She came across the plains in a wagon in 1847. I
was just glancing through her journal when you came,” she said,
taking up a leather-bound volume from the trunk and brushing
her hand over it. “I hadn’t gotten very far. Apparently, this was
an assignment book and then it became her diary.”
She set the volume between them on the couch. Sierra picked
it up and opened it, reading the childish scrawl on the first page.
Mama says livin in the wildurnes aint no resun
to bee ignurant. Her papa wuz a larnud man and
wud not want fuls in his famlee.
“The trunk was part of Grandpa Clanton’s estate,” her mother
said. “I haven’t gone through these things in years.” She lifted
out a small carved wooden box. “Oh, I remember this,” she said,
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smiling. Inside was an embroidered silk handkerchief. She unfolded it carefully and showed Sierra the antique gold chain and
amethyst cross.
“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Sierra said, taking it and admiring it.
“You may have it, if you’d like.”
“I’d love it,” Sierra said, opening the small clasp and putting it
on.
Her mother took out an old tintype in an oval frame. The couple were dressed in wedding clothes, their expressions solemn
rather than joyful. The groom was handsome in his dark suit and
starched shirt, his dark hair brushed back cleanly from chiseled
features and intense pale eyes. Blue, Sierra decided. They would
have had to be blue to be so pale in the picture. The bride was
very young and lovely. She was wearing a gorgeous white lace
Victorian wedding dress. She sat while her husband stood, his
hand firmly planted upon her shoulder.
Sierra took out another box. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper,
was a small woven Indian basket with designs. Around the top
edge were quail plumes and beads. “I think this is a gift basket,
Mom. It’s worth a lot of money. They have them in the Indian
Museum at Sutter’s Fort.”
“Is there anything inside the box to tell about it?”
Sierra removed everything and shook her head. “Nothing.”
“Look at this old Bible,” her mother said, distracted. As she
opened it, a section slipped free and fell onto the floor. Her
mother picked it up and placed it on the sofa beside her.
Sierra picked up the paper yellowed with age and read the
pretty script.
Dearest Mary Kathryn,
I hope you have changed your mind about God. He
loves you very much and He is watching over you. I do
not know what hardships and losses you will face on the
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way to Oregon or what will happen once you reach the
end of the trail. What I do know is God will never leave
you nor forsake you.
You have my love and are in my morning and evening
prayers. The ladies from the quilting club send their love
as well, as do Betsy and Clovis. May the Lord bless your
new home.
Aunt Martha
Sierra’s mother thumbed through the black, cracked leather
Bible and then picked up the portion that had fallen. “Look at
how worn the pages are.” She smiled. “Mary Kathryn favored
the Gospels.” She took the note from Sierra and read it. Folding
it, she tucked it in the loosened pages and set the Bible carefully
beside Mary Kathryn McMurray’s journal.
Sierra took out a decaying flowered hat box. She found a note
on top saying simply, in beautiful black calligraphy, “Save for
Joshua McMurray.” The box was full of animals, carved of
wood, each wrapped carefully in a scrap of flowered calico or
checked gingham. She unwrapped a fierce-looking wolf, a majestic buffalo, a coiled rattlesnake, a prairie dog standing on its
hind legs, a comical jackrabbit, a beautiful antelope, two mountain goats locked together in fierce battle, and a grizzly bear
standing on its hind legs, ready to attack.
At the bottom of the trunk was a large package wrapped in
butcher paper and tied with string.
“I don’t remember this,” her mother said and slipped the string
off