Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852 Read Online Free PDF Page A

was glad of the company. After a few minutes, they found a suitable spot—not too deep—with large boulders along the shore to pound the clothing dry. The water rushed over smooth rocks covered with green mossy algae. At this point, the creek was only twenty feet across and two feet deep in the middle. The high brush was thick on the other side. Brenna and Mary busied themselves with the few items, scrubbing the bar of soap over the soiled material. Mary took her shoes off and waded in.
    “Brrrr—this water is freezing cold,” Mary cried, and she laughed delightedly when Brenna scooped a handful of water and tossed it at her. As she backed up, her foot slipped on a mossy rock and she tumbled backwards into the water. When she tried to stand, her bare feet slipped on another rock and she only succeeded in putting herself deeper in the water and farther from shore.
    “Brenna! Help! I can’t stand up!” Mary’s terrified voice called as she tried unsuccessfully to right herself.
    “Mary!” Brenna screamed, as the small girl was carried downstream by the rushing water. Brenna ran along the shore, trying to think of how she could catch the thrashing girl. Suddenly a dark form stepped out of the thick cover on the opposite side of the creek, just downstream of Mary. A strong arm reached out, grabbed the gasping girl, and helped her balance in water that was now up to her chest. The dark man helped Mary to the bank where she crawled on hands and knees, coughing up the water she had swallowed and inhaled in her struggles. Brenna rushed up, gasping for breath.
    “Are you alright?” she cried, throwing her arms around the shivering shoulders.
    “Yes,” Mary choked, drawing in deep breaths. She stood up shakily, and Brenna supported her. They both faced the dark native who had been calmly observing the girls. Brenna had never seen an Indian before, but she knew that this dark young man was one of the savage scalp-taking redskins. He was taller than Brenna was, and scantily clothed. He looked to be about eighteen or twenty years old, and his black hair trailed down his back. Redskin is not very descriptive , Brenna thought. His skin glowed like burnished copper. He watched them curiously. The deep-set eyes, Brenna noted, were the darkest she had ever seen, and the high cheekbones and sharp brow shadowed them. Brenna’s heart pounded in her chest. What would he do to them? Just as she was considering the worst, Mary piped up.
    “Thank you,” she said sincerely, taking the Indian’s hand and giving it a squeeze. The young man looked startled, and then he slowly smiled. Brenna incredulously watched this interplay. Then he said something incomprehensible, looking at Brenna intently. Brenna shook her head, not understanding. He reached out towards her, and she flinched and stepped backwards. He paused, and then when she stood still, he gently took a lock of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and fingers, and said the words again.
    “Curly!” Mary proclaimed, laughing. “He’s never seen curly hair before!”
    Brenna was paralyzed with fear. Did he like her hair enough to want her scalp? The Indian looked at Mary curiously.
    A shout from upstream carried down to them, and the young man straightened. He placed his hand briefly on Mary’s head then turned and crossed the creek, disappearing into the brush. Brenna exhaled loudly. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath. She knelt down in front of the soaked girl, raking her eyes anxiously over Mary’s shivering form. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes,” Brenna said. Just then, Ben came running up. His eyes took in Mary’s sodden clothing and Brenna’s anxious expression.
    “What happened? Is she all right? Where’d that Indian go?” he asked, looking around nervously.
    “She slipped in the water and couldn’t get her footing,” Brenna explained. “The Indian saved her.”
    “H...H…He was n…n…nice,” Mary stammered, shivering