The Old Wagon - Part 2

Good Morning FFFs!
It's a bit cloudy this morning and there is a chance of rain. It's rained a lot these past few weeks. But we are really hoping and praying it doesn't rain tomorrow as we are attending a large outdoor "craft fair" (for lack of a better term to give it). My sis and I have a tent and my books will be there as well as other things. I'm also in charge of the "games." Don't you wish you could come walk on the stilts, play tug-of-war, jump-rope or participate in our "Farm Girl Challenge" and earn a candy stick? Farm Girls is always a lot of fun, and we're looking forward to it. (We've done it in the rain before but this is a new tent and we aren't sure it's waterproof.)

My writing last week and this week has not really happened. I think part of it is because I am not in the middle of a story, and we've been really busy trying to get ready for Farm Girls, and a friend and I are putting together a History Day party next Friday, and I've been really busy with that. Not to mention that I was re-reading TCR-5. I think there is one part I need to change a bit, but otherwise it sounds pretty good. I don't think it's as good at TCR-4, but . . . :)

I did get another "Ria and the Gang" story finished or at least almost finished. :) And I hope you like it because it is 10 parts long!!!!! But that's for later. Right now I'm going to get busy with other things and let you enjoy the next part of 

The Old Wagon

Part 2

    One day she came out with her little brother and brought him over to the wagon. “See, Wagon, this is Will. He’s only three, but he gets to ride in the back with all of us older children. Mama is going to hold Ester much of the time, she said. Wagon, we are going to leave very soon!” She gave me a soft pat, and I watched as she skipped off with her little brother.
    The packing went on and I stretched my sides as much as I could without cracking my boards so they could fit in just a few more things. I really couldn’t tell you all that they piled inside under my canvas. They not only tied crates with chickens on the outside, but there was a large keg of water and several tools, an axe, a saw, parts for a plow, a butter churn and a few other things tied on as well. I was loaded heavily.
    At last the morning came to start off. Two oxen were yoked up front to pull me. The eldest son, Elijah, tied two horses on behind me, along with a cow. Then Mr. Bergman helped his wife up onto my high seat, handed her the baby, and climbed up himself. The other children had all scrambled up into the back and we were off. I rumbled proudly down the lane, onto the dirt road and off towards the west. My load might have been a heavy one, but I didn’t notice. All I could think of was the fact that I was finally taking Elizabeth to her new home.

    That first night was a new experience for my family. We were the only ones to be seen and they sat around the fire eating their supper. The horses and oxen were grazing and the cow had been milked. As the sun sank in a glowing sky and dusk settled around us, we heard the night sounds.
    “It’s time for bed, children,” Mrs. Bergman said at last. “Ester is already asleep in the wagon, so be careful not to wake her.”
    “Pa, can’t I sleep out here with you?” Elijah wanted to know.
    “Can’t I too, Pa?” Wesley pleaded.
    But Mr. Bergman shook his head. “No, not tonight.” His voice was low and rumbled in the silence of the night. “Perhaps later on I’ll let you. Now get to the wagon. I’ll pass Will up to you, Elijah, once you are in. He’s already asleep so just take his shoes off and tuck him in bed. No need to wake him up.”
    I felt the children climb up into my bed, and soon they settled down.
    “Good night, Wagon,” Elizabeth whispered.
    “Elizabeth,” Wesley hissed, “who are you talking to?”
    “I was just saying good night to the wagon.”
    The boys tried to smother their laughter, but I heard them. “She talks to the wagon,” Wesley chuckled.
    “Did the wagon tell you good night?” Elijah whispered.
    The wind rippled my canvas top and I managed a slight creak. Perhaps Elizabeth would understand.
    She did. “Yes, it did,” she assured her brothers. “It’s a very nice wagon.”
    The boys exploded into muffled laughter once more.
    “It did say good night,” Elizabeth insisted. I felt her sit up in her little bed. “You were just too busy laughing to hear it.”
    “What’s going on in here?” the low question from Mr. Bergman brought instant silence.
    “Oh, Papa,” Elizabeth said, “they were laughing because I told the wagon good night, and I heard it creak and I know it was telling me good night."
    I heard Mr. Bergman clear his throat before he spoke. “You can tell the wagon good night every evening if you want to, but right now you need to get to sleep. And boys, there’s to be no more laughing at your sister’s ideas, understand?”
    “Yes, Pa.”
    “Then get some sleep. We have another long day tomorrow.”
    Soon everything was quiet. The flickering of the fire cast strange lights on the faces of Mr. and Mrs. Bergman. They talked softly together, but I was tired and didn’t try to listen. Only Mrs. Bergman climbing into her bed beside Elizabeth roused me some time later. And then all was still.

    I was awake to see the sunrise, or I would have seen it had the trees not been in the way. But I could tell by the lightening of the world that the sun was coming over the eastern rim of the world, where ever that was. Mr. and Mrs. Bergman were the first ones up, but soon the children were tumbling from the wagon, wiping sleep from their eyes as they hurried to do their assigned chores. Elizabeth paused just long enough to whisper good morning to me before she went on her way.
    It was another long day, as Mr. Bergman had said it would be. We crossed a few streams, but the water didn’t even reach the boys’ ankles. They had taken off their shoes and stockings and crossed the streams on foot. There were many hills, and I was glad for the horses’ sakes, as well as my own, that the oxen were pulling me. Oxen are more steady and dependable on hills. Going up the hills was hard work, but going down was a different story. If the hill was fairly steep, Mr. Bergman would set my brake and I’d almost slide down on my front wheels. That was rather fun except for the rocks and the fact that we had to go so slowly. I think perhaps I would have enjoyed racing down just one hill, for I was a young wagon at the time. But I never did. Had I been allowed to do so, I might have gotten so excited before I reached the bottom that I might have indulged in a few jumps and flipped over. Such scandalous doings could have had terrible consequences for me and my family, so I am glad Mr. Bergman knew enough to keep me in check.

Would you have said good night to a wagon?

Are you looking forward to reading my new story?

What would you like to read about on here?