Chapter 6: The Wagon train

The wagon train moved westward across the prairie ... ten wagons, twelve oxen teams, and thirty-six souls chasing hope or running from something darker. They would be the last westbound train of the season before winter snow closes the passes through the Rockies and the Sierras beyond. The wagon master ... Harlan Pike ... knew he was taking a huge risk travelling so late in the season; knowing that the upcoming winter would wait for nobody. The sisters walked alongside the third wagon, their few belongings tucked beneath a canvas flap. The kindly driver allowed the sisters to take turns at riding beside him.

The first days were almost peaceful. The prairie stretched in every direction, endless and golden beneath the mid-October sun. Meadowlarks sang from fence posts. The air smelled of grass and dust. Irmgard leaned over the side of the wagon, her hair whipping in the wind.

“It’s beautiful,” she called to her sisters walking alongside the wagon.

Lise nodded, though her eyes stayed on the horizon. “Beautiful things can still be dangerous.”

Greta and Adelheid agreed silently. They had learned that lesson already.

Harlan Pike was a hard man with a scar across his brow and a voice like gravel. He ran the train with strict rules: no straying from the group, no wasting water, no arguments that slowed the pace. With the fast pace, there should have been little time for disputes. But arguments came anyway.

The large family crammed into the sixth wagon bickered over space. The brothers in the fourth wagon nearly came to blows over a broken axle. The plains had a way of stripping people down to their rawest selves. The sisters kept to themselves, working hard to earn their place.

Greta helped gather firewood. Adelheid cooked when asked. Irmgard fetched water and tended to the oxen. Lise did everything ... anything ... to prove they belonged with the train. But even so, they felt the eyes of the other emigrants on them.

Four young women alone. No husband. No father. No protector. Whispers followed them like shadows.

“Strange they’re travelling alone.”

“Where’s their kin?”

“Pretty girls like that won’t last long out here.”

Lise ignored the murmurs. But she heard them. And she knew her sisters did too.

Before long the men’s wives were keeping a close watch on their husbands as several men in the wagon train started buzzing around the sisters like flies to dung ... which was how the married women in the train regarded the sisters. The sisters didn’t encourage married mens’ attentions, but neither did they live like nuns. Doing odd jobs paid for food, but the sisters needed to fatten their purse. They knew a way to achieve that, and there was no shortage of men ... even a woman ... interested in sampling their delights. Only Irmgard remained steadfastly chaste.

The plains were not gentle. One afternoon, a sudden storm swept across the prairie ... black clouds rolling in like a wall, lightning splitting the sky. The wind howled, tearing at the canvas covers. Wagons lurched. Oxen bellowed.

“Circle up!” Pike shouted. “Quickly!”

The ten wagons moved to form a circle with the spare oxen inside. The sisters clung to the wagon as rain lashed their faces. The storm hit with a fury that felt almost personal. Thunder cracked overhead. A wagon tipped in the haste to get into position, spilling crates and a screaming child into the mud.

Greta jumped down to help. Lise dragged Irmgard beneath a wagon for shelter. Adelheid prayed under her breath.

When the storm finally passed, the prairie was a sea of mud and broken branches. One ox lay dead, struck by lightning. A woman sobbed over a ruined trunk ... a family heirloom now fit only for firewood. The child who had fallen was alive but shaken.

The sisters worked until their hands blistered, helping right the overturned wagon.

That night, as they huddled around a small fire, Lise whispered, “If the land doesn’t kill us, the people might.”

Greta nodded. “We must stay together. Always.”

Two days later, the wagon train crossed a shallow river. They camped on its banks, letting the oxen drink and the children splash in the shallows. The sisters washed their few clothes, the cold water numbing their fingers. The sight of them in their wet underclothes attracted the wrong kind of attention.

Lise felt uneasy. The wagon master had been glancing eastward all day, shading his eyes against the sun. Other men did the same. Something was wrong.