Spirit Pouch by Vaterlaus Stanford

Author:Vaterlaus, Stanford [Vaterlaus, Stanford]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stanford Vaterlaus
Published: 2015-12-27T18:30:00+00:00

[80]

“Is everyone here?” Henry asks looking around.

“I’m here,” Annie skips down the street and stops next to her father. “And Grandmother and Grandfather are coming.” She points behind her.

“I’m glad they didn’t forget that we are leaving this morning.”

“They wouldn’t forget, Father. You’re just teasing.”

“Tom is driving one of the wagons in the supply train, and they already left early this morning,” Henry states.

“Will he get to come with us to Utah” Joseph asks with a worried look.

“Yes,” Henry replies. “But we will have to catch up with him because they are ahead of us.”

“Wagon trains are slow,” William says. “We should have no trouble catching up with them.”

“Yes, they are,” George pipes in. “But they make good distance because they drive long hours.”

“Okay, then,” Henry says cheerfully. “It looks like we are all here, so lets be on our way.”

“To Utah?” Joseph chimes.

“Yes, Joseph,” Henry replies. “On our way to Utah.”

With a puzzled look Joseph says, “How do you know which way is Utah?”

“Well,” Henry says, “we know Utah is west of here.” He points toward the west. “But there are huge mountains in the way, so we are going to go around those mountains. We are going to go the same way the stagecoaches go. After we leave Denver we will follow the Overland Stage Trail up to the Big Laramie River, then head west again.”

“Okay. Let’s go!” Joseph chants with the excitement of the adventure ringing in his voice.

I hear William make a clucking sound with his tongue and the wagon that we are in lurches forward with a bounce and a bump and a rattle that feels like it would jar my teeth loose if my head remains next to the wooden box against which it is resting. And I thought riding in the back seat of my mom’s car was uncomfortable, I think. Maybe I shouldn’t have complained so much. The pioneers certainly had it worse. I don’t think I want to be a pioneer, I re-affirm to myself.

I can hear Joseph and Annie chatting and I can hear William yell, “Haw” or “Gee” to the horse pulling our wagon, but for the most part, the rattling and creaking noises from the wagon drown out the conversations taking place on the other side of this suffocating canvas.

My shoulder and neck and hip hurt from the constant bouncing of the wagon wheels over bumps or rocks and I desperately want to stretch my legs and arms and straighten my back. I remember seeing a picture that hangs in the hallway of our church building of the pioneers. They were walking, not riding, in wagons. I am beginning to understand the reason for that. Riding in a wagon, at least with no padding, is very uncomfortable. No wonder the pioneer children sang as they walked and walked. They would have cried if they had to stay in the wagon.

Being under the canvas in the shade of a building in a wagon that is not moving is one thing, I think, but out in the sun bumping down the road is quite another.

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