A huge sycamore with a massive, hollow trunk grew about twenty five
yards from Joe's barn. It was a very old tree and taller than most
sycamores. Because it was all alone, and received no shade or
interference from other trees, it had many branches and all of them were
alive. Full-leafed, the sycamore cast comfortable shade over a wide
area.
Joe had his forge and anvil set up beneath the tree. Barbara stood ready
to work the forge's bellows and the horse mule was tethered near by.
Putting new shoes on both mules was the last necessary job before they
could start for Oregon, but Joe was pensive as he prepared to go about
the task.
For a while after deciding to go to Oregon, heightening excitement and
enthusiasm of the older members of the family had communicated itself to
the younger. Carlyle still wanted to know, at least fifteen times a day,
when they were leaving and how soon they would arrive. Joe, Emma, and
Alfred, had come to accept the journey as a matter of course. But Tad
remained the only one whose spirits had not been even slightly dampened.
Leaving for Oregon remained a glorious adventure. But all except Tad had
discovered, when it came time to decide just what was going with them
and what would have to stay behind, that to break off an old life and
start a new one would cause even more wrenches than they had expected. A
house was big, and if another room were needed, one could always be
added. But a wagon box had definite limitations.
Joe had taken the wooden handles from his hoes, rakes, and peaveys. Of
his harrow, he was taking only the metal parts and he had even removed
the wooden handles from his beloved plow. There was little likelihood
that he'd be using some tools on the Trail and he could replace the
missing wood when they got to Oregon. Even so, his tool box was filled.
They had to have an ax or how would they chop wood? He might need his
screw drivers, awls, chisels, augers, wrenches, saws, any time at all.
They couldn't be made more compact than they already were. Naturally,
the rifle had to be in working order. Joe had limited himself strictly
to that which they could not do without on the Trail or would need for
starting a new life in Oregon, and he sold or traded everything he could
spare. It had cost him a pang to part with hammers, chisels, wrenches,
and other tools which he had used so many years that their handles were
worn to the shape of his hand. But he was more keenly aware of the
sacrifices made by Emma and Barbara.
With an eye to Barbara's future needs, Emma had packed the wedding dress
and a few other items which could not be classed as utilitarian. For
herself she had taken only her sturdiest dresses and had packed only
necessities for each of the children. As a final indulgence, and only
after a deep inner struggle as to whether or not she was doing the right
thing, she had packed the first pair of baby shoes each of the children
had worn.
Helping her mother, Barbara had quietly slipped two of Emma's prettier
dresses into the trunk and Emma had promptly removed them. Barbara had
packed a battered rag doll that was greatly treasured by little Emma, a
string ball that was Joe's play-thing, a set of fading wooden blocks
with animals pictured on them for Alfred, and a bright picture that
Carlyle adored. She had argued Emma into accepting these by reminding
her that, though the children would have toys in the wagon, they would
become tired of them. Then these could be brought out and they would
arouse complete new interest.
Those were some of the minor problems. But there had been major
heartbreaks too and Joe knew that only one of them centered around the
stove. Emma was equally proud of an exquisitely made chest of drawers
which probably had been brought to Missouri by a trading party sent out
by the migrating Mormons. They had left the Mormon Trail and had come
into Missouri for food, and because they hadn't any money they traded
the goods in their wagons for bacon or grain. Joe had traded a shoat for
the chest of drawers some six or eight years ago.
Emma said nothing about leaving it behind, but because Joe knew her he
knew what it cost her to do so. Then, with sudden inspiration, he had
pointed out that the chest of drawers could be lashed inside the wagon
and would be a convenient storage place for the clothes they would need
day by day. Emma had paid him with a grateful smile, but that was not
what Joe thought about right now.
He'd been repairing the wagon when he went to the house for a drink of
water. Chance had taken him past the kitchen window, and unseen by her,
he had observed Emma sitting at the kitchen table. Arranged on it was
all her lovely, delicate china. Joe spent an uncomfortable moment
watching her adore with her eyes and caress with her hands the most
exquisite and beautiful things she had ever owned. Then he had slipped
away as quietly as he came, and when he went to the house an hour later
the china was all back in the cupboard.
It had stayed there while the days passed, and Joe said nothing because
he could think of nothing to say. Emma was fighting day by day, wanting
to keep the china and yet knowing that she could not. Finally, and only
yesterday, she had asked Joe, all too casually, if he would take it over
and give it to Helen Domley.
Doggedly, Joe continued his preparations to shoe the mules. He hadn't
given the china to Helen Domley. He had carried it to John Geragty's saw
mill, nailed a box together, tenderly packed each piece of china in
sawdust, covered the box, and sneaked it into the wagon. Now he worried
because it seemed that, somehow, he had both deceived Emma and cheated
Helen Domley.