Love Spilled Out: The Ada Wilcox Story

By Ginny Lee Hamm

Its the spring of 1850, and Ada Wilcox wants nothing more than to grieve in private for her son who recently died of fever and ague in their Missouri farmhouse. But a law passed by Congressmaking fertile land available in the Oregon Territorywould capture her husbands imagination and change their lives forever. The Wilcox farm has been unprofitable for years, threatening the familys survival. But now, acres of free land are up for grabs in Oregon to any family willing to make the long, treacherous journey there by wagon train and claim it.

Ada has no choice but to abide by her husbands decision to sell the farm and travel west with him and their eight-year-old daughter, Ruthie. Her resentment festers against her husband for taking her away from her home and her sons grave, and against God, who had not healed her sonleaving her angry, confused, and despondent.

During the grueling trek across the plains, mountains, and rivers, Ada learns how to work through grief from those she befriends on the wagon train to Oregon. But more importantly, she learns what it means to submit to Gods authority and trust Him completely. While ministering to the needs of others, she transforms their lives as well as her own and begins to restore her relationship with her Lord, her husband, and her daughter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781512716429

Ginny Lee Hamm

Originally from Portland, Oregon, Ginny Lee Hamm received a Bachelor’s degree from Portland State University and a graduate certificate from Multnomah Bible College. While researching the Oregon Trail, she developed a profound admiration for the brave women who risked their lives on that difficult journey across the country. She now lives in Indiana with her husband.

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Chapter 1

Spring, 1850

A da, said John Wilcox, greeting his wife the way he always did upon entering the kitchen of their Missouri farmhouse.

Ada Wilcox looked up briefly at her husband before returning to the sticky dough she had been shaping into rolls for that night’s supper. John, she replied, answering his greeting.

There had been a time, not so very long ago, when Ada and John would have had much to say to one another. Now, however, there were no such conversations, and the two once-loving companions barely spoke. A life-altering event last fall had changed their lives forever, in a way that polarized and isolated them from one another, making it less and less likely that they would ever find their way back.

John continued to stand awkwardly near Ada and began flipping his hat in his hands absentmindedly. He looked around the kitchen before fixing his gaze at the floor.

Ada looked up from her work and noticed his hat still in his hands. Why don’t you hang up your hat?

John ignored her, continuing to play nervously with his hat. He glanced around the room with trepidation.

Are you hungry? Ada asked. Supper won’t be ready for a little while. Ada didn’t look at her husband. She hadn’t in some time. She pinched off another bit of dough and formed it into a ball.

We’re going to have to move, Ada, said John quietly, but with conviction.

I know. We’ve talked about this before.

This time I’m sure.

Ada sighed. She and her husband had had this conversation many times in the past. It always made her uneasy, to think about uprooting her family. Osage County? I thought you decided against it. She pushed away a strand of hair that had come loose from the bun wound tight at the back of her neck.

No. Not Osage County.

Not all the way up to Shelby County? Ada feared that her family would have to move so far away from established friends and family. That’s not much better than here.

Not that either. John pushed his suspenders off his shoulders and let them dangle by his side.

Uh huh, said Ada as she dusted her hands with more flour. Her mind raced through the other possibilities. A county at Missouri’s west end? A different state altogether? She breathed in and steadied herself to prepare for what was coming next.

Farther than that.

Ada swallowed hard and then tipped her eyes upward without raising her head. She saw John looking directly at her.

Oregon.

Ada lifted her head and stared up at her husband, searching his face for any signs of joking.

Oregon Territory, actually. It isn’t a state yet. John left the kitchen and walked back to the front door to hang up his hat.

Ada straightened up in her chair and watched as John made his way back into the kitchen. There was an assurance in his stride now, and Ada felt sure that her husband was excited about his new idea.

It’s not a state yet because it’s not even civilized, said Ada with more than a hint of sarcasm. Not likely ever will be, from what I’ve heard.

Not yet. But we can be a part of it, said John as he settled into a chair at the kitchen table directly across from Ada. He tapped his hands on the table with excitement.

Oregon Territory? You can’t be serious, John.

There’s a new law in Congress, and we can get six hundred and forty acres free. All we have to do is work the land and make improvements. That’s better than going to California for the gold. The land is a sure thing!

Oregon. California. It makes no difference. It’s a half a world away.

"Did you hear me, Ada? The land is free! That’s three hundred and twenty acres for me and three hundred and twenty acres for you. In your name. It’s unbelievable!"

What in the world would I do with all that land? I would rather stay right here on our own eight acres.

The difference is that our eight acres has completely run its course. It’s been overworked, over-farmed. It’s tired—barren and empty. Oregon has lots of rich, fertile land, and all it needs is someone to work it. To hear the stories … all you have to do is drop seed from your hand, explained John as he dropped an imaginary seed onto the table, and it starts to grow before it even hits the ground. He tapped his hand on the table for emphasis.

Ada groaned in derision. Stories. That’s all they are.

The point is that the land is very fertile. And free. We would have something to show for all our effort. We could make a living there, Ada. We’re not making it here. Every year we stay here, we’re getting further and further behind. Our land is producing less than the year before, and we have to work harder than ever to even get that. We just can’t keep going on like this.

Everyone has bad years, John. Sometimes even several years in a row, but that could change in the coming year.

Three years in a row, Ada, said John, taking a kerchief out of his pocket and blowing his nose hard with three short blasts. Our income has gone down steadily each of the last three years. Crops just don’t produce what they used to, and there’s no reason to think that’s going to change.

I have faith, John. God will provide.

John stuffed the kerchief in his pocket. God has already provided. He has given us an opportunity to find a better home. Our best option is to move. And the best place to go is Oregon.

Ada narrowed her eyes to study her husband’s face. Do you realize what you’re saying, John? You are asking us to pick up and move everything we own, leave our family and the friends that we have known all our lives, and traipse thousands of miles to a place occupied by ruffians and wild Indians! What could you be thinking?

"I’m thinking about land, Ada. Free for the taking. Land that’s fertile and rich. Land that will grow something and provide income for us. Our lives will be better."

How will our lives be better? Do you know who our new neighbors will be? Indians! Wild savages!

Ada that’s not—

Mountain men! Heathens. Outlaws. I’ve heard all about it. Ada shuddered at the thought and closed her eyes to remove the vision from her mind.

You’ve just been listening to the scary stories. Little old ladies gossiping, that’s who’s spreading all that. But that’s not the whole story. There’s already people living there—farming, logging, operating businesses. People just like you and me.

So your plan is to get us in the wagon and drive it all the way across the country? Ada folded her arms in front of her in protest. That’s ridiculous.

John pulled his chair next to Ada and put his hand on her arm. We wouldn’t be going all by ourselves. We would join a group of other people doing the same thing we are, and we would go by caravan in wagons. It would be safe. It would be a rugged trip, sure, and it would take a long time. But once we get there, Ada, it would be a whole new life!

I happen to like our life here just fine. Do you really expect me to ride in a wagon and live like a nomad for goodness knows how long? And what about Ruthie? She’s only a little child. It’s much too dangerous for her.

Ada thought about her eight-year-old daughter, who was now in the safety of her schoolhouse. She couldn’t imagine Ruthie being subjected to the harsh elements, the wild animals and the even wilder Indians.

"I am thinking of her—and you too. How can I possibly support our family if the land is barren, overworked, and hard as a rock? Our land is all farmed out, and I don’t see anything that’s going to improve it. Johnny was a big help to me in working the land and harvesting, but he’s not ..."

Unable to voice the rest of his thought to Ada, John got up from the chair and strode to the window, looking at nothing in particular. Ada’s eyes did not follow him, but if she had looked, she would have noticed tears brimming in her husband’s gray-blue eyes.

As of late, Ada had found herself gazing out the same window, but when she did, her tears fell in rivers down her face while she stared in the direction of the Elm Grove Methodist Church. It was in the church’s adjoining cemetery that John and Ada had laid their firstborn son, Johnny, who had died of fever the previous autumn. Johnny, a once vibrant fourteen year old, was the couple’s only son, and they had each mourned privately, fearing that exposing their sorrow to the other would only compound their grief. This decision, however, seemed to have increased the emotional distance between them, and communication was becoming difficult, if not impossible.

Ada stood up and took a towel from the table to wipe off her hands and stand as far away from her husband as possible. I can’t leave here, John. I just can’t. I won’t. She bit her lip to prevent it from quivering. Johnny is here, and I can’t leave him. He’ll be all alone.

John turned around to face his wife. "He’s in a grave, Ada!"

Don’t you think I know that? Who is going to tend his grave if I’m not here? Do you want it to become overgrown and trampled and … and forgotten? I can’t bear to think of it. Ada turned around and put her arm up against the wall, leaning against it and sobbing. Don’t you ever think about him?

Yes I do, Ada. I think about him all the time. But he’s gone. He’s in a grave. That’s about all this ground here is good for—graves. And I think about how maybe one of us could be in that hard dirt very soon if we don’t do something to prevent it. The fever and ague come every year and it takes so many lives. What if it’s Ruthie next time? John looked at his wife with a pleading expression, but her back was all he could see. That’s why we have to move.

Ada turned her face to look at her husband through red, swollen eyes. John, please. No, she pleaded. Don’t make me do this.

John walked over to Ada and put his hand on her shoulder tenderly. This is the right thing to do, Ada. For us. For Ruthie. For our future—if we’re going to have one. We’re going to Oregon. My mind is made up.

Ada shrugged his arm from her shoulder. You don’t care what I think? How I feel? How can you do this? Ada’s voice was barely above a whisper.

I really think this is the best thing for us. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but I know you’ll get used to it after a while.

A moment of silence passed before John continued carefully. Ada, I hope you can see your way to agreeing with me on this. That would make things easier. The fact is, I’ve already found a buyer for our place.

Ada whirled around, astonished at this admission, and glared at him in disbelief. You what?

I accepted a down-payment on our place. We’ll be leaving in less than a month.

Ada stared at John and her mouth dropped open as she tried to make sense of his utter callousness. His determination to take the family to Oregon took her completely off guard and her mind seemed incapable of taking it in. Ada could think of nothing to say, but she knew it wouldn’t matter anyway, because husbands had the right to make decisions for their families, with or without their wives’ approval or advance notice. Her protests at this point would avail nothing and she was well aware of it. Hopelessness and resentment began to boil up within her—at her husband who had this kind of authority over her life and her God who had ordained it. How could God allow her husband to make such a drastic and risky decision, only to claim that it was for the best?

I need to go to the bank now, to sign some papers.

Go, then, said Ada, tersely.

I’ll only be—

"Just go!" shouted Ada, not even glancing at her husband. Her angry tone took John by surprise and he worked his lower lip between his finger and thumb. He looked down at the floor, glanced briefly back at his wife, and left the kitchen.

Ada could hear the door closing after him and it had a lonely and sorrowful sound. In the solitude of this moment, she knew that her life was headed on a course over which she had no control. Fear and dread made her stomach tighten and her breathing shallow and short. In her weakness, she grabbed for a kitchen chair and slowly sank down into it. Even though she felt her God to be far away and silent, there was nowhere else to go with her anxiety and fear.

Oh God, she prayed, wiping tears away with the back of her hand. Please make John come to his senses. Please don’t let him move us away. I’m afraid. I have no one I can turn to but You. Please help me make John see that this is not a good decision. It’s dangerous and foolhardy. Please help me to be strong. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.

Ada sighed and looked out the same window as before. She remembered how she had prayed to God last fall to spare Johnny’s life. Would He listen this time?

Chapter 2

I ndependence, Missouri was a big city and Ada could not abide big cities. There were too many people—all different kinds of people—and far too much noise and confusion. She was most comfortable with the slow pace and gentle people of small farming communities, like the one she recently left behind and would most likely never see again.

It had been less than three weeks since John sold their farm and made arrangements to travel to the Oregon Territory. Ada thought about their neighbors back home who would be preparing their fields for planting, buying seed and other necessities for their farm, that is, the ones with sense enough to stay put and not wander into Indian-infested regions half a world away. They could still return, she thought, if only she could convince John to come to his senses.

Look at that man over there, Mama, shouted Ruthie, Ada’s eight-year-old daughter, who had never been outside their hometown and was captivated by the strange sights and sounds of this city. He’s got a funny hat on.

Don’t point now, Ruthie. It’s not polite. She did not see the man her daughter was focused on and didn’t especially care to. If Ada could have asked for one magic wish at this moment, it would be that her husband, John, would come to his senses and take them back home. And then this one hastily-made and ill-conceived decision of his would be forgiven and forgotten. But then, she would have to ask for one more wish too, because they no longer had a home; it had recently been sold along with the farm.

It’s got a tail down the back, Mama. His hat has a tail.

Ada finally turned to look in the direction of the man Ruthie had pointed out. It was no wonder he stood out in this crowd—he was dressed like the mountain men she had begun to hear stories about. They hunted or trapped foxes or beavers and then made clothing out of their furs. Ada had also heard that these men spent a lot of time with Indians, some even marrying squaws, a thought that was repugnant to Ada. He was indeed a spectacle that day, surrounded for the most part by Missouri farmers milling about on the streets, dressed in their slouch hats with overalls or dungarees and suspenders.

Ada stopped for a moment to comb her daughter’s hair with her fingernails and then examined the braids she had carefully plaited that morning. The blue ribbons tied at the ends of her long brown braids were a shade darker than her calico dress, and her cream-colored muslin pinafore showed them off nicely. Ada made sure the braids were displayed on the front of Ruthie’s dress. Just hold tight to my hand, now, Ruthie. I don’t want you getting lost.

What’s he carrying, Mama? asked Ruthie. What’s in his big sack?

The mountain man’s large burlap bag was slung over one shoulder and it looked to be heavy and well-used. He guarded it carefully and carried it as though it were valuable. His boots, Ada could see upon closer inspection, were entirely made from animal skins.

I don’t know, honey. Something valuable. Maybe animal skins. Ada shuddered at the thought of it and hurried Ruthie along.

Where are we going, Mama?

We’re meeting Papa at the mercantile store. ‘Ferguson’s Mercantile,’ that’s what your papa said. I’m trying to look for it as I go. Ada glanced at store names on both sides of the busy street as well as street signs. People bumped into the two of them as they walked on the wooden plank boardwalk, folks who were no doubt gathering provisions for their trip to Oregon, Ada guessed. You still have your doll?

She’s here, Mama.

Just keep holding her tight, Ruthie.

Why did Papa have to go to that big wagon store, Mama? asked Ruthie.

It was a carriage store. ‘Norton’s Carriage and Buggy’. Ada stepped aside to allow a large family to pass by her.

We already have a buggy, Mama.

We’re going to get a different one, Ada replied. Not a buggy this time. A covered wagon.

The words ‘covered wagon’ stuck in Ada’s throat like a piece of tough gristly meat that could neither be chewed nor swallowed. John had decided that the family’s stately carriage, along with their beautiful roan mare, would need to be traded in for a cloth-covered box with wheels and four long-horned beasts called oxen to pull it. Ada wondered if the women she had seen standing near their own covered wagons were as repelled by it at she was.

I think I see it, Mama, said Ruthie, pointing to a building across the street.

Which one? asked Ada, trying to pinpoint where her daughter was looking.

Over there. Ruthie struggled to read the sign. Ferguson’s ...?

Ada read the large sign painted with garish flowers hanging over the swinging doors: ‘Finnigan’s Maidens,’ and looked away embarrassed, appalled that her little daughter had seen such a tawdry establishment catering to men of low moral character. No, not that one, said Ada, watching as a very handsome, well-dressed man emerged from the swinging doors. We’ll keep going, said Ada, hurrying Ruthie along before she could see any more.

Covered wagons with every sort of animal, including horses, mules and oxen, already lined the streets, and travelers were milling about, along with their brood of offspring. Ada had heard that Independence was one of three or four other cities called ‘Jumping Off’ places, so named because that was where people ‘jumped off’—or got their start—traveling to either Oregon or California. Ada couldn’t help but wonder if they were so named by recalcitrant wives who thought ‘jumping off’ the nearest bridge might be preferable to risking their families’ lives in a rickety covered wagon through Indian country all the way to Oregon.

Ada’s stride had become faster after she had seen the seedy-looking saloon, but she stopped short when Ruthie let go of her hand. Ada turned around to see what had happened to her daughter, and noticed that Ruthie was staring intently into a storefront window. Both mother and daughter now stared longingly through the shop window, their eyes opening wide to see what was making their taste buds tingle. Inside was candy laid out in colorful, mouth-watering displays, and Ada felt reason give way to temptation. The two looked at each other, smiled, and made a wordless agreement to investigate the sweet delights offered by ‘Granny McRae’s Treats and Sweets.’

Inside the store, trays of confections of every description lined the counters on both sides, and patrons stood in wide-eyed rapture, spying the mouth-watering choices. Ada breathed in the delectable scent of lightly-burned butter and sugar, which was a welcome change from the pungent odor of animals and sweaty farmers outside. Hard candy of every flavor—peppermint, orange, butterscotch, molasses, lavender, and cinnamon, among others—were displayed at a child’s eye level, along with cream candy, sugar plums, cats eyes, and lemon drops. Small bags of gum drops, peppermint drops, and French kisses were tied with brightly colored ribbons, while large glass canisters held popcorn and nuts of every kind.

Ruthie, I don’t know how we’re going to make a choice here. Ada untied the strings of her purse and found two coins, looked at Ruthie, and dug for one more coin. We can’t spend too much, but I don’t suppose it would hurt to part with this, she said, eyeing the coins in her hand. Do you see anything you like?

Ruthie didn’t seem to hear her mother; her eyes were fixed on a tall cut glass jar full of hard candy, twisted into coils and decorated with colored stripes.

Do you like those the best, Ruthie?

Ruthie turned to look at her mother with an expression of wonder that she usually wore at Christmastime.

Have you made your decision?

I like these the best, said Ruthie, pointing out the colored rock candy.

They look good, sweetie, she said to her daughter. A woman approached them from behind the counter and Ada wondered if she was Granny McRae. Ma’am, we would like to get some of these, Ada said, pointing at the hard candy, and two pieces of horehound.

Got a little sweet tooth, have ya lassie? asked the smiling, plump woman, giving Ruthie a wink. Ada thought that her musical-sounding voice was similar to Ewan McElhaney’s from back home.

Ada handed the woman her coins and told her, This is what I have. Could I get whatever this will pay for?

The pleasant-voiced woman took the coins and found a small bag to put the candy in. I’ll tie it with a wee ribbon, for the lassie. She handed the bag to Ada, and said cheerfully, I hope you both have a bonnie day!

My name is Ruthie, not Bonnie, said Ruthie.

Ada smiled at the woman apologetically.

Aye, said the woman. And a bonnie lass you are.

Ruthie tipped her head up to look at her mother, not understanding the woman. She didn’t see that the woman had reached under the counter to offer her a red lollipop.

For your wee babe, she said, pointing at Ruthie’s doll.

What do you say to the nice lady, Ruthie? asked Ada, as Ruthie reached for the lollipop.

Thank you, ma’am, said Ruthie, smiling up at her.

I’ll be thanking ye for your business, said the cheerful lady with her own distinctive accent, as Ada and Ruthie turned and walked out of the store.

She was a nice lady, said Ruthie as she clutched both her doll and the lollipop.

Aye, said Ada, smiling at her daughter while imitating the store clerk. She took her daughter’s hand again and continued down the boardwalk. We’d better hurry on to the mercantile.

She was nice, but she talked kind of funny, said Ruthie.

She’s from another country, Ruthie. People from other countries talk different from us.

Mama, why are we going to the mercantile? asked Ruthie, while sucking on her lollipop.

Your papa is meeting us there after he is done getting our wagon.

But what are we going to buy at the mercantile?

He has a list of items we need to buy before we can go on the trip. Ada thought that it was difficult to have a conversation with her daughter while walking along the boardwalk of a big city, bumping into people and trying to read storefront signs.

Why didn’t we just bring things from home?

We didn’t have the right things at home. There are supplies we need to have for a long trip.

How long will it take to get to Oregon, Mama?

Ada glanced at her daughter as they walked along the boardwalk. Five months, honey.

Then when will we get there?

Can you count ahead? Name the months, starting with May. That’s what it is right now.

May, June, July, August, September, Ruthie recited. September! We’ll get there just in time for school!

Ada couldn’t help but wonder what kind of school—if any—they would find in Oregon. Would there be educated teachers? Would Ruthie attend classes with Indians? Could she walk to school if there were wild animals along the way or lurking around the schoolyard? Oh, Lord, it’s not too late to cancel this trip and go back. Please make John come to his senses.

There’s Papa! shouted Ruthie. John stood on the landing of a large storefront and she could make out the sign hanging in the front: ‘Ferguson’s.’ Ada thought John looked as happy and excited as she was downcast.

Have you been waiting long? asked Ada, as they walked up to him.

Not too long. Did you have fun looking at things? I see you have a sucker, said John to Ruthie.

It was from a nice lady in the candy store, said Ruthie. She said it’s for my doll, so I should be sharing.

John smiled at Ruthie and looked back at Ada. I’ve got the list, Ada. There’s a lot on it, he said, taking out the folded piece of paper from his pocket. But I think most of it we should be able to get inside here, he said, using his thumb to point backwards at ‘Ferguson’s.’ John reviewed the list of necessities for the journey west, and began reading them off. ‘Six hundred pounds of bacon, seventy-five pounds of rice, fifty pounds of lard, one hundred fifty pounds of sugar, fifty pounds of dried fruit, ten pounds of baking soda, five barrels of flour, and fifty pounds of salt and pepper.’ John looked up at Ada and his face appeared to be just as excited as Ruthie’s when she got the lollipop.

It sounds like I will be doing a lot of cooking, said Ada, flatly.

John smiled and took Ada’s hand. Ada, this is too good to be true. It’s really happening! I’ve already met some other people who are going with us, even Captain Randall. He’s going to lead the wagon train.

Ada’s heart sank all the way down to her shoes. It looked as though John had his heart set on this trip more than ever. The chances of him coming to his senses and going back home were slipping away with every item he read off the list. Not only would she have to grieve for her son, but also for her home and her entire way of life.

Can’t we stop and get food along the way, Papa? asked Ruthie.

No, I’m afraid there won’t be any stores we can go to along the way, Little Bit, answered John.

Maybe we could stop at an Indian village and get some buffalo meat and trinkets, mumbled Ada.

Really, Papa? Are we going to see an Indian village? asked Ruthie.

I don’t know about that, John said, frowning at Ada’s sarcasm. He used his most encouraging voice. It’ll be fine, Ada. We’ll be with a lot of other people. We’ll meet some new friends.

I’d rather be alone. I have a lot of things … to think about. Ada did not want to say in front of Ruthie that she wanted to spend much of the time alone praying and grieving for Johnny. Being around a lot of other people seemed like an intrusion into her private time.

What else is on the list, Papa? asked Ruthie.

John looked at Ada to get her permission to continue, but Ada could not look at him. He referred once more to the list and read, ‘Three rifles.’ I think I’m only going to take two. ‘One belt knife, thirty pounds of lead, three pairs of pistols or two revolvers.’ I’ll have to think about that too. And ‘twenty-five pounds of gunpowder.’

It sounds like Mama is going to be cooking and you are going to be shooting, said Ruthie.

Ruthie, please ... said Ada.

Well, said John, that’s not all I will be doing.

Are you going to shoot buffalo, Papa? Or Indians? Are you going to shoot Indians?

Ada suddenly felt nauseous at the thought of Indian encounters on the trail and that her young daughter might witness an attack by savages. She grabbed the post near the front of the store to steady herself.

Don’t say any more, John, said Ada, turning away from him. I don’t want to hear any more.

I’m sorry, Ada, said John, putting his arm on her shoulder. It’s going to be alright. Really, it is. We won’t be alone.

Ada felt betrayed by John, a man who professed to love her, and yet could so easily force her out of her home, away from family and friends, to go on a very perilous journey, putting all their lives at risk. If she were honest with herself, she would have admitted that she was disappointed in God too—maybe even angry at God—who could have prevented all of this from happening, but apparently had chosen not to. Didn’t God promise to be with us always? thought Ada. Doesn’t the Bible say He will protect us from harm? How could He be expected to do this while her husband could make such foolhardy choices? Wouldn’t that be the same as ‘tempting the Lord your God’ like Satan asked Jesus to do in the wilderness, jumping off a precipice just so God could save Him? She thought about what John had just said: ‘We won’t be alone.’

Except that Ada did feel alone—more alone and afraid than she had ever felt in her life. Dear Lord, please be with us on this journey. Please keep us safe. Please protect Ruthie. I’m so afraid—I can’t pray.

Before she could breathe an ‘Amen,’ a young boy came running through the street, yelling, Captain Randall’s wagon train meets on the old Branson Road tomorrow, come sunup! That would include the Wilcox family. The boy continued on down the street, dispensing his important message.

Ada knew there was no turning back now.

Chapter 3

F or as far ahead as Ada could see, there was nothing but endless prairie stretching in every direction, warmed by the relentless sun above her. The only thing that broke the monotony of the landscape was the line of canvas-covered wagons winding their way across the plains, hauled by the sturdy, steadfast oxen. Ada had grown to appreciate these intrepid beasts because the bulk of the hard work was theirs. They had to pull such heavy loads all day long—wagons stuffed to overflowing with household supplies and equipment—and all they ever got in return for their endeavor was a meal of prairie grass, and even then, they had to forage for it themselves.

The wagon train could be kind of a lonely life, especially since Ada had not made any friends in the first three days, and didn’t feel the need to do so. She was grateful for the opportunity to spend so much time by herself, for it was during these solitary moments she could think about Johnny and try to pray for the strength to go on bravely without him. Ada knew a few women who had lost a child, and she had utmost empathy and compassion for them, but no one could ever fully know the depth of the despair and grief a woman experiences until the same thing happens to her. Perhaps five months of walking alone in the wilderness—thinking, grieving, and praying—was exactly what she needed to heal her wounded heart.

No sooner had she begun to think that walking alone to Oregon might be necessary, Ada’s eye caught a woman, about her own age, walking deliberately toward her, which was odd because she was walking in the opposite direction as everyone else. Ada’s heart sank, because it looked like the woman had a mind to talk and Ada had no desire for conversation at that moment.

"Halloo!" said the woman when she was still some way off, waving her hand in greeting. Ada resigned herself to speaking with the woman.

I haven’t met you before, darlin, and I’ve met a lot of people so far, said the woman when she caught up to Ada. The woman, with a round face and pleasant smile, looked as though she was excited to meet Ada, and Ada wondered if this newcomer would be able to tell that she wasn’t in a frame of mind to engage in small talk.

My name is Beulah Mae. Thompson. Her last name was given almost as an afterthought, and the friendly woman extended her hand and Ada took it.

My name is Ada Wilcox. It’s nice to meet you. Ada mustered all the courtesy she could.

I just have to meet everyone in the wagon train and I knew I hadn’t met you yet, Beulah Mae gushed. We’re going to be with each other for months and months, so there’s no reason to be strangers, don’t you think so?

Yes, said Ada obligingly. Beulah, did you say?

Beulah Mae, hon. Together, like one name. If you say it real fast, it doesn’t seem so long. The woman laughed. I’m from Arkansas and we all have two names.

Ada had to smile at the outgoing woman. Well, I have a short name. Ada.

I think that’s just fine, Ada. Where are you from, sweetie?

Missouri. The eastern part of the state. What about you?

We’re from Arkansas. I already said that, didn’t I? she said, laughing again. Near Belle Point, on the Arkansas River. It’s a beautiful place, unless the river overflows, then it’s not so pretty, said Beulah Mae. But it doesn’t much matter, does it, because we’re not ever going back. We’re starting over, Thad says. He’s my husband. He made the decision and here we are, walking all the way to Oregon.

My husband made the decision too, to make a new start in Oregon. I didn’t want to go. I still don’t want to go, said Ada with a sigh.

Oh, I know just exactly what you mean, hon. None of us wants to go—us women, that is.

Ada had never known anyone her own age who called her ‘hon.’

I’ve talked with a lot of the ladies already, and that’s what they all say, Beulah Mae continued. Walking on the prairie for hours at a time is no way for a refined lady to spend her day, and certainly a wagon is no substitute for a gracious home, at least in my opinion. But what is there to do? Your man says ‘go’ and you go along with him. Now, isn’t that just the way of it?

Ada could easily believe that Beulah Mae had already talked to most of the other women. She was very gregarious, seemed sincerely interested in Ada, and had a way of making a person feel comfortable being around her. Beulah Mae had a slight drawl in her in speech, which Ada found delightful, and she wondered if it was common for people from Arkansas to talk that way.

Did you know we would have to walk the entire way? Ada asked her new companion. I don’t think I have ever walked so much in all my life. I think I have a blister already.

Gracious sakes, no, Ada. Why, if anyone had told me we were going to do that much walking, getting blisters on my feet, I would have said, ‘I’m staying home.’ It is not ladylike to walk around like a nomad in this wilderness. I certainly would have put my foot down! You know I would have, darlin.

You mean the foot with the blister? asked Ada with a smile.

What? asked Beulah Mae, with a confused expression. After a moment she understood the joke and smiled back. Oh, Ada, you are so funny. I like you. She looped her arm into Ada’s as the two walked along. The foot with the blister. Ha, ha, ha. I’ll bet we both get one on each foot before nightfall.

To tell you the truth, Beulah Mae, said Ada as they walked arm in arm, it’s probably more merciful for the animals not to have to drag us along in a wagon. It would just add to their load. And besides that, I think riding in our wagon would make me seasick, rolling back and forth like a ship on the sea.

Now, isn’t that the truth? I confess, I haven’t done it yet, and I don’t think I want to, said Beulah Mae. There are some people who are riding, though.

If anyone would know who was walking and who was riding, it would be Beulah Mae, thought Ada. She made a mental note not to reveal anything of a truly personal nature to her new friend.

Bessie Stevenson—do you know her? asked Beulah Mae. Ada didn’t and shook her head. She is an older lady and I don’t think she’s very well. She has been riding in their wagon and that can’t be doing any good for her health. Poor dear. It’s probably making her worse. Her poor husband walks beside their wagon. His name is Albert. I’ve met him too. But I feel so sorry for him, that poor fellow. He looks so worried. You can probably see him, right up there. Beulah Mae shielded her eyes from the sun and pointed to a wagon far up ahead and Ada tried to make out the lone figure of a man walking beside it.

Miss Bessie has the consumption. That much I did find out, said Beulah Mae. Their daughter and son-in-law are traveling with them and they are just the nicest people. I’ve spent a little time getting to know them too.

Ada paid little attention to Beulah Mae’s last thought because she caught a glimpse of Ruthie running in her direction.

That’s my little girl, Ruthie, said Ada.

Oh my, isn’t she just the cutest thing? said Beulah Mae as the two women watched Ruthie running toward them.

Mama, look what I found! said Ruthie, breathless and rosy-faced from the heat.

What do you have there in your hand, Ruthie? asked Ada, catching a glimpse of the colorful flowers her daughter clutched in her hand. She brushed a wayward strand of hair back into Ruthie’s braid.

They’re field flowers. I picked them for you.

Well, isn’t that just the sweetest thing? said Beulah Mae.

Beulah Mae, this is my daughter, Ruthie. She is eight years old. Ruthie, this is a new friend of mine. Her name is Mrs. Thompson.

Hello, said Ruthie. I’ll give you a flower too. She selected a couple of the flowers and handed them to Beulah Mae.

Well, thank you so much, little darlin, said Beulah Mae. You are just as sweet as you can be.

Ada was proud of her young daughter, and all the more so since Beulah Mae had commented about her. She played with both of Ruthie’s long brown braids and tightened the bows at the bottom. Ruthie’s blue and green calico dress, which Ada had recently sewn, was a little too big for her, which was Ada’s plan; children seemed to outgrow their clothes so fast at that age.