Daria on the Trail:
Matters Medical Part One

DISCLAIMER: This story is a Western based on a story by Ultimate Paladin posted on another site. I changed the location of the interdimensional portal, backdated the time of this story to 1860, and went on from there. A Song of Ice and Fire was written by George RR Martin . Daria was created by Glen Eichler. I own neither property. George RR Martin owns A Song of Ice and Fire, MTV Viacom owns Daria. I seek no financial compensation for this story but I welcome reviews.

This story is based on my personal research on the Oregon Trail, not on the video game with the same name

-(((O-O)))-

Daria:

Our wagon train did not move during our second day in the Salt River Valley. Like the other companies in the area, we set to rendering aid to the trigger-happy Buford Company round up their skittish mules and rebuild what was left of their wagons.

The incident with the mammoths had done quite a job on the Buford Company's wagons and outfits. Most of the damage had been caused by the frightened mules bolting across the landscape to flee the angry mammoths, spilling provisions and goods on the ground, tipping wagons over, then breaking away as their mule harnesses and wagon tongues snapped after being subjected to unexpected stresses.

I didn't have much to do with wagon repairs. I was doing women's work: in this case nursing the injured as best we could and preparing the bodies of the dead for burial. Also the cooking. If it wasn't as physically straining as our usual work when we were either on the moved or camped to rest while something got fixed, it was psychologically taxing. When you wash and wrap some woman or child for burial, you can't help but think that here was some gal or kid who was a living, breathing person with a life, love, hopes and dreams whose life was lost either when they were thrown from their wagon or trampled by panicky mules or enraged mastodons. It was gruesome to think about. Alive, then dead. And despite the fact that Joss knew what to do and the mammoths left our wagon train alone, I couldn't help but think that that could very well have been us.

By now a couple of other companies had come down from the Salt River Pass and stopped to help. With the new arrivals taking matters in hand, Captain Trout and Captain Johnson called a joint meeting. Captain Trout complimented those of us who pitched in to help the Buford Company, then turned the meeting over to Captain Johnson. Johnson got to the point very quickly: "We have done what we could for the Buford Company and they have two other companies helping them salvage their wagons and supplies," he said. "I think we can say that they're in good hands." The men and women attending all looked around at each other and gave themselves pats on the back. Here's to us! Weren't we something? "But to quote one of Captain Trout's people, Winter is coming. We have miles to go before we reach the Sierras and Captain Trout's people reach Mount Hood. I think we ought to load up and go up the road a few miles to get away from the mammoths. We won't get far this afternoon, but we can put some distance between us and the beasts."

I was no empath, but I could feel the surge of discontent. Most of the people in the meeting would like to take an afternoon of rest. So would I, for that matter. But Johnson had a point. While Captain Trout had brought us safely this far, the season was advancing. It was now August and I did not like the thought of trying to cross the Blues in the snow. When it came time for a vote, it turned out that the rest of the company wasn't too keen on the idea either. We'd load up and set off.

The mammoths weren't our only issue. After Mrs. Harris' death, I was reminded that our Company lacked doctors or mid-wives. While my first-aid training could take up the slack for a lot of our medical issues, childbirth was another matter. This was 1860 and birthing was ground divided between doctors and midwives. The doctors might have had formal medical training, but compared to the training MDs got in my time or even when my parents were born, they didn't know very much or have any experience.

On the other hand, midwives in the here and now had a lot more experience than physicians, and certainly more than Doctor Struthers did, even if they lacked what formal training at mid-nineteenth century colleges. Our combined company only had one midwife: Mrs. Thompson. And Mrs. Thompson and the rest of Captain Johnson's company would be peeling away at the Raft River, over six hundred miles from the Willamette Valley. I'd have to see if we could get her to teach us the basics.

We broke camp. We didn't get that far that afternoon: only about five miles, which wasn't much. Captain Trout, Joss, Mr. Parkhurst and a couple of other people scouted the area around our camp site and to our intense relief found that while we were still along a good stretch of road, the mammoths hadn't been using it. We then circled the wagons, hoping that we'd gone far enough to get away from trouble.

-(((O-O)))—

The next morning I decided that I was going to have to take the bit in my teeth. I was going to have to talk to Mrs. Thompson. I asked Susana to be excused from helping with out Nooner and went looking for her among the Johnson part of our joint wagon train. It took me a little time to find her: I didn't recognize her wagon or her oxen, but I managed. I found her with her family as her son and her daughter-in-law were putting away their forks and plates. She didn't look as formidable as she could in her midwife role, but I could tell that she was the Alpha female of her family.

"Mrs. Thompson?" I said, showing the best manners I could.

"Miss—Morgendorffer," she replied. She looked me over with a gimlet eye. If I'd been in Junior high, I'd have been shaking in fright. "You're with Trout's people, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied.

"What do you want?" she said.

"Our Company is going to be facing a situation in a couple of weeks when you all split off for California," I said.

"So?" she said in tone of voice that I was being dull-witted.

"You and Doctor Struthers are the best medical people our wagon train has," I said.

"Thanks," she replied pro-forma. She was and she knew that both of us knew it.

"You're not too bad yourself," she added, throwing me a bone. "I think the Doctor could learn a thing or two from you. So?"

"We've got several women who are expecting in our Company and I've been asking around," I said. "Our Company doesn't have any midwives. Could I help the next time when…" I looked at the other Thompsons and remember that mid-nineteenth century farmers could be very prudish and that I'd have to walk very carefully. Talking about childbirth was quasi-taboo.

"You don't know anything," she said flatly.

"I don't," I said. "I don't think any of the rest of us know anything either."

"So you think I'm going to let you put your hands on when the time comes?" she said.

"No, ma'am," I said. "I'm hoping that I'll be allowed to sit in, watch, keep my mouth shut, and do what I'm told."

Mrs. Thompson gave me a crooked smile. Maybe she thought I wasn't a total drub. "You people really need a mid-wife," she said.

No kidding, I thought, keeping my tongue parked in neutral. Don't blow it, Morgendorffer, I thought.

"We do," I said. "I don't know if we can get one if we link up with another wagon train, but somebody is going to have to do the best they can when the time comes."

She looked at me a long time, making up her mind.

"All right, you can watch," she said. "But I want you to get somebody else from your company, either an American or one of those damn foreigners you're traveling with. They can learn, too."

"Yes, ma'am," I said. "Thank you."

Mrs. Thompson made a non-committal noise, then turned to her son. "Let's pack up," she said. "We'll have to get back on the trail shortly."

I'd been dismissed. I nodded to the other Thompsons and returned to my wagon.