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  Olga grunted her displeasure with this new restriction, but then said, “Yes, sir.” Thinking it might be a good idea to appease him at this moment, she added, “I'm sorry, sir.”

  Peter smoothed down her skirt and lifted her up from the punishment position. He directed her to sit on his lap and hugged her. He kissed her tenderly. She opened her lips and invited his tongue to explore. Thus far, kissing was her favorite aspect of being married.

  “Mrs. Brunt has supper on the table. Let’s go down and eat. I’ll introduce you to our fellow boarders,” he said, when their lips parted.

  Olga’s face flushed with the embarrassment that they might know what had transpired, but she took Peter’s hand and followed him out the door.

  Chapter 3

  April 15, 1848

  Independence, Missouri

  Under the blaring sound of the steam whistle, Olga and Peter disembarked from the steamboat for the last time.

  “Must they always make that unholy noise,” Olga remarked.

  Peter chuckled. “It’s to dump off the excess steam in the boilers.”

  Olga grunted both with her dissatisfaction with his answer and with the effort to lift her side of their trunk. She and Peter had carried this trunk for several miles in the past three weeks. She was ever so grateful that he had insisted on taking only one trunk on their voyage. Peter hoisted the second handle and they walked down the gangplank to the dock.

  In the preceding three weeks, Mr. and Mrs. Graus had ridden a steamboat down the Ohio River from Cincinnati to Paducah, Kentucky. After a week’s delay, they boarded a boat to St. Louis. The pace of the steamboat traveling upriver on the Missouri was much slower than traveling downriver on the Ohio. After another delay, they completed their final watery leg of the trip to Oregon aboard the boat from St. Louis to Independence, Missouri.

  Along the way, Olga had read pamphlets describing their pending trip west and learned a great deal about wagon trains and the Oregon Territory. Quite frankly, Olga was delighted to be leaving the cold Ohio winters for the wonderful climate, rich soil, and the wealth of lumber promised in the Willamette Valley. Settlers had begun using the unofficial pathway of the Oregon Trail five years earlier. John C. Fremont’s report and maps were the bible for these travelers. However, Olga had found reading it to be too difficult. With the recent agreement with Great Britain, Americans were being granted 320 acres of land just for migrating to Oregon. Thousands of people, like herself and Peter, had insufficient funds to buy land and no hope of inheriting it. Thus, this lure of free, fertile farmland was irresistible. With this westward rush, the Trail had become much more of a highway with thousands of wagons making the trip each year.

  The majority of these travelers gathered their belongings into a wagon and began their trek from their homes. A smaller number of the more well-to-do traveled the first half of the journey along the river, as she and Peter had done. While a faster and easier trip, it forced them to travel light and to purchase their final supplies upon reaching Independence.

  She knew that Independence was the furthest west the steamboat traveled. From this point, the Missouri River turned almost due north. Independence, on the south side of the river, was the westernmost location where travelers could jump-off, as it was called. The wagon trains had to depart from the south side of the river because the Missouri was too deep to cross. From this point, they would work their way 200 miles northward to the Platte River and then follow it for a thousand miles west.

  While others found this an exciting adventure, she longed for the comfort of her soft bed in her father’s house. However, she was a married woman now. For better or for worse, she and Peter were united on this trek. She suppressed all hint of complaint from her voice. It was her intention to spend less time bottom-up across her husband’s lap. In Paducah, when she had excessively complained about the uncomfortable accommodations of the boarding house he had selected, he had purchased a paddle. The thin walls of their room had done nothing to squelch her wails as he applied the polished mahogany implement to her bare bottom. While the spanking was the most painful she had endured, the worst portion of the discipline was the embarrassment of having to show her face in the public dining room. With his point well made, she silenced her superfluous complaints.

  “Pardon my intrusion.” Peter waved a passerby to a stop. “Kind sir, do you happen to know where can we find Major Jamison and his wagon train?”

  “All the trains are assembling over there,” the man pointed down a long road to the south. Olga saw nothing but an open grass field extending to the far hillside. “Ask someone else when you get there.” The stranger tipped his hat to her.

  With her valise in her left hand, Olga carried the trunk handle in her right hand. Peter held the opposite side and his valise as the pair followed a dozen other emigrants along the dusty road. They walked for more than a mile before topping a hill. The vast prairie below was filled with wagons and encampments as far as she could see.

  “There must be hundreds of them,” Olga exclaimed. She had not imagined that this would be such a huge enterprise.

  They walked along the row of white tents displaying the names of the various wagon train leaders. When they found the sign identifying their train they left their belongings outside and entered the tent.

  “Major Jamison, I presume. I am Mr. Peter Graus and this is my wife Olga.” She nodded when Peter gestured toward her.

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat and nodded in her direction. “But I am not Major Jamison.”

  “Uh, I sent word of our arrival and intention to join the major’s wagon train for Oregon.”

  “Indeed, sir, I’m not arguing the point. I am Daniel Woodstock, the major’s assistant on this train. I’ll check you in.” The man leafed through a stack of papers. “Ah, here you are. Yes, you will be in site 22-C. That’s here,” he pointed to a grid drawn on a chalkboard. “We are here, and row C is the third one back, and here is site twenty-two.” He tapped on a spot on the chalk outline. “That will be fifty dollars, in advance—gold.”

  Peter stepped aside and turned his back while fumbling through the pouch on his belt. He handed the gold coins to Mr. Woodstock. The man wrote a receipt and passed it to Peter.

  “Keep yer livestock inside your assigned site.”

  “Sir, we don’t yet have a wagon and oxen. Where can I acquire them?”

  Mr. Woodstock’s eyebrow shot up and he studied Peter. “The money is not refundable.” His eyes narrowed. “I suggest you get a rig very quickly. The carpenter is back in town, and there is a stock dealer as well, but it’s been picked over by now.”

  “Thank you, I shall do just that.”

  The two retrieved their belongings and began counting the campsites as they walked along the rows of prairie schooners. Finding 22-C, they dropped their load.

  “You wait here. I’ll go fetch a wagon and oxen.”

  Peter left Olga sitting atop their trunk. She turned to watch two children, a boy about five and his older sister, playing in the shade of the wagon parked in site 22-D. The sites were each about a hundred feet square to allow a grazing area for the livestock. The covered wagon in 22-D was positioned close to their shared boundary with their four oxen tethered to stakes in the ground on the opposite side. A horse grazed among the huge beasts that were taller at their shoulders than Olga. While the wagon was large, it was smaller than the Conestoga wagons used to haul freight in Ohio and the Eastern States. Olga knew from the guidebook that the soil of the western prairie was too soft to support the heavier wagons. Additionally, there were no bridges across the rivers and their muddy bottoms would not support the wheels. This wagon was about four feet wide, ten feet in length, and three feet deep. The wagon box, as the passenger seat was known, was attached to the front. From the ground to the top of the white canvas bonnet was ten feet. The front and rear ends of the bonnet were cantilevered out to shade the ends of the wagon.

  When the w
ind slacked, Olga heard a distinctive sound. She strained to hear better and smiled while she listened to the rhythmic pattern of smack-groan-smack-ouch-smack-squeal. The sound of a firm palm spanking a soft derrière intermixed with a woman’s vocalization of discomfort and contrition was unmistakable.

  At least I’m not the only one with a stern husband.

  Olga wondered what the wife in the adjacent site had done to deserve a midday spanking. She hoped that Peter would never imagine treating her in such a manner. She hoped that she would not be subjected to the embarrassment of a spanking while traveling with the wagon train. Being with so many people so close together, she suspected that privacy would be minimal.

  The sounds ended and moments later the woman climbed down from the rear of the wagon. Not realizing that Olga was present, she rubbed her backside and then bent over the pot on the cooking fire.

  Olga was uncertain whether to make her presence known, or not, but the issue was put to rest when the woman’s husband jumped down.

  “Why, hello, madam, do pardon my wife’s inattention. We were not aware that we had a new neighbor.” The man removed his hat and bowed. Olga stood and acknowledged his politeness with a brief curtsey. She had never seen a Mormon before. However, she had heard many tales of their eccentric life. While this man’s distinctive dress and sculptured beard were instantly recognizable, he did not appear to be either magical or blasphemous.

  Where are his other wives?

  After initially founding Kirtland, Ohio, the Mormons had left to seek religious freedom further west—before Olga had emigrated from Germany. They had founded Independence, Missouri, but had been driven out as the Gentile population increased. In 1848, the majority of the settlers in the land between the Missouri River and the Pacific coast were Mormons. They were the ones who opened up the West.

  “I am Abram Smoot, this is my wife, Martha, and our two children, Elijah and Ruth,” he continued.

  “I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Olga and that,” she pointed to the shrinking figure along the road, “is my husband Peter Graus.”

  “Where is he going?” Abram asked.

  “He is off to purchase a rig for us. We arrived on the steamboat only a few hours ago.”

  “Does he need any assistance? Does he know which dealers are liars and thieves?”

  Olga shrugged. “He might appreciate some assistance. As we just arrived, I doubt that he knows one dealer from another.”

  “Well, let me see what I can do.” Abram untied his horse and mounted it bareback. “Martha, make our new friend at home.” He tapped his heels into the animal’s haunches. With the animal at a trot, he set off to catch up with Peter.

  Instantly, Olga regretted the exchange. She had no idea what Peter’s disposition toward Mormons was, and she considered that he might not appreciate Abram’s assistance. Olga considered that she might have just set herself up for the paddling that she sought to avoid. Peter might not be interested in hearing her explanation of how she had not really sent Abram to help.

  Martha’s face flushed as she approached. Olga did her best to keep her expression neutral, to hide what she knew of the woman’s punishment.

  “I am preparing some beans for a ham stew.” She looked around at the meager collection of Olga’s possessions. “Do you have anything to eat? Please, won’t you and your husband join us for supper?”

  “Thank you very much for your kind offer. However, I must confer with my husband before accepting your invitation.”

  Martha presented a knowing smile as she demonstrated that she understood a wife’s boundary. “Yes, of course, but know that the offer stands. Please, come sit in the shade. We can watch your things from here.” She beckoned Olga to join her and the children on the tarpaulin beside their wagon.

  “Thank you.” Olga joined her and the two women sat. The prairie breeze in the shade cooled her and Olga pulled her shawl snug around her shoulders. “Are you going to Oregon?” Olga had heard of a Mormon settlement in Oregon.

  “No, we are heading for the New Kingdom beside the Great Salt Lake. Now that the war with Mexico is over, this land is open to American settlers.”

  “I see, but aren’t these wagon trains for the Oregon Trail?”

  Olga watched the far hillside as Abram met with Peter. The two men talked and looked back toward the encampment. Then Abram dismounted and walked beside Peter, leading his horse. The two men disappeared over the hill. From what little she could see, Peter did not appear to be vexed.

  Perhaps I won’t get a spanking after all.

  “You are correct,” Martha answered, “but the Mormon Trail and the Oregon Trail are the same until they split at Fort Bridger—on the other side of South Pass. Your wagon train and ours will be fairly close together for a long time. We will certainly see each other along the way.”

  “South Pass?”

  “Yes, it is the pathway through the mountains. Oregon Territory is on the western side. However, the land that you seek is still a thousand miles further west.”

  Olga sighed, trying to imagine the vast distance and the effort that lay before them.

  Seeing her frown, Martha patted Olga’s hand. “Don’t fret, my dear, a thousand or more people have made the journey without difficulty. You will make it too.”

  The accounts of the trek that Olga had read were written by those who had turned back. Lacking sufficient supplies, or experiencing illness, or for any number of other reasons, they had quit the journey and returned home. All of them had turned back before reaching Fort John which was the halfway point. There was no reason to turn back after passing it. Thus, there were no accounts published by those who had successfully completed the trip.

  Undoubtedly Martha is right. Most all travelers complete the journey safely.

  Olga swallowed the lump in her throat and forced a smile to her face as she pushed the dread from her mind. “Who are all those other people?” Olga waved her arm across the southern horizon.

  Martha followed her gaze. While the four trains were organized in the neat square plots, the remainder of the valley was a disorganized jumble of campsites. Several prairie schooners were weaving through the disorganization, heading westward.

  “Now that the trail is so well marked, most people chose to travel on their own instead of with the organized wagon trains,” Martha replied. “While this saves money, it requires each family to be completely self-sufficient. Our wagon masters, Major Jamison for you and Mr. Hatch for me, provide such things as spare wagon wheels and oxen should we have a mishap. Also, they have cows for fresh milk. The wranglers keep track of our livestock and the scouts hunt for fresh meat. All this means that we can spend more time traveling and less time providing for ourselves. Thus, we make the trip in a shorter span of time than they do.” Martha jutted her chin toward the throng of small campsites.

  Olga realized the wisdom in Peter’s decision to spend fifty dollars on Major Jamison’s expertise. She would not want to be in the vast wilderness on her own.

  “Not needing to pack such extras,” Martha continued, “we can pack more of our personal possessions.” She cast an eye toward Olga’s meager collection of belongings.

  “We came by steamboat,” she needlessly responded. Olga had no idea how much of their money Peter had spent, but she would make-do with whatever he provided. She would make no complaints, not even to another woman.

  “Don’t worry, dearie, we’ll help you out. Is your husband skilled with managing oxen?” Martha asked. “I only ask because so many of the families in the wagon trains are from cities and have no such skills. Oxen are rather difficult to control.”

  “I don’t really know. We’ve only been married a short while.” Olga did not say exactly how short of a time. “However, his family owned a farm outside of Cincinnati, Ohio, and he has never expressed any doubts to me.”

  Three hours later, as dusk enveloped them, Peter and Abram returned riding atop a wagon drawn by two huge oxen. Abram’s horse was tethered be
hind the wagon. Olga noticed that Peter was all smiles, but she held her tongue until she got a better sense of his mood.

  The two men parked the wagon in 22-C, but near Abram’s wagon. Peter had purchased a wagon that was two-thirds the length of the Smoot’s wagon. However, it was pulled by only one yoke of oxen—two oxen per yoke. The Smoot wagon carried the supplies for the family of four and required two yoke of oxen. While he had not discussed the matter with her, Olga saw the correctness of Peter’s selection. They would have a much easier time managing the smaller wagon.

  The two men unhitched the oxen and tethered them where they could eat the grass. Then, Peter followed Abram to join Olga and Martha. Abram introduced Peter to Martha.

  Peter turned to Olga. “See, Olga, we are meeting good fortune. We have already made new friends. Mr. Smoot is a great negotiator and we struck a fine deal.” He beamed. “No one knew where new wagons could be found, but Mr. Smoot knew the merchants, and we found this one. It had been owned by a couple struck by illness who decided to return home.”

  Olga was unsettled with this ill omen, but held her tongue.

  “The wagon is filled with most of what we need. Tomorrow we will begin purchasing our remaining provisions. Tonight, we sleep in our new home.” He gestured to the covered wagon as though it was a castle.

  “You are joining us for supper, are you not?” Martha injected, before Olga could respond.

  Peter glanced at Olga and she nodded ever so slightly. “Thank you, madam. We will be delighted to accept your hospitality,” Peter responded.

  After eating, the newlyweds bid goodbye to their new friends and returned to their own camp. They removed the contents of the wagon and sorted their new belongings on the ground. They had bolts of canvas for tents, hundreds of feet of rope, various wooden and iron stakes, tools, and cooking utensils—Dutch oven, frying pan, coffee pot, tin plates and cups, and knives, forks and spoons.

  Peter had not purchased anything for their bed, but Olga said nothing. She was delighted to have some privacy. During the week on the steamboat from St. Louis, all of the passengers lived together in the communal salon. There had been no privacy. They had slept in their clothes. As meager as it was, this wagon was the first thing that they owned together. Olga spread out some of the canvas on the floor of the wagon to create a sleeping palette. The interior of the wagon was barely large enough for them to sleep side-by-side. She changed into her nightdress and made love with her husband in their new home. Olga was definitely enjoying matrimony.