Wagon Trail (4 page)

The girls said good-bye to the Lakes, then piled into the Pine Hollow van. “How’s everybody doing this afternoon?” Max asked as he turned toward the airport. “Are you guys ready to rough it?”

“We sure are.” Carole smoothed her long dark hair back behind her ears.

“And are you fully aware of how much you’ll be expected to work during this trip?” Deborah asked from the front seat.

“Don’t worry,” answered Stevie. “We’ve worked real hard at the Devines’ dude ranch. And we’ve had a lot of experience in riding Western.”

Deborah frowned. “Well, don’t forget you’ll be riding Western in authentic costumes. Hats, bonnets, skirts.”

“Skirts?”
A note of alarm rose in Stevie’s voice.

“Yes. Skirts. The whole nine historically correct yards.”

“Will we have to ride sidesaddle?” Lisa asked.

“Good question,” Deborah replied. “I don’t know. I know we’ll all be assigned roles to play, where we’ll assume the lives of people who actually might have gone along the trail. That’s done at Plimoth Plantation and a lot of other historic sites.”

“Cool.” Stevie fluttered her eyelashes. “Maybe they’ll let me be somebody famous, like that opera singer, Jenny Lind.”

Lisa shook her head. “Stevie, they’ll be more likely to typecast you as Calamity Jane.”

An hour later, they all said good-bye to Max and Maxi and boarded the plane that would take them out West. “This is so cool,” Carole breathed as the plane gathered speed and hurtled down the runway. “If I weren’t so crazy about horses, I’d be crazy about flying.”

“Then we’d have to change the name of our club,” said Lisa. “We’d have to be something like The Silver Wings Club instead of The Saddle Club.”

“That might be neat,” Stevie said, looking out the window as the landscape rushed by. “But I don’t think it would be as much fun.”

Just as the sun was disappearing behind the mountains, their plane landed in what looked like a wide patch of Western prairie. Deborah hailed one of the few taxis available at the small regional airport, and soon they were deposited in front of a rambling old hotel called the Wagon Train Lodge.

“Wow,” Carole said as Deborah paid the cabdriver. “Let’s go look at all the covered wagons parked by the corral!”

“Let’s get signed in first, girls.” Deborah laid a hand on Carole’s shoulder. “Then we can check out the wagons.”

They carried their bags into a large, airy lobby where stuffed buffalo and moose heads lined the wall. Whole families of other Oregon Trail trekkers bustled around the room, and Deborah and the girls had to take a place at the end of a long check-in line.

“Yes, ma’am?” the clerk said when they finally reached the front desk.

“We’re the Hale party from Willow Creek, Virginia. We have reservations on Wagons West.”

“Ah, yes.” The clerk looked at his computer screen. “You’re in the Kit Carson Suite. Fourth floor, three doors to the right of the elevator.” He handed two keys to Deborah. “It’s our policy to remind all our Wagons West folks that breakfast and the first orientation meeting start at five-thirty sharp, so we advise an early bedtime.”

“Five-thirty in the morning?” Stevie gulped.

The clerk nodded at Stevie and smiled at Deborah. “Shall I have your luggage sent to your room? That way you and the girls can have a chance to look around the corral before dark.”

“Thanks,” Deborah said. “That would be great.”

They left their bags with the clerk and went back outside to get a closer look at the wagons, whose white canvas covers resembled oddly shaped ghosts in the growing darkness.

“Wow,” said Stevie as she touched one of the wooden wheels. “I can’t believe I’m actually touching a real covered-wagon wheel.”

“I can’t get over how rickety they look,” said Lisa. “Can you imagine people actually packing all their possessions in one wagon and crossing rivers and prairies and mountains in it?”

Carole ran her hand along the rough canvas top of the wagon. “I wonder what they did when it got cold? This canvas doesn’t look like it would be much protection from the wind and rain.”

“You’ve got to admire the pioneers’ bravery,” said Deborah, staring at the wagon. “It took a lot of courage to do what they did.” She smiled at the girls in the dim light. “But right now, we need to have the courage to go to bed. Five-thirty is going to come awfully early!”

They trooped back into the lodge and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. The Kit Carson Suite had two rooms, each with two double beds.

Deborah took one room for herself. “I’m going in here to call Max and let him know we arrived okay, and
then I’m going to hit the sack. I’ll see you three bright and early in the morning.”

“Okay, Deborah,” said Lisa and Carole. “Good night.”

“I know you’re excited, but try to get some sleep, girls. You’ll need to be wide awake tomorrow.”

“We will,” promised Stevie.

A few minutes later, the lights were out and everyone was in bed.

“I still can’t believe we’re actually here,” said Stevie. “Just think! Real wagons crossing the prairie to settle the West, just like they did over a hundred years ago! Cowboys, cattle rustlers, gold miners, and sodbusters!”

“Go to sleep, Stevie,” said Carole.

“I can’t. I’m too excited.”

“You have to, Stevie. Otherwise we’ll all be dead tomorrow.”

“You’re right.” Stevie flopped back down in bed. “I promise I won’t talk anymore. I just hope I can go to sleep.”

“Close your eyes and count backward from a hundred,” said Lisa, her voice already sounding groggy. “That always works for me.”

Stevie closed her eyes. “Ninety-nine,” she said to herself. “Ninety-eight … ninety-seven …”

Suddenly a loud clanging erupted in the room.
“What in the world?” Stevie sat up straight in bed, her heart pounding wildly. A funny gray light was pouring through the windows. She gasped. Was the lodge on fire?

“Lisa! Carole! Wake up!” Stevie cried, leaping out of bed and running over to the window. “I think we need to evacuate!”

She looked out the window and blinked. The funny gray light was not flames, but rather the first light of dawn coming over the mountains. And the noise she heard was not a fire alarm, but a man ringing a ranch-style triangle just below their window.

“Arggggh!” Stevie groaned. She turned back to Lisa and Carole, who were blinking at her sleepily. “Never mind. The lodge isn’t on fire. This is just how they wake you up out here.”

“Hi, girls!” Deborah breezed into their room, already dressed in jeans and a gingham shirt. “It’s five-thirty. Time to rise and shine.”

Deborah laughed as Carole and Lisa pulled the blankets back over their heads. “You guys should feel lucky. I read yesterday that the pioneer women had to get up at four o’clock to have breakfast ready by five-thirty. Think of how easy we have it! We get to sleep until almost five-thirty and breakfast is already waiting for us!”

A little while later, Stevie, Carole, and Lisa sat with all the other Oregon Trail trekkers at a long table, eating a gummy yellow corn cereal the waiters called mush.

“Is this what the pioneers ate?” Lisa whispered to Carole as she stirred the thick goop with her spoon.

“Must be,” replied Carole. “I thought they ate bacon and eggs and things like that.”

“It’s not so bad,” said Stevie, digging into her third bowl of the mush. “But of course, I’m starving.”

Just then a tall, thin man with a salt-and-pepper beard came over. He wore a homespun blue shirt and a red bandanna tied around his neck. “Hi, girls,” he said. “I’m Jeremy Barksdale, your wagon train leader. How do you like your breakfast?”

“It’s all right,” replied Stevie. “It’s not Lucky Charms, but it will do.”

Jeremy smiled. “Well, you know we like to make these trips authentic. Lucky Charms wasn’t on the menu a hundred years ago. You’re eating exactly the same thing as the pioneers.”

“Yes, and Stevie’s probably eating as much as the pioneers, too,” said Carole, watching as Stevie polished off her third helping.

Stevie shrugged at Jeremy and her friends. “A girl’s got to keep her strength up somehow.”

As the trekkers continued their breakfasts, Jeremy walked over to a small platform and addressed the entire dining room.

“Hi, everybody.” He held a microphone in one hand. “Welcome to Wagons West. I’m Jeremy Barksdale, and I’m your wagon train master. While you finish your breakfast, I’d like to fill you in on some historical details about the Oregon Trail and tell you some more about this trip.”

He cleared his throat. “From the 1840s through the 1860s, nearly four hundred thousand pioneers crossed the western United States on what we call the Oregon Trail. It was dangerous—pioneers died from cold, hunger, cholera, and Indian attacks—and it was slow. It would take the pioneers a full week to travel the same distance we can travel by car in an hour or two today.”

“Gosh,” whispered Lisa. “I didn’t know that.”

“Despite the dangers, though, a lot of brave settlers drove these prairie schooners through knee-deep mud, raging rivers, and blinding dust storms all the way to Oregon.” Jeremy smiled. “Today, I don’t think we’ll be in too much physical danger, but as much as possible, on Wagons West all of you will be living the authentic lives of the pioneers.” He looked over his audience. “Are there any questions?”

A gray-haired man sitting in the back raised his hand. “Can you tell us about our itinerary?”

“Sure. For six days we’ll travel and work just as hard as the pioneers did. At noon on the fourth day, we’ll stop at Miller’s Rock.” He smiled knowingly at the audience. “I guarantee that by the time we stop at Miller’s Rock, each of you will be a different person. You will have become the pioneers you’ve set out to learn about.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd; then Jeremy continued. “At the end of the fifth day, we’ll stop to rest at Clinchport. We’ll have one day to rest up and then enjoy the rodeo going on there. Some of you may even want to participate in some of the events.” He looked over the dining room. “How does that sound to everyone? Are you prepared for the challenge?”

“Sounds good to me,” said Carole.

“Me too,” agreed Stevie. “Although I seriously doubt we’ll be turning into real pioneers.”

When the dining room grew quiet again, Jeremy continued. “Now I’d like to ask each of you to introduce yourself to the group. You’re going to get to know each other very well during the next six days.” Jeremy looked at The Saddle Club table. “Why don’t you ladies start us off?”

Deborah stood up. She had whispered to the girls before breakfast that she wasn’t going to tell anybody that she was a reporter there on assignment.

“Hi, everybody.” She smiled toward the other tables.
“My name is Deborah Hale and I’m from Willow Creek, Virginia. I’m taking my niece Lisa on this trip, and I’m chaperoning her and her two friends, Carole and Stevie.”

Carole, Lisa, and Stevie stood and briefly introduced themselves. When they finished, Deborah stood up again. “All these girls,” she added proudly, “modestly forgot to mention that they are excellent horsewomen.”

“Thanks, ladies. That’s great. We need all the excellent horsewomen we can get.” Jeremy smiled. “Next?”

The introductions continued around the room. Sitting close to the girls were Mr. Cate, a bearded man from Alabama who played the harmonica, and Polly Shaver, a dance instructor from Ohio. There were families traveling with children younger than The Saddle Club girls and a few retired people on vacation. At one table across the room, though, a tall teenage boy arose.

“Hi, folks,” he said. “My name is Gabriel. I’m also a horseback rider, and I’ve studied the Oregon Trail since I was in the fifth grade. I think it’s terrific, the part men played in opening up the West for the future of America.”

“What does he mean,
men
?” Stevie whispered to Carole and Lisa. “Women played just as important a part.”

“He probably means
men
as in
people
,” Carole said.

“Yeah, Stevie,” Lisa assured her. “He means
men
in the generic sense.”

Stevie was about to say something else, but she looked over and saw Deborah giving them the evil eye. Reluctantly she sat back in her seat and listened to the next introduction.

A pretty little girl with long blond hair was introducing herself. “Hi. My name’s Eileen. I’m eight years old. I’ve been looking forward to coming on this trip for months, and I’m thrilled to be going with all of you. I just know we’ll all have a wonderful time!”

Everyone laughed, then applauded Eileen’s enthusiasm. The last few people introduced themselves; then Jeremy spoke again.

“Thanks, everybody. Not surprisingly, this group is much like the original groups that traveled the trails—about thirty people who range in age from children to grandparents and coming from all walks of life.” He glanced at a small notebook he’d been scribbling in. “While you introduced yourselves, I took some notes, and now I’d like to assign everybody a role to play.”

A murmur of anticipation went through the dining room.

Jeremy looked at The Saddle Club’s table. “Since Deborah’s already in charge of these three young ladies, I’ve decided that she can be an 1840s schoolmarm
who’s adopted these three orphans. She’s taught them their readin’ and writin’ and ’rithmetic, and she’s taking her brood across the country to establish a school for girls in Oregon.” Jeremy smiled at them. “You’ll all be traveling in one wagon. Deborah, you and Stevie will drive. Carole, you’ll ride a horse, and Lisa, you will be in charge of the cow.”

“The cow?” Lisa’s jaw dropped.

“Sure,” Jeremy replied. “Our cook, Shelly Bean, has to have some way to take milk along the trail. We’re not carrying any refrigerators, you know.”

“Do I have to milk the cow?” asked Lisa.

Jeremy smiled. “No, Shelly will take care of the milking. You’ll just have to make sure that the cow gets fed and watered and stays in good shape.”

“Oh.” Lisa sat back in her chair as Jeremy assigned the next people their roles. “When he said
authentic
, he wasn’t kidding around.”

“Shhh!” Stevie said suddenly as Jeremy pointed to Gabriel. “Let’s hear what Mr. He-Man of the West gets to be!”