Crossing Purgatory by Gary Schanbacher

walked over. The men dispersed before Thompson arrived. Upperdine looked perplexed.
    â€œTrouble?” Thompson asked.
    â€œNo more than expected. Calderwood has decided to forgo his plans for Bent’s Fort and to establish his trade here.”
    â€œIt’s unfortunate to lose a wheelwright,” Thompson said.
    â€œCan’t shackle him, I guess.”
    The company broke camp with one wagon fewer and pushed on to Diamond Springs, named after its clear, good water. The area was more sparsely inhabited than Council Grove, but a scattering of small farms dotted the landscape and the fields looked healthy. Upperdine laid over a day to graze the stock, and he bought a few sacks of feed at a fair price for insurance against barren stretches he knew the company would soon encounter.
    Diamond Springs proved an alluring charm for three other families. At supper with the Lights, Obadiah sat with Thompson while a subdued Hanna put Martha to bed.
    â€œThe Grissoms will disembark here,” Obadiah said. “Hanna is sore pressed to let go her friend Susan.”
    â€œBonds form quickly on the trail, I imagine,” Thompson said. “And there are few other women to visit with.”
    â€œWe were tempted as well,” Obadiah said.
    â€œAnd why not?” Thompson asked. “This land recommends itself.”
    â€œI have my heart set on the open plains. Near Walnut Creek, perhaps, or just beyond. I hear there is an army outpost in the planning.” Obadiah went to the front of his wagon and retrieved a leather pouch. “Friends in Ohio have kin in Odessa who sent them this.”
    Obadiah untied the drawstring and pulled out a handful of redtinged seed and let them sift back into the bag. “A strain of wheat said to prosper in dry climates. Plant it in autumn. Sprouts early winter, goes dormant until spring. Benefits from the snows and early rains and ripens before drought sets in. I aim to try it.”
    Thompson absently listened to Obadiah go on about the potential for a wheat crop, while silently grateful to have them along for some miles yet. He enjoyed their company and, unsure of his plans, uncertain whether he’d ever come upon a place that would feel right for him, he found comfort in the Lights’ unalloyed hopefulness. They dared plan a future, farming the great unplowed expanses.
    The following morning, only eleven wagons departed. Two nights out from Diamond Springs, Thompson took last watch, from three until five. As dawn approached, a breeze came up from the northwest and stars began to disappear as a cloudbank rolled in. Daybreak brought rain. A steady, light shower fell early and let up, but the men all became soaked past the waist when they waded through wet grass leading the stock to harness. Rain had muddied the road as well, and travel slogged. Midmorning, high gray clouds gave way to a menacing black sheet that advanced on them from due west with a stiffening wind. They did not stop for noon. Upperdine pressed to make Cottonwood Crossing before rain, and indeed they forded just ahead of a blustery storm that churned the creek with runoff from the low banks. That evening, Upperdine confided to Thompson that he was happy to have passed Cottonwood Creek quickly lest its attraction lure yet others from the train.
    â€œDid you notice the trees along the banks, those few log cabins on the hills?”
    Thompson allowed that he had.
    â€œThat is the last community worth glancing at we’ll see before Bent’s Fort except for an outpost or two. And the last of the trees as well.”
    The weather took on a pattern. Clear mornings turning hazy, and by afternoon thunderstorms came on with a vengeance, clouds booming, lightning flashing across the darkened prairie, and rain in torrents. By the time they made Turkey Creek, its banks were overflowed and six feet of brown, roiling water rushed the channel that normally held two. Thompson set camp with the Lights and