out at morning light, immediately after calling out his customary ‘Wagon’s Ho.’ He went on ahead to evaluate the crossing site. Callie sensed his preoccupation and knew that getting everyone across safe and sound sat heavy on Seth’s shoulders. Anything could happen. She was beginning to care for the families on the wagon train and a cold chill of apprehension filled her at the thought of anything happening to any of them.
She worried especially about Hattie Benson, who was expecting her second baby anytime. Her husband and four-year-old son, Charles, were making the journey to join up with family settled outside of Oregon City. Hattie’s eyes shone as she blushingly talked about the baby to come and their future home where farmland was plenty. She and Callie were the same age, but Hattie seemed much younger. She’d been raised in a wealthy family and had never been exposed to the difficulties she now faced, had never run a home on her own. She knew nothing about cooking, much less cooking over an open fire. Callie could see that the jolting wagon and discomforts of the trail were wearing on the young woman more and more each day.
Hattie’s husband, John, struggled, too. City bred, he now had to learn skills that many men were born knowing. Unfortunately, this left him little time or patience to cope with Hattie’s insecurities and needs.
Callie and Caleb had taken their little one, Charlie, under their wing, keeping him with them as often as possible so Hattie had time to rest.
Phyllis Monroe was worried about Hattie, too. She and Callie had asked among the women and there was only one person with midwife skills: Henrietta Widden. Mrs. Widden was old, dirty, and crotchety. She was accompanying her son and daughter-in-law, and was turning out to be more of a burden than a help, doing little around their camp and complaining the rest of the time. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do the work; she just wouldn’t. She liked to be waited on and viewed Becky Widden as her own handmaiden. Becky never complained, and took her mother-in-law’s slovenly ways and continual whining in stride.
Callie shuddered at the thought of Henrietta Widden helping to birth the new baby. Maybe Hattie would have an easy time of it and there would be no need to send for Mrs. Widden at all, but that wasn’t likely. Other women who had had children of their own could be called on for help. However, no one had ever before assisted during a birthing.
Callie reached for her bonnet hanging down the back of her dress, shoving the worries into a dark closet in the back of her mind. The slight breeze felt good on her bare head and she resented having her head encased in the confines of a bonnet. She’d listened to Seth’s warning about her hair or more to the point the tempting color of her hair, and had tried to comply with his demands to keep it covered. Still, she’d like to see him tie a hot bonnet on his head. The image made her smile. Ramrod stiff Seth McCallister in a bonnet. Not likely.
Tucking the mass of cloud-white hair into the bonnet, out of sight, Callie gave a pent-up sigh. She’d been walking for hours and her feet hurt. The new boots were taking longer to break in than she’d thought.
The wagons were going to stop and rest only an hour for the noon break. Everyone was hoping to see the Missouri River by late afternoon. Callie had to make herself stop looking ahead. The endless stretch of the trail discouraged her.
She’d checked on Hattie and came away less than reassured. If anything, Hattie looked paler, more drawn. Callie brought Charlie back with her, smiling as his short legs tried to keep up with Caleb’s long strides. He was a tough little boy and would do well in this untamed land. His mother, Callie mused, was another story.
Just as she’d decided it was worth being jarred to pieces by riding in the wagon, giving her feet and Charlie a break, one of the men from a wagon up ahead came hurrying toward them,
She worried especially about Hattie Benson, who was expecting her second baby anytime. Her husband and four-year-old son, Charles, were making the journey to join up with family settled outside of Oregon City. Hattie’s eyes shone as she blushingly talked about the baby to come and their future home where farmland was plenty. She and Callie were the same age, but Hattie seemed much younger. She’d been raised in a wealthy family and had never been exposed to the difficulties she now faced, had never run a home on her own. She knew nothing about cooking, much less cooking over an open fire. Callie could see that the jolting wagon and discomforts of the trail were wearing on the young woman more and more each day.
Hattie’s husband, John, struggled, too. City bred, he now had to learn skills that many men were born knowing. Unfortunately, this left him little time or patience to cope with Hattie’s insecurities and needs.
Callie and Caleb had taken their little one, Charlie, under their wing, keeping him with them as often as possible so Hattie had time to rest.
Phyllis Monroe was worried about Hattie, too. She and Callie had asked among the women and there was only one person with midwife skills: Henrietta Widden. Mrs. Widden was old, dirty, and crotchety. She was accompanying her son and daughter-in-law, and was turning out to be more of a burden than a help, doing little around their camp and complaining the rest of the time. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do the work; she just wouldn’t. She liked to be waited on and viewed Becky Widden as her own handmaiden. Becky never complained, and took her mother-in-law’s slovenly ways and continual whining in stride.
Callie shuddered at the thought of Henrietta Widden helping to birth the new baby. Maybe Hattie would have an easy time of it and there would be no need to send for Mrs. Widden at all, but that wasn’t likely. Other women who had had children of their own could be called on for help. However, no one had ever before assisted during a birthing.
Callie reached for her bonnet hanging down the back of her dress, shoving the worries into a dark closet in the back of her mind. The slight breeze felt good on her bare head and she resented having her head encased in the confines of a bonnet. She’d listened to Seth’s warning about her hair or more to the point the tempting color of her hair, and had tried to comply with his demands to keep it covered. Still, she’d like to see him tie a hot bonnet on his head. The image made her smile. Ramrod stiff Seth McCallister in a bonnet. Not likely.
Tucking the mass of cloud-white hair into the bonnet, out of sight, Callie gave a pent-up sigh. She’d been walking for hours and her feet hurt. The new boots were taking longer to break in than she’d thought.
The wagons were going to stop and rest only an hour for the noon break. Everyone was hoping to see the Missouri River by late afternoon. Callie had to make herself stop looking ahead. The endless stretch of the trail discouraged her.
She’d checked on Hattie and came away less than reassured. If anything, Hattie looked paler, more drawn. Callie brought Charlie back with her, smiling as his short legs tried to keep up with Caleb’s long strides. He was a tough little boy and would do well in this untamed land. His mother, Callie mused, was another story.
Just as she’d decided it was worth being jarred to pieces by riding in the wagon, giving her feet and Charlie a break, one of the men from a wagon up ahead came hurrying toward them,
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