in a sandy bank beside the river. Libby leaned on the railing, staring down at the incongruous scene. Willows and cottonwoods spread shade over a grassy clearing. Swallows skimmed low over the swiftly moving water and a pair of mallards paddled along the edge, under the trailing strands of willow leaves. It was the sort of scene for lovers and dreamers and summer picnics and yet there were now men with shovels piling up mounds of sand as they hastily dug a grave.
“At least they’ve got themselves a pretty burial place,” a man behind her commented, “better than in the heathen lands out West.”
Libby watched the men now shovelling sand back into the holes. It doesn’t matter where you’re buried, she thought. Dead is dead.
News of cholera on board had the effect of instantly quieting the noisy men. There was no singing and laughing that night, just the groans and screams of more dying men. In the morning there were four more bodies to be buried. Libby hurried ashore too and was almost tempted to take the girls off the boat to wait for a safer one. A farmer’s wife was hanging out washing nearby and came over to see what was going on, on the riverbank.
“More poor devils not even getting a decent Christian burial,” she commented to Libby, folding her arms across her broad chest.
“It seems to be happening all the time on this boat,” Libby said. “I’m beginning to think I should wait for another boat to come along, for my children’s sake.”
“They’re all the same these days,” the farmer’s wife said, shaking her head. “There’s cholera raging up and down the whole river. Nobody’s safe anymore. Too many dirty strangers, packed in like sardines,” she added tersely. “I wish they’d go west and have done with it and leave us poor settlers in peace.”
Then she went back to her washing, leaving Libby alone on the bank not really sure what to do for the best. She managed to buy some fresh bread and milk from a trader. She washed the children thoroughly before they boarded again and kept them as far away from the other passengers as she could.
When they were only one day out of Independence, the steamer ran aground on a sandbar which jutted out from the shore. The captain had gangways lowered and ordered all the passengers to disembark to make the ship lighter. Ropes were dropped from the upper deck and men passengers joined the crew in trying to pull the ship free. As one sweating team did not succeed, other men stepped in to take their place and by late afternoon they had succeeded in refloating the Amelia . Not wanting to risk it happening again with the water level so low, the captain made them all walk a mile or so up the riverbank until the water was deeper and they could reboard. The mile walk along a leafy path relieved a little of Libby’s anxiety. Only one more night and they could escape from the stinking pigpen the ship had become. She looked forward to the plains now as clean and breezy and free of disease. Before they got back on board, they passed another farm and the farmer’s wife gave the children a drink of milk and a big peach each.
Libby had just dozed off to an uncomfortable sleep on the hard wood of the deck when she was woken by a gentle touch. “Mama?” Eden’s frightened little face peered into hers. “Bliss doesn’t feel well.”
Libby shot upright, banging her head against the lifeboat above her. “What is it, darling?” she asked.
“My tummy hurts bad, real bad,” Bliss said. Her little face was flushed and puckered up with pain. “Make it stop, Mama,” she begged.
Libby felt cold sweat break out. “Stay with her, I’ll go find a doctor,” she whispered to Eden. Treading her way cautiously over sleeping men, she found a young doctor sitting by another cholera victim. The man was shaking with convulsions. “You’ll let my wife know, won’t you, Doc?” he asked, gasping between vomits. “Name’s Anson, just outside Buffalo. They all know
“At least they’ve got themselves a pretty burial place,” a man behind her commented, “better than in the heathen lands out West.”
Libby watched the men now shovelling sand back into the holes. It doesn’t matter where you’re buried, she thought. Dead is dead.
News of cholera on board had the effect of instantly quieting the noisy men. There was no singing and laughing that night, just the groans and screams of more dying men. In the morning there were four more bodies to be buried. Libby hurried ashore too and was almost tempted to take the girls off the boat to wait for a safer one. A farmer’s wife was hanging out washing nearby and came over to see what was going on, on the riverbank.
“More poor devils not even getting a decent Christian burial,” she commented to Libby, folding her arms across her broad chest.
“It seems to be happening all the time on this boat,” Libby said. “I’m beginning to think I should wait for another boat to come along, for my children’s sake.”
“They’re all the same these days,” the farmer’s wife said, shaking her head. “There’s cholera raging up and down the whole river. Nobody’s safe anymore. Too many dirty strangers, packed in like sardines,” she added tersely. “I wish they’d go west and have done with it and leave us poor settlers in peace.”
Then she went back to her washing, leaving Libby alone on the bank not really sure what to do for the best. She managed to buy some fresh bread and milk from a trader. She washed the children thoroughly before they boarded again and kept them as far away from the other passengers as she could.
When they were only one day out of Independence, the steamer ran aground on a sandbar which jutted out from the shore. The captain had gangways lowered and ordered all the passengers to disembark to make the ship lighter. Ropes were dropped from the upper deck and men passengers joined the crew in trying to pull the ship free. As one sweating team did not succeed, other men stepped in to take their place and by late afternoon they had succeeded in refloating the Amelia . Not wanting to risk it happening again with the water level so low, the captain made them all walk a mile or so up the riverbank until the water was deeper and they could reboard. The mile walk along a leafy path relieved a little of Libby’s anxiety. Only one more night and they could escape from the stinking pigpen the ship had become. She looked forward to the plains now as clean and breezy and free of disease. Before they got back on board, they passed another farm and the farmer’s wife gave the children a drink of milk and a big peach each.
Libby had just dozed off to an uncomfortable sleep on the hard wood of the deck when she was woken by a gentle touch. “Mama?” Eden’s frightened little face peered into hers. “Bliss doesn’t feel well.”
Libby shot upright, banging her head against the lifeboat above her. “What is it, darling?” she asked.
“My tummy hurts bad, real bad,” Bliss said. Her little face was flushed and puckered up with pain. “Make it stop, Mama,” she begged.
Libby felt cold sweat break out. “Stay with her, I’ll go find a doctor,” she whispered to Eden. Treading her way cautiously over sleeping men, she found a young doctor sitting by another cholera victim. The man was shaking with convulsions. “You’ll let my wife know, won’t you, Doc?” he asked, gasping between vomits. “Name’s Anson, just outside Buffalo. They all know
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