The Road of Courage

"Yes, ma’am. This is the right place," he said. "But you’ll have to cross the river to get to Laclede’s Landing."

"But we were expecting so much more," she said.

John Campbell took his wife’s hand, and helped her step off the stagecoach. "Now Martha, we agreed to try this. I know it’s not Boston, but when we get to Oregon, things will be better. I promise."

John and Martha had asked their maid and butler, the Greens’, to accompany them to the new Oregon Territory. Mr. Green helped John get their heavy luggage and trunks off the stage. John paid the driver, and the stagecoach rumbled away.

Martha’s brand new shoes were covered with the thick Mississippi River mud. She knew people on the trains from Boston to Chicago noticed her fashionable appearance. But when they boarded the stagecoach in Chicago, people stopped looking at her attire. Savages. They wouldn’t know proper fashion if it hit them in the face.

"Where are the taxi and the porters?" Martha asked.

"I’m afraid there aren’t any here," John said. "Mr. Green and I will carry the bags." Martha didn’t like to walk, but she had to.

"John, just look at these roads and streets. Someone should speak to the authorities immediately," Martha said.

"This is not Boston," John said.

Martha felt awful. Her wet clothes clung to her shivering body, and her hair felt stringy. She was afraid to guess how her face looked. John was muddy from head to foot. He didn’t say a word, and Martha guessed he’d fell. She was still not accustomed to this pioneer lifestyle that John talked so much about. She tried, but couldn’t understand why anyone would give up home, career and security for such primitive travel.

Malindy took one look at her son, and knew he was hurt. His arm was red and swollen, as the bruise appeared.

"Lordy mercy, Willie," she said.

"I fell under the ox, and she stepped on me," he said.

Malindy carefully touched his swollen arm. He winced, but said nothing.

"Well, it ain’t broke that I can tell," she said. "Can you move it all right?"

Willie slowly moved his arm from side to side, then up and down. "It hurts, Ma. But I’ll be alright," he said.

"Go let Pa look at it," Malindy said. "I’ll fix a poultice for it tonight."

The fur trappers visited John and Martha. She didn’t want just any pelt, and shook her head no to all the trappers’ best furs. Finally, one older Frenchman approached her.

Right away, she spotted exactly what she wanted. He had the finished products, beautiful, full-length ladies fur coats.

In perfect French, Martha negotiated the deal. She would take seven ladies fur coats, and six smaller ones for Malindy’s and Susan’s girls.

Shaking his head, he argued with her. But her Boston background gave her the edge. She knew what they were actually worth, and he had priced them three times their value. He couldn’t fool her with fancy French words, for her command of his language was flawless. He traded the thirteen finest fur coats he’d ever made for Martha’s cast iron cook stove.

John stood watching as Martha completed the deal. He had started to intercede, but she was doing far better than he could. When the old trapper left, shaking his head,

John walked over to Martha.

"You made an excellent deal," he said. "You know, that stove would have been too heavy to haul up these mountains, anyway. I’m proud of you."