Daria On The Trail: A Meeting With Saints
DISCLAIMER: I do not own either A Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. Nor do I own Daria Morgendorffer. The former belongs to GRR Martin and Daria belongs to MTV Viacom. This story based on the real Oregon Trail and has little or nothing to do with the computer game of the same name. This work of fiction is written for my own amusement and ego gratification, not for profit.
If you like what you're reading, please write a review!
Also, this story is a Western, howbeit with some Westerosi characters, mostly smallfolk. It's a story of pioneers crossing the Plains and the mountains by covered wagon. If you were expecting appearances by the main characters from ASOIAF or GOT, you are likely to be disappointed.
Daria On the Trail*Daria On the Trail*Daria On the Trail
Orrick Trout POV
Our Company's meeting ended with a vote to rescue the Wilsons' wagon and animals. I'd volunteered my oxen and wagon to help with the rescue, which meant that we'd have to unload my wagon and yoke my oxen before we set out, which meant that my family would have to try to shelter under Willem's wagon if it rained while we were away—unless someone had a tent we could borrow.
Or would we need to borrow one? I hadn't gone scrounging, but Daria and Jilla had, and they'd both told me about the dumping-grounds near the other camp sites. I found Daria talking to Jilla and motioned her over.
"Daria," I said.
"Yes, Cap'n?" she replied, using the Yankee contraction for Captain.
"I need to ask you something," I said. "Did you see any tents while you scrounging around the dumping-grounds?"
"As a matter of fact I did," said Daria. "Several of them. People are tossing them out to save weight. Do you want me to find one?"
"Yes," I said. "I think it would be nice for you and my family to sleep under cover while we rescue Mr. Wilson's things and animals and until we're ready to set out again."
"I'm willing to go look," she said. "Just you and me, Boss, or do you want Kennard or Willem to come along?"
"I'll bring Kennard and Willem," I said. I went to go look for them. Kennard was easy enough to find: he'd been playing with a couple of the other boys near our camp site. Finding Willem took a little bit longer, but not too long.
We started our quest a short time later. I hadn't seen fit to visit the dump-sites. I'd spent much of my time with re-organizing the company, inspecting the oxen and other company members' wagons, interviewing new members to replace the ones that had left with Ridge, or just walking around the Fort; I'd spent very little time actually looking through the piles of things that other Emigrants had tossed out on the Trail.
Daria had suggested walking a couple of miles further away from the Fort. She and my older daughter Jilla had investigated a couple of dump-sites near our camp and the laundresses at the Fort had suggested looking at the dump sites even further out. After about three miles, we came to a couple of dump sites that Daria claimed she never visited before.
"This one looks promising," said Daria, pointing at a pile of canvas. The girl had a point. It looked like several Emigrant parties had been dumping their excess here since the wagons had started rolling west in May. The ground was littered with several small piles of furniture, farmer's tools, metal stoves, excess clothing and, could it be, a couple of tents.
"Let's try this one," I said, picking out a large lump of canvas. Willem and I pulled it out, then all four of us unfolded it to see just how intact it was. The tenting itself was intact, but could we set it up? Some more poking and prodding turned up tent poles, rope, and tent stakes.
"This should do," I said. We folded the tent up and prepared to take it back to our camp site.
We had attracted an audience while we were folding up the tent. Two men, an older one in a coat and hat and a younger one in a hat, were looking at us in disapproval. "You know these piles are ours," said the younger man.
"Excuse me?" I said in English, Daria echoing me with an "I beg your pardon?"
"These goods were left by our people when they passed several weeks ago," said the younger of the two.
"Are you all Latter Day Saints?" asked Daria. I had heard that many Yankees had disagreements with a sect called the Mormons. My grasp of English was not as it should be: were the Saints the Mormons?
"We are," said the younger man. "What of it?"
"I don't know that much about you all, but as I recall, you not only have prohibitions against tea and coffee, you also have prohibitions against alcohol and tobacco," said Daria, fixing the pompous young man with a glare.. "Or am I mistaken?"
"Of course we do," the younger man replied testily.
"Which would explain the tobacco cans and liquor bottles we found in this pile," said Daria, lifting an empty liquor bottle with an ironic grin and waving in front of the two elders. "Either your flock had some formidable backsliders or this wasn't an LDS dump site to begin with."
The younger man blushed while the older one tried to keep a grin off his face.
"Perhaps you were mistaken," she said. "This wasn't your pile after all."
"Daria, who are these people?" I asked in Andal.
"I believe that they're Mormons," she replied. "They've probably scouts trying to provide for that hand cart company we passed several days ago."
"Are you all looking after those people with handcarts we saw on the trail a couple of days ago?" said Daria, switching back to English.
"Yes," said the older man. "I apologize for Zebediah's zeal, but I would appeal to your charity."
"If it makes you feel better, we're not trying to open a dry goods store or a dress shop," said Daria. "Captain Trout is trying to find a tent for his family while we are staying at the Fort. In any event, I think there's still enough stuff for all."
The older man chuckled.
I decided to intervene. "If you fellows wish to set aside supplies for your own people, maybe you should take what you need and make your own pile," I said.
"Also, if you wish, some of us might volunteer to help you set up your tents once you find your camp site," I said.
"You would do such a thing?" said the older man.
"It is pleasing to the Gods," I replied. "It says to in the Book of the Seven."
"Where would we find you?" asked the older man.
"We're the Trout Company," I said.
"Or the Fish," Daria said with a grin on her face.
Author's Notes: I mean no offense to the Church of Latter-Day Saints by having a character act like a jerk. It's just him, not the LDS as a whole.
Also, 1860 was the last year that the Latter-Day Saints ran a hand-cart company across the Great Plains and the Rocky Mountains to Salt Lake City and the Great Basin. When I say handcart, I mean that literally: members of this migration pushed large handcarts across the prairies and over South Pass and then down Emigrants' Canyon to the valley of the Great Salt Lake.
