A Dream for Tomorrow (33 page)

After Fort Boise, where everyone tried to gather enough food supplies to get them through the next leg of their journey, they entered into some very rugged but handsome terrain. According to the captain, they were now in “real Oregon country,” complete with mountains and forests and rivers and streams. Beautiful to the eye but difficult to travel—especially with a wagon.

“It’s no wonder that mountain men travel light,” Elizabeth said to Lavinia as the two of them walked up ahead of the train on the trail. “I’m sure they make much better time than we do with our wagons.” She was thinking of a pair of trappers they’d seen earlier that day while waiting to ford a small river. The trappers had made a few jokes at the emigrants’ expense and then had simply led their mules across the river and disappeared from sight.

“I can’t imagine being able to live very comfortably with only what I could carry on the back of a mule,” Lavinia said.

“Sometimes I think I could.”

“Really?” Lavinia peered curiously at her. “Are you turning into a wild woman, Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth laughed. “I certainly hope not. It’s only that I am so weary of the snail’s pace we seem to travel in these parts. Waiting for the wagons to cross a stream that is easily passed over on foot. Watching with fear and trepidation as wagons are pulled by ropes up a steep ravine. Sometimes it feels so tedious and never ending. And just to get our goods to our destination. Do you not ever see the folly in it?”

Lavinia firmly shook her head. “What would you cook with if you didn’t have pots and pans? Where would you sleep without bedding? And how would you build a house if you didn’t have tools?”

“Yes…I suppose you are right.” Even as she said this, Elizabeth wondered what it would be like to live like a mountain man. Was it really so different from what they were doing now? If anything, it seemed easier.

“Some of our fellow travelers are traveling lighter,” Lavinia said quietly. “Have you noticed how many children are shoeless? Or how many women are wearing what appear to be rags? Do you think they didn’t pack enough goods? Or have they simply ceased to care about appearances?”

“I fear it’s both.” Elizabeth bit her lip. “Sometimes I feel guilty and want to share goods with others. But my parents warn against this. My father is a generous man, but he says if I begin to give to some, how will I justify not giving to others?”

“Asa is a wise man.”

Elizabeth sighed. “And my mother reminds me that what I’ve packed is for the welfare of my own children.”

“That’s true.”

“But as good Christians, shouldn’t we extend our hand to the poor?”

“Jesus said the poor would be with us always.”

Elizabeth frowned.

“Besides, don’t forget how your father and brother share game and fish with others in need. And Hugh and Will and the boys will be eternally grateful for all the hunting and fishing lessons your menfolk have given them. Do not underestimate the benefits your family has shared with many. Even Captain Brownlee uses you folks as examples of how to live successfully along the trail.”

Elizabeth knew that was true. But she also knew that they could probably do more to help others. Lately she had felt torn. She’d see a painfully thin child, and if no one was looking, she’d slip the hungry waif a biscuit left over from breakfast. Then she’d beg the child not to tell anyone of her generosity—not because she was trying to do good deeds in secret as the Bible said, but because she was worried that she’d soon have a whole lineup of ravenous children begging from her. If that happened, she would be putting her entire family at risk. Life on the Oregon Trail wasn’t only exhausting, it was a balancing act between generosity and survival.

Chapter Twenty-Two

T
hey reached the mighty Columbia River on the third week of August. This was a crossroads where once again travelers would part ways. About half the wagons would cross the river and, led by Jim McCall, continue heading north. The rest of the wagon train, led by the captain, would continue west, following the river down to Dalles City. There they would transfer their wagons to a raft, which would transport them all the way to Fort Vancouver.

Mrs. Taylor planned to travel north with the Petersons and to eventually reach the mission near Fort Nez Percé, which was known to some as Fort Walla Walla. With her bundle on her back and her group readying to cross the river, Mrs. Taylor came to say her final farewells to Elizabeth and her family. With tears in her eyes, Mrs. Taylor hugged each one of them—a display of affection that surprised them all. Then she thanked them for their kindness and generosity, and finally she went to board the raft, where the Petersons were waiting for her.

Elizabeth watched Mrs. Taylor, silently praying that God would watch out for her and help her along her way. She admired her courage but was concerned about how a single woman would fare in a mission that was expecting a married couple. And then, just as the men were preparing to untie the raft, Mrs. Taylor, with her bundle still in hand, leaped off the raft and ran lickety-split back to where Elizabeth and her family were still gathered.

“Oh, please,” Mrs. Taylor breathlessly begged Elizabeth. “May I travel with you? Might I join you on your journey to southern Oregon? I want to go to Elk Creek too!”

Elizabeth glanced at her father, but he simply smiled and nodded.

“Of course,” Elizabeth grasped her hand. “You are part of our family now.”

“Truly?” Mrs. Taylor blinked with tears in her eyes. “You mean that?”

“Certainly.”

So Mrs. Taylor ran back to the raft, calling out to them that she had changed her mind and telling them goodbye. As the raft began to move, she remained there, a lonely figure in a dusty black dress, just watching and waving as the Petersons and their wagon were ferried away from her. Elizabeth wondered if Mrs. Taylor was also saying goodbye to her dreams of being a missionary.

Traveling along the south shore of the Columbia River had benefits as well as challenges. The benefits included plentiful game, good fishing, and easy access to water. The challenges were in the terrain. Uphill and downhill…again and again. And the air in these parts was dusty and hot and dry. But knowing the end of the trail was only days away, they pressed onward.

“Why can’t we float down the river right now?” Ruth asked one afternoon. “Why do we have to wait until Dalles City?” Their wagon was stopped, waiting for their turn to cross over a stream that rushed into the river. But stretched out beside them, the river looked enticingly calm and peaceful and serene…inviting.

“Grandpa said there are some treacherous waterfalls ahead,” Elizabeth explained. “Falls that would wreck our raft, and that would be the end of our trip.”

“Oh.” Ruth nodded with a serious expression.

Before the day was over, they saw Celio Falls for themselves. Thundering majestically over a cliff of rocks, they were loud and white and frighteningly beautiful. “See why we’re still traveling on land?” Elizabeth asked Ruth.

She simply nodded. But they all stood there for a while, watching with interest at the way the barely clothed Indians speared and netted salmon among the rocks there.

“Looks like there’s good fishing in these parts,” Asa said. “Once we’re on the river, we’ll have plenty of time to catch some.”

A day and a half later, they reached Dalles City and enjoyed a lively celebratory party that lasted all evening, complete with music and dancing and good food. But the next day they learned the unfortunate news. Although Captain Brownlee had prearranged for their transportation down the Columbia River, he was dismayed to discover that most of the rafts he’d commissioned, as well as the men to pilot them, had already gone downriver. Someone else had offered them more money.

“When I spoke to the captain this afternoon, he was fit to be tied,” Asa told his family the next evening after supper. Mrs. Taylor and Ruth had gone to the wagon to read, but the rest of them were still gathered around the campfire, eager to hear Asa’s report.

“Captain Brownlee told me that the wagon master who commandeered those rafts
used
to be a friend of his. And he said that this overland transport business is turning into a money-grabbing, cutthroat industry. In fact, he declared that this might be the last train he leads west.”

“Poor Captain Brownlee.” Clara shook her head as she refilled Asa’s coffee cup.

“What about poor us?” Elizabeth said. “How will we make it to Fort Vancouver before our ship sets sail now?”

“Don’t go flying off the handle,” Asa told her. “Being that we’re still the lead wagon, the captain assured me that our unit will get the first available raft. However, he also informed me that the raft is only large enough to accommodate six wagons. And he mentioned how a smaller raft is more maneuverable in the rapids.”

“But we still have seven wagons in our unit,” Elizabeth reminded him. “Even with the Petersons gone north, that’s one wagon too many. Who gets left behind?”

“As luck has it, or not, depending on how you look at it, the Bentleys told me they can’t afford the expense of transporting their wagon to Fort Vancouver on the raft.”

“Oh, dear.” Elizabeth felt badly for the young couple, especially since Matilda had just confided to her and Jess that she thought she was with child. “Will they have to go by land? I’ve heard that’s a long and dangerous ordeal in a wagon.”

“No,” Asa told her. “They plan to leave their wagon behind and travel the river with us, only taking some of their goods.”

“Well, it sounds as if we’re set then,” Elizabeth said.

“We’re nearly all set.” Asa cleared his throat. “Matthew, why don’t you tell them your idea in regard to the livestock.”

“I thought we were going to hire someone to drive the livestock west for us,” Elizabeth injected.

“That
was
the plan.” Matthew’s expression grew grim. “Until I met the man this afternoon. The one we’d planned to hire.”

“And…?” she waited.

“And if you want a drunken good-for-nothing caring for your prize Percherons and Molly and the other animals…” He shook his head. “Well, then Charlie Moore will not disappoint you.”

“How do you know he’s a drunken good-for-nothing?” Clara asked.

“Because when I met him, he couldn’t even stand up straight, and he smelled like moonshine and horse manure. I can handle the horse manure, but I refuse to trust my animals to a drunk.”

“Can we find someone else?” Elizabeth asked. “Someone reliable?”