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

as I do. It’s our dream—yours and mine. Remember all those nights in the crowded tenement in New York when we planned this? It’s that dream that kept us going, Kate.” Michael held her at arm’s length and looked in her eyes. “Tell me, Kate. Tell me what our dream looks like. Tell me how we pictured it all those years that we scrimped and saved for this.”
    She ran the back of her hand across her nose and took a few ragged breaths. For an instant Michael thought she wouldn’t answer him, but then in a quavering voice she said, “There’s a beautiful green valley at the base of rolling hills. A log cabin sits next to a wandering stream. There’s smoke coming from the chimney.” Her chin quivered slightly, and she paused and took another deep breath.
    “What’s behind the cabin?”
    “There is a paddock for the horses, and there’s a barn. Every morning I go out to the barn to milk the cows.” Her voice was getting stronger now, and her eyes began to focus on him.
    “Tell me about the fields.”
    “Well, and they’re full of our crops. Everything is growing and thriving. You and Conor have plowed the rich land and planted the seeds and the sun and rain have made everything grow.”
    “And tell me about our neighbors.”
    Kate’s eyes were clear now. “If you follow the gentle winding road around the hill, you’ll find our closest neighbors, a family like ours with children that Conor and Brenna will have as friends. The woman of the house and I share recipes and help each other sew quilts and clothes. You and her husband smoke your pipes on the porch and talk about the weather.” She smiled then at her little joke, and Michael took her in his arms and smiled with her.
    “There’s my girl,” he said. “Have faith, Katie. It will all happen just as we’ve planned. I promise.” He dipped the end of her apron into the pan of water sitting by the fire and gently wiped the dirt and tears from her face. “Tomorrow we’re going to start late so that you women can do some laundry in the creek, and maybe you can get a bath.”
    Kate sighed, “A bath! I can hardly wait for morning!”
    The sound of Conor and Brenna’s voices drifted out of the half-light, and soon they rounded the wagon, talking companionably. Brenna trotted over to her parents standing by the campfire. She sensed that something had transpired between them while she and Conor had been gone. There was a difference in her mother. She was animated again, and her father looked relieved and happy. Maybe Conor and I should leave them alone more often , she thought.
    “Look, Ma. James Cardell sent some dried apples and apricots. Here, try one.” Brenna held an apricot to her mother’s mouth, and Kate bit into it gracefully, closing her eyes to savor the sweet taste.
    “I’ve never had anything so delicious.”
    “Here, Ma, eat some more.” Conor put a handful in his mother’s hands and then gave some to his Da.
    That night Michael Flannigan lay wide awake thinking about his wife and all she had endured. Their lives had looked so promising when they were just married, and the first eleven years had been happy. Their small holding was enough to support the family and pay the rent, and they lived the life their parents and grandparents had lived in their small, close-knit community. But the past seven years had seen heartache and despair. He remembered arriving in Dublin.

     
    Kate and her sister Chloe hadn’t seen each other in a few years and they threw themselves into each other’s arms, crying, with Chloe exclaiming over Kate’s thinness. Chloe and her husband had little room to spare but readily took them all in.
    The situation in Ireland was dire, with no relief in sight. Although there were many cases of death by starvation, most died from typhus or dysentery, and the dead were so numerous there were not graves enough to contain the bodies, or living people with the strength to bury them. Warehouses were full of food, but the