Bernice Curler

April 15, 1846, The Dudley family is ready to leave their home in Illinois to join the great migration headed west. The villagers have come out to bid them farewell. Medora, wife and mother, is fighting the tears. She is reluctant to leave her home and friends and fearful of what might lie ahead. She glances over at her husband.

* * * *

William was puttering around the wagons, showing them off. Of course, showing them off. A couple of neighbors from outlying farms were talking to him. They looked inside the family wagon, stepped back and nodded approval. She could see Will's broad grin glowing with pride.

Medora felt her anger rise as it had so often of late. He could be enthused. Well, she couldn't! That box, twelve feet long and four feet wide with walls of wood and waterproof canvas, would be their home for the next five or six months. For six people! Hardly room for six fleas! Of course they'd not all sleep inside; William and Billy would use a tent. And Torrey? Who knew about that girl?

* * * *

There is always conflict between Medora and her second daughter, Torrey who hates female chores and prefers to be a tomboy. But Medora knows femininity is the only recours women have. At this point, the Dudleys are traveling through Missouri but have not yet reached where they will join up with a large caravan.

* * * *

Medora threw an appreciative glance toward her eldest daughter. What a blessing Lavinia was--always so helpful. Without being asked, the girl was already cutting lard into the flour for a pan of biscuit. And Torrey? Medora glanced around. Torrey had disappeared--as usual. Medora sighed. What a difference between the two girls. Even here--Torrey scorning domestic chores, preferring the men's labor. Just then she noticed William and Torrey coming from the meadow, a glint of amusement in Torrey's ruddy brown eyes.

"Can you spare me from chores?" Torrey asked. "Reckon Papa needs help unhooking the critters."

Medora shook her head. "Go on. Be gone." Anything to duck women's chores. The girl should have been born for trousers. Torrey's unladylike behavior was a concern. She couldn't help but worry for the girl's future. How could she make Torrey understand the importance of femininity?--the only leverage we women have. The patterns had long been set. There was no way women could change them.

Medora sighed. If only we could. But we can't, my daughter. You were born female, the same as I.

* * * * *

May 15 the Dudley's are joining up with a large caravan at the start of the prairies. A brief picture of what is was like for the early pioneers.

* * * * *

Medora turned to Billy and told him to smother the coals with dirt then went about finishing her chores. A month of travel was now behind them, but these tiresome task would go on for another five or six months; cooking in the open, rain or not, sleeping on the ground if not in the wagon. Day after day the same. She was thankful she was strong and could manage, not sickly like Elspeth. Poor woman. Looking around the camp, Medora felt real sympathy for the other women who had the telltale swelling under their aprons. How difficult for them. She doubted if there was a single woman in the whole wagon train who had wanted to leave her home for this adventure. It was the men who had the wanderlust notions.

She glanced over toward William. He had finished yoking the oxen and was now rearranging crates in the supply wagon. Arduous work for one who had spent most of his life tending store. The determination of his to own land! Business was his forte. Not farming! She thought how handsome he always looked in his neat frock coat and starched white shirt. To turn his back on what he'd worked so hard for!

With the last box packed, Medora carried it to the wagon. "Do you still have room?"

"Always make room." William's smile was still buoyant. The month's travel had diminished none of his enthusiasm. If only she could feel the same. William took the box and Medora climbed up onto the wagon and settled herself on the board seat. Resentment was futile, she knew, but there were times.. . . .

Ahead and behind the wagons were now jockeying into designated places, some with "California" painted across the back, some with "Oregon." Chains clanked, animals snorted and bellowed, the men yelled and swore. The pungent smell of animal droppings wafted stronger than the fresh smell of spring.

Wagon Master Colonel Owl Russell rode up on his fine looking bay. He spoke to William, then touched his hat to Medora. "Good Morning, Mrs. Dudley. It looks like your wagons are both in fine shape. We'll be pulling out directly."

He rode on, stopping to chat with different ones, probably making suggestions and answering questions. Most of the travelers were novices, just as the Dudleys were. Their emigrating knowledge, like William, had been gleaned from the guide books. William put so much store in that Hastings book.

A bugle sounded. Colonel Russell had given the signal. However, before the wagons began to roll, a shout came from the tree-lined path that bordered the creek as three horsemen approached followed by a procession of wagons.

"Looks like we've got more coming to join us," shouted William above the noise.

Nine wagons in all. The last one was huge, high built, looking two-storied. A stove pipe protruded from the top. Must be a real cook stove inside. Even a side entrance with steps. Medora couldn't help the stab of envy. What a blessing not to climb over a tailgate and worry if your skirts were down. She wondered who on earth the new party could be. Someone of importance?

* * * * *

The new party turned out to be The Donners and the Reeds--true historical characters. The caravan travels on with many conflicts developing between the characters, tragedies as well. The Dudleys become good friends with the Donners and the Reeds. Here's another picture of what the pioneers went through on their journey west.

* * * * *

The caravan traveled on, putting fifteen to twenty miles a day behind them. Long gone was the holiday spirit they had started with. Quarrels erupted often. Reason enough if one slept in drenched blankets, ate cold breakfast when the kindling was too damp to start a fire. Some of the animals were sickening and dying from the alkali water. And now, along the way, the telltales--a cast-off iron cook stove, a carved oak dresser, family treasures; from other caravans that had already passed this way.

The dry, dusty drive left even the younger men exhausted by nightfall. Mike was quieter than usual and Jake seldom played his harmonica anymore. Torrey became more impudent then ever toward him. And Anton, although he'd sit back puffing on his Meerschaum, his hands still busy with his whittling, seemed strangely withdrawn as though something was preying on his mind. Medora wondered if it had anything to do with the friendship William had developed with James Reed. She knew Anton resented the man, but some of the other men did too. Personally, she liked Mr. Reed. She felt it was a good friendship for William to cultivate, like her friendship with Tamsen Donner. The Reeds and the Donners were intelligent and progressive people.

It was afternoon. They were about to start moving again. Medora glanced quickly at the small mirror that hung on the side of the wagon and cringed. How frightful she looked! Her flaxen hair was dull with dust, and her face swollen from mosquito bites. Those intolerable insects--how they swarmed, especially at night.

She rubbed an angry red spot just below her eye, then gingerly picked at a loose, scaling skin on the end of her nose, flicking it off, exposing tender red flesh. Her sunbonnet just wasn't enough protection from the blistering sun and ever-blowing wind.

"Medora." A voice startled her from her scrutiny.

Tamsen Donner was walking beside the wagon. "While we are traveling so slowly, would you care for a stroll?"

"Oh, yes. I'd like that. Lavinia is watching Jenny, and Torrey and Billy are off..." Medora's arched brows raised. "Who knows where?"

"Bring your sketch pad. We'll look for some specimens. Medora, I'm so pleased you've agreed to illustrate my nature book. What you've done so far--the colors are so vivid. You're truly a gifted artist."

Medora blushed from the praise, and made a modest attempt at denial, but was truly pleased.

As long as the wagons continued their snail-like crawl, it gave the two women time to tramp over the drying grasses and sagebrush. Soon they were absorbed in hunting new specimens for Tamsen's book. The two women chatted gaily, enjoying each others company, for the time forgetting the hardships of pioneering--until they came across two small mounds, each with its own crudely built cross.

"More graves," commented Tamsen. "We're seeing more and more as we travel on." The two women moved closer.

"Oh, Tamsen. The size. They must have been just babies." There was a catch in Medora's voice. She knelt to read the simple inscriptions scratched on stones placed at the base of each small knoll.

Richard Ellis, aged two years: June 8, 1846, only two weeks before. Mary Ellis, aged two months--two days later. Bad water? Spoiled food? An over-turned wagon?

"The poor, poor mother." Medora brushed at a tear that slid down her cheek. "To lose two of her babies at once." It revived the loss of her own two little boys as though it had happened only yesterday.

"Indeed," agreed Tamsen. "Nothing compares to the pain of losing a child. There was a sob in her voice too.

Medora nodded. "I know. I know." She'd seldom told others of her loss. The pain was too raw--always too near. But now she felt the need to share with a friend. "I had two little boys who died when we were pioneering in Missouri."

Tamsen put her arms around Medora's waist. "Oh, my dear." The touch was comforting. "I too," Tamsen said. "I was married to a Mr. Eustis before I married Mr. Donner. It was a cholera epidemic during the Christmastide of 1831. It took my husband and my two children all within weeks."

"Tamsen, what a dreadful tragedy to bear. Your children and your husband too! Oh, Tamsen. Tamsen." Tears spilled down Medora's face. She felt overwhelming love for this small woman beside her. The sharing of their sorrow bound them together as nothing else ever could.

A slight gust of wind swirled around their skirts. It sucked up the alkali dust and twirled it into small funnel between the two graves. Medora felt a twisting of pain akin to the miniature whirlwind, a silent grieving for herself, for Tamsen, and for this unknown woman who had lost these two babies--for all women whose arms were left empty.

For all women who must follow a husband's dream.

And as they stood together, Medora looked down on the brown head that shone with a few threads of silver. They had so much in common--both lovers of literature and learning. They both longed to reach for new horizons, yet accepting the limitations set by a social structure they could not change. They both had husbands who must seek new futures, and to whom the must acquiesce.

Now this other bond, the death of loved ones, the strongest of all. Medora felt a special closeness to Tamsen that she'd never felt for anyone before, a friend she'd always treasure. She offered a silent prayer that their friendship would continue forever.

Sacramento Valley
October 25, 1846


The loud clanging of a bell awakened Torrey with a start from her dream of being clasped in the arms of her lover. Steve! And just when she could revel in the luxury of a real bed instead of a bedroll under a wagon. Torrey sat up with a start and bumped her head on the bunk above where Billy, her nine-year-old brother, slept.

"Hey, what's going on?" came from the bunk above.

Torrey rubbed her head as she adjusted her thoughts to the strange surroundings. A meager light seeped in through a small clouded window, outlining the shadowy bulk of the bunk across the small room where her two sisters slept.

Another clang of a bell. "Dear heaven, what's that?" came the sleep-laden words of her older sister.

"Sounds to me like a bell, dummy," Torrey replied, still rankled with Lavinia for having claimed so much of Steve's attention as they were coming down the mountain.

"It's still the middle of the night," Lavinia groaned.

Middle of the night or not, Torrey's-fifteen year-old curiosity now took charge as she jumped from the bunk, crossed the room and opened the door to look out. It had been dark when the Dudley family and their traveling companions had arrived at Sutter's Fort last evening so they had seen little more than imposing adobe walls looming up in a moon-lit wilderness. Steve Magoffison, who had served as their guide for the last couple of weeks, spoke to the two Indian guards at the huge wooden gates. The gates were pushed open and their party entered the fort.

Now the early sun's rays spread enough light so Torrey could see the fort's inner courtyard. Lean-to rooms, such as the ones they and their parents were occupying, lined the inner walls. In the center of the courtyard was an imposing two-storied building with an outside staircase leading to the second floor. Must be Captain Sutter's headquarters, Torrey reasoned. It was so good of that nice Captain Sutter to let them use two of the rooms.

"Empty now, so you're welcome to them" Captain Sutter had told her mother, a touch of bitterness edging his voice. "Most of my workers have gone. Gone to join Fremont's California Battalion."

Torrey knew about the battalion, the reason Steve Magoffison had met them as they were coming down the west side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. They had hardly started across the prairies headed for the Mexican province of California when they learned United States and Mexico had become involved in war. Her mother wanted to turn back. Her father insisted they go on. Good thing, Torrey reasoned, as California was now under United States rule. But there'd been an uprising in the southern part of the province. Colonel Fremont had sent Steve to meet incoming emigrants to recruit them for his battalion.

Their dear friend Anton Zwiegmann and his teamster, Mark, were willing recruits. Her father would have liked to join up as well, but he had not yet recovered from a severe accident he had suffered while they were traveling.

As an early snow had closed the mountain pass above them, there was little chance anymore travelers would be coming down the mountain. So Steve joined the Dudley party to pilot them down the last stretch into the Sacramento Valley. The reason Torrey was now in love.

Another clang of a bell cracked the air followed by the roll of a drum. Her brother and five-year-old sister were now beside her. Little Jenny clutched Torrey's hand as they watched the fort's heavy wooden gates swing open and a long line of Indians march in.

"Golly-gee, we're under attack!" exclaimed Billy.

Little Jenny's hold tightened. "'Course not an attack," Torrey said to calm the two younger ones--herself as well. "Reckon it's just Captain Sutter's workers. He said all his Indians have been tamed."

A rag-tag outfit to be sure. Some wore trousers. Some wore only shirts. Others were so scantily clad, Torrey felt her face flame. The Indians marched in a regimented formation over to the long wooden troughs placed at one end of the courtyard and knelt down beside them. Other Indians came from a cook house with steaming buckets and poured something that looked like gruel into the troughs. The kneeling Indians plunged their hands into the hot thin porridge and carried dripping streams to their mouths. A slurping greedy noise arose. Ugh, Torrey thought. Same as slopping pigs. Is this the way that nice Captain Sutter treats his workers? Yet, the Indians seemed to be enjoying it. She had much to learn about California. Much to learn, indeed.

"Torrey, close that door. Do you want the world to see you standing there in your nightdress?" Lavinia scolded still snuggled in her blanket. "Jenny, come back here in bed. We all need more sleep."

Not on your tooten, thought Torrey. This was a new country, and she was ready to explore. She closed the door and hastily pulled on the old cut-down trousers that had been her father's.

"I'm going with you," said Billy scrambling for his clothes.

"Hurry then. I want to see what it's like to be a part of civilization again." The months of traveling were behind them. They had now reached their destination, and Torrey was ready.

Torrey buttoned on the heavy woolen shirt that had also been her father's, and ran her fingers through her short-cropped auburn curls--in case she met up with Steve. She wished her hair would hurry and grow longer. A couple of months ago, after an incident with Jake their hired teamster, she had cut it all off to make sure no other fellow would want to look at her and get the same idea. But that was before she met Steve.

"Torrey, you're not going out there until Mama says so," demanded Lavinia, now sitting up in her bunk. "You know Mama wouldn't want you roaming around alone."

Bossy as ever, thought Torrey. Just because she's eighteen. Just because Steve spent more time talking with her. But I'm the one he kissed. Torrey closed her eyes to relish that delicious moment even though it had been when they were in the river after he'd ducked her to save her from a swarm of stinging wasps. She wondered if he'd ever kissed Lavinia.

Torrey pushed out the door, Billy right behind her. From a safe distance they watched the Indians greedily enjoying their gruel. When the trough was empty, the Indians rose to their feet amid belches and satisfied gleams in their eyes as they rubbed their stomachs. Again forming a long line, the Indians marched out of the fort.

"Reckon they're off to work the fields." Torrey took her brother's arm. "Let's go explore."