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LOVE ON THE OREGON TRAIL

by Abigail Armani


Independence, Missouri, April 1848

"What?! Reuben?! You're going to stay here and marry Reuben Bolton?!" Rosalind stared at her sister in disbelief. "Like hell you are! I won't allow it!"

Jane tossed her head defiantly. "I am. He asked me and I said yes, and there ain't a thing you can do to stop me."

"Jane - you can't do this." The enormity of her sister's unexpected announcement would change everything. In that brief moment, Rosalind saw her dream of a bright future crumble into dust. "What about our plan?"

"Oh, stuff the plan. Life will be a great deal safer for me here in Independence as Mrs Bolton than it would be spending 160 days in a covered wagon, having to contend with Lord knows what dangers on the trail."

"But ... but we've talked about this for months ... planned it all. You can't opt out now. You can't! We're going to Oregon."

Jane's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Rosalind, but my mind's made up. It was a silly, harebrained scheme anyway. I don't know why we even considered it."

"Well we did consider it - most carefully," snapped Rosalind, "and planned things out to the last detail."

"Oh well - guess we'll leave the adventuring to others, little sister. Reuben says you can come live with us. There's a small room above the saloon earmarked for you. You'll love it."

"I will not - and if you think I'm going to live in some flea pit of a bordello, you're very much mistaken."

"It's a respectable saloon," sniffed Jane, "which my Reuben has turned into a fine and profitable concern." She lowered her voice. "And if there are one or two working girls plying their trade upstairs, so what? Reuben takes a slice of their earnings ... a mighty big slice. Think of all the fripperies and fine gowns we can have. Making do will be a thing of the past. I'll look after you, Rosalind, like I always have since Ma died. You listen to me now, I know what's best."

"Huh. You may think you know what's best for you, but you sure as hell don't know what's best for me. I can't believe this ... you must reconsider, Jane. What do you want to marry Reuben for anyway? He's old and fat and has warts on his nose."

"Oooh - he does not have warts on his nose!"

"Yes he does."

"No he doesn't."

"Does too. And if he's been sampling the charms of the likes of Pearl and Laura, he's likely got warts on another part of his anatomy."

"Why, you little ..." Incensed, Jane threw up her hands. "My Reuben has eyes only for me! Enough of this stupidity. There's been a change of plan, but you'll soon adjust to your new life."

"I will." Rosalind's mouth set into a determined line.

"There ... see, I knew you'd see sense. I-"

"I'm still going."

Now it was Jane's turn to look shocked. "What? No! You can't!"

"I can." Rosalind's face took on the familiar obstinate expression, her chin thrust forward defiantly.

"Don't be ridiculous! A single women setting out unaccompanied? It's unthinkable!"

"Then come with me."

They argued, they pleaded and cajoled each other, and they argued some more, each of them convinced that she was right and the other seriously misguided. In the end, Jane flounced off to the saloon to find Reuben, leaving Rosalind on the rough timbered sidewalk.

"Damn it," she muttered darkly. Taking a long slow breath, she looked around her at the motley assortment of wooden buildings on the main street, some dilapidated with sagging timbers, others smart and newly constructed. Adjacent to the courthouse several new stores had sprung up where emigrants could purchase supplies, and beyond the bustling street the stench of cattle from beyond was almost overpowering on the warm afternoon. Will I miss Independence? The hell I will. Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice close by.

"She's right."

Rosalind turned. A tall cowboy wearing a battered hat was leaning against the post of the dry goods store, his keen blue eyes fixed on her. "What?"

"She's right, the woman you were speaking with. The trail's no place for a lone woman. And assuming you ever reach your destination, what then? You intending buildin' a house with your bare hands?"

Rosalind bristled. "If I have to," she retorted. "I'll have you know I'm very handy with a hammer and nails." To her intense annoyance, he laughed.

"Is that so?"

"You bet it is." She darted a withering look in his direction, turned and walked on down the street, feeling the sensation of his vibrant gaze boring into her back. Looking over her shoulder confirmed she had been right. He was watching her, and tipped the brim of his hat in salute. Scowling, she averted her gaze and headed for home. The wagons were scheduled to move out in two days time; there was much to be done, and she must be ready.


"Won't you change your mind? It's not too late." A dewy-eyed Jane hugged her sister. Rosalind was already encamped with the other pioneers on the prairie at Fitzhugh's Mill, a few miles out of the trading post town of Independence. The camp was bustling with activity, the excitement palpable as the hubbub of voices competed with the lowing of cattle.

"No Janey. This is what I want." Rosalind hugged her tight. "I'm going to miss you, so much. I'm sorry I made fun of Reuben. He's a fine and handsome man." But he does have warts on his nose. "And he loves you. I'm sure he'll make you a good husband."

"Thank you, sweet sister." Jane dabbed her eyes. "Look at you. Twenty years old and off adventuring. But I shall be so worried about you out there all alone."

Rosalind waved her hand at the billowing sea of white canvas wagons. "There must be over four hundred settlers in this wagon train, so I shall hardly be alone. Besides, I have Pa's old rifle, and you know how capable I am with it."

"Don't you hesitate to use it if needs be. You hear me?" Rosalind nodded. "And have you got everything?"

"I'm crammed with provisions and pots and pans, and I bought a Dutch oven and a reflector oven." Though Lord knows how to use it. I don't. "I have boots and shawls and clothing ... sewing kit, candles, buckets, hammer and nails and a saw and an axe, a medicine chest, seeds to plant and a spade and a hoe ... I even packed my books. And the chamber pot - now that's an essential item, don't ya think?" Her eyes gleamed as she laughed, but Jane didn't return the smile; her face was strained and anxious.

"And you have warm blankets? It will be cold at night. And you'll need a bonnet to protect you from the sun."

"Don't fret, Jane. I have everything I need."

"But what if you have too much to carry? You don't want to get stuck because the wagon's overloaded."

"Everything's fine. I'm below 2,000 pounds total weight." Rosalind smiled at her big sister. "I love you, Janey, and this isn't goodbye. I'll write when I can, and we'll meet again one day, I'm sure of it. You hold that thought and don't worry about me." But there was a lump in her throat as, up ahead, the bugle sounded. It was the signal; the wagons began to roll.

"Rosalind, I want you to have this." Jane produced a parcel from behind her back. "I know it's not suitable wear for the trail, not bein' remotely practical ... but when you get to Oregon, wear it and think of me." She handed it over.

"Janey! I can't take it - it's your best gown." She stared at the beautiful raspberry gown with its full, gored skirt, lavishly decorated with a swathe of gold fabric, braiding and lace trim. It was exquisite. It was Jane's pride and joy.

"You must have it. Anyhow, you know it's second hand. Pearl gave it to me. It's too small in the waist for her and it nips me round the middle. You have a better figure and I know it will fit you perfectly. Take it, Rosalind."

"Aw, thank you, Janey. I'll treasure it." Rosalind hugged her sister then climbed onto the wagon, stowing the dress in the back.

At that moment Reuben emerged from the midst of a group of men nearby and came to stand with his arm around Jane's shoulders. He bade Rosalind a safe journey and slipped a packet of money into her hand. "Reckon you'll not have much use for it on the trail, but it might come in useful when you get to Oregon," he said gruffly.

"Reuben ... that's so kind. Thank you. Look after my Janey for me. Promise?"

"You have my word, girl. I'll cherish her. William Adams is the train captain. I've asked him to keep a watchful eye out for you. He's an experienced wagon master and well respected."

Rosalind was about to say she didn't need any watchful eyes thank you all the same, but held her tongue, recognizing Reuben's motives; her future brother-in-law merely wanted to ensure her safety on the long road ahead. So she thanked him, nodded and smiled at the pair of them, then flicked the reigns. The pair of sturdy horses hitched to the wagon began to move forward. She turned her head just once, and there was Reuben and Jane, he with his arm protectively round her shoulders, both of them waving and trying desperately not to look sad. It was a precious moment, one that she stored away to revisit whenever she felt the pang of loneliness or homesickness.

But there was no time for homesickness, there was too much to see. The pioneers had previously been divided into two companies under the leadership of frontiersman and wagon master, William Adams. Rosalind was in the first column led by Adams, and bringing up the rear was another column, comprising the slower wagons and herds of livestock, led by another experienced frontiersman appointed by Adams. Rosalind smiled to herself, feeling both liberated and euphoric. This was her time, her chance to build a future for herself, a new life away from squalor and poverty. It would be an adventure. The fact that she alone occupied a wagon and had no man to look after her concerned her not a jot. She relished her independence; it was a facet of who she was.

She was Rosalind Cole, pioneer, and it felt pretty darned good.


Jack Barnes, the leader of the slower column, rode up and down the lines, taking stock and getting his instructions from Adams. On his way back down, he made a point of falling into pace with Rosalind's wagon. Rosalind disliked the man from the outset. A thick, heavily set man with slanting eyes and a crooked nose, he grinned at her.

"What's a fine young woman like you doin' out here on the trail, huh? No one to keep ya warm at night, huh?" He winked lewdly. "I reckon there'll be plenty of takers for that job." He leaned in close, so close she could smell fetid breath which reeked of stale onions, whiskey and tobacco. "You just holler for Jack Barnes when ya want company, understand?"

"The only person round here likely to be hollerin' is you, when I crack your thick scull with my iron skillet then put a bullet into that stinking ugly bull neck of yours. Now get the hell outta my way and stop bothering me, understand?"

An ugly look crossed Jack's face. "Don't you take on hoity-toity ways with me, girl. You'll be glad of my company before long."

"I think not, jackass. Now move on before I blast your ear right off." She pulled out the old rifle and pointed it at his head.



© Abigail Armani
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.