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measles most of the time. Dust was so thick at times that Jesse had trouble seeing the lead wagon. On windy days, dust was flung against her face and hands. When she could bear the stinging no longer, she took shelter inside the wagon until the bumping and jolting became unbearable. Then she would climb out and carry Jacob for a while, until the dust drove her back in again.
    It took only one day to cross the barren land between the Big Blue and the Platte, where they would be turning due west. It was evening, and the panoramic view of the Platte Valley held even the most seasoned travelers in awe. “I saw it for the first time back in ’35,” Dr. Whitman shared, “but it still amazes me.”
    The vast, shimmering flatness of the Platte Valley stretched away from them in a wide plain that appeared totally level. “I declare,” remarked Homer, “looks like that there water is just floating on top of the land… looks like a yeller ribbon stretched acrost the valley.”
    The river looked wider than the Mississippi, but there was no timber on the banks. It was unlike any river they had ever seen before. Deceptive in its appearance, it proved to be only three or four feet deep, and they crossed it easily. They had to begin collecting “chips” for campfires. Jesse was surprised to learn that dried buffalo dung made a good, hot fire. She prepared her peach pie that evening. Homer seemed to have forgotten his earlier complaints about her “foolishness” and ate three pieces.
    The next day, they saw great numbers of game, but Dr. Whitman explained that with the land being so flat, they would have great difficulty approaching anything close enough to shoot. Homer proclaimed those who tried fools and told George Wood, “I think too much of my horses to go chasing after game after they’ve pulled my wagon all day. They earn their night’s rest, and I’ll not ask ’em to run like idiots after game we can’t catch.”
    Gooseberries, chokecherries, and serviceberries abounded along the banks of the Platte, and Jesse enjoyed adding them to their otherwise monotonous fare. Lavinia picked greens and showed Jesse how to prepare them so that Jacob would be spared scurvy. The child made a face when the green substance was presented to him, but he willingly swallowed it when “Aunt” Vinnie encouraged him.
    The trip became monotonous. Walking miles each day, Jesse tumbled into bed exhausted and woke so sore that she whimpered in pain as she climbed down from the wagon each morning. Lavinia despaired of her hands, which she declared to be “rougher than a hemlock board.”
    “How will I ever quilt again, Jess?” she wondered aloud. “My hands are so stiff I can barely keep things mended… and to think,” she sighed, “I used to pride myself on twelve stitches to the inch!”
    “We’ll have a real quilting party again as soon as we get to Oregon!” Jesse said. “Won’t it be a joy?”
    It was at the end of a particularly hot and dusty day that Lavinia overheard Homer complaining about the sameness of their meals. “Bacon, coffee, and biscuits—that’s all we ever eat!” he said, “When I been fightin’ broke wagon wheels and tired horses all day, it sure would be nice to have somethin’ special to eat once in a while. Now, I gotta oil the harness, and I can’t be watchin’ little Jacob every minute, either. You call me soon as you got somethin’ edible ready.”
    Lavinia bustled over. “I declare, Jesse, why don’t you stand up to that man! If George ever tried that nonsense on me, he’d get cold biscuits and jerky for supper until he came to his senses!”
    Jesse smiled at the prospect of Lavinia ever leaving “her George” to such a meal. “It’s not so bad, Vinnie. Homer means well. He’s just tired. And worried, too, about Gabe and Beau.” The team had begun to show the strain of their trek, just as Applegate had predicted. Homer had refused to buy grain in spite of Applegate’s advice. Foraging