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Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: FUSSY (11/17/16)
Land of Judgment



I hated the way the other men picked on Papa. He was only doing what he felt sure was right. We were all going the same way, following the same trail – the same dream.

They all said the west was the place of new beginnings. Of prosperity. Of dreams come true. That was what Papa wanted. But what we found . . . it wasn't what we'd set out for.

“Ya drive them animals too hard, Pickett.” That was Jason Pike. He was the one with the six oxen who scared me the most – he was always totting around that ox whip of his. “Them horses can't take that. You shoulda brought a yoke eh oxen. They can take the trail. You'll starve these beasts before they even see the Rockies, ya will.”

The night after Pike warned us, I heard Ma begging Papa to take us back home. Hearing her talk about New York almost made me cry.

But Papa didn't turn around.

After a few more days, we began to see the horses getting hungrier. They didn't want what the trail had to offer. Against the men's warnings, Papa fed them all the oats they wanted from our generous supply. I started to worry about my little pony, the pretty one Papa had promised would be mine in Oregon.

Our wagon was something to see. Ma had made sure every detail was in check. Every curtain tucked away neatly, every piece of china secure, the piano dusted daily. She seemed happy with the order in which she kept our home. But she wasn't. She pleaded with Papa each night until both were finally brought to tears.

But Papa didn't turn around.

The horses got worse. They were finicky. The oat supply ran nearly dry before the Rockies. Storms made the wagon miserable to haul, but they also encouraged additional growth in the grass. And still the horses wouldn't eat it.

The men chided Papa worse and worse, not just on account of the horses, but our wagon too. It was too fancy, they said. It would never survive the trip. Papa returned their bullying with insults. Only the trail captain stood in the way of it getting bloody.


“Ma,” I whispered late that evening while she tucked the baby inside his crib for the night. “I'm scared they're going to hurt Papa.”

She wouldn't look at me, but that didn't stop me from seeing the redness around her eyes, the diminishing of the flesh in her cheeks. “Fear doesn't help anyone, Ellen May.”

I still feared.

But Papa didn't turn around.

Near the Rockies, two of our horses went down. One to snakebite, one to starvation. I cried. Ma cried. Baby Joseph cried. Papa did not. He plunged forward, stoic, unchanging, unyielding.

In the Rockies, we lost another. My pony was next. We all saw it. She couldn't keep up. She was skin and bones. I spent hours searching for new food for her. Hours coaxing her to eat, to drink and eventually to rise. We left her behind in a Rockies' forest. Papa had wanted to shoot her. Ma and I objected. He relented, but not without words that terrified me. Wolves would eat her alive, he claimed. But I couldn't bear seeing her die.

“Pray,” Ma said to me, “that God will spare us. Maybe He'll forgive our sins and remove His hand of judgment.”

Our wagon became too heavy for three horses. We abandoned the piano, the crates of books, the stove, even Ma's treasured set of china. She never spoke a word.

But Papa didn't turn around.

All but one family left us to fend for ourselves. We were slowing everyone down with our horses. They refused all grass now. Papa fed them the very last of the oats. Another horse went down within the week.

“Because horses are hard to please,” Ma explained with nary a tear. “We were warned.”

Days passed, one blending into the other. Another step. Another step. We faced forward. We didn't look back. Was that Oregon I glimpsed as the sun descended one evening? Papa told us it was. We were nearly there.

I saw it as I laid my head down and succumbed to sleep. A beacon of hope in this land of judgment.
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This article has been read 808 times
Member Comments
Member
Date
Larry Whittington
11/28/16
I liked the "Oregon Trail" story without naming it.Emotions flowing, hope almost gone withstood the test.

Nice write.
Bonnie Bowden 
12/01/16
Most new adventures aren't what we expect. It must have hard to lose so much.

Well written. I liked the repetition of the line throughout.
Holly Westefeld
12/01/16
Congratulations, Hannah, on your EC for this stark reminder of what our stubbornness/fussiness can ccost those we love.
Holly Westefeld
12/01/16
Congratulations, Hannah, on your EC for this stark reminder of what our stubbornness/fussiness can ccost those we love.
Sherry Brock
12/02/16
Congratulations Hannah- your stories never disappoint. I loved how you built the tension throughout the story.
Shann Hall-LochmannVanBennekom 
12/02/16
This is stunning. You took me back to a time I once loved imaging and brought it to life. Congratulations on your EC. Happiest of dances!
Ellen Carr 
12/03/16
Congratulations, Hannah, on your EC for this well-told story. I was glad of the glimmer of hope at the end.
Bonnie Bowden 
12/04/16
Congratulations on your EC award, Hannah! I knew this story would do well this week.

You have such an ability to engage your readers.
Bea Edwards 
12/31/16
Your tale was a compelling peek into one families terrible journey, eventually and hopefully into a land of promise.