Creative Writing: The Platte River

We left right after breakfast, a hearty serving of bacon and eggs. Elizabeth Wright had some extra eggs that she didn't want to bring along so she split it between the people in the wagon train. That only meant four eggs for us so we made more bacon to compensate. We followed the Platte River for one hundred seventy miles before we reached the California Crossing. My legs feel like they are falling off. They have ached since the start of this journey but I can't let Sam know. Then he would just say how men are more suited for this and that I should take a turn riding on Silver. I need to continue without complaining. Even if every step hurts more than the one before. For the last twenty or so minutes the men of the group have been trying to …show more content…
Getting across was easy enough, but now we are facing a very steep hill. The weight of our wagon is too much for the oxen to carry which means we had no choice but to leave one hundred pounds of flour. I hate wasting food, especially when we will need this food later. But maybe someone could help Sam carry it up the hill. We scaled the hill easier with less weight. The view from the top of the hill was amazing. Trees as far as the eye could see, or at least it seemed that way because we haven't seen a grove like this since Alcove Springs. What a welcome sight. Sam tied our animals to a small tree while I tied our rope onto the wagon. We recruited everyone except the children to gently lower the wagon down the hill. This was a long and tedious process for each of the wagons, but they all got down safely. We decided to refill our water barrels and camp for the night. I think everyone was missing trees. Sam went off to chop down some trees for firewood. The water tasted so clear and cool, almost as good as Alcove Springs. The ground was covered in moss, giving it a spongy feel as I slept the most peaceful sleep I have ever had in this …show more content…
He was ran over by the wagon, as he was chasing after the oxen's’ hooves. He was buried forty miles past Ash Hollow, with a cross marking its place. Life is so unfair. One day he was running around and playing with sticks, and the next he is gone. I blame myself. If I had only watched more closely, made him walk by my side, or have him ride with Hope on Silver this wouldn't have happened. We survived a storm together. We survived seven hundred twenty-seven miles together. We were good. Sam blames me. He blames me for everything. He blames me for Hope hating him. For the cow running away. For leaving behind one hundred pounds of flour and not telling him to get it. For this. I don't think he will ever trust me again. I don't think I will ever trust me again. But I do know this, my other kids will survive. They will. They need to. Everyone wanted to stop at Courthouse Rock to collect ourselves, but I didn't want to stop. I didn't want to have the time to think about what happened. What shouldn't have happened. We stopped for lunch: a measly pile of bacon. I wasn't hungry. I couldn't eat, not when I knew John would be off trying to chase Michael to the rock and back. It was a beautiful rock. One that John would like-all of the edges and slopes. He was always picking up beautiful rocks and putting them in a small bag for later. He couldn't pick up a big rock one time. That made him sad. He cried, and cried, and cried. Then he just found a different