Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852 by Victoria Murata

kneeling over my husband with a knife! All I heard the man say was, ‘Today is your last day, deacon,’ and then he stabbed my husband!”
    Nellie gasped in shock.
    “I screamed and ran at him. I had a candlestick in my hand that I had been polishing, and I began to beat him with it, but I was no match for him. I guess my screams attracted the attention of someone outside who ran in and overpowered the man. The police came and arrested him, and he hanged for the murder of my husband.”
    “Oh, no! I’m so sorry, Mrs. Mueller. Where was John?”
    “John was in seminary school, and when he heard the news he was devastated. He and his father were very close.”
    “Was it an Irishman who killed your husband, Mrs. Mueller? Did he want to rob the church?” Nellie asked, sure that she knew what the answer would be.
    “No, it wasn’t. The man was German, and he spoke in German. He thought my husband was wrong to allow the Irish into the church.”
    Nellie sucked in her breath. It couldn’t be true!
    “And the man who came to my rescue and saved my life was an Irishman.”
    Nellie’s head was spinning. This was wrong. Maybe Mrs. Mueller had gotten confused and mixed up the murderer with the hero.
    “That can’t be true!”
    “Nellie, you’re not angry with the Irish. You’re not even angry with the man who beat your husband.”
    Nellie started to protest, but Mrs. Mueller continued.
    “The Irish and the Germans are all the same, Nellie. We create the differences in hopes of placing blame for the bad things that happen to us. Really, no one is to blame. It’s just the way it is. I loved my husband, but I hold no animosity for the man who killed him. He mistakenly thought he was doing the right thing. My husband used to say we are all here for a reason, and it has nothing to do with power and hatred, but everything to do with love. I’m sorry for what happened to your husband, but you can’t let that ruin your life.”
    “But it has ruined my life!” Nellie cried.
    “Only because you have allowed it to.” Mrs. Mueller took Nellie’s hand. “All you have to do to have a better life is to quit living in the past and appreciate what you have now.”
    “The past is all I have, Mrs. Mueller,” Nellie whispered.
    “No. The past is nothing. You have a life now and people who care about you. We have all had difficult times in our lives. We can’t let those difficulties drag us down.”
    “But your husband…you loved him and he was murdered! How can you ever forget that?”
    “Oh, I’ll never forget it, Nellie. I will always love my husband. I miss him and think about him every day. But what happened in the past will not determine how I live my life today. If it did, I don’t think I could go on.”
    As Nellie walked back to the Hintons’ wagon, she contemplated all that Mrs. Mueller had said. All of these years she had nursed a hatred for the Irish because of what had happened to her husband. Mrs. Mueller’s husband had been murdered also, and yet she had forgiven the man who killed him. Nellie wanted to think of her life differently. She wanted to put the past behind her.
    Lost in her thoughts, she suddenly found herself near the Flannigan’s wagon. Kate Flannigan was bent over the fire, and the others were talking quietly. Nellie remembered what Mrs. Mueller had said about Irish hospitality. If she was going to think of her life differently, she needed to change her thinking about the Irish. Before she thought about how she was going to do that, she took a deep breath and stepped into the light from the fire. They all looked up. Brenna’s face was apprehensive, but she didn’t say anything.
    “Hello,” Nellie said.
    “Good evening, Miss Nellie,” Kate said. “Please come and join us for a cup of tea. The water is just boiling.”
    Nellie smiled and moved close to the fire. Conor got up and offered her his seat.
    “I was just talking to Conor and Brenna about some of the inscriptions we’ve seen