam who ended up sitting on the riverbank next to Jonathan Payne and his boy Johnny.  The others scattered along the river, some in groups of fathers and sons, others choosing to make new acquaintances with fishermen from other wagon parties.

    About four o’clock that afternoon Ben returned with a bucket swimming with catfish.  “Oh, Ben!” Inger exclaimed.  “So many!  Ve vill feast tonight, yah?”

    Ben lifted her from the ground and set her down again gently, careful of the precious burden she carried.  “Yah, we will feast and we will party, my love.  Can we have supper early?”

    “Yah, sure,” Inger said, “but why?”

    Ben grinned with pleasure at the surprise he was about to spring.  “Because we are going to a dance, Inger Cartwright, and you’ll want time to spruce up!”

    Inger’s hands flew to her cheeks.  “A dance, Ben?  There is to be a dance?”

    Ben’s head bobbed happily.  “Yeah.  A fellow from another train came up to us while we were fishing and invited us.  They’ve got a fiddler in their group, and they wanted to host a party since there’s so many of us camped close tonight.”

    “Oh, Ben, what fun!” Inger cried, clapping her hands.  Then her eyes fell to her dusty dress.  “Oh, you are right; ve must eat early, so ve can bathe and dress.  I vish now I had not packed my best dress so deep in the vagon!”

    “I could get it for you,” Ben offered.

    Inger laughed.  “No, no.  I vill not have you do so much vork for my vanity.  My yellow calico is clean and it vill do nicely.  I am sure no one else vill be dressed fancy, either.”

    “Camilla might,” Ben teased.  Seeing his wife’s reproachful look, he made a quick offer.  “I’ll clean the fish, then you get them frying while I take Adam down to the river for a swim.  That’ll get us clean without making him think he’s taking a bath.  Then, he and I will clear up after supper, so you can have time to primp.”

    Inger put her arms around his neck and kissed him.  “You are so good to me, my love.”

    “I’m glad I can be,” Ben whispered.  “You give me so little chance, you selfless angel.”

    Inger diced and fried the last of their fresh potatoes to go with the fish and cornbread, but she was so excited about the forthcoming frolic that she had little appetite herself.  While Ben and Adam joined forces to pack away the leftovers and scour the tin plates clean, Inger and Rachel Payne slipped to a secluded spot on the river and soaked away two weeks’ worth of trail dust before putting on fresh dresses.  Then, giggling like two schoolgirls at their first grownup party, they walked with their husbands the short distance to the host camp.

    Even the youngsters felt their feet prancing to the rhythm of the fast fiddle, and they each soon found someone to share their movements to the music.  Johnny, who really was taken with the charms of the little tomboy Marta Zuebner, naturally chose her; and Adam quickly snatched up tiny Jewel Larrimore as the next best alternative.  Sterling and Stefán took turns leading the latter’s sister Katerina; and while the McTavish girls had no one their age in their own party, they suffered no lack of men to waltz them around; for there were few ladies in the other groups represented at the dance.  That left only Billy Thomas without a partner, but he felt happier, anyway, doing jigs with his brother Bobby than he would have with any girl.

    The members of the Larrimore train were up early Sunday morning despite the late hours they’d kept the night before.   Though their feet were sore from dancing, they all felt lighter in spirit.  Everyone except the Wentworths, that is.  As further censure for their disregard of the Sabbath, Wentworth had refused to join in the evening’s entertainment.  No one had missed him, although the other ladies secretly sympathized with Martha and the boys.  Little Mary probably didn’t care, but both Matthew and Mark wore long faces that had nothing to do with righteous indignation at being forced to travel on the Sabbath.

    Having gladly paid the four-dollar charge, the travelers had all crossed the ferry in time to noon on the far side of the Big Blue.  Everyone agreed ferries were the safest, easiest crossings available, although Clyde Thomas loudly asked anyone who’d listen how many times they’d have to pay through the nose before they reached California.

Around mid-morning Monday the Larrimore train intersected a line of wagon ruts.  “Look at that, Inger!” Ben shouted.  “We’ve joined the Oregon Trail.”

    “That is good news, Ben,” Inger called forward from her place at Nelly Thomas’s side.

    Puzzlement wrinkled Adam’s brow.  Trotting away from Billy, he caught up with his father.  “Pa, I don’t understand.”

    Ben lifted the youngster up and carried him as he continued to walk beside his team.  “What don’t you understand, Adam?”

    “How come we’re joining the Oregon Trail when we’re going to California?”

    Ben chuckled as he tickled the boy’s chin.  “That does sound confusing, doesn’t it, son?”

    “Are we going the wrong way, Pa?”

    “No, no, Adam,” Ben assured him.  “It’s just that the best way to get to California is to follow the old tried and true Oregon Trail most of the way, then take a cutoff that leads southwest from it.”

    “Where’s the cutoff, Pa?” Adam asked.  “Will we get there pretty soon?”

    Ben struggled to repress a smile.  “Now, Adam, I think I’m going to let you discover the answer to that for yourself.  I’ll let you take a look at my guidebook when we stop for lunch.  You read well enough now to figure the words out.”

    “Okay,” Adam said, squirming to let his father know he wanted down.  When the train circled for its noon break, he sprawled in the shade under the wagon and skimmed through Ben’s guidebook.  “Look how many pages there are between the one that tells about the Big Blue and the one with the California Trail,” Adam whispered, awestruck, to Billy and Johnny, who had joined him beneath the wagon.

    “Boy, howdy!” Billy cried.  “That’s a bunch.”

    “Yeah, and it took us two weeks to get this far,” Adam said, holding between his fingers the few pages listing the landmarks they’d already passed.  “Just think how long it’ll be before we get to the California Cutoff!”

    “How long, Adam?” Johnny asked.

    Adam shook his head.  “I don’t know.  Looks like forever.”

    “That there’s the kind of book worth reading, if you ask me——a thousand times better than old McGuffey,” Billy stated bluntly.  “Can you tell what’s coming up next?”

    “I guess the Little Blue River,” Adam said.  “See this map?  It don’t look very far from the Big Blue we crossed yesterday.”

    “Yeah.  Wonder if we’ll have to cross it, too.”

    “I’ll ask Pa,” Adam promised.  He flipped forward a few pages.  “Listen to all these funny-sounding places we’ll be passing——Courthouse Rock and Jail Rock, then further on, Chimney Rock.  Wonder if smoke comes out it.”

    Billy laughed.  “Me, I just want to see Sutter’s Fort, where they found all the gold.”

    “It weren’t in a fort,” Johnny scoffed.  “They found gold in a river, my pa says.”

    “So, maybe the river runs right through Sutter’s place,” Billy snorted.

    “I don’t think so,” Adam said, “Folks don’t usually build right over a river.  On the bank, maybe, like St. Joe, but not with the river smack in the middle of it.”

    “Yeah!”  Johnny stuck his tongue out at Billy.  “See, I told you!”  Billy gave the younger boy’s shoulder a hard shove and took off with Johnny giving chase.  Adam clambered into the wagon and pulled his journal out of its storage pocket.  He had to tell Jamie all his discoveries about the trail ahead while they were fresh in his mind.

    As Adam had guessed, the wagons traveled along the cottonwood-lined east shore of the Little Blue River the next day.  The sky was clear and the sun bright——oppressively bright.  The emigrants sweltered and sweated beneath its burning rays, but the oxen, to whom God had denied the privilege of perspiration, suffered even more.  The train was forced to take numerous short breaks during the day, so the oxen could cool off.  At noon Ben, with Adam’s help, brought a pail of water from the river to wash their animals’ backs.  Around the camp the other men and their sons were doing the same.

    The women, on the other hand, were all gathered near the Payne wagon, in which Rachel lay with Martha Wentworth at her side, soothing and encouraging her in her labor.  “I guess we won’t be getting any further today,” Camilla commented.  “Not that I mind the extra rest.”

    Maggie McTavish cackled.  “Oh, this won’t take the whole afternoon.  It’s her second, after all.”

    “Does that make a difference?” Inger asked innocently.  The other women, each of them the mother of more than one child, giggled.

    “Makes big difference,” Ludmilla Zuebner said.  “First one is always hardest and slowest.”

    “Lands, yes,” Maggie declared.  “I thought I’d never get my Roberta to come out and face the world, but Joan came bouncing out so fast I scarce had time to reach my bed.”

    Nelly Thomas quickly put a comforting arm around Inger.  “Hush, now, you ninnies,” she scolded the others.  “You’re scarin’ this child.  She can’t help but think about her time comin’ up, and you tell her how hard it’s gonna be!”

    “Sorry, Inger,” Maggie murmured, giving the expectant mother an apologetic smile.

    Inger laughed.  “My mother gave birth to my brother Gunnar after a day’s vork in the field.  I’m sure it vill be as effortless for me.”

    “Oh, my,” Camilla tittered into her fingers.  Ludmilla and Maggie exchanged knowing smiles, while Nelly just reached up to pat Inger’s shoulder.  “You poor, innocent lamb,” she chuckled.  “He was her second, you know.”

    “Now, Nelly, there is no need to cluck like a mother hen,” Inger chided.  “You are only five years my elder, after all, not my grandmother.”

    “It’s being a mother that ages a woman, honey,” Nelly said, “especially when you’re the mother of a rascal like Billy.”

    “And Bobby?” Inger asked with a smile.

    Nelly’s brown eyes grew hazy with doting fondness.  “Bobby?  He’s my angel child.  Not an ornery bone in his body; and, goodness knows, I needed one like that after Billy.”  No one contradicted her.  Each of them had been witness to, if not victim of, one of Billy’s mischievous pranks.

    Listening to the cries of pain issuing from the Payne wagon brought vivid memories to the mind of each mother; and, evidently deciding naive Inger needed an education in the rigors of childbirth, the other ladies took turns describing how harrowing their experiences had been.  This time Nelly didn’t bother trying to restrain them; so if Inger had been of a fearful nature, she would have heard enough that afternoon to terrify her about her upcoming confinement.

    Camilla turned out to be a better prognosticator than Maggie, for the Payne baby showed little inclination to shorten Rachel’s labor.  The afternoon passed slowly, and the women had just started to drift reluctantly back to their own wagons to begin supper preparations when a piercing wail announced that a new member had joined their company.  They all ran back, eager for a glimpse of the new baby.  Martha Wentworth brought the blanket-wrapped bundle out.  “It’s a girl,” she announced as the others crowded close.  “Now, for goodness sakes, ladies, someone call the father!”  There was no need, however.  Jonathan had heard the infant’s first cry and was already racing across camp from where he’d been passing the time jawing with the other men.

    After supper Jonathan carried his daughter over to the Cartwright campfire, where Ben and Clyde chatted over a final cup of coffee while Inger and Nelly cleaned up after the meal they had joined forces to prepare.  “Here comes the proud papa!” Clyde announced loudly.

    Jonathan grinned.  “Proud I am!  Take a look at this little beauty!”

    Inger pulled back the pale green crocheted coverlet and tenderly touched the downy soft, corn-colored fuzz covering the little head.  “Oh, she is beautiful,” she murmured softly.  “And her eyes are like Johnny’s, aren’t they?”

    Jonathan fondly touched the diminutive nose with his broad index finger.  “She looks just like he did as a baby, except prettier.”

    “Have you named the little darling?” Nelly asked as she took a peek at the tiny girl.

    “Yeah, we’re gonna call her Susan, after Rachel’s mother,” Jonathan replied.

    “We’re planning to name our child after either Inger’s father or mine,” Ben said.

    “Just like a man,” Nelly declared, “to assume he’s having a son!”  Inger, who secretly agreed with Ben, just spread her hands in a gesture that seemed to imply “who can say.”

    “Well, if we name the first boy after Inger’s father,” Ben went on, oblivious to Nelly’s sarcasm, “we’ll name the next one after mine——Joseph.”

    “Listen to the man!” Clyde hooted.  “Hasn’t even got this youngun out of the oven, and he’s already got a name picked out for the next.”  Everyone laughed, even those at distant campfires, for Clyde’s voice had been booming enough for almost everyone else to hear.

    “I’m gonna get back to Rachel now,” Jonathan said.  “She just thought Inger might like a closer look at our little lady here.”

    “For inspiration, no doubt!” Ben exclaimed.

    Inger spatted the back of his hand.  “Tell Rachel I thank her,” she said to Jonathan.  “Susan is, indeed, a lovely little lady and you have much right to be proud.”

    As the button-bursting papa walked away, Clyde snickered.  “Now, wouldn’t it be funny if these two little prairie babies grew up and got hitched?”

    “Oh, good land!” Nelly snorted.  “Now, here you are advertisin’ for a boy.  There’s enough fool men in the world as it is, especially in California.  You’d best have a girl, Inger, honey, or there won’t be enough to go ‘round.”

    Inger laughed.  “I vould have to have twins to please you both.”

    Ben took a look at Inger’s bulging belly.  “Maybe you will,” he muttered under his breath.

    “Ben!” Inger cried.  “I have blessings enough already vithout you vishing a double portion on me.”

    “That wouldn’t be a blessing, honey,” Nelly laughed.  “That would be a curse!  They might both turn out ornery as Billy!”

    The blistering heat drained the travelers’ energy again the next day, giving them no hope of making up time lost by their slowed pace of travel and the wait for little Susan’s arrival.  No one complained, though.  They had accepted the inescapable fact that there would be ups and downs along the trail.  Some days they’d make good mileage; others would end with frustratingly few miles between them and their last campsite.  All in all, they felt they were doing the best they could and they’d have to trust that would be enough.

    Thursday brought slightly cooler weather.  The oxen fared better, but still plodded wearily under a searing sky.  Friday continued hot and ended, like the day before, with only ten more miles behind them.  “Just the first day of summer, and it already feels like mid-July,” Clyde Thomas groused.  The others, sweat dripping from their chins, nodded an unspoken prayer that what they’d experienced this week was not a forecast of typical weather on the prairie.

    Ben crawled through the flap of his tent and pulled off his boots.  “We can sleep late tomorrow,” he announced.

    “We’re stopping for the Sabbath?” Inger asked.

    “Yup.  Even McTavish voted for it,” Ben replied as he unbuttoned and removed his damp and smelly red shirt.  “Said the oxen needed the rest after the hot hauls they’ve made this week.”

    “He is right,” Inger said.  “Ve have not gotten as far as ve hoped, but the poor animals are exhausted.”

    “And poor Inger, too,” Ben said as he lay down next to her and kissed her cheek.  “I’m afraid the heat is extra hard on you in your condition.”  Inger nodded, but lay her finger across his lips and inclined her head toward Adam.

    Ben smiled.  How like his Inger to remind him not to worry their boy.  He rolled over to face Adam.  “You want to do some fishing tomorrow after the sermonizing, son?”

    Adam frowned.  “Do I have to, Pa?”

    Ben’s brow furrowed with concern.  “No, of course not, Adam.  I just thought you’d like to.”

    Adam yawned.  “Maybe.  I’m just awful tired, I guess.”

    Ben reached over to tousle the lad’s dark hair.  “Long, hard week, wasn’t it, boy?”

    “Uh-huh.”  Adam rolled over to face his father more directly.  “Pa, I was looking at the map in your guidebook after supper, and I was wondering.”

    “Wondering what, Adam?”

    “How come we gotta do so much winding around?  It’d be shorter to go straight west, wouldn’t it?”

    “That’s true, Adam, but shortest isn’t always best,” Ben said.  “Remember, I told you that when we read Uncle John’s letter about the cutoffs?”

    “I remember, but I’m sure tired of walking, Pa.”

    Ben chuckled.  “So am I, son, but there’s a lot still ahead.”

    “So why ain’t shortest best?” Adam demanded.

    Ben thought for a moment.  “You know how much trouble the oxen had with the heat this week, don’t you, son?”

    “Yes, sir.  Them and me both.”

    Ben ran his callused hand across the boy’s smooth cheek.  “How much harder do you think it would have been if we hadn’t been near water?”

    Adam grimaced.  “Plumb awful, Pa!”

    Ben nodded.  “Well, that’s what it would be like if we went due west.  We’d be heading straight into the Great American Desert.”

    “Ain’t there no water west of here, Pa?” Adam queried.

    “Sure, there is,” Ben replied, “but not as much as we’d need.  So the main reason we meander around the way we do is to stay close to rivers.”

    “And rivers meander,” Adam said wearily, comprehending his father’s meaning.

    “That’s right,” Ben said.  “There’s also more dependable forage for the animals the way we’re headed, so that’s another reason we keep to known trails.  The people who went before us have figured out the best route to travel, Adam; and we’re wise to follow in their footsteps instead of heading off where there’s not a landmark to be found.”

    “Like Chimney Rock?” Adam asked eagerly.  “I’d sure hate to miss that one.”

    Ben laughed.  “You won’t miss it, boy.  I understand you can see it days ahead on the trail.”

    “Yeah?”  Adam yawned again.  “That’s good.”

    “That’s good,” Ben agreed, “and what would be even better would be for you to get some sleep.  Then maybe you’ll feel like fishing tomorrow or maybe just swimming.”

    “Swimming sounds good,” Adam drawled.  “Night, Pa.”

    “Good night, son.”

    Swimming evidently sounded good to all the youngsters of the Larrimore train.  As Adam shared his plans with Billy and Johnny after the morning worship service, which the Reverend Wentworth had kept blessedly short, the faces of all the others within hearing distance brightened at the thought of a cool dip in the river.  “That is a good idea,” Stefán Zuebner declared.  “I, too, will go swimming.”

    “We’ll go with you,” Matthew Wentworth said, speaking for his younger brother Mark, as well.

    “Yeah,” Sterling Larrimore agreed, “but let’s not have these babies tagging along.  We men ought to stick together.”  None of the others thought having Sterling along would enhance the afternoon’s fun, but his propitious choice of the word “men” to describe his prospective companions won him entrance into their brotherhood.  Though Sterling was the youngest of the four, they had to agree that his eleven years more naturally grouped him with them than with the younger trio.  Besides, he was right:  men shouldn’t have to mix with babies.

    Billy Thomas stuck his tongue in Sterling’s face.  “Who cares?” he jeered.  “We wouldn’t have you on a platter!”

    Adam’s face wrinkled up like a prune.  “Not even if you was smothered in cream gravy!”

    Sterling made an exaggerated gesture of stifling a yawn.  “Like I said——babies.  Stick with your mamas, snivel noses!”   With a lofty laugh he threw an arm around Mark Wentworth’s shoulder and walked away, followed by Matthew and Stefán.

    “Ooh, that Sterling burns me up,” Johnny fumed.  “Always acting like he’s something.  And them others trailed right along with him.”

    “Don’t worry,” Billy said, jerking his head toward the departing boys.  “I’ll think of a way to cook their gooses.”

    “Aw, it’s too hot to cook,” Adam snickered.  “I’d rather swim.”  Billy cackled, but as he ran in answer to his mother’s call, his scheming brain started plotting revenge.

    The women in the wagon company probably would have agreed with Adam that it was too hot to cook, but they had to anyway.  Then, while they cleared away the dishes, they had to endure endless pleas from their children for permission to head for the river.  However much the mothers would like to have sent their whining offspring out of earshot, though, none would release them until an hour past dinner.

    After a seemingly interminable delay, Adam and Johnny walked toward the river, with a disgruntled Billy dragging his younger brother behind him.  “Don’t this take the cake?” Billy griped loudly.  “We’re the ones stuck with a baby!”

    “I’ll be good, Billy,” Bobby promised, trotting hard to keep up with his older brother’s longer stride.

    “That’s what I’m afraid of, prissy britches,” Billy taunted.  “You better do just like I say, buddy boy, or I’ll drown you myself.”

    Bobby’s face puckered up.  “Aw, you wouldn’t, would you, Billy?”

    Billy stopped and stared at the woebegone little face.  “Not unless you keep that up!  I can’t stand bawl babies.”

    “I ain’t no bawl baby!” Bobby hollered.

    Billy gave the little boy’s head an affectionate, if overly solid, pat.  “That’s better.  I like you mad a lot better than sad.”  Bobby grinned, understanding now that Billy was just teasing, like usual.

    The boys arrived at a bend in the river hidden from camp.  “This looks like a good spot,” Adam said.

    “Yeah,” Johnny agreed.  “Looks fine to me.”

    Billy didn’t answer verbally.  He just started shedding his his shirt and pants.  Little Bobby stared wide-eyed.  “You’s naked, Billy,” he accused.

    “So what?” Billy scoffed.  “Ain’t you never heard of skinny-dipping?”  Bobby shook his head.  “Well, that’s ‘cause you’re a baby,” Billy concluded.

    “Ain’t neither!”

    “Are, too!”

    “Aw, quit fussing, fellas,” Johnny said.  “It’s too blame hot.”

    “And too hot for clothes, right?” demanded Billy.

    Johnny looked to Adam for a response.  “Right,” Adam decided and starting peeling off his clothes.  It wasn’t the first time he’d swum naked.  He and Pa had skinny-dipped in plenty of creeks when they were traveling from town to town.  It was the cheapest way to take a bath, Pa’d said.  Johnny shrugged and followed suit.

    Soon the boys were merrily splashing water in each other’s faces.  “Hey, there!  Having fun?” a female voice called.

    Pulling Bobby down between them, Adam and Johnny sat down fast, and squished their bare buttocks into the muddy river bottom; but Billy stood up, arms akimbo.  “We were ‘til you come along,” he sputtered.  “You ain’t invited, Marta.”

    “The river don’t belong to you,” Marta stated calmly, reaching back to unbutton her dress.  She had just slipped it off when someone screamed.

    “Marta, you get your dress back on!” her sister Katerina ordered, running up and snatching the red gingham frock from the ground while she shielded her eyes from the quartet of nude bathers.

    Just behind Katerina came Roberta and Joan McTavish, one holding Jewel Larrimore and the other Mary Wentworth by the hand.  “You had no business running ahead like that, Marta,” Roberta scolded.  “What would your mother say?”

    “What’s the problem?” Marta demanded.  “Mama said we could go swimming.”

    “With us,” Roberta responded sharply, “not with boys.  You quit parading yourself, Marta Zuebner, or I’ll march you straight back to your mother.  And as for you, Billy Thomas, you squat down in that water this minute.  You ought to be ashamed prancing around stark naked in front of these girls.”

    Instead of squatting, Billy started stomping toward the riverbank.  “Get them blame girls out of here,” he threatened, “or I’ll show you some real fancy prancing!”  Katerina’s shrill shriek resounded back as she dragged Marta upriver, followed by the gaggle of squealing girls.

    Billy slapped the water triumphantly.  “Whoopee!” he hollered.  “I guess I showed them who’s king of the river!”

    “I’ll say!”  His eyes glowing with something akin to worship, Johnny splashed toward him.  “Where’d you get the nerve, Billy?”

    Billy held his arms up at right angles and pumped the air.  “I’m the nerviest feller in these here parts,” he announced.  Lost in his gloating, he didn’t notice Adam slipping up behind him until he’d been jerked beneath the surface.

    Billy came up spewing water, but grinning.  He made a grab for Adam and dunked him.  A good-natured free-for-all ensued until, worn-down with fun, the four unclad companions stretched on the bank and let the sun bake them dry.  Billy sat up first.  “I’ve had enough swimming,” he said and started pulling his pants back on.

    “Yeah, me, too,” Johnny agreed, quickly following his new hero’s example.  “How ‘bout you, Adam?”

    “Yeah, I reckon,” Adam said.  “You fellas wanna do some fishing now?”

    A roguish flame sparked in Billy’s blue eyes.  “I got a better idea.”

    Johnny looked up, eager for direction.  “What’s that, Billy?”

    “I think it’s time we paid them other boys back for their sass this morning,” Billy declared, “and we may as well get the girls while we’re at it.”

    “What you got in mind?” Adam whispered.  There was no one near enough to hear, but the plotting nature of the discussion made him feel secretive and daring.

    “I figure them big shots stripped bare to go swimming, same as us,” Billy reasoned.  “I say we snitch their clothes and make ‘em walk back to their wagons in their birthday suits.”  His cohort snickered.  The thought of old Sterling strutting home with the grass spanking his bare behind tickled Adam pink.

    “Not the girls,” Johnny protested.  “We can’t make girls traipse back bare.”  Adam nodded solemnly.  He had a feeling none of them could get away with that.

    “Aw, girls don’t skinny-dip,” Billy argued, “and they was being bossy with us, too.  They deserve to scamper around in their petticoats.”

    “Not Marta,” Johnny insisted.

    “Oh, listen to lover boy here,” Billy snorted, appealing to Adam.

    “Marta wasn’t being bossy,” Adam said.  “She had grit enough to come right in with us.  We got no cause to pester her.”

    “Oh, all right, you prissy prudes,” Billy grumbled.  “Marta can keep her dumb dress, but we swipe everyone else’s duds, right?”

    “Right!” Adam and Johnny cheered together.

    “Mama won’t like it,” Bobby said, pulling on his britches for a fast getaway.  “I’m gonna tell.”

    Billy yanked the little boy’s pants away from him.  “You do, and I’ll blister your bottom beet red,” he promised, his own face turning the color he’d threatened to paint Bobby’s bottom.  “I ain’t gonna have no tattle-tellin’ baby for a brother.”

    Bobby looked suitably intimidated.  “Okay,” he agreed hastily.  “I won’t tell.  Gimme my britches, Billy!”

    Billy tossed the small trousers back and wagged a warning finger under Bobby’s nose.  “Just you remember what I said, boy.  Either you throw in with us, or wham!”

    “I’m in; I’m in,” Bobby babbled.

    Since all their tormentors had headed upriver past them earlier, the boys set off that direction.  “Stay low,” General Thomas commanded.  “We gotta see ‘xactly where they all are.”

    They came upon the girls first and ducked behind some short bushes a few feet from the river’s edge.  As Billy’d guessed, the girls were splashing merrily in their petticoats, oblivious to danger.  “Stay here,” Billy whispered.  “I’ll scout ahead and find the others.”

    He was gone less than five minutes before he reappeared, grinning broadly.  “They’re just around that next bend——naked as jaybirds.”

    Little Bobby giggled.  “Shh!” Billy warned in an anxious undertone.  “You’ll give us away.”  Bobby’s head bobbed wildly to let Billy know he’d heard and understood.

    “Okay, here’s what I figure,” Billy announced.  “Me and Adam will sneak up and get the boy’s duds, while Johnny grabs up the girls’.  Then we run fast as we can and pitch them in the Zuebner’s tent.  It’s the closest.”

    “What ‘bout me?” Bobby demanded.

    Billy frowned.  In his opinion, Bobby was the one fly in the ointment.  He was too slow, clumsy-footed and noisy for this kind of work.  “You stay here and keep watch,” Billy ordered, suddenly inspired, “and you sing out if you see our folks coming.”  Since that wasn’t likely to happen, Billy figured the assignment would keep Bobby occupied and out of the way.

    The ruse worked.  “Okay, Billy,” Bobby said, his chest swelling with the importance of his responsibility.  “I watch good.”

    “And quiet,” Billy urged.  “Not a sound unless you see real danger coming.”  Bobby nodded and sucked his lips in to make sure nothing slipped out.

    Billy and Adam snaked their way through scant cover toward the older boys swimming spot.  Then, still keeping low, Billy moved stealthily into the open and made a quick grab for the clothes.  He tossed half back to Adam, then snatched up the others and scampered back behind a bush.  “Didn’t even see me,” he snickered.

    “Come on, we gotta go,” Adam whispered urgently.  Billy frowned, feeling it was a shame they couldn’t stay and see the fury on the big shots’ faces when they discovered the theft, but getting away with the prank was decidedly more important.  With a sigh, Billy followed Adam back to where they’d left the others.

    They found Johnny, dresses in hand, crouched in the shrubbery beside Billy’s little brother.  “Gimme a couple of them dresses.  You can’t carry that many.  Okay, stay low,” Billy ordered, “and if they see you, run for all you’re worth.  We’ll meet at Johnny’s tent.”  Being the furthest from his own, Billy judged that the safest place to await the return of their naked victims.

    Unaware of their loss, the quartet of self-styled “men” dived and splashed with the abandonment of little boys until they heard a chorus of shrieks wafting on the wind.  Stefán immediately headed for shore, concerned for his sisters’ safety.  “Come on,” he called to the others.  “We must help them.  Perhaps, they have come upon a snake.”

    Sterling, Matthew and Mark followed, less interested in the welfare of young maidenhood than the opportunity to do battle with slippery Sam.  But as they charged onto the bank, both motives fell victim to a frantic search for their clothes.  It was soon obvious that more than the wind had taken them away.

    “I’ll kill ‘em!” Sterling screeched and raced downriver.

    “Come back!” Mark yelled.  “There’s girls down there!”  But furious Sterling ran on heedlessly.

    “We must kill the snake,” Stefán urged as he headed after Sterling.

    Matthew grabbed his arm.  “Don’t let them play you for the fool.  There ain’t been no snake there, except the two-legged kind.  I’d lay odds the girls are worked up about the same thing we are.”

    Suddenly, Stefán knew Matthew was right.  He glanced down at his bare flesh and flushed crimson as he realized he’d almost exhibited his masculinity, not only to his sisters and the little girls, but to the teenaged McTavishes, whose buxom beauty he’d ogled, moonfaced, whenever chance or stratagem placed them in his path.  He heard the girls squeal louder than before and divined instantly that Sterling had just streaked past them.  Giving the river a wide berth, Stefán headed for camp, the Wentworth boys stalking irately behind.

    With overtly innocent faces the pranksters played marbles near the Payne wagon, glancing up from time to time lest they miss seeing the recipients of their revenge return.  Sterling arrived first, bellowing like a mad bull.  “Mama!” he yelled.  “Look what them brats done!”

    Hearing her son’s outraged voice, Camilla spun around.  With a horrified cry, she covered her eyes.  “Sterling, what are you doing?”

    “I’m gonna punch me a bunch of funny fellers,” Sterling announced, narrowing his eyes and heading toward the Payne wagon, where he’d just caught sight of the snickering boys.

    “You’re not going anywhere like that, son,” Lawrence ordered.  “Get in the wagon this minute and find something to cover yourself.”  For the first time Sterling noticed the eyes of every adult in the wagon party staring at his exposed body, and his hands instinctively flew to his crotch as he rushed for the wagon.

    Standing next to her own wagon, Inger covered her laughing lips with her hand; but Clyde and Ben didn’t bother to conceal their amusement.  Clyde guffawed loud enough for the whole camp to hear.  “Is them your Sunday-go-to-meeting togs, boy!” he cackled.

    “Clyde, shh!” Nelly chided.  “It isn’t funny.”  But the expression on her face belied her words.

    Just then Jewel, petticoat dripping, ran to her mother.  “Mama, they stole my dress!” she whimpered piteously.

    “Oh, my poor darling,” Camilla cooed as she rushed the little girl toward their tent.  “Who took your dress, sweetheart?”

    “Boys!” Jewel wailed.  “Bad, bad boys!”

    “Uh-oh,” Nelly said.  “I got a sick feeling I know whose bad boy she means.”  Looking across the camp, she spotted her son.  “Billy, get over here!” she yelled.  Billy grimaced.  He recognized the suspicious tone in his mother’s voice and, even on the open prairie, felt the walls closing in.

    The other sopping wet girls, except the fully clothed and giggling Marta, had disappeared quickly into their tents.  But Roberta McTavish, who had been in charge of the girls’ bathing party, felt responsible to report the mischief to the appropriate mothers.  She walked directly to the Thomas wagon first, where Nelly was already interrogating her freckle-faced boy.  “It was him,” Roberta reported.  “It didn’t see him, but I know sure as the world it was him.  And I’ll wager the others went right along.  He had to have help to carry away that many dresses.”

    Ben felt a sudden intuition that Roberta was right.  “Adam!” he called and waved the boy home.  Adam swallowed hard and dragged back toward the wagon.  Ben grasped his son’s shoulder firmly when the boy finally came within arms’ length.  “Did you filch any of the girls’ dresses, Adam?” a stern-faced Ben demanded.

    Adam’s face lit up.  “No, sir, not a one,” he answered sincerely.

    Billy caught what Adam meant.  “Me, neither, not a one,” he offered.

    “You little liar,” Roberta accused.  “You know you did it to get back at me ‘cause I wouldn’t let you dance around in the altogether for everyone to see.”

    “Billy!” his mother snapped.  “Did you let these girls see you buck naked?”

    “It wasn’t my fault, Ma,” Billy protested.  “We was just skinny-dipping.  They’re the ones came peeking.”

    “Well, I never!” Roberta ejaculated.  “At least, the others had sense enough to duck under the water, but not Billy, Mrs. Thomas.  He wanted everyone to get a good look.”

    “Don’t you worry, Robbie,” Nelly promised, fixing a hard stare on Billy.  “He’ll think twice before he pulls that stunt again.”  Satisfied, Roberta tossed her single dripping auburn braid over her shoulder and marched back to her own tent to change.

    “All right, you rapscallion,” Nelly said, jerking Billy by the elbow.  “You did snitch those dresses, didn’t you?”

    “No, Ma.  Honest.”  Billy pasted an offended look on his face.  “Just ask Adam.  You don’t think he’d lie, do you?”  Adam felt his face flushing.  He hadn’t told an outright lie, but he’d sure come close, and he was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

    Before anyone could elicit Adam’s testimony, though,  a ruckus exploded on the far side of camp.  No one could make out the words, at first, but it finally dawned on everyone, almost simultaneously, that the three older boys in their party were all squatting in the tall grass hollering for someone to bring them some clothes.  After seeing Sterling and the girls, it didn’t take Wentworth and Zuebner long to realize their boys were in dire need.

    Ludmilla Zuebner, her arms full of assorted clothes, came out of the tent where she’d been helping Katerina change.  “Here is clothes,” she said, “but I don’t know how they got there.”

    “Bet Billy does!” Marta sniggered as her father picked out Stefán’s things and those that apparently belonged to the other boys.  Ludmilla put the spare dresses over her arm and prepared to return them to their owners.

    “I suppose you don’t know anything about where them boys’ duds went, either, do you, Billy?” Clyde demanded.      Billy winced, knowing he’d have to tell an out-and-out whopper to get by that one.  He didn’t figure he could count on Adam to back him up if it reached that point.  “Looks like they went to the Zuebner’s tent,” he offered.  “Maybe Marta snitched ‘em.”

    Accusing an innocent bystander was too much for Adam.  “Aw, Billy,” he muttered under his breath, but Ben heard.

    Ben squeezed Adam’s shoulder again, harder this time.   “What do you know, boy?”

    Adam squirmed.  “I know it wasn’t Marta,” was all he said.

    “But you said you didn’t do it,” Ben probed.  “If you and Billy are telling the truth about that—”

    “Hold on a minute, Ben,” Clyde interrupted.  “Maybe we just asked the wrong question.”  Ben turned perplexed eyes on Clyde.  “Did either of you younguns take anybody’s clothes?” the older man asked.  “Not just the girls——anybody’s?”

    Adam and Billy both looked sick.  They’d been caught and they knew it.  “There’s your answer, Ben,” Clyde announced, pointing to two guilty faces.  “They filched from the boys and left the girls to someone else——Johnny, I’m guessing.”

    “And me, too, Pa,” little Bobby piped up, his expression somewhere between pride in his accomplishment and fear of the price he’d have to pay for being one of the big boys.  “I was the lookout.”

    “Land sakes, you wretch!” Nelly fumed, pulling Billy by one ear toward their tent.  “Ain’t it bad enough to lead Adam and Johnny astray without dragging your poor baby brother down the primrose path, too?”

    “Sorry, Ben,” Clyde muttered as he followed his wife, pulling off his belt as he went.

    “Don’t be,” Ben called.  “I’ve got a feeling Adam was a willing participant.”  He fixed a hard stare on his son.  “I’m right, aren’t I, boy?  Billy didn’t have any trouble talking you into this stunt, did he?”

    Adam shook his head.  “No, sir.  I wanted to get back at them boys bad as he did.  They called us babies, Pa!”

    “That’s precious little excuse,” Ben said bluntly.

    “Guess not, Pa.  I’m sorry.”

    “Why were you mad at the girls, Adam?” Inger asked.

    Adam shrugged his shoulders.  “I wasn’t, really.  I guess we just got carried away, Mama.”

    “You’re gonna have to be punished, you know that, don’t you, boy?” Ben asked soberly.

    Adam sighed.  “Yes, sir.”

    Ben held out his hand.  “You come along with me then.  It’s time we had a very necessary little talk.”

    Adam didn’t enjoy the communication Ben addressed to the seat of his pants, but he absolutely hated its aftermath.  His father dragged him to each wagon in turn and had him apologize to everyone——every boy, every girl, every parent——for his behavior.  Most of the parents took the afternoon’s pranks in stride, and the children grudgingly accepted Adam’s apology.  But Camilla Larrimore delivered a long and loud lecture on the subject of nasty-minded little boys that had Adam’s ears burning by the time she finally wound down.  He went to bed that night wondering why Pa couldn’t have stopped with just the spanking.

As the new week began, Nelly determined to keep Billy on a short leash, not even allowing him the pleasure of bemoaning his fate to his friends.  Adam, who had gone to sleep the night before feeling he had the strictest pa in the world, decided maybe his punishment hadn’t been so bad after all.  At least, it was over, and he hadn’t been deprived of the companionship of the other boys.  He and Inger both ambled over to the Payne wagon as the train started up that morning, Inger to coo at little Susan and Adam to deplore with Johnny the severity of parents.

    Adam wasn’t sure which of his friends he liked best.  Johnny was nicer, to be sure, and not likely to lead him into trouble.  But Billy added zest to an otherwise dull day.  He was just plain fun to be with, trouble notwithstanding.

    Adults and children alike were finding their journey monotonous as it entered its fourth week.  Now that they’d become accustomed to the routine, things went smoother, but the day after day sameness of that routine was wearing in itself.  The novelty of travel had worn off:  take a step, take another——walk, walk, walk——through a land so level nothing but the recorded mileage on Mr. Larrimore’s odometer told them they’d made any progress at all.  No wonder the emigrants craned their eyes for landmarks.  Most days, though, there weren’t any——just more grass.  Take a step, take another——walk, walk, walk.

    Monday was no exception.  The evening, though, was pleasant and cool, a refreshing change.  After tucking Adam in for the night, Ben and Inger sought solitude beneath a cottonwood downstream from the camp.  The prairie grass shimmered beneath a full moon that cast a soft glow on the lovers’ faces.  They were too tired to give full expression to their ardor, but cuddling and kissing beneath the cottonwood refreshed them more than if they’d spent the night in a feather bed.  Arm in arm, they walked back to camp through the rustling grass, ready in spirit, if not yet in body, to face another day.

    The emigrants had only been on the trail an hour the next morning when their craning eyes were at last rewarded by the sight of the Narrows, the next significant landmark on their journey.  The wagons moved single file through a threadlike opening between the Little Blue River babbling on the left and steep bluffs rising to their right.  For the next mile the trail was rough, then smoothed out again, and the sense of sameness settled back over the travelers.  Take a step, take another——walk, walk, walk.

    The sky darkened threateningly in the late afternoon.  Heavy, black clouds hugged the horizon, portending the onslaught of a storm.  Larrimore located the closest acceptable campsite and ordered the wagons to circle in order to form a corral for their livestock.  Some of the other men, feeling they should have pressed on until the rain actually hit, grumbled about the early stop.  Yet as Ben and Clyde, working together, grappled with their tents in an already howling wind, they couldn’t help remembering how much harder that job had been in pouring rain.  They, at least, were grateful to finish the job and get under shelter without soaking their shirts.

    The rainfall seemed no heavier than before, but the wind was colder and fiercer.  Adam, shivering in Inger’s arms, heard something outside that sounded like more than mere raindrops splashing to earth.  Plunk, plunk, plunk——like pebbles pattering the ground.  Ben peeked out the tent’s opening.  “Look at that!” he exclaimed.

    Adam squiggled out of his mother’s lap and crawled to his father.  “What is it, Pa?”  Ben pulled the boy close and let him look.  “Boy, howdy, Pa!” Adam cried, using the ejaculation he’d picked up from Billy.  “What is it?”

    “Hailstones, Adam,” Ben explained, “balls of frozen rain.”

    “Look, Mama,” Adam dictated.  “They’re big as marbles, big as a whole fistful of marbles!”

    Inger was already peering over Ben’s shoulder at the white balls——some, indeed, as large as Adam’s fist——carpeting the ground.  “Is it dangerous, Ben?” she asked anxiously.

    “I imagine you’d have quite a headache if one hit you,” Ben said,  “and I’ll wager everyone’s glad we stopped early now.  No one would want to set up camp in that!”

    The travelers spent an uncomfortable evening.  Lightning flashed, casting eerie shadows on the walls of the tents; thunder boomed, drowning out the bawling of the cattle; hailstones clattered, adding their counterpoint to the general cacophony; and rain drizzled, leaking through weak spots in the canvas shelters.  Thinking they’d have no chance for a hot meal, Ben opened cans of sardines for his family to nibble on as they listened to the stormy symphony.  The rain let up about seven o’clock, though, so building a fire from wood they’d placed in the wagon to keep it dry, Inger hurriedly baked a fresh batch of cornbread to give them something warm in their bellies before they tried to sleep.

    The temperature dropped, and the weather Wednesday was the most favorable in a week.  The oxen plodded along at a livelier pace, as if they, too, were enjoying the cooler air.  Nelly relented and gave Billy another chance, so the three erstwhile pranksters gamboled about, splashing through every puddle they could find.  Between mud holes, they compared notes on the dire consequences each had suffered for Sunday’s fun.  After listening to the others, Billy was sure he had fared the worst.  “My bottom’s probably still red,” he reported and offered to show them the evidence.  No one took him up on it.

    The weather began to heat up again the next day, but it was still pleasant, and the train made good progress, covering fourteen miles, just one shy of Wednesday’s advance.  Friday was a virtual repeat of the previous two days, but near its end excitement surged through every heart as one by one the wagons pulled up a high bluff and the emigrants gazed down on a panorama of the trail ahead.

    When the Cartwrights reached the vantage point, Ben set Adam up on his shoulders.  “See there, boy!  That’s the Platte.”

    “Another river,” Adam said, wondering why his father sounded so thrilled.

    “Not just another river, Adam,” Ben emphasized.  “The river, the one that’ll lead us west.”

    Adam brightened at once.  “The one that goes by Chimney Rock?”

    Ben threw his head back and exploded with laughter.  “Yes, the one that goes by Chimney Rock, that most important of all landmarks on the Oregon Trail!”

    Adam’s probing eyes squinted into the declining sun on the western horizon.  “I don’t see it, Pa.”

    Ben set the boy down and gave him an encouraging squeeze.  “It’s still a good ways off, son.  You just keep looking, and I promise you’ll see it.”

    “Okay,” Adam replied and scampered off to talk to Billy.

    Inger slipped an arm around Ben’s waist.  “I thought the prairie was flat before, but it truly is down there.”

    “Yeah,” Ben agreed, “none of the rolls and slopes we’re used to.  Flat as a pancake.”

    “And no trees at all,” Inger moaned softly.

    Ben pointed to a large island in the middle of the mile-wide river.  “That must be Grand Island.  There’s a few over there.”

    Inger turned reproachful eyes on him.  “Hardly enough to mention, Benyamin.  We can’t use those for fuel.”

    “No,” Ben admitted, “but I cut extra last night.  We should have enough to get us to Ft. Kearny.  After that, my love, I’m afraid it’s buffalo chips or nothing.”

    Inger grimaced at the thought of cooking over dried manure.  “I do not look forward to that,” she said.

    Naughtiness glittered in Ben’s eye.  “Just think how much Camilla will enjoy it.”  For once, Inger just smiled instead of rebuking him.  For a moment Ben reminded her of a certain little red-headed mischief in the wagon behind theirs; and boys would be boys, after all, whatever their age.

    After everyone had gotten a good view of the Platte Valley, they headed down into it, making camp a mile further along the trail.  Consulting their guidebooks, the men determined that Ft. Kearny was only fourteen miles ahead, and everyone agreed to push on that far before stopping the next night.  Ebenezer Wentworth quickly pointed out that the fort would make an excellent place to spend the Sabbath.

    “I suppose we might as well get that settled,” Larrimore sighed.  “Anyone opposed to staying over?”

    “Not only am I not opposed,” Payne said.  “I think we might consider taking an extra day there.  Some of our wagons——Wentworth’s, for one——aren’t in very good shape, and the trail ahead is likely to be even rougher.”

    “He’s right,” Clyde added.  “I brought my blacksmith tools, so—”

    “For that matter, there’s a blacksmith at the fort,” Lawrence interrupted, “so if any of the wagons needs more attention than Clyde can give, there’s that option, too.”

    “The women would like a day to get all the clothes clean again, I bet,” Fredrich put in.  “I vote we stay here Monday, too.”

    Lawrence looked around.  “The rest of you agree?”

    “Sounds good,” Ben replied, and McTavish nodded slowly.  Wentworth, the only other voice unheard from, looked reluctant.  He had a feeling the extra day’s rest would create conflict concerning the next Sabbath, but he couldn’t deny his own wagon needed attention he was ill disposed to give it on God’s holy day.  “I agree,” he said quietly.

    The Larrimore party ran on schedule Saturday, so they arrived at Ft. Kearny, on the south shore of the Platte River near the western end of Grand Island, in time to set up outside its walls and settle in for their two-day layover.  No one actually visited the fort itself, though, until the next day.

    After an uplifting time of worship that morning and a leisurely lunch, Ben and Inger, with Adam tagging along, decided to take a get-acquainted stroll around the compound.  As they wandered past a string of low, earthen huts, Inger shook her head sadly.  “It must be hard to keep house in such a place.”

    Looking askance at the unshaven soldiers slouched against the buildings, Ben frowned.  “Doesn’t look like anyone here’s much interested in housekeeping, judging by the way they keep their own appearance.”

    Inger nodded.  “Yah, I see what you mean.”  The crazily patched uniforms she could understand; men weren’t skilled in mending, after all.  But to let their hair grow long and limp with grease showed no pride.  “Perhaps, they have been here a long time and feel discouraged about ever getting home,” she offered generously.

    “They’re soldiers,” Ben muttered, “representatives of this country.  They should be more careful of the image they project.  I would never—”

    “Shh, Ben.  They vill hear you.”

    “I don’t much care if they do,” Ben sputtered.  “Even traveling every day, I manage to shave and keep reasonably clean.”

    “Yah, I know,” Inger said, stroking his arm soothingly, “but you are a prince among men.”

    Ben gave her a sharp look, then smiled.  “I was sounding a little lordly, wasn’t I?”

    “A little,” Inger snickered softly.

    “Can I look around on my own?” Adam asked, bored with the adult conversation.

    “Sure, son,” Ben said readily, “just stay inside the compound and don’t leave without us.”  Adam nodded and raced off in hope of seeing some Indians.

    Inger pointed to the cottonwood saplings planted around the parade ground.  “Someone is trying to improve the vay the place looks.”

    Ben nodded with satisfaction.  “Yeah, that’s good.”

    They wandered on a little further and Inger pointed to a building.  “Oh, Ben, that one looks cleaner.”

    Ben laughed.  “Well, it should!  It’d sure spoil my appetite if it were filthy.  That’s the bakery, my love.”

    “Yah, I see the sign now,” Inger giggled.  “Oh, Ben, could ve get some fresh bread tomorrow?  I know it is a luxury, but it is hard to bake properly over a campfire.”

    Ben squeezed his wife closer to his side.  “It doesn’t say much for me as a provider, if bread is a luxury.”

    “Oh, Ben, I meant no complaint,” Inger said hastily.

    ”I know.  You wouldn’t,” Ben replied.  “Buy all the fresh bread you want, Inger.”

    “Fresh meat vould be good, too,” Inger said.  “I vonder if they have a butcher shop here.”

    “Haven’t seen one” Ben said.  “I’ll try to do more hunting, Inger.  We do need to be eating more fresh things.  It’s a wonder we haven’t been more afflicted with dysentery than we have.”

    “I think Adam had more problems this morning,” Inger admitted, “so I hope you can do more hunting.  But I understand how tired you get vith all the vork of the journey.”

    Ben kissed her cheek lightly.  “No more than you.”  His eyes lighted as he saw the building in front of them.  “Say, now here’s an idea,” he suggested.  “How would you like to spend a night in a real bed, Inger?”

    Inger shook her head when she, too, saw the boardinghouse.  “No, Ben, ve do not need to vaste our money that vay.”

    Ben lifted her chin.  “I remember when we were just outside St. Joe you told me you had a dream of spending one night in a real bed.”

    Inger stroked his smooth cheek.  “And my dream came true, Ben.  I only vanted it because ve had never had that together, but I am not a bride any longer.”

    Ben pressed her face between his large palms.  “Always my bride,” he whispered.

    The first day of July was a busy one for all the emigrants.  It started with a visit to the sutler’s store, where everyone picked up a few items, and the Wentworths were able to replenish the stores they’d lost crossing the Vermillion River.  Then the men and women divided, the men to visit the smithy and make ready for the rough trail ahead and the women to scrub the laundry that had piled up since their last opportunity to wash.

    Adam bundled up his sheaf of homework papers and gave it to his father to mail back to Josiah Edwards, then joined the other children in exploring every corner of the army post.  He’d been disappointed the day before when he didn’t see any of the Indians Uncle John had written about, but early that afternoon he came racing into the blacksmith’s.  “Pa, Pa!  Come see the injuns!” he cried.

    Ben laughed and scooped the youngster up.  “That we’ve got to see, eh, boy?”  Leaving Clyde to tighten the rims of his wheels, Ben wandered outside with Adam, and with the help of a soldier at the post who spoke Pawnee, traded red shirts and beads for a pair of moccasins and a buffalo robe for each member of his family.

    That evening Inger wriggled her toes happily in the soft leather shoes.  “They are so comfortable, Ben,” she twittered, “and what pretty beadwork!”

    Ben grinned.  “I figured you’d like them.”.

    “Oh, yah, I do,” Inger assured him.  She lifted a heavy buffalo robe.  “And ve vill sleep varm under these when ve reach the mountains.”

    “When’s that?” Adam demanded.

    Ben pinched his nose.  “Don’t worry, boy.  Not ‘til we’ve seen the all-important Chimney Rock.”  Adam looked just a little put out.  He thought Pa’d teased him enough about his eagerness to see that particular landmark.

    By day’s end all the wagons had been made as trailworthy as possible, and the emigrants were rested and ready to begin the next leg of their journey.  Adam would have been gratified to know that several of the adults were as eager as he to see the unusual rock formations between there and Ft. Laramie.  But those were still far ahead.  As they left Ft. Kearny early Tuesday morning, the travelers fell back into the old routine——take a step, take another——walk, walk, walk.

    As they tramped through the flatlands of the Platte Valley, the children amused themselves by counting the wormwood and cottonwood trees on small islands in the river.  Even the smallest among them, with limited numbers at their command, had no trouble keeping the tally.  But the treeless prairie blossomed with wildflowers beyond numbering:  bluebells, yellow buttercups, purple and white lupine.  In the distance pronghorn antelope bounded through the grass, exciting the children and awaking in everyone the desire for fresh meat.

    When the men met together that evening, they realized that the monotony of their trek had almost made them overlook the upcoming national holiday.  “We should celebrate the birth of this country,” Zuebner declared.  As a naturalized citizen, he, perhaps more than the native-born sons, appreciated the freedom and prosperity America had given his family.

    But he was not alone in his desire to commemorate Independence Day.  The others quickly cheered his suggestion and decided to give the following Thursday over to the finest Fourth of July festival they could furnish in the wilderness.  Half their number would remain with the train to protect and assist the women the next day while the others hunted along the trail to provide meat for the feast.  There would be games in the morning before the shared meal and orations in the afternoon to salute the day.

    “Yup, there’s gonna be some fine speechifyin’,” Clyde reported to Nelly in their tent that night.  “Larrimore’s gonna say a few words as captain of our train.  Then, Wentworth.”

    “That won’t be a few words,” Nelly chuckled.

    “Naw,” Clyde snickered, “probably not, but I ain’t gonna begrudge the man since we’ve already decided he don’t get to preach this Sunday.”

    “We’ll be traveling then?” Nelly asked.  “Bet Wentworth didn’t like that.”

    Clyde shrugged.  “You could tell he was disappointed, but he handled it better than usual.  Saw it comin’, I think.”  His lips twitched with contained amusement.  “Guess who else is scratching his head for words to say.”

    “Land sakes, not you, I hope!”

    “Would I be laughing if I got stuck with that chore?” Clyde sniggered.  “No—hee, hee—ole Ben’s the lucky cuss!”

    “Well, I expect he’ll do a fine job,” Nelly declared heatedly.

    “Don’t doubt it for a minute,” Clyde assured her, “but I ‘spect you coulda knocked Ben boy over with a feather when the others voted to hear from him.  He’ll probably have his head so full of the fine words he’s planning that he won’t shoot worth a hoot tomorrow, and we’ll all go hungry.”

    “Just see you do your part, Clyde Thomas,” Nelly ordered.  “And you’d best get to sleep or you won’t be much of a shot come morning, either.”

    After breakfast the next morning Cartwright, Thomas, Payne and McTavish headed out to hunt while Larrimore, his hired man Enos Montgomery, Wentworth and Zuebner each yoked oxen for his own wagon and that of one of the hunters.  The older boys spread out to lend a hand whenever needed, but there was little need.  The day’s travel went smoothly, and the wagons circled late that afternoon sixteen miles down the trail near Plum Creek.

    While the men cared for the teams, the smaller children set out on their daily quest for fuel.  Since a bushel of buffalo chips was required to cook a meal, everyone helped except the three youngest in the party.  The boys and Marta thought nothing of picking up the cottony white, feathery light rounds that dotted the prairie.  But Katerina and the McTavish girls gingerly picked up each dried dropping with only two of their ladylike fingertips.  And the mothers weren’t much happier about cooking over such fuel, even if their “prairie coal” did burn clean and hot as charcoal.

    That evening Adam came racing back to camp with a bucket of chips banging against his leg with every step.  “Mama!” he yelled.  Inger turned, concerned that something was wrong, but Adam seemed unhurt.  “Mama,” he panted as she bent to hold him.  “Guess what.”

    “What?” Inger asked, amused by Adam’s breathless excitement, now that she knew nothing was wrong.

    “Berries!” Adam shouted.  “Bushes and bushes of berries!  Can I pick some?  Can I, please?”

    Inger’s eyes brightened.  “Fresh berries?  Oh, yah, son, you must get all you can before dark.  I vill gather more buffalo chips and you see to the berries.”

    Adam grinned.  He didn’t mind gathering buffalo chips; but berries were sure more fun, especially when he thought of the tasty treats that might come later.

    Toward suppertime the hunters returned.  As Ben laid his day’s catch at Inger’s feet, he gave her a rueful smile.  “Clyde and I didn’t make out so well.”

    Inger brushed dust from his cheek.  “I am sure you did your best, Ben.  What did you find?”

    Ben opened the bag in which he’d carried his game.  “Nothing fancy to work with, I’m afraid.  Just some sage hen and rabbits.”

    Inger laughed.  “They vill be fine, Ben.”

    Ben sighed, obviously disappointed.  “I got one shot at an antelope, but I missed.  They’re skittish animals, hard to sneak up on.  Jonathan bagged one, though.  McTavish came up empty.”

    “Clyde?” Inger asked.

    “Same as me.”

    “It doesn’t matter, Ben,” Inger soothed.  “Ve are all sharing tomorrow, so you vill eat good.”

    Ben sniffed.  “I just wish I felt like I’d done my part.”

    “Oh, pish posh,” said Nelly Thomas, who had ambled over in time to hear Ben’s last lament.  “We’ll all be doing our best, and that’s the most anyone can ask.”  She turned to Inger.  “Listen, honey, now that we know what we’ve got to work with, I think we ladies ought to get together and plan out the meal for tomorrow.  No sense duplicatin’ our efforts.”

    “Yah, I agree,” Inger said.  “Let us invite the others here after supper to talk.  I vill make extra coffee.”

    “Yeah, we’ll have us one of them meetings the men are always traipsin’ off to,” Nelly chuckled.

    Ben grinned.  “Well, if there’s gonna be a hen party at my wagon, I am definitely traipsing off somewhere else——anywhere else!”  Nelly flapped a deprecating hand at him and headed back to her own wagon to start supper.

    Inger was dicing preserved potatoes when Camilla Larrimore came over.  “That seems to be coming nicely,” Camilla commented.

    Inger looked up and smiled at Camilla’s air of authority.  As the captain’s wife, Mrs. Larrimore seemed to think she was in charge of the meal, even though she herself wasn’t doing any actual cooking.  No one begrudged her apparent laziness, however; after all, Camilla wasn’t much of a cook to begin with; and she had been more than generous in her contributions to the meal, a brandy-soaked fruitcake brought from home and a pound cake purchased at the Ft. Kearny bakery.  Also, she had given Martha Wentworth, who was providing all the bread for the meal, the use of her camp stove.

    Inger thought they had divided the work equitably, each woman concentrating on one dish for the noontime feast.  She was making a sage hen and rabbit pie from the meats Ben and Clyde had provided, while Nelly baked blackberry pies from the fruit their two boys had picked yesterday.  Rachel Payne was roasting the best cuts of the antelope while Ludmilla Zuebner made stew from the remainder and Maggie McTavish baked dried apple pies and cooked a huge skillet of greens her daughters had picked along the trail the day before.  With so much fresh food this would be the best meal any of them had eaten since leaving home.  And four kinds of dessert to top it off!

    “Yah,” Inger said to Camilla.  “Everything is coming along fine.”

    “Well, I hope you can spare the time to watch the games we’ve planned,” Camilla said.  “The races begin soon, and there’ll be prizes to the top three winners in each group——for the children, that is.”

    “I know,” Inger replied.  “It vas good of you to donate those.”

    “Oh, it isn’t much,” Camilla said, her fingers fluttering through the air.  “Just a little candy we brought for the children.  Sterling eats too much as it is.  It’ll do him good to share a bit with the others.”  She smiled so fondly at the mention of her boy, though, that Inger knew Camilla didn’t feel too critical of his overindulgence.  The captain’s wife waved good-bye and walked toward the Thomas wagon, the next stop on her inspection tour.

    When she was alone again, Nelly strolled over to Inger.  “Well, I guess we passed muster,” she giggled.  Inger wagged a scolding finger at Nelly, but she was smiling as she did.  “I’m headed over to watch the boys race,” Nelly said.  “You got time to join me?”

    “I vill make time,” Inger laughed.  “Adam vould be disappointed if I missed his big race, and I have only to make the gravy and crust before my pie is ready to bake.”

    “Come on, then, honey,” Nelly said, taking Inger’s arm, “before all the best seats is taken.”  Inger laughed and together the two friends walked to the strip of prairie designated as the race track.

    The four younger boys, plus Marta, were lined up, ready to begin.  There’d been some talk of having a separate race for the girls; but since Marta was the only one interested in running, she’d been grouped in with the boys, much to Billy’s disgust.

    Lawrence Larrimore fired a pistol and the youngsters took off.  It became obvious almost from the start that the real race was between Billy and Adam with Marta and Johnny vying for third place and little Bobby lagging hopelessly behind.  Adam took the lead at first, then was overtaken by Billy.  He pumped harder and almost caught the longer-legged boy, but Billy crossed the finish line seconds before him with Marta panting across third.

    Nelly gave her boy a tight squeeze and rumpled his hair, which was already standing on end like the flames of a campfire.  “Well, I’m glad to know you’re good for something!”  Billy grinned.  No matter how she sounded, he could tell his mother was proud.

    Inger and Ben congratulated Adam as heartily as if he’d won, and truthfully, he felt like a winner when Mrs. Larrimore presented him with the bag of jellybeans he’d earned for second place.  Even the losers of the race shared in the sweet rewards of victory, however, for Marta willingly split her prize with her friend Johnny and Nelly made Billy share with his baby brother.

    Inger and Nelly headed back to finish cooking, but the men stayed to cheer the older boys as they lined up to race next.  Since he was oldest and tallest, Matthew Wentworth assumed he would have an easy time outdistancing the others, but when the pistol cracked, he discovered a formidable opponent in sturdy Stefán Zuebner.  Stefán was only a year younger and used to harder work than the minister’s boy, so his well-muscled legs gained steadily on Matthew’s early lead.  With the goal in sight, Matthew’s strength gave out and his pace slackened just enough for Stefán’s last minute burst of speed to push him ahead.  Matthew’s pride was spared an even worse bruising, though, when he barely beat out his younger brother Mark.  Far to the rear, chunky Sterling chugged along and finally stumbled across the finish line to collapse in his mother’s arms.

    With nothing at stake but pride, the men lined up next, their sons and daughters standing on the sidelines to urge them on.  The wives were busy with the meal, but they watched from a distance, amused to see their men cavort like little boys.  His breast swelling with manly pretension, Stefán fired the pistol to begin the race; and all eight men took off.  They stayed close to one another in the beginning, but age and athleticism soon separated them.  Twenty-two-year-old Enos Montgomery easily came in first, but the race for second was close with Jonathan just edging out Ben.  Lawrence came in fourth, followed by Clyde and the surprisingly swift-footed, forty-year-old Robert McTavish.  The stolid German Zuebner trotted across the finish line next, and to no one’s surprise, the Reverend Wentworth panted in last.  Even he received hearty slaps of congratulations from the others, though; for he had finished the race, a worthy accomplishment for a man whose most arduous labor before beginning this journey had been turning the pages of his Bible.

    Next came the three-legged race.  Billy quickly grabbed Adam for his partner, leaving Johnny to tie his leg to Marta’s.  The Wentworth brothers teamed up, probably at the insistence of their parents, leaving Stefán to race with Sterling, sure to be excess baggage in any team effort.  The odds were in favor of the Wentworth brothers; and as the race began, they pulled easily ahead.

    But speed wasn’t everything in this competition, as Matthew and Mark learned when they stretched for the finish line only to tangle up and fall flat on their faces.  With a triumphant shout Billy and Adam lurched past them to win the race.  The older boys managed to get upright and stumble in second, though, shortly before Johnny and Marta arrived.  Stefán finally managed to drag Sterling across in dead last, but he wasn’t upset.  He’d won the big prize in the previous race, and that was glory enough for the big-hearted boy.

    Inger waved at Adam and blew him a kiss to acknowledge his victory, then made a final check on the meat pie before watching the men line up.  Satisfied it wouldn’t overcook before she returned, she moved closer for a better view of the race.  With a smile Nelly walked up next to her to cheer for the team of Cartwright and Thomas.

    Jonathan and Lawrence were paired together, as well as Robert and Fredrich while Enos generously volunteered to run with the minister.  At the crack of the pistol, the runners were off, providing a much more entertaining race than the youngsters, who, except for Matthew and Mark, had managed to stay on their feet.  Not so, the men.  With one exception, they all fell down, laughing so hard they could scarcely get up again.  Jonathan and Lawrence recovered first and crossed the finish line, closely followed by Enos and Ebenezer, the only ones to avoid taking a roll in the dust.  Ben and Clyde tromped in third and last came the pair of older emigrants, Robert and Fredrich.

    Merry-hearted, but weary in body, each man returned to his own wagon to receive either the congratulations or the teasing of his wife.  There wasn’t much time for either, though; the food was almost ready, and the men needed to move camp chairs, crates and kegs——anything that could be used for seating——to the central area where the meal would be served.

    When everyone was thoroughly stuffed, Lawrence stood to his feet.  “Before saying a few words in honor of the occasion,” he began, “I think we men need to give three cheers to the ladies for serving up the finest food this side of the Missouri.”

    “Or the Mississippi, for that matter,” Clyde chimed in.

    “Here, here!” Jonathan shouted in agreement.

    Lawrence grinned.  “I stand corrected and rightly so.  I don’t know how you ladies managed it, but I’ve seen St. Louis restaurants that didn’t serve as hearty or tasty a meal as we’ve enjoyed here in the wilderness today.  Well, then, gentlemen, three cheers for the finest food this side of the Mississippi——and, for all I know, east of it!”

    “Hip!  Hip!  Hooray!” the men, joined by the even louder children, yelled three times in chorus while the ladies blushed.

    Lawrence raised his hands to silence the crowd.  “Now, as I promised, I will be brief.  This is a day which causes us to reflect on what this country means to us.  It might be said by some that in leaving the settled states, we show a dissatisfaction with this country of ours.  Nothing could be further from the truth.  It is because we have enjoyed the blessings of a free land that we have the courage to leave it.  Yet, we haven’t really left America behind; we’ve each brought her with us.  We and others like us in this vast caravan of emigrants have an obligation to share with our new land the real spirit of America.  Having journeyed with you all for just over a month now, I can say with confidence that that responsibility is in good hands, and at our journey’s end I know I shall be proud to tell any I meet that I was privileged to be your captain.  I thank you again for that honor.”

    “Here, here!” Jonathan cheered again as Lawrence sat down to thunderous applause.

    Everyone quieted again as Ebenezer Wentworth stood to his feet.  “Surely, no one expects me to be brief,” he said.  As everyone laughed, the minister smiled.  “Today, however, I shall surprise you.  Now, you all know my feeling about strict observance of the Sabbath.”  An uneasy hush fell over the group.  “However,” Wentworth continued, “if there is ever a proper reason to set that aside temporarily, it must surely be to celebrate the birth of the nation that has done more than any other to establish and preserve each man’s right to worship God according to the dictates of his conscience.”

    The minister spoke, though not to his usual length, about the settling of America by those seeking religious freedom, the first amendment’s guarantee of the right to worship and the duty of all true Americans to avail themselves of it.  “In conclusion, then,” he finished, “let it never be said of any in this party that we ever neglected or took for granted the precious gift of religious liberty.  Let us, rather, cherish and preserve it for our posterity in the same manner in which our forebears sustained it for us.”  The applause that greeted his final words was long and loud.

    Ben Cartwright rose nervously to his feet.  “I’m not sure why I was asked to speak today,  and after hearing the wise and well-spoken words of the previous speakers, I hesitate to address you at all.  If I have anything to contribute to a discussion of our priceless liberties as Americans, however, perhaps it is by way of comparison.  During my years at sea, it was my privilege to visit many foreign countries——more, I dare say than any man here.  I had opportunity to observe the strengths and weaknesses of each, and I assure you that it was more than mere homesickness that made my heart leap at the sight of my home port when each voyage ended.”

    Ben related a series of anecdotes that illustrated the variety of societies he had explored.  “I could give you many more examples,” he closed, “but I trust these are sufficient to demonstrate how blessed we are to live in the United States of America.  In all my travels I have found no government more equitable, no laws more just, no people more privileged.  Like the speakers before me, I am positive each man, woman and child here appreciates our rich heritage as Americans and is committed to passing it intact to those who will come after us.”  Ben sat down, his face flushing darker and darker crimson as the applause of his peers continued.

    Each of the speakers was congratulated by those seated nearest him and the conversation turned to lighter topics while the last crumbs of pie and cake were packed into already bursting stomachs.  “I think you have had enough,” Inger whispered as she patted Ben’s waistline.

    Ben just gave her an impish grin and returned the pat.  “Best follow your own advice, Mrs. Cartwright,” he suggested with a wicked wink.  “I do believe your belly’s sticking out further than mine.”  Those seated near enough to hear laughed heartily at the rosy hue that crept from Inger’s chin to her forehead.

    The Cartwright’s good-natured repartee was representative of the high spirits that suffused the entire camp.  The monotony of the journey was forgotten in the diversion of the day, and the boost the celebration gave the emigrants’ morale was long-lasting.  It could not have come at a better time, for the rest of the week was a trial to their patience as rain deluged down on them three days in succession.  Though able to trudge through it, the oxen moved slowly over the soggy ground.

    Sunday was the best day of the three, but the train still traversed only eleven miles.  Wentworth muttered to his wife that they were only reaping the consequences of breaking the Sabbath, but Martha urged him to keep his peace.  “Democracy is our creed, even here on the prairie, Ebenezer,” she pointed out, “and since we don’t dare travel alone, we’ll have to follow the decisions of the majority.”  Ebenezer nodded solemnly, but in his heart he feared these people he had come to genuinely care for might yet reap a dreadful harvest for their desecration of God’s law.
 

The sun showed its face again Monday; and as the ground dried, the trail improved steadily.  Adam felt glad to get out of the wagon and romp around again, and his sentiments were shared by everyone else who had taken shelter in the bumpy wagons during the heavy rains.  As tired as their feet got walking eight hours a day, not a single emigrant preferred the bone-bruising jolts of riding.

    Wild fruit still flourished along the trail, so Adam and his friends each carried a pail as they ranged out from the line of wagons, filling it, along with their stomachs, brimful of ripe berries.  They had just started back with their bountiful harvest when Johnny pointed off to their left.  “What’s that?”

    Adam and Billy squinted in the bright sunlight.  In the distance they saw a number of small, furry animals peeking out of mounds of earth.  The little animals yipped at one another, scurried to other openings nearby and disappeared into them.  “Let’s go see,” Billy said, starting toward them.

    “Better not,” Adam warned.  “We’re getting pretty far from the wagons, as is.”

    “Oh, you mama’s boys!” Billy taunted.  “Scared to get too far from her apron strings, huh?”

    “We ain’t, neither,” Johnny declared, “but I ain’t fixin’ to earn myself another lickin’ this soon.”

    “Me, neither,” Adam added.  “I bet Pa’ll let me come back later, but I got to get these berries to Mama first.”

    “Oh, pooh,” Billy snorted.  “I guess a couple of little saints like you won’t mind totin’ my berries back, too, then.”  Before either Adam or Johnny could refuse, Billy plunked his pail on the ground and trotted off to investigate the unknown.

    “Come on, Adam,” Johnny said.  “Let’s get back ‘fore we get in trouble.”

    Adam frowned.  “We can’t leave him alone; Pa says no one should be out on the prairie by himself.”

    “I ain’t takin’ a lickin’ for Billy,” Johnny insisted.

    “Go on back, then,” Adam snapped.  “I’ll go after him.”

    Johnny shifted uncomfortably, unable to decide whether to risk his friends’ disapproval or his parents’.  Opting for the former, he reached for Adam’s pail of berries.  “I’ll carry these back for you,” he offered.  “Billy’ll have to tote his own.”

    “Fair enough,” Adam agreed.  “Tell Pa why I stayed, okay?”

    “Sure,” Johnny promised.  The Payne boy ran for home as fast as he could while juggling two pails of berries.  Panting up to Inger, he held out Adam’s.  “I brung these in for Adam,” he explained breathlessly.

    Inger took the pail and looked back along the trail.  She couldn’t see her son.  “Where is Adam, Johnny?” she asked urgently.

    Johnny jerked his head back over his shoulder.  “We saw these strange animals, and Billy took off for a closer look.  Adam went after him.”

    “Ben!” Inger called.

    “I heard,” Ben said, hurrying back.  He took Johnny by both shoulders.  “Can you show me where you left them, son?”

    “I—I gotta get home,” Johnny stammered.  “Mama’ll worry.”

    Inger reached for his pail.  “It’s all right, Johnny.  I vill take these to your mother and tell her you are vith Ben.”  She turned anxious eyes to her husband.  “Oh, Ben, I hope they have come to no harm.  Adam knows better than to stray out of sight like this.”

    “Sounds like I may need to have another necessary little talk with that boy,” Ben muttered.

    “It weren’t Adam’s fault,” Johnny explained hurriedly as he trotted to keep up with Mr. Cartwright’s pace.  “He wanted to come back, but when Billy took off, Adam said it wasn’t right to leave him.  Said you told him no one should be alone out there.”

    The anger drained out of Ben’s face.  If Adam’s actions were questionable, his boy had acted from a right motive, at least.  Coming up to Clyde, Ben slapped his friend’s shoulder.  “Our boys may be into some trouble.  Want to come back with me and check things out?”

    “Reckon I’d better,” Clyde sputtered.  “If trouble’s afoot, I can guess who started it trottin’!”

    Johnny led them back to where he’d left the other boys and pointed.  “There they are!”

    Ben scanned the area Johnny was indicating and on the horizon saw Adam and Billy chasing prairie dogs.  He breathed easier.  At least, the “strange animal” was not a dangerous one.  “Thanks, Johnny,” he said, patting the seven-year-old’s head.  “You can go back to your folks now.”  Johnny didn’t need to be told a second time.  He took off running.

    Each hollering his son’s name, Ben and Clyde tromped through the grass.  “Uh-oh,” Billy said.

    “I tried to tell you,” Adam scolded.  Billy just shrugged and headed back to meet his fate.  Adam stood still, preferring to let his father come after him than to go seeking trouble.

    When Ben reached his son, he gave him a stern frown.

    “I’m sorry, Pa,” Adam said, “but I couldn’t leave him; I just couldn’t.”

    Ben lifted the boy up.  “I know; Johnny told me.  I’m proud you wouldn’t desert a friend, Adam, but it looked to me like you were doing as much playing as he was.”

    Adam gave his father a sheepish look.  “I guess I was, Pa, but it didn’t start out that way.”

    Ben laughed.  “Got pulled in, did you?”

    Adam grinned, relaxing at his father’s kindly expression.  “Yes, sir.  Ain’t they funny little critters, Pa?”

    “Aren’t,” Ben corrected.  “They’re prairie dogs, Adam.  You’re in the middle of one of their towns.”

    Adam giggled.  “They bark kinda like dogs, Pa, but they sure won’t let you pet ‘em.”

    Ben didn’t respond, for another animal he’d never seen before suddenly caught his eye.  “Clyde!” he yelled, excited.  “Look over there!”

    Far to the south shaggy creatures with huge, horned heads grazed.  Seeing them, Clyde echoed Ben’s excitement.  “Buffalo!  That’s what they’s got to be, Ben, sure as the world.”

    “Don’t see how they can be anything else,” Ben agreed.  “Oh, I’ve been longing for a look at one of those.”

    “I been longing for more than a look,” Clyde cackled.  “I hear buffalo meat’s the best there is.”

    “Are they really buffalo, Pa?” Adam asked, bouncing on his father’s arm.

    “Whoopee!  We found buffalo,” Billy yelled, jumping up and down.  The fact that he hadn’t seen the bison until Mr. Cartwright pointed them out did nothing to diminish Billy’s opinion of himself as a tracker of big game.  “We’re the best hunters there is!”

    “You’re the best scoundrel there is, you mean,” Clyde snapped.  “I ain’t forgot your orneriness yet, boy.”

    Whatever dire consequences Clyde had intended to follow Billy’s misbehavior, however, were forgotten in discussing the possibility of a buffalo hunt with Ben.  Both men were eager to try their shooting skills against so formidable a target.  The opportunity would have to wait until the next day, though, for it was almost time to circle the wagons when they returned to the train.

    When they shared the news with the other men that night, everyone wanted a chance at a buffalo, so in the end, Clyde lost his.  Horses would be needed for the hunt, and only Jonathan Payne had brought any with him.  That made him an obvious choice for the party; and since Ben had originally sighted the game, Jonathan offered him the use of his second horse.  Clyde was disappointed, but Ben’s promise to share whatever meat he obtained eased the older man’s mind.  At least, he’d get to taste buffalo, though he’d still rather have shot it himself.

    Ben shifted awkwardly in the saddle.  “Been quite a while since I sat a horse,” he apologized to Jonathan, whose easy gait marked him as a true horseman.

    “It’ll come back to you,” Jonathan assured him.

    Ben laughed.  “I wasn’t that good to begin with.  I’d never ridden at all until I stayed on my brother’s farm in Ohio.  I’m afraid, even then, I got more practice driving a team than riding.”

    “You’ll do fine,” Jonathan said encouragingly.

    He was right.  The further Ben rode, the more at one with the animal he felt.  Of course, that might have more to do with the quality of the horse than with the rider’s skill, Ben realized.  “Fine animal,” he commented.

    “She’s a good one,” Jonathan said proudly.  “I hope it’s not a mistake trying to bring her west, but I couldn’t bear leaving her behind.  I’m planning to breed horses in California, you know, and I’d like to save her blood line.”

    “I didn’t know,” Ben replied.  “You think there’s much market out there?”

    “There’s more than enough wild mustangs, from what I hear,” Jonathan said, “but I intend to focus on quality stock——maybe do some crossbreeding and produce an even hardier mount.”

    “It’s a fine dream,” Ben, no stranger to dreams himself, said.  “I wish you every success.”

    “You see me a year after we’ve settled, and I’ll pick you out the best of my string,” Jonathan promised.  “For a fair price, too.”

    “I might do that,” Ben said.  “I expect I’ll need a mount out there; and if this one’s an example of what you’ll raise, I’d treasure having one of my own.”

    They rode side by side in companionable silence for awhile.  Then, Ben raised in his stirrups and pointed ahead.  “There they are.”

    “What a fantastic sight!” Jonathan cried.

    “Small herd, though,” Ben commented.  “I expected them to stretch to both horizons from what I’d heard.”

    “I was talking to McTavish last night,” Jonathan related.  “He said he’d been told they stay in smaller groups like this ‘til later in the summer.  It’s more like what you figured then, I guess.”

    “Yeah, well, this size may be more than we can handle,” Ben said.  “You know how to go about this?”

    “Just what I’ve heard,” Jonathan admitted.  “We need to get downwind of them.  When we’re about three hundred yards behind, we’ll urge the horses into a run and come in on their right side.  Try to put the bullet behind the shoulder.  Skull’s too thick to penetrate.”

    Ben took a deep breath.  He’d never hunted on the run before, never shot anything larger than a squirrel, for that matter.  He welcomed the chance to test his mettle against a real challenge, though.  “You lead out,” he said, giving deference to Jonathan as the superior hunter.

    Jonathan nodded and, with Ben close behind, headed downwind of the herd of about twenty bison.  They eased closer; but before they came within three hundred feet, a sudden shift of wind carried their scent toward the herd.  The buffalo raised their huge heads and began to run, surprisingly swift for such cumbersome-looking beasts.  Jonathan flicked the reins of his horse, and the animal burst forward in response.

    Ben copied the motion, hoping his horse had been trained to respond the same way.  She had and soon he came up almost even with Jonathan.  He fell back a little, so the other man wouldn’t be in his line of fire.  His heart thumping wildly, Ben came closer and closer to the racing buffalo.  Suddenly he was directly alongside one and, raising his rifle, aimed behind the right shoulder, his weapon cracking almost simultaneously with Jonathan’s.  The mare galloped on, not having been given any other instruction, so Ben wasn’t sure his aim had been true.  He turned in the saddle and, seeing one of the shaggy beasts stumble to the ground, gave an exultant shout.

    “Great shot, Ben!” Jonathan called.

    Ben’s brow wrinkled.  He’d expected his animal to fall further back.  He rode over to the carcass and saw that the bullet had pierced precisely behind the right shoulder.  Ben looked up as Jonathan reined in beside him.  “I think it must have been your shot that brought him down,” Ben said.  Jonathan had proven himself a fine marksman when he brought in the antelope for the feast on the Fourth, so Ben considered it far more likely that he, and not Ben, had been accurate in placing the bullet this time.

    Jonathan shrugged.  “Can’t be sure.  Everything happened so fast.  We fired about the same time.”

    “Not at the same cow,” Ben pointed out dryly.

    Jonathan laughed.  “No, one of us missed his clean.  But what matters is that one of us shot true.  We planned to split the meat, anyway.”

    Chuckling, Ben nodded.  “Yeah, the rest is just pride, I guess.  We’d best get to butchering, and packing all these horses can carry.”

    They set to work skinning and carving up the animal.  Neither of them wanted to be wasteful like other hunters they’d heard about, but there was more meat than the two horses could manage.  They’d have to leave some behind.  Taking the best cuts——the tongue, hump and flanks—they divided them fairly.  Ben insisted the hide should be Jonathan’s, though, since it was likely his shot that brought the animal down.  “Besides,” Ben added, “I traded for buffalo robes at Ft. Kearny.  You have more use for it than I do.”  On that basis, Jonathan accepted the hide; and the two men headed back to rejoin the train, each leading a heavily-laden horse.

    Ben and Jonathan finally caught up with the other emigrants just after they’d stopped for the noon break.  They were met with a chorus of cheers as soon as they came within sight and all the youngsters raced out to see who could reach them first.  Naturally, fleet-footed Stefán Zuebner was the winner.  “You have found meat!” Stefán cried.  “Congratulations to you, sirs!”

    “Thanks, Stefán,” Ben said, giving the boy a comradely punch in the arm.  Stefán smiled broadly at what he considered acceptance as a man.  “You tell your folks we’ll send over some steaks to fry up for lunch.”  Stefán’s smile widened and he turned to race back to camp.

    The other children crowded around.  “Can we have some, too?” Sterling begged.  No one else was ill-mannered enough to ask, but they were all ravenously curious about the taste of buffalo.

    Ben laughed.  “You youngsters can all have a taste.  Your folks, too.”

    “You won’t have much left at that rate,” Jonathan chuckled.

    Ben shrugged.  “I’d hate to be left out, so how can I do it to others?”

    “Some could,” Jonathan said seriously, then grinned.  “I planned to share, too; and I’m willing to loan the horses to anyone else who cares to try their luck.”

    “With each taking their turn, we should have fresh meat in camp pretty steadily for the next little while,” Ben said.

    The children crowded around the Cartwright campfire as Inger laid thin buffalo steaks in the cast-iron skillet.  The little noses wrinkled appreciatively as the steak sizzled, giving off an aroma that whetted their appetites.  There was more than enough meat to go around, of course, but the thicker cuts would have to be saved for later when there was more time to cook.  There weren’t so many thin pieces that could be fried quickly for lunch.

    Once the pan was full, Inger began handing out the extra meat according to the size of each family represented.  “It won’t make a full meal,” she said, “but everyone vill, at least, get a taste.”  The youngsters disappeared in all directions.

    “Thank you, ma’am,” Robbie McTavish said.  “I’m sure the others feel grateful, too.  They shouldn’t have run off like that without saying so, though.”

    “They are just excited,” Inger replied generously, “but you are a most mannerly young lady, and that is good to see.”

    Roberta blushed, pleased at the compliment to her maturity.  “Thanks, again,” she murmured and ran toward the wagon where her mother had already started frying the meat rushed over by her sister Joan.

    Adam sniffed the air appreciatively.  “They’re nearly done, aren’t they?”

    “Yes, almost, my impatient little one,” Inger laughed.  “How like your father you are in that.”

    “Not quite,” Ben said with an upraised eyebrow.  “His father’s been drooling at the thought of lunch for some time now.  I’m willing to eat it half raw.”

    “Help yourself, then,” Inger giggled.  “I vill not be party to raw meat.  You, Adam?”

    “I’ll wait,” the youngster said, grimacing at the thought of bloody food.

    “A wise decision,” his mother declared, pulling him close.  Soon the meat was cooked to her satisfaction, and Adam bit into his first buffalo steak and declared it good.

    They’d shared so much that none of the Cartwrights were quite full with just meat, so Inger padded out the meal with fried corncakes.  “We’ll do better tonight,” she promised.  Adam didn’t care.  He thought buffalo steak and corncakes were about as good as it came and told Jamie so in the journal entry he recorded right after lunch.

    The buffalo hump took quite a while to boil, so Inger had more time than usual to relax.  Nelly had insisted that since Inger was providing the meat and bread, she would see to everything else.  “I’ll fry up some potatoes and fix a skillet of greens.  I saw some dock growing down by the river awhile ago and sent Billy to pick us a bunch.  We’ve got plenty of berries left to make a big cobbler, too.”

    “But, Nelly,” Inger protested, “you are doing more than your share.”

    “And what did you do this afternoon, Inger Cartwright, giving away all that meat?” Nelly demanded.

    “The Paynes are doing as much tonight,” Inger said.  “It is not so much, really, when you think how much the men brought back.”

    “It’s plenty,” Nelly insisted, “so I’ll hear no more talk of who’s outdoing the other.”

    Inger laughed.  “All right.  I vill just take a stroll vith my husband, then, and let you fix what you like.”

    Nelly wagged a finger under Inger’s nose.  “Oh, you two!  Always sparking.”

    “Vell, Ben says I am still a bride,” Inger giggled.  “Why should I not act like one?”  Why not, indeed, Nelly thought with satisfaction as she saw the young couple wander off alone.

    The Cartwrights and Thomases sat down that evening to succulent buffalo hump, crispy potatoes and savory greens, seasoned with bacon drippings.  “Finest meat I ever did eat,” Clyde declared.

    “Hard to believe, but it’s better than beef,” Ben agreed, “and the vegetables surely complement the meat, Nelly.”

    “Just plain taters and greens,” Nelly objected, “nothing to brag over so.”

    “Yeah, but wait ‘til you taste the dessert,” Billy announced.  “My ma makes the best berry cobbler in these here United States.”

    Nelly wiggled her fingers into his ribs.  “Land sakes, no need to go on so, boy,” she said.

    “It’s true, Mama!” Bobby insisted.

    Nelly leaned the other direction to kiss his golden curls.  “Oh, all right.  I ain’t gonna fight the both of you.”

    “The three of us,” Clyde sniggered.

    “Four,” Ben chuckled.  “I tasted that famous cobbler last week, remember.

    Nelly was blushing furiously.  “If anyone says, ‘Make it five,’ so help me I won’t dish up any of it.”  Duly threatened, everyone kept quiet and turned their attention back to their plates.

    “If I come back with a buffalo tomorrow, you folks are invited to our wagon for another feed,” Clyde announced.

    “Oh, you are hunting tomorrow, Clyde?” Inger asked.

    “Yup.  Jonathan said it was only right I get second crack at it since I was with Ben when we made the first sighting,” Clyde responded as he forked up another bite of greens.  “Said I could take whoever I wanted with me.  Who you reckon would make a good partner, Ben?”

    “Anyone but Wentworth,” Ben said dryly.

    “Oh, Ben, for shame!” Inger scolded.

    Ben grinned.  He’d deliberately said what he did to get Inger’s dander up, and she shook her head at his naughtiness when she realized the trick he’d pulled.  Turning back to Clyde, Ben pondered the question.  “How about McTavish?” he suggested.  “Neither Larrimore or Zuebner was very anxious to hunt last week, so I get the feeling they aren’t too confident of their marksmanship.  Wentworth, no disrespect intended, would be the worst choice, of course.  I’m not sure the man’s ever fired a rifle at all.”

    “Sounds about right,” Clyde agreed.  “They ought to learn, though.  They can’t always depend on someone else to do their shootin’.”

    “True enough,” Ben said.  “That’s why I’m making the effort.”

    “And doin’ right well,” Clyde cackled.  “Fork me another piece of that hump, please, Inger gal.”

    “Not until you say a kind vord about each of our neighbors you have slighted,” Inger replied, smiling provokingly.

    “Inger!” Ben chided.  “Clyde is our guest.”

    “Yah, but I mean what I say, Benyamin, and there vill no more for you, either, until I hear good things said of Mr. Larrimore and Mr. Zuebner and the Reverend Ventvorth.”  Inger folded her arms with determination.

    Clyde just grinned.  “I got no problem at all with that, Inger.  Ain’t a man in this here train ain’t got his good points.  I still think Ben here would’ve made a better captain, but Larrimore’s done right well, especially in keepin’ the peace ‘txict the contrary ones.  And what any of us would have done in the beginning without Zuebner to help us with our teams, I got no idea.”

    Inger smiled, benevolently now.  “And Reverend Ventvorth?”

    “I’ll take that one,” Ben said, “so as to earn my dessert.  Wentworth and I have some differences in how we see things, but he truly cares about people.  I believe he and his good wife would be the first ones to help in time of need.  His sermons sometimes give me plenty to think about, and other times they’re a genuine lift at the end of a long week.”

    “Yup, we got us just about the finest set of folks to travel with you’ll find anywhere along the trail,” Clyde summed up.

    Nelly gave her husband a squeeze.  “Inger, honey, pass this man some meat.  I do believe he’s earned it.”

    Inger laughed.  “Yah, I agree, and Ben may have cobbler.”

    “How ‘bout me?” Adam asked.  “Do I have to make a speech to get dessert?”

    Everyone laughed.  “No, son,” Inger assured him.  “Sometimes, silence is golden.  Yours has earned you all the cobbler you can eat.”

    By mid-morning Wednesday the pair of hunters had been long gone, but young Billy was still declaring to anyone who’d listen that his pa would soon return dragging the biggest buffalo on the whole, wind-blasted prairie for their lunch.

    “Don’t say ‘blasted,’” Johnny lectured.  “It ain’t a nice word.”

    “I said ‘wind-blasted,’” Billy argued.  “Ain’t nothing wrong with that.  ‘Sides, you’re missing the point.  My pa’s gonna tote back the biggest buffalo ever——maybe two.”

    “Couldn’t carry two,” Adam snickered.  “You saw how the horses was weighed down with one.”

    Billy shrugged.  “Yeah, I guess Pa’ll have to stop with one, but he could do more, I bet.  Good as whoever shot that one yesterday.”  Billy gave Adam a mischievous wink.

    “Don’t start that again,” Adam mumbled.  He and Johnny had spent the better part of the morning quarreling about whose father had actually shot the game the day before.  Neither of the fathers claimed the credit, but each of their sons was determined his own sire should have it.

    Billy cackled.  He thought reigniting the fireworks would be fun, but something else abruptly caught his fly-away attention.  “Hey, why we stopping?  It ain’t time to noon yet.”  Curiosity strapping wings to their feet, the boys raced to catch up with the wagons.

    “Why we stopping, Pa?” Adam asked when he reached his father.

    “There’s another party, just off the trail there, sitting idle in the middle of the morning,” Ben explained.  “Mr. Larrimore walked over to see if they’re just taking a day off or if they’re in need of some kind of help.”

    “Oh,” Adam said and ambled back to his friends.  Nothing exciting about seeing another train.  They’d passed and been passed so many times the sight of an unfamiliar wagon wasn’t interesting anymore.

    Lawrence Larrimore came running back to camp and whispered something to Camilla.  Her hands flew to her cheeks and she quickly called her children.  Lawrence climbed into his wagon and disappeared.

    “Something looks amiss,” Ben said to Inger.  “I’m gonna ask.”

    “Yes, do,” his wife urged.  It could be nothing, of course.  It didn’t take much to fluster Camilla Larrimore, but the captain’s wife looked more than just flustered as she gathered her chicks to her side.

    “Oh, Mr. Cartwright, isn’t it dreadful?” she declared as Ben approached.

    “Isn’t what dreadful, Mrs. Larrimore?” Ben asked.

    “Dear me, you don’t know, do you?” Camilla fluttered.

    Just then Lawrence, carrying two small glass bottles, jumped down from the back of his wagon.  Ben stepped purposefully toward him.  “What’s the problem, Lawrence?” he demanded, his voice excessively firm from his frustration over his failure to get a straight answer from Camilla.

    “Cholera,” Lawrence whispered soberly.

    Ben paled, remembering the epidemic that had swept the trail the year before.  “There’s cholera in that camp?”

    Lawrence nodded.  “Half their men are down, besides women and children; that’s why they’ve had to stop.  We’re gonna give them a wide berth and hope we avoid whatever gave them the sickness.”

    “Yeah,” Ben muttered.  “You taking them some laudanum?”

    Again, Lawrence nodded.  “We brought extra as part of the goods we planned to sell in California,” Camilla explained hurriedly, “and those poor people have none left.”

    “I’m just gonna charge them what I would have in St. Joe,” Lawrence told his wife.  “We could have gotten much more for it in California, but I won’t play highway robber to folks in need out here.”

    “Well, of course not!” Camilla said indignantly.  As if she would behave so selfishly!  No matter how much she wanted to prosper in their new home, there were some things decent people didn’t stoop to.  “You give it to them at cost,” she dictated.

    Lawrence smiled.  Sometimes his wife surprised even him.  Turning to Ben, he made a request.  “Tell the other men what’s up and that we’ll be taking a wide detour.  Be ready to roll as soon as I get back.”

    “Aye, aye, captain.  I’ll relay your orders,” Ben replied as crisply as if he were still first mate on Captain Stoddard’s New Bedford sailing vessel.  For a moment Larrimore thought Cartwright was making sport of his authority; but when he saw Ben immediately head down the line of wagons to deliver the message, he knew the man he was coming to rely on as his second in command was just fulfilling that role.

    The wagons pulled out, steering wide of the area where the other train camped.  The men and women of the Larrimore train were compassionate enough to want to help the disabled emigrants; but where cholera was concerned, there wasn’t much anyone could do.  The laudanum might help a little, but the disease seemed to kill indiscriminately.  An infant in arms might survive while a strong man succumbed in under twenty-four hours.  Like nothing else, cholera reminded the travelers that they were in the hands of God; and that afternoon many prayers ascended to be spared an attack by the scourge of the prairie.

    The wagons circled for the noon encampment around eleven-thirty to find Clyde and Robert waiting for them at the prearranged campsite.  “What took you so long?” Clyde called.

    “Detour,” Lawrence called, figuring a more detailed explanation could wait.

    Satisfied, Clyde led Payne’s horse back to join his family.  “That’s sure a mighty puny buffalo, Pa,” Billy hollered as he and Adam ran to investigate the fruits of the hunt.

    Clyde gave an embarrassed chuckle.  “Didn’t catch sight of a buffalo, Billy.  This here’s antelope.”

    “Antelope steaks make mighty fine eating, too,” Ben said.  He’d left off unhitching his oxen to see how Clyde had fared.  He rumpled the Thomas youngster’s fiery hank of hair and stooped down.  “Harder to shoot than buffalo, too, son.  Looks like your pa’s quite a hunter.”  Billy’s chest swelled out again, and he gave Adam a triumphant grin.

    “I think we done figured out what it takes to nab one of these skittish critters,” Clyde cackled.  “You sure as shootin’ can’t sneak up on ‘em.  But they’re curious as all get out.  McTavish flapped his big red handkerchief, and a couple come walkin’ straight at us to see what was what.  Nailed ‘em both!”

    Ben laughed.  “Just got to get their attention, is that it?”

    “Yup.  Tell you all about it over lunch,” Clyde said.  “Nelly’ll fry us up some of them fine antelope steaks you was mentionin’.”

    “I wasn’t hinting for an invite,” Ben chuckled, “but I won’t turn one down, either.  Better get back to my team now, though.”

    “And me to mine.  See you soon.”

    Larrimore and Zuebner decided to take their turn at hunting buffalo the next day.  No one expected much from the former merchant and the German grain farmer, but the unlikely pair surprised everyone when they caught back up with the train at its noon encampment near a landmark the guidebooks called O’Fallon’s Bluff.  A joyous shout rang out as the other emigrants saw the men leading heavily-laden horses and ran to congratulate them.

    Ben gave Lawrence a hearty slap on the back.  “Looks like you had good luck, man!”

    Lawrence grinned happily.  “Surprised ourselves.”

    “Who shot the beastie?” McTavish asked.

    Lawrence and Fredrich roared with laughter.  “We did,” the German said, “the both of us.”

    As the other men crowded around, demanding an explanation, Lawrence raised both hands to get their attention.  “I shot first, and the bullet hit, but not quite on target.  It slowed the animal, but didn’t stop him.”

    “That gave me time to catch up and take shot,” Fredrich inserted.  “My aim not so good, either.  Buffalo just stumble around.  Then Larrimore hit him again and he fall.”

    “So you see,” Lawrence chortled, “it took the both of us to bring him down.”  The other men laughed, too, enjoying the joke.

    “Meat’s meat, anyway you bag it,” Ben said.  “You’ve done well, men.”

    “There’ll be a cut for everyone,” Lawrence promised.  “Send your young ones over to fetch it after we’ve had a chance to unload.”

    “Much obliged,” Thomas said and the others echoed him.

    Larrimore moved toward his own wagon, followed by Zuebner, who helped unload the horses and divide the meat.  “You take hide,” Zuebner said.  “Is only right.  You took first shot and brought animal down, too.”

    “Fine by me,” Lawrence agreed, but was immediately negated by his wife.

    “Goodness!” Camilla declared.  “I don’t have any use for that smelly thing!”

    “Aw, Ma!” Sterling protested.  “I want a buffalo robe.”

    “No!” his mother declared vehemently, denying her boy for one of the few times in his life.  “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

    Lawrence shrugged and held the shaggy coat toward Zuebner.  “It’s yours, if you want it.”  Sterling gave the dust at his feet a mad scuff.

    “Sure!” Zuebner said enthusiastically.  “My Ludmilla, she know how to make warm cover out of this.”

    Lawrence threw an arm around Sterling.  “I’ll buy you a robe at Ft. Laramie, son.  Won’t be cold enough to need one before then.”

    “All right, Father,” Sterling agreed, disgruntled, but mollified by the promise.  “I guess I can wait that long.”

    Lawrence walked to the Cartwright campfire.  “Ben, I’d like your help in transmitting some information to the others about the trail ahead.”

    “Sure, glad to help,” Ben replied.  “Incidentally, thanks for the steaks.  Inger’s frying them up right now, and they smell delicious.”

    Lawrence shook his head as if to devalue his gift.  “There’s more meat than two families can eat before it spoils anyway, unless we take time to jerk it.  What the others need to know, Ben, concerns the next five miles.  We’ll be going through some deep sand.  It’s real hard on the oxen’s feet, so everyone will want to watch them closely.  We may need to trade some out with the spare stock if they start to lame.”

    “Sounds like we might not make as much mileage this afternoon as this morning,” Ben commented.

    “No, we won’t,” Lawrence said.  “That’s why I urged everyone to push on this far before nooning.  We’ll get through this hard stretch, but not much further.  If you’ll tell half the folks, I’ll inform the others.”  Ben nodded his acceptance of the assignment.

    After a two-hour break the train headed west into a strong wind.  As the emigrants pushed forward, blowing sand battered their faces, leaving their nostrils dry, their lips cracked.  The men pulled their kerchiefs over their noses, but it didn’t help much.  Though the women tried to shield their faces with the sleeves of their dresses, a layer of dust soon coated them head to foot.  Inger moaned as she stumbled through the deep sand.  With nothing but the muddy yellow Platte to wash in, how would they ever get clean again?  Oh, for the clear waters of the Little Blue River!  There was no turning back, though.  Take a step, take another——trudge, trudge trudge——and try to ignore the sand in your shoes.

    For the livestock, it was worse.  The oxen sank in the deep sand and that made pulling the heavy wagons harder; but, at least, they were shod.  Not the milk cows.  Enos drove them slowly, but the sand wore away at the soft, inner flesh of their feet, and none of them reached camp that night undamaged.

    One of Ben’s oxen began to favor its right rear hoof, so he knew something was wrong.  Stopping his wagon, he checked the ox and found half of its shoe missing.  Clyde helped him unhitch the animal and yoke another in its place.  “I brought extra shoes,” he told Ben.  “We’ll get this critter shod again tonight.”  Ben just nodded his thanks.  In the driving wind, no one talked more than they had to.

    The group that made camp that evening looked disreputable and felt drained, but they were grateful to have come through the worst of the terrain without more trouble than they’d had.  Only Ben had been forced to change teams; and since Clyde had helped him, he hadn’t been delayed as much as he otherwise would have been.  Still, he lost his place in line and limped in forty-five minutes after the other wagons had circled.

    Inger and Adam had walked on with the forward wagons, though; so she had their campfire built and a pot of coffee brewed to greet her husband on his arrival.  Ben would have preferred a tall glass of iced tea, an impossibility on the prairie.  He’d have settled for a cup of cool water, but the turbid waters of the Platte just couldn’t satisfy that craving.

    The oxen found better footing the following day, but nothing else changed.  The trail continued dry and dusty, and even the children dragged along without energy for frolicking.  During the noon stop, Adam lay languidly in the shade of the wagon.  His journal was open, but he couldn’t think of anything to write.  That bothered him.  He wanted his trip to sound as adventurous as he and Jamie had assumed it would be.  But what was adventurous about a mouthful of dirt or nostrils so dry they bled?

    A horned toad crawled under the wagon, probably as eager to escape the sizzling sun as the sweating boy.  Adam picked up the sand-colored lizard and stroked its bumpy back.  Here, at least, was something he could write Jamie about.  Adam turned the little lizard over and rubbed the smooth stomach.  Setting the reptile down, he picked up the journal and began to draw Jamie a picture.

    By day’s end a number of oxen were struggling with loose shoes.  Clyde earned a little extra that night by either reattaching or replacing shoes, two per hoof, to the feet of his neighbor’s oxen.  That night, not for the first time, the members of the Larrimore train, blessed heaven for making a blacksmith one of their party.

    The sun rose, quickly burning away the coolness of the night.  Long before it reached its zenith, the emigrants knew they were facing the hottest day they’d seen in weeks.  The wind was blistering, and the dust so thick Ebenezer Wentworth, for the first time, began to consider that the Bible’s description of Abraham’s descendants might be symbolic, rather than literal.  Either that, or God had worked a greater miracle than the minister had before realized in giving the patriarch offspring outnumbering the grains of sand pelting his face in one day’s drive across the prairie.

    The minister’s request for a Sabbath layover met with hearty approval that evening.  After their ten-day trek, the oxen needed the rest, and so did the people.  Sunday gave them a blessed chance for repose, and most of the emigrants spent the day in exactly that:  sleeping late, taking an afternoon nap and retiring early.  Everyone knew the morrow held nothing but more dust, more drudgery.