The Old Wagon - Part 1

Good morning old and new Friday Fiction Fans,
Thank you all so much for making my first giveaway (at least for one of my books) so much fun! I wish I had books to give everyone of you. But I don't. *sigh* However, don't despair, this was so much fun, that I will probably do another one. :)

Well, I don't really have a lot to tell you this week. I have reached the end of "Triple Creek Ranch - Set Free" and now have to reread it all and make sure it makes sense. You see, I wrote this book in 2 months. Usually it takes me 3-4 months to write a TCR book. My illustrator has at least begun a little bit on the illustrations and I'm hoping to send her the last things she needs for the rest of them. And yes, I do plan on writing a book 6, but I'm still thinking it over and trying to get a good plot figured out. I also don't have a "sneak preview" written. :) We'll see if I can get that written before the book gets published.

Right now I'm working on finishing up another "Ria and the Gang" story. :) But until that get's finished, I hope you will enjoy this story. I know it's completely different from anything I've posted on here before, but when I saw the picture, I just knew I had to write something about it. My best friend takes such interesting photos. Right now she is doing a 365 day challenge. Check it out.

Used by permission from Angela the Twin

The Old Wagon

Part 1

    There it stood, out in the back field, weather worn with rusty parts, and paint peeling; its boards were beginning to rot in places and a wheel had come loose. It was no longer the gaily painted wagon used to pull the Lake and Mattingly cousins around their grandparents’ farm in Texas. Its top had long since been torn up and rotted away, and the frame for the canvas covering, well, no one in the past three generations had seen it. Yet still the old wagon stood as though waiting. Waiting, for what? Perhaps for Mr. Mattingly to hitch up the team for a wagon ride, perhaps for Mrs. Bergman to load up the children for a trip to town, or perhaps for Elizabeth to come and whisper, “good night.” Maybe the wagon is waiting–for us. If it could talk, what stories would it tell? Where has it been? Let’s listen and find out.

    It was a cold, windy afternoon in early March when I arrived with Mr. Bergman before a little farmhouse and heard him call out, “Frances! Come out and see what I brought home.”
    In a moment the door opened, and Mrs. Bergman appeared with baby Ester in her arms and little Will hanging on to her skirts. From the barn Elijah and Wesley hurried towards the house while Elizabeth came around the corner carrying a basket of clean laundry.
    “What on earth—“ Mrs. Bergman began as she caught sight of her husband perched on my seat. I wasn’t sure if she was pleased or only astonished. I hadn’t been around long enough to tell by her expression.
    “Pa,” Elijah exclaimed, “is that our wagon?”
    “Sure is, Son. Well, what do you all think?” Mr. Bergman looked about at his family. “You all willing to travel out west in this wagon?”
    I waited almost anxiously for their reply because I was built to head west, and if this man who had bought me didn’t end up going west, well, I wasn’t sure what would happen. Eagerly everyone crowded around me, and many were the exclamations as nearly every inch of me was inspected from my canvas top to the spokes of my wheels.
    The boys felt my wheels, scrambled up inside and felt my sturdy sides. Even Elizabeth climbed inside and rubbed her hands over my canvas top and peeked out the front.
    “Is it large enough?”
    “Where will we sleep, Pa?”
    “How far west are we going?”
    “When are we leaving?”
    At last, with questions still filling the air, Mr. Bergman laughed. “Whoa! Let’s talk about it at supper. Right now, Elijah and Wesley, unhitch the team and take care of them.”
    “Then come in and wash up,” Mrs. Bergman added. “Supper is nearly ready.”
    Soon all was quiet in the farm yard. The lights were on in the house, and in the silence I could still hear the sound of the family talking. I wondered if they were talking about me and about the trip I was ready and willing to take with them. Sitting out there, alone under the stars, I wondered how far west I’d go. I knew of other wagons who had gone west, but I never heard where they were headed or if they even made it. But somehow I knew I would make it. Hadn’t I been built of the finest, strongest, yet lightweight wood, by the finest wagon maker around? Didn’t I have the sturdiest wheels anyone could hope for? Wasn’t my canvas top the best to be had? I don’t mean to brag, but I was rather proud of the work that had been done on me, and I longed with all the longing a wagon has to take this family out west.

    When morning came and the sun rose, the family, my family, as I had already begun to think of them, stirred. The boys and Mr. Bergman came out into the fresh morning air and stopped to look at me before heading to the barn. Later, Mrs. Bergman came from the house and looked me over quite thoroughly while she talked to herself. I thought at first she was talking to me, but I realized she was a sensible woman and wasn’t the sort to go around talking with strange wagons, even if one was going to carry her and her family out to a land they had never seen before.

    All day I sat in front of the house and wondered if I was really going to make that trip. I desperately wanted to go west. That is all I heard about while I was being built. Then, along about evening, Elizabeth slipped from the house and came over to me. Using one of my wheels as steps, for she was only eight, she climbed up into me and sat down. “We are going west, Wagon,” she whispered, and I nearly quivered with delight.
    “We really and truly are going to go west. Papa said so. And we are going to pack everything inside here, and Papa said we could tie some crates to the side and take the chickens too. We’ll be so happy to go, but Papa said it would be a long trip, Wagon. I don’t think you’ll mind. I’m glad you are going to take us. You look so nice, and some of the other wagons I have seen look as proud as a peacock and probably don’t work half as hard as I know you will.”
    “Elizabeth!”
    “I have to go now, Wagon. But we’re really going to go west in you!” Before she hopped down, Elizabeth did something that I didn’t know people ever did. She kissed me! Right then and there I knew I would take the best possible care of my family that I could.

    For days there was a flurry of activity. I seemed to be the only idle one around, just sitting there waiting. Even when the boys were helping their pa carry things from the house and load me, all I had to do was wait. I often heard them talking about how heavy things were and how full the wagon was going to be. I wanted to tell them not to worry about overfilling me because I was strong and sturdy, but I decided to let them plan and pack themselves. Elizabeth came out almost every day and said a kind word to me and patted my wheel or my side. She had taken quite a liking to me as I had to her.

Would you like to travel by covered wagon?

What will happen on their trip?

Will you be back next week?