Coffin To Lie On (4 page)

In a crate, Miranda packed
items precious to her, family pictures and wedding gifts she'd
never used like the silver candlesticks.

Anselm sold the beautiful
furniture he'd made for her. Miranda insisted they take her
sideboard to put the fancy china back in once they had the house
built.

Miranda helped Anselm slide
the heavy coffin into the buckboard. He laid the sideboard, packed
with cooking utensils and dish clothes on it's back next to the
coffin and stacked crates on top of both. The chicken crate,
nestled in a corner of the wagon, was the only remnant of their
well stocked farm.

One last time, Miranda
walked through the empty rooms, picturing the way her house had
always looked. She didn't realize how much she prized the fancy
home until she stared at the bare rooms. Perhaps, it was just as
well, for her peace of mind, she hadn't dwelt on what she was
leaving behind until now. The morning she said goodbye to her past
was the day they left.

After Anselm helped Miranda
climb up to the wagon seat, she turn around and eyed what she could
see of the pine box. He looked pained as he patted his wife's knee.
“You dink of de coffin as a bed ven you need one.”

Solemnly, Miranda nodded
agreement. If she'd tried to answer Anselm, she say something
entirely different from what he wanted to hear.

She turned around to face
the horses while she waited for Anselm to mount his saddle horse
and head the cattle down the road.

She dreaded her coffin was
going west with her long before she had any intention of taking her
last breath. She didn't expect to ever get used to the idea, but
she couldn't explain that to Anselm.

She reminded herself most
of the time she'd sleep in the open under a canvas lean-to hooked
to the covered wagon. That brought images to mind of what kind of
creepy crawly insects and animals would join her each night. She'd
just have to endure the discomforts. The saying, there is no place
like home, came to mind. She knew that was right, whether it was
the home she was leaving or the new one she'd have in the
future.

She resigned herself to the
fact she needed a sturdy box to pack her precious things in. She
was determined to think that way even though the pine box gave her
the creeps.

As she headed the buckboard
down the road, she wondered if her mother had been so wise to give
her that bit of motherly advice so many years ago. She might have
been much happier without it.

If she'd married someone,
other than Anselm, the man wouldn't have been understanding since
every woman knew her place on the farm. Listening to her mother all
those years ago made things so difficult now.

Look where all the lying
had gotten her. She'd be traveling in a covered wagon for months
with her own coffin. The only relief she'd have from the morbid
feeling, when it came over her, was she’d probably be so exhausted
from bouncing on the rough trail she’d fall asleep the minute she
laid down.

She consoled herself the
days would be long and laborious from the break of day until
darkness crept over the wagons. The nights much too short in all
kinds of weather. Just enduring from day to day was going to be
mind boggling enough. She wouldn't have time to worry about that
awful pine box taking up wagon space behind her.

Anselm drove his cattle
into the growing herd on the way to Redwing. Miranda got in behind
the other farm wagons headed the same way. They all had to listen
to the bawling protest of cattle pushed forward faster than they
wanted to move.

Once the men drove the
cattle into a stock yard pen, Anselm tied his horse on behind the
wagon. He climbed up beside Miranda and took the lines. When they
reached the dock, deck hands unloaded the buckboard on to the
paddle wheeler, The Orleans Queen.

Anselm sold the horses and
buckboard on the advice of Clarence Swensen. He claimed to have
found out a team of four oxen pulled a covered wagon easier than
horses. Oxen were plentiful in Independence and had more stamina to
make the hard journey.

At dock side, Miranda just
had time to hug her folks and tell them she'd miss them before
Anselm said they had to get aboard.

She stood at the rail with
the crowd, including the Swensens and other neighbors, lined up on
deck. With tears in her eyes, she waved her white linen kerchief at
her elderly mother and father on shore. As the paddle wheeler
floated slowly away from the bank, George and Jane Wickman became
smaller and smaller. It was with a forlorn regret she thought about
how old her folks had become. She feared she'd never see them
again.

The river trip was a blur.
Miranda lost track of how long it took to float down the
Mississippi River. Most of the time, she was in their state room,
forced to stay in bed with a sick stomach.

Anselm reported many of the
passengers had the same problem. They called the malady sea
sickness. She knew better what was wrong with her, but she wasn't
about to correct Anselm.

Her husband informed her
when they turned on into the Missouri River. He announced in a few
days they would be in Independence, Missouri. There wouldn't be any
laying around for Miranda once they disembarked. By that time, she
hoped to have her stomach completely settled.

Small bites of food stayed
down, and she no longer slept with a pail beside the bed. Of
course, Anselm joked he knew Miranda would get used to riverboat
riding by the time they disembarked.

She gave him a weak
smile.
Poor Anselm. He's clueless about so
many things.

First thing Anselm did was
buy a Murphy farm wagon with a canvas cover. He was told those
wagons, sturdier and lighter than the heavy, cumbersome Conestoga
wagons, traveled easier over the rough trails.

He left Miranda sitting on
the wagon seat while he purchased four head of oxen and harnesses.
Also, he bought a sorrel riding horse with a white blaze on its
face. He'd need the horse when he hunted for meat or helped drive
the cattle. He tied the horse to the back of the wagon.

Once Anselm had the oxen
hitched to the wagon, he backed up by the dock. The dock hands
carried their possessions from the bowels of the paddle wheeler and
loaded the wagon.

Miranda watched from the
seat as they slid the sideboard in. The pine box was placed on top
of it. Her face blanched as one of the hands said, “Dat be a coffin
if ah e'er seed one.”

The other one replied,
“Sure do. Makes me wonder if a body be in dat or who it be
fer.”

All the other hand did in
return was shrug as he went back for one of the crates.

Miranda faced forward, not
wanting to watch the loading process. She couldn't stand to see the
men's prying eyes. Would there be others with the same questions?
Inquiries they couldn't keep to themselves. She mulled the idea
over and decided maybe not. The coffin was hidden in the wagon. If
it stayed hidden under bedding and crates, no one should see it
during the trip. She wasn't about to start the what ifs until they
made it to their destination.

Anselm drove downtown to a
mercantile store to purchase supplies for the first leg of the
trip. While he ordered supplies, Miranda rushed to cover up the
coffin with the tick and bedding. When the bald head store clerk
helped Anselm carry out supplies, all he saw was a wagon filled
with belongings much like any other wagon.

Anselm got directions for
the wagon train encampment headed for Oregon. Fitzhugh's Mill
wasn't far from Independence. They didn't have any trouble finding
the camp with so many wagons lined up. Anselm drove along side the
wagon he'd followed from town and stopped. “Dis for sure de vagon
train headed for Oregon you dink?

The tall, lanky man hopped
down and came to meet Anselm. He held up his right hand. “I be
Wilbur Mast from Virginie.”

Anselm shook hands with the
man as he talked. “Good to meet you. My name iss Anselm Tollifson.
This iss my vife, Miranda. We are from Minnesoooota.”

Wilbur took his hat off,
exposing a crop of black hair, and nodded at Miranda. “Nice to meet
y'all, ma'am.” He turned toward his wagon. “Sarie Lee and younguns,
y'all climb down right quick and meet some folks goin' with
us.”

A chunky, blond haired
woman in her late twenties climbed off the wagon seat and helped
two little boys to the ground. She headed the two towheads around
to Miranda's side of the wagon.

Sarie Lee smiled up shyly
at Miranda and Anselm as her husband made introductions. Bobby Lee,
four years old and Jefferson Davis, six years old, hugged their
mother's legs bashfully as they stared at the strangers.

Wilbur pointed to the group
meeting in the center of the camp. “I reckon that's the wagon
master's plaverin' goin' on right now. He must be explainin' the
rules and takin' the trip fees.”

“
Ve
should hurry if ve vant to know vat ve are supposed to do,” Anselm
said. “You park at de end of de line. I vill park after
you.”

Once the wagons were in the
line, Anselm climbed off the wagon and helped Miranda down. They
walked with the Mast family to the gathering.

Anselm turned around when
he heard another wagon approach. Clarence Swensen's wagon pulled up
behind theirs. Anselm waved for him and his family to follow
along.

In the next few minutes,
four other families from the Redwing area lined up behind the
Swensen wagon. Those men had been at the meeting in the fall at
Anselm's farm to talk about going west.

Anselm shook hands with
Clarence Swensen, Hjalmar Sorenson, Olaf Krebsbach, Carl Jaeger,
,Florian Bjornson and Oskar Fjelde. He was glad to have so many
former neighbors, traveling along with him in this wagon train of
strangers. He introduced Wilbur Mast and his family to his
friends.

Anselm motioned toward
Sarie Lee, standing by Miranda, and introduced her to the farmers'
wives. They gazed fell briefly on Miranda and focused on Sarie Lee,
barely nodding at her.

Chapter 5

In the middle of the crowd,
a short, pot bellied man, in his late fifties with gray hair,
looked their way. He thumbed the brim of his western hat off his
forehead. “Howdy, folks. Gather around. I'm Jim Coopersmith, wagon
master for this train. I'm just about to explain what happens on
the trip, and what's expected of this train's members.” He stuck
his thumbs under his suspender straps and looked from man to man
and started a litany of the routine.

Miranda thought Mr.
Coopersmith had repeated that speech several times before. He had
it memorized. It was good to know he was an experienced wagon
master.

“
All
right, folks, wake up time each morning is four. Whoever is on
guard duty at will fire his rifle as a wake up call. Men, I don't
want you to roll out of bed with a gun in your hands, thinking it's
an Indian attack. The guard would appreciate you didn't shoot the
messenger.” The men hooted.

The wagon master grinned at
his own joke and began again. “Ladies, you have two hours to cook
breakfast, feed your family and break up camp. Men you get your
oxen caught, hitched to the wagon and help the women with camp
break up.

We travel at seven each
morning. When I sound my bugle, it's time to roll out. Close to
noon we stop for an hour to eat. Each time we stop remember we'll
always form a circle.

Noon break will seem like a
short hour. I expect you to put the fire out, load cooking
utensils, hitch oxen and be ready to roll by one when I sound the
bugle.

We always circle the wagons
when we stop and unhitch the oxen to graze. Turn them loose inside
the circle. You should pull your wagon forward until the tongue is
up to the wagon's back wheel in front of you.

That keeps the oxen from
straying away and lessens the chance of Indians sneaking in on us.
Though I've been told the Indians aren't much trouble right
now.

Meet our scout, Jasper
Regal. He'll keep us on the right trail and scout out camping
places. Ain't that right, Jasper?”

All eyes went to the scout,
in fringed buckskins and moccasins, who quietly leaned against a
wagon wheel. He wore a belt with a pistol holstered on one side and
a knife on the other. The frontiersman threw back his head and
laughed boisterously. “Haw, haw!” His voice was deeply coarse. “If
you say so.”

“
I do, so
say howdy to the folks, Jasper.” Coopersmith waved at the crowd
with the back of his hand.

“
How do.”
Jasper snatched his skin cap off his matted dark
hair.

Sarie Lee whispered,
“Mercy, is that man safe for us women to be around?”

Miranda shrugged. “The man
appears to stay as far away from civilization as he can get. Wonder
if he has a family?'

“
I'd say
not,” Sarie Lee whispered, sizing up the scout. “He's a range bull
if I ever smelled one. Never been a ring in his
nose.”

Mr. Coopersmith continued,
“Last stop for the night Jasper picks us a place to camp near water
if we're lucky. You need to fill all the barrels each time we stop.
When the women have washings, then be the time while we're camped
for the night. Usually there will be plenty of bushes to dry
clothes on.