Without answering immediately, Joe put the mule in the pasture, slipped
her bridle off, and closed the gate. As far as he knew, none of the
children even suspected that he and Emma were planning to go west. But
Tad had a way of finding out much that he was not supposed to know;
perhaps he had been lying awake, listening, the night Joe returned from
Tenney's and talked with Emma. He turned to Tad and said,
"You come along and see."
The youngest children met him at the door, and Joe's heart lightened.
The mysterious fevers attacked baby Emma without any warning at all. But
they left her just as quickly and obviously she was well again. Joe knew
that the youngsters wanted to play with him, but he felt that it was not
a moment for play. They were on the verge of a profound uprooting that
would affect the lives of all.
Barbara sat gracefully on a chair. Emma leaned against the sink, and Tad
slipped unobtrusively past to make himself small in one corner. Joe
glanced at the youngster and saw his eyes glowing and his face wild with
excitement. He cleared his throat and wished desperately that he was a
master of story-telling so that he might give his expectant family an
exact word picture.
"I saw Grandpa Seeley at Hammerstown," he began. "He's an old man who's
spent most of his life in the west and...."
In simple, unembellished language, he told them. He spoke of Oregon,
where any family could live and live well on a quarter section of land
that was free for the taking. He told of the Oregon Trail, which they
would reach at Independence. The chances were good that they'd be
traveling all alone, for most of the Oregon-bound emigrants started in
May, and they might be very lonely. Mules were the best wagon beasts,
but they really should have a spare team or at least a spare animal.
They should take as much food as possible and that meant that most of
their household goods must be left behind. However, selling whatever
they could not take along would provide necessary funds. Even though
they took much food, they would have to depend on hunting for their
meat. However, they would find buffalo and probably other game animals.
The chances were good that Indians would not be a menace.
Joe told it honestly, adding nothing and holding nothing back. He looked
at Emma, who stood white-faced and calm, her back against the wall; at
Barbara, sitting dreamily with her chin in her hand; at Tad, fairly
vibrating with excitement. The younger children, even Alfred who seldom
sat still, seemed to have partaken of the solemnity of the moment and
were listening intently. Joe ran a hand through his shaggy hair.
"Well, that's it. That's the story and it sounded to me like a straight
one. I've told you everything I know."
"O'gon," Carlyle piped in his baby treble. "We go O'gon."
A moment's silence reigned.
Emma clasped her hands nervously in front of her, and then disengaged
them with an effort. "Was Mr. Seeley sure that we can reach Laramie
before winter closes in?"
"He said that we could do it with time to spare. We might even make Fort
Bridger if we're lucky."
Again her hands came together and held, her knuckles white. "Did he say
anything about the quarters we'll find there? I--I should not like to
live in an Indian tent in winter."
Joe smiled. "You wouldn't have to. Laramie's an Army post, but we won't
stay there. Just west of Laramie there's a trading post run by a man
named Snedeker. I can get a job with him for the winter."
"We can't possibly carry enough of everything to see us through. Are
there places along the way where we might buy new provisions?"
Joe said soberly, "Not too many. But we will be able to stock up if we
have to."
"Was--was he sure there'll be no Indian trouble?"
There were frequent occasions when Joe and Emma had the same thought at
the same time, and Joe had a fleeting, terrible vision of his babies'
fluffy hair adorning the smoky lodge of some fierce warrior prince. He
hesitated before replying, then,
"He said we'd have no trouble if we don't bother the Indians and don't
let them bother us." A deepening silence filled the room at the mention
of Indians.
Then there was a knock at the door, and Joe opened it to face Elias
Dorrance. Elias' horse was rein-haltered near by, and the banker said
affably,
"Hi, Joe."
"Hi. Uh--come in."
The banker entered and bowed in turn to Emma and Barbara. "Mrs. Tower.
Miss Tower." His glance encompassed the children and he turned to Joe.
"I wondered if you've changed your mind?"
Joe squirmed inwardly, but at the same time he knew a small
gratification. It was part of etiquette to offer any visitor a meal, but
it was absolutely imperative to do so only if they came at meal time.
Because his family was present, Joe controlled his anger. He said,
"No. No, I haven't."
"I see." Elias remained gracious. "I was merely riding past and thought
this a good opportunity to see you. Well, I must be running along and
it's good to see your charming family. If you care to talk with me, you
have only to come to my office."
Elias bowed again and departed. Joe resisted an impulse to assist him
out of the door with the toe of his shoe. Elias was not simply passing
by. He had ridden out to see if there was any way he could get a
mortgage on everything the Towers had left. Joe felt a cold and clammy
thing that was not physical or born of any solid substance, brush his
heart. He turned to see Emma staring fixedly at the four youngest
children. Her glance roved to Barbara and Tad. Then her eyes met his
squarely. The color that had left her cheeks came back to them now in a
rush.
"Joe, I think it's time we told the children we're going to Oregon!"
"Hi-eee!" Tad shrieked.
Emma cast a reproving glance at him and Tad quieted. But his eyes danced
and a beatific smile lighted his whole face.
"O'gon," Carlyle said again. "We go O'gon."
"It's Oregon, isn't it, mama?" little Emma corrected.