June 26 - Four days to Portland
The web of lives has begun to un-weave. Every night we hold a community meeting and the children are invited to tell their true stories, instead of the ones that they concocted. First, we have learned that only the Johanssens and Grubers were on the fated voyage from Europe. The others, including Martha and her family, Harry and even the Pickwicks were orphaned by the shipping company in one way or another, but kept on as valuable property.
A telegram to a lawyer friend of ours in San Francisco has confirmed that their destination in Portland, while it bears the name of a place ruled by God, is in fact owned by the same consolidation that owns Johnson Shipping. It is far and above the head of Edmund and I suspect this is not the first shipment of child laborers to be parceled out.
It's hardly believable that children could be considered commodities...but I wonder if I find it so incomprehensible because these children are primarily white, and were born free. I have never, nor will I ever, condone or excuse the barbarity of slavery, but I will shamefully admit that it seems different seeing it in children that look like me.
I had a conversation with Miles about slavery and he shared with me what he remembered of his early childhood. The words he shared were given in confidence and I have promised him that I will not divulge them, even in this journal. I expressed my shame at what I had discovered about myself and his reaction surprised me.
He said, "They your people. You understand them. You understand what it like. Slavery is different for you. Not worse, or better. Just...different."
I wanted to tell him to always speak his mind, and always speak the truth. I wanted to encourage him to tell the world his story and never be ashamed of who he was or where he came from. I didn't...only because I was instantly afraid that it might someday get him killed.
The words I spoke to the kids the day we left Lebanon were hard. I wasn't proud of the threats I made, but then I don't think the threats were so impactful as the reality of what they were facing, and that they weren't going to face it on their own any longer.
Joe, Hoss, Bucky and I...we've bled more than our share for this train. My pride was standing as a shadow behind me that morning, demanding that I stand up for the sacrifice we had all made. Now I'm starting to see that same pride in the children. Instead of planning to steal and sneak away in the night, they've begun to organize a defense.
Some of the boys have the contracts that their parents signed, amongst other important papers, and we've been studying them for loopholes. We've found one...a farfetched one...that an old Boston school mate told me about, shortly after the start of the War Between the States.
That...and a bit of subterfuge, may earn these children their freedom. What we need now is someone to defend us who actually has a degree in the subject at hand. When we reach Portland I plan to seek out legal representation for the children before we hand them over to the Home for Wayward Children at the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage.
As to Jamie and Wendy, their mother was not in Albany. The sheriff helped us track her brief stay in Albany to the stage line running to Portland. She obtained a ticket to go all the way to the end of the line. It seems we are all heading north now.
June 27 - 3 days to Portland
Martha and Sewell have married. A local law officer at tonight's stop was good enough to preform the ceremony and we have documents that have been witnessed and duly notarized. With Martha's name legally changed, her status as a dependent piece of property is no longer valid. Sewell will be 18 in four days making him no longer a minor, at which time he too may leave his contract.
This allowed Martha to legally sign her new name to a series of documents. In a frenzy of the same bills changing hands again and again, Martha Johanssen "purchased" the contracts for 10 of the youngest members of the train. The sheriff witnessed the transaction and a telegraph was sent to the shipping company noting the bill of sale and promising that a check to the specified amount owed on the contract would be mailed to the company by the wealthy new heiress to the Johanssen fortune. What a shame the mail is so unreliable these days.
Martha and Sewell's marriage will be quietly annulled at our next stop. The annulment not only frees Martha and Sewell from a hastily arranged union, but also releases Martha Johanssen from the debt she now owes Johnson Shipping. After all, how can a woman who doesn't exist owe money?
If any person of the legal persuasion should then state that Martha Johanssen's purchase of the contracts is not valid, given that she doesn't exist, Joe, Hoss and I will produce our bills of sale indicating that we purchased the contracts from a Mrs. Johannsen. We've conveniently left out the fact that we purchased the contracts first, then sold them to Mrs. Johannsen. Both documents are dated for today, and there isn't any place to put down the hour of the sale. Only the date, the price and the name of the buyer.
This pesky trail of paperwork, in triplicate is slowly building the bridge that will carry this orphan train to liberation.
Adam re-read the last line and smirked to himself. "Getting poetic in your old age." He muttered before he softly closed the pages of the journal and tucked it back into his saddlebag. He sat back against the tree under which he had parked himself and watched the rounders game, suddenly wishing he had a cold beer and a basket of peanuts.
"You know what would be great right about now." Joe said. "A cold beer and a-"
"Basket of peanuts." Adam finished with him. "Right?"
"Maybe a little...weeny roast over there in the shade and some fresh, hot apple pie." Hoss added, from where he lay in the grass, his hat perched on one knee, crossed over the other knee.
"Man, I miss home." Joe said.
"This from the boy who couldn't wait to get off the Ponderosa." Adam muttered.
"Enough is enough, Adam." Joe said, and Hoss and Adam laughed at him. They were interrupted by the approach of two saddled and packed horses, following their riders under the trees.
"Time has come, eh boys?" Dan said, reaching a hand down to help Adam to his feet.
Tom offered Joe a hand, and the two of them got Hoss upright. Bucky stepped away from where he had been acting as Batter Umpire, jogging into the shade.
"You say goodbye to the kids?" Adam asked.
Tom looked back over his shoulder and nodded. "Yeah. Briefly. They're distracted, happy. It's the best way to leave 'em."
"Thank you for your help." Adam said, shaking one hand than the other.
"Couldn't have done it without you fellers." Hoss said, shaking hands.
"I kinda feel like we came in on the easy part." Dan said.
"You saved our hides, brothers. We won't forget it." Joe said, putting his hand out too.
"Write any of us, care of the Ponderosa. And if you ever get the wanderlust, you'll always be welcome down our way." Adam said.
"Just maybe...go around Paiute country." Joe said, drawing a few wide circles in the air.
The six men laughed, Dan and Tom turning to say goodbye to Bucky last who held their horses while they mounted. The two military men rode off, watched by three and a half Cartwrights, until they were out of sight, before Bucky scampered back to the game and the Cartwright boys fell into a companionable silence.
It was broken after a spell by a soft, close-mouthed chuckle from Adam. Joe, thinking Adam was laughing at the last play, glanced over at his brother and grinned before looking back to the game. When the chuckle came again, but in the middle of a lull, Joe cocked an eyebrow and looked at Adam a little closer.
Adam scratched his nose, his 'sly cat' smirk on his face, glanced to Joe then raised a brow and asked, "What?"
"Nothin'." Joe said, shaking his head and looking back to the game.
When the chuckle came again both Hoss and Joe turned surreptitious glances to their brother who seemed entirely consumed by a joke that he never intended to share with the world. Joe and Hoss exchanged a concerned look, as Adam's slow build to a mental breakdown began to be more interesting than the rounders game.
Joe was about to ask what was wrong when Adam tapped him on the shoulder and pointed out toward the field. "I'm gonna marry, Wendy." Adam said.
"What!?" They shouted in unison.
Adam shushed them both hurriedly, waving his hands up and down to emphasize, then said, "Think about it...what do these kids want? Hmm? Land...a place to start their own town...their own little community. And what does Wendy have?"
Joe's stunned look and Hoss' sad one clearly dismayed Adam who finally said, "Land! She has land! Tons of it! Horses, buildings, clean water, plenty of space…" Adam gave a dejected sneer and waved the idea off, his arms crossing.
"But...Adam do you even love her?" Joe asked.
"It's not a real marriage." Adam chided, eagerly. "Listen, we know that a woman can't legally own property unless it belonged to her husband and she was widowed. Even though she's the older of the two, the property technically belongs to Jamie. But Jamie can't possibly put it to use. He's not responsible enough and until he's 18 it would legally belong to a trust, but if I...marry Wendy...it would become our joint property."
"Oh…" Joe said, nodding. "Then she kills you, and everyone lives happily ever after."
Adam opened his mouth, then left it open, giving Joe his best appalled look.
"Brother...the flies." Hoss said, gently guiding Adam's mouth closed.
Adam knocked the hand from his face and said, "After we marry I can legally put the property into Wendy's name as the power of attorney-"
Joe tapped Hoss on the arm, his attention suddenly focused over Adam's shoulder.
"Joe...will you pay attention." Adam snapped. "We'll put Wendy's name as the power of attorney for the trust for her brother. We can write a clause in there that lets her determine when ownership-"
"Adam." Hoss said, his eyes bright and wide open, his mouth fixed in a dreamy grin.
"Hoss….now I gotta think this through. If we let her determine when ownership of the ranch goes to Jamie, if at all...or even give them joint ownership. She can then 'hire' the contracts for the rest of the kids. The whole wagon train will be free of Johnson Shipping forever. I get divorced, we all go home!"
Adam stopped, looked between his brothers and asked, "Are you two crying?!"
Adam turned around and looked in the direction that his brothers had been staring, transfixed at the sight of a tall, snow-haired man standing on the Portland-Albany stage road. Framed by the stalled stage, wearing a white shirt, black string tie and vest, the man reached up for the valise that the stage driver was handing down, then stepped away from the coach. The horses were whipped up and the coach pulled away, leaving Ben Cartwright standing on the road alone.
He looked down at the meadow that held a circle of patched and repaired wagons, children playing and screaming and laughing in delight, and the reason he had withstood endless hours in the saddle, on a ship, and on a stage, racing time to get to Portland.
Ben went sideways down the hill, fast as he dared, laughing joyously when his boys started sprinting towards him, hats flying off their heads, practically tripping over their own feet. Joe was going so fast he overshot the mark a little, Adam plowed straight into Ben, and Hoss brought up the rear lifting both Adam and Ben off the ground. Ben greeted each of his boys with bruising hugs, holding their faces still in his hands so that he could look them over, then hugging them all over again.
"Oh I missed you, boys." He said, breathless. "I missed you boys, so much."
"Missed you, too, Pa." Adam said, echoed by his brothers. He swiped at the wetness on his face and said, "Can you believe these two were crying?"
The Cartwrights laughed, as Ben said, "My boys? Crying? Never."