Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852 by Victoria Murata Page A

forever, and the shots continued until two peasants were dead and several others were wounded. The crowd fell over each other attempting to get away. Many were trampled, and many others were arrested.

     
    Michael’s hands froze on the harness he was oiling as he remembered narrowly avoiding arrest.

     
    A raggedy man ran into the building where they were hiding. His eyes widened when he saw Michael, Kate, and the children huddled in a corner.
    “You’re done for if you stay here,” he said, and darted to the rear window where he quickly climbed out. Michael helped his family climb out that same window as the troops descended upon the crowd. The terrified family fled deeper into the village where they were swallowed by the crowds of starving people.
    In other villages along the way to Dublin, they saw British naval escorts guarding the grain on riverboats that passed before the eyes of starving peasants who watched from shore.

     
    Michael bitterly remembered the defeat and hopelessness on his countrymen’s faces . He could see this defeat on Kate’s face now across the campfire. He had worried about her the last few days. She had been uncharacteristically quiet, and even Conor and Brenna had noticed and had tried to cheer her up, but she had been unresponsive. After dinner, Rebecca Benson had come by to invite them to visit. Brenna and Conor had gone to the Bensons’ wagon, but Michael said that he and Kate would visit later. Michael wanted to take this opportunity to find out what was troubling his wife.
    “Are you all right, then?” he queried. She didn’t answer him, and he thought that maybe she hadn’t heard his question. She hadn’t looked at him or acknowledged that he had spoken.
    “So, are you all right then?” he asked again, a little more loudly.
    She raised her eyes and looked at her husband. The firelight did not brighten her dark look. Slowly she straightened her thin frame and her right hand went to her lower back, massaging sore muscles. Her dress was stained with sweat down the front and the back, and a full eight inches of the bottom of the skirt was caked in mud.
    “No.” Her voice was almost a whisper, but he heard her. “No, Michael Flannigan, I’m not all right at all.”
    Alarmed, he got up from where he was sitting. Kate had always been a pillar of strength, and to hear her sounding so defeated caused him great consternation.
    “Kate, the rain has stopped. Everything will dry out now.” He walked over, took her shoulders in his hands, and turned her towards him. He looked carefully at her. Kate was only thirty-five, but she had aged in the months they had been on the trail. Weary eyes looked back at him, not really seeing him.
    “I don’t care anymore, Michael. I’m sick of this trail. I’m sick of this wagon and this food—the same thing every day. I can’t remember why we ever thought this would be a good idea. Why did we ever leave New York? We had good jobs and we were making money enough to put some aside. The children were in school. What is the point of all of this? Tell me, Michael. Tell me why we’re killing ourselves going to a place we’ve never been.” Her voice had started out calm, but it had slowly risen to near hysteria.
    “I don’t want to be here!” she exclaimed, tears streaking the dirt on her cheeks. “Please, let’s go back.” She had grabbed the front of his shirt, and he realized that she was beside herself.
    “Katie, girl, things will get better. Sure and it’s been rough, but the rain has stopped.” Michael drew her close. His voice was gentle, and he rested his cheek on her head. “You’re bone weary. You’ve worked harder than anyone, Kate. You’re the one that’s held this family together through it all.” He held her tightly, and he felt her rigid body go limp as she sobbed softly against his shirt. “You’ve been so strong, Katie. I know you can do this. I never would have started if I didn’t know you wanted this as much