Read Online The Quilt Walk by Sandra Dallas - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sandra Dallas
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when the oxen stopped for a moment, I jumped down and walked alongside Pa.
“What do you think of the wagon train, Emmy Blue?” he asked.
“I like it.” And I did. There were people and dogs and all kinds of prairie schooners. Some were well made and grand like ours. Others were rickety. One driver had already fallen out of line to fix a wobbly wheel. I liked the noise of the oxen and mules, and of the cowbells that clanked as milk cows were herded along beside the wagons. People yelled and laughed. Men shouted at the animals. One woman sang to a baby she held in her arms. I especially liked the sound of children calling, because I had been the only child from the time we left home until we crossed the Missouri.
As I walked along beside Pa, I studied the other children. There were plenty of little ones who were too young for me, and half a dozen who were almost grown, too old to want to play. I looked for a girl my size, someone like Abigail, who could be my friend. But I didn’t see anyone. Then I spotted a boy who was two wagons in front of us. He seemed about my age. He was smaller than me, and he had freckles all over his face. Like me, he was barefoot. He must have been going barefoot for a long time, because walking over the stones on the trail didn’t seem to bother his feet. I’d worn shoes until we reached the Missouri, and my feet weren’t hardened yet. I crept along, trying to avoid rocks and sharp sticks.
“See that young’un up there,” Pa said, as if he knew I was staring at the boy. “He’s Joey Schmidt. His father’s German. Mr. Schmidt is a baker, and he wants to open a confectionary shop in Colorado. His wagon’s loaded to the gills with pans and flour and spices to make breads and cake. I thought I might see if he’d like to set up shop in a fine business block in Golden. What would you say to that, Emmy Blue? Pies and cakes in our building!”
I grinned at Pa to show him that was a good idea.
“Joey Schmidt’s just about your age. His father says he’s shy. Why don’t you make friends with him?”
I shrugged and dragged my big toe in the dirt, but deep down I thought it was a good idea.
“Go on, Emmy Blue. He’s a nice boy, and I expect he’s lonely for the company of other children, just like you are.” Pa gave me a gentle shove, so I didn’t have much choice. I walked toward the Schmidt wagon, turning once to look at Pa, who waved me on. Finally I reached Joey Schmidt. “Hi,” I said, not looking at Joey.
“Hi yourself,” he said. He didn’t seem so shy.
“Pa says you’re my age.”
“I’m eight.”
I made a face. Eight was awfully young. “Well, I’m ten.”
“I’ll be nine in twenty-seven days. Papa says he’ll make a layer cake for my birthday. If you’re my friend, you can have some.”
Except for the cakes Aunt Catherine had bought at the Patee House in St. Joseph, we hadn’t had sweets since the first week of our trip, and my mouth watered. “How’s your pa going to bake a cake on the trail?”
“He’s pretty good. He will bake the cake in the coals of a campfire.”
“What about frosting?”
“Whipped cream.”
I licked my lips. “How can he do that?”
“We brought our cow with us.”
“I guess I could be your friend,” I said.
Joey nodded. “I brought my sack of marbles. Do you know how to play?” He looked at me skeptically.
“Sure.”
“You’re a girl. Girls play with dolls. And they sew.”
“I don’t sew, unless I have to.” Then I added, “My friend Betsy taught me to play marbles, but I didn’t bring any. There wasn’t room in the wagon.”
“For marbles? They don’t take up any room.”
I shrugged. “There wasn’t room for our clothes either.”
“Is that why you’re dressed funny, with all those dresses?”
I nodded.
“Our wagon’s filled with stuff so Papa can set up a bakery. Mama had to leave her rocking chair behind.”
“So did my ma.” I decided I liked Joey. We had something in
“What do you think of the wagon train, Emmy Blue?” he asked.
“I like it.” And I did. There were people and dogs and all kinds of prairie schooners. Some were well made and grand like ours. Others were rickety. One driver had already fallen out of line to fix a wobbly wheel. I liked the noise of the oxen and mules, and of the cowbells that clanked as milk cows were herded along beside the wagons. People yelled and laughed. Men shouted at the animals. One woman sang to a baby she held in her arms. I especially liked the sound of children calling, because I had been the only child from the time we left home until we crossed the Missouri.
As I walked along beside Pa, I studied the other children. There were plenty of little ones who were too young for me, and half a dozen who were almost grown, too old to want to play. I looked for a girl my size, someone like Abigail, who could be my friend. But I didn’t see anyone. Then I spotted a boy who was two wagons in front of us. He seemed about my age. He was smaller than me, and he had freckles all over his face. Like me, he was barefoot. He must have been going barefoot for a long time, because walking over the stones on the trail didn’t seem to bother his feet. I’d worn shoes until we reached the Missouri, and my feet weren’t hardened yet. I crept along, trying to avoid rocks and sharp sticks.
“See that young’un up there,” Pa said, as if he knew I was staring at the boy. “He’s Joey Schmidt. His father’s German. Mr. Schmidt is a baker, and he wants to open a confectionary shop in Colorado. His wagon’s loaded to the gills with pans and flour and spices to make breads and cake. I thought I might see if he’d like to set up shop in a fine business block in Golden. What would you say to that, Emmy Blue? Pies and cakes in our building!”
I grinned at Pa to show him that was a good idea.
“Joey Schmidt’s just about your age. His father says he’s shy. Why don’t you make friends with him?”
I shrugged and dragged my big toe in the dirt, but deep down I thought it was a good idea.
“Go on, Emmy Blue. He’s a nice boy, and I expect he’s lonely for the company of other children, just like you are.” Pa gave me a gentle shove, so I didn’t have much choice. I walked toward the Schmidt wagon, turning once to look at Pa, who waved me on. Finally I reached Joey Schmidt. “Hi,” I said, not looking at Joey.
“Hi yourself,” he said. He didn’t seem so shy.
“Pa says you’re my age.”
“I’m eight.”
I made a face. Eight was awfully young. “Well, I’m ten.”
“I’ll be nine in twenty-seven days. Papa says he’ll make a layer cake for my birthday. If you’re my friend, you can have some.”
Except for the cakes Aunt Catherine had bought at the Patee House in St. Joseph, we hadn’t had sweets since the first week of our trip, and my mouth watered. “How’s your pa going to bake a cake on the trail?”
“He’s pretty good. He will bake the cake in the coals of a campfire.”
“What about frosting?”
“Whipped cream.”
I licked my lips. “How can he do that?”
“We brought our cow with us.”
“I guess I could be your friend,” I said.
Joey nodded. “I brought my sack of marbles. Do you know how to play?” He looked at me skeptically.
“Sure.”
“You’re a girl. Girls play with dolls. And they sew.”
“I don’t sew, unless I have to.” Then I added, “My friend Betsy taught me to play marbles, but I didn’t bring any. There wasn’t room in the wagon.”
“For marbles? They don’t take up any room.”
I shrugged. “There wasn’t room for our clothes either.”
“Is that why you’re dressed funny, with all those dresses?”
I nodded.
“Our wagon’s filled with stuff so Papa can set up a bakery. Mama had to leave her rocking chair behind.”
“So did my ma.” I decided I liked Joey. We had something in
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