Angie of the Garden

Chapter Eight-2

On the night before her journey was to begin, Angie Barton ventured into Independence alone. This would be the last opportunity to enjoy the varied forms of entertainment one could only find in a town, albeit a very small one in this case. Angie quickly discovered that the saloons here were as loud as those on Ann Street in Boston. She stepped into one of them and recognized several faces from the camp.

"Why Miss Barton," one of the men greeted her. "I'd never figure to see you in this place."
"When in Rome, do as the Romans due, Mr.

Clever," she answered with a grin.

Angie bought a glass of whiskey, sipping from it as she watched the crowd. These people were about to face hardships they could not even imagine now. The urgency in which they enjoyed the music and spirits could only be found among those on the edge of the frontier. Angie danced with several of the men. Their complete lack of self- consciousness more than compensated for these awkward dancers' lack of grace. Her spirits soared as she moved across the floor.

As the evening wore on, one man became increasingly bold. Until this moment Angie had managed to put off his unwanted advances in a good-natured manner, but Tim Nash had now reached the point where alcohol holds sway over reason. He managed to maneuver Angie into a small corridor that led to the supply room. He put his arms around her and kissed her hard on the mouth. Angie pushed him away.

"You are not yourself. Leave me alone, or I will have to call for assistance."

Angie spoke loudly, but the din of the crowd was too great for anyone to hear her. Nash hesitated for a moment, but when no one came, he resumed his aggressive behavior.

"Come on, darling. Shoot, this is why you came here tonight."

He took a step towards her, and then suddenly fell to the ground in excruciating pain. Angie had prevailed with a well-placed knee in his groin. Another man arrived just as the assailant hit the floor. He escorted Angie away from the drunken Nash.

"I guess you don't need my help," the tall stranger said to her as they rejoined the crowd.
"No, but thank you, anyway," Angie, who was still somewhat shaken, said to him. "My name is Ted Sanders. I work for Silas Crawford."
"Oh, yes, he's our guide. My name is Angie Barton."
"You're with Wyatt. I saw you buying supplies with him. Can I buy you a drink?" "Actually, I could use some fresh air."
"That sounds about right. Let's go."

They stepped outside, strolling along the dirt road that was the main street of Independence. Angie took out her silver flask of whiskey and offered some to Ted. He accepted. There was a full moon rising above the level plain that began at the edge of town. Angie wondered what was waiting for her beyond the horizon.

"Do you know where I could buy a knife?"

Angie asked him.

"After tonight, I don't blame you for asking. I have a few in my tent that I bought
to trade with the Indians. I can spare one."
"How much do you want for it?"
"It cost me a dollar. But I bought it with the money you gave Silas, so I'm not
gonna charge you twice."

They walked back to the camp. Ted gave her the knife, though the expression on his face revealed his lack of faith in her ability to use it. The two then bade each other good night. Angie went into her tent and received a visit from Cassia shortly after. She showed the visitor her weapon.

"You got a knife? Why?"
"A man tried to force himself on me tonight."
"Are you alright?" Cassia asked as she put a hand on her shoulder.
"Yes. I barely managed to overcome him. But I wouldn't want to be caught ldefenseless again."
"Have you ever used a knife to defend yourself before?'
"No I haven't. But I expect to learn how to do many things on this trip. I probably won't be the same after it's over."
Angie had a far away look in her eyes.
"I never thought about that. But you're right. I guess we'll all be different people at the end. I'll see you tomorrow."

A bugle awoke Angie before first light. Like the others in her group she would come to despise that sound over the coming months. The immigrants arose, and then sleepily prepared their breakfast. The animals were hooked up to the wagons as the dawn illuminated the sky. Silas Crawford addressed the people before they began their long trek. He had assembled the group that was now known as the Crawford Party next to a large fire near their wagons. In this way the guide could look each of them in the eye as he spoke.

"I just want to give you some good advice before we leave. Don't think you've seen the worst, or had your toughest day, until you've reached wherever it is you're going to. Some of you are gonna find the traveling too rough about halfway there. Those folks will just settle down at the first decent place they find. And I know there are some of you who will see the elephant before we even travel sixty miles. If you're one of them, then do yourself a big favor, and the rest of the folks, too. Go home now. Because this ain't no Sunday buggy ride, folks. Your feet will be hurting more than they ever have in your life, and your bones will be aching before we're two days from here. And if that's the worse that happens to you, then you're one of the lucky ones."

His weather-beaten face lent credence to the words of their guide.

"If you want to go all the way, you'd best listen to what I tell you. Now let's get going," he said in conclusion."

Silas had looked directly at Angie when he mentioned seeing the elephant.

Though she did not know what that expression meant, the woman from Boston sensed her courage was being questioned. As a result Angie now believed she had something to prove.

"What does see the elephant mean?" Cassia asked her husband as the three of them walked back to their wagon.

"It's when someone knows the trip west is just too tough for them to handle," Wyatt explained. "Those are the ones that turn back."
"Fortunately I've never seen an elephant," Angie pointed out. "So I won't recognize one if I ever do."

Angie stood on the shore of an endless sea of grass, watching the sun peek over the horizon. She knew being with Tom was worth any hardship, yet for just a moment her feet would not move. The speech Silas had given made the privileged woman from Boston reluctant to begin the journey. Then Angie focused on Tom Shanahan, and all her uncertainty faded away in the early morning light.
Hollis observed how the recounting of her journey had revitalized Angelica Barton. There was a grim determination displayed in the specter's cool green eyes. Though narrow, her shoulders seemed capable of sustaining the hardships and perils associated with the Oregon Trail. This was the woman who had written the diary.
Angie and Cassia received the first of many unpleasant surprises just before Crawford gave the order for the party to move. Only Cassia's husband was to ride in the wagon, as he was the driver. The two women had to walk alongside, as was the case with the other schooners traveling in their group. This was done to ease the burden on the animals. Even had this consideration been put aside, there was no room in the wagon for passengers. The settler's possessions and supplies occupied all the available space.

"My feet are killing me," Cassia complained after a half day of walking. "Just wait until I get Wyatt alone. He never told me about this."
"He probably never thought about it," Angie pointed out. "So you can't blame him for not telling us."
"I sure can. And I sure will."

At dusk the wagons stopped for the night and Angie set up her tent next to the one occupied by the newlyweds. This was another unexpected circumstance. She had anticipated sleeping in the wagon, but there was not enough room inside to allow for that either. Angie smiled as she thought about the earful Wyatt must be receiving from his new bride. She was tempted to listen to their conversation, but could not bring herself to be so gosh.