For the Better
Handsome, silky brown hair blew in the warm spring air as Will darted around the makeshift bases. I gazed out the window, peering at the daily afterschool baseball game with all the boys in the neighborhood. It was always in the same place, on the field where the slaves used to work. Of course, I did not really care for this new sport, or how the former plantation was being treated; it was just that whenever I could watch Will, I did. My adulation for him was immeasurable. He was quite a jim-dandy ! Will was the highlight of my everyday! Since moving to the same neighborhood—I was three and he was five—eleven years ago we had been instantaneous best friends. As time passed, so did my “just friends” emotions. His beauty ensured my vision. Of course, I could not express this too openly. That was simply unreasonable for a respectful, properly raised youthful, Southern girl to do.
Continuing to watch in awe, I saw the lips of the boys moving—arguing about the score. Evolving from a creamy paleness to a rosy red as he tried to call one of the other team’s members out, Will stomped over to his opponents (lined up in their batting order), refusing to give up his side of the argument. His tough appearance—I assumed—made them give in. Out of breath, from his strategic victory, he thanked them for coming to their senses and wiped the sweat away from his brow. The boys took this sport more seriously than anything. Rumor had it that newspapers were going to begin examining baseball games to write about—as opposed to the usual article about something more famous, such as the newly founded New York Philharmonic or something about the Seneca Falls Convention; they wanted their daily games to be observed. Being in a published article would possibly lead to a coach coming to start a baseball club like the ones up north. Baseball was what their lives revolved around. I wanted to go out and get a closer look at the game—and Will—but in the hot air, I’d never be able to bear it. My thick, floor-length dress made every day hotter. Oh, how I longed to be with him every single second of every single day!
Still admiring my dearest love, I recalled what he had mentioned to me in the schoolhouse. His father was an active abolitionist, and attended a lot of government meetings. Will had overheard that all members of the community were going to gather in the square this evening for the mayor to speak. What would be announced at this meeting, I had no idea.

Strolling down the narrow streets later on, all of the citizens of Greenville made their way to the meeting spot. The air had cooled sending a refreshing chill through our overheated bodies. When we arrived, all that there was was the mayor at a podium with a mob surrounding him. As people shouted at him asking why they had been gathered, I sauntered over to Will. He was standing with his older brothers, twins, and in front of his mother. I assumed that his father was towards the front with the other men active in our town government. Before I was able to speak to Will, his mother glared at me, casting a disapproving look. She didn’t want to have her kids look too childish—by conversing in a playful manner—in front of all of the people she knew. I did not understand why she wouldn’t let kids be kids, but being raised as a proper young lady, I knew to never question an adult. As I walked back to my family due to the critical look, a hush came over the crowd. Mayor Thomas began to speak eloquently, inaugurating his serious message on the way.

“Thank you for gathering tonight. As you have heard, I have summoned the citizens of our town here today for a very important reason. This will change our township permanently.” His tone was very frighteningly stern. Nobody knew what to expect. “Here,” he announced, holding up a piece of paper, scribbled on in all directions. An eerie silence fell among us. “I have a list . . . on it are the surnames of families that will be travelling, in three wagons, west on the Oregon Trail. Our township has been called by President John Tyler to send a portion of our citizens out west. The randomly selected families are the following; Smith, Mitchell, Jones, Kelly, Richardson, Brown, Thompson, Adams, Wood, Mason, Ali, and that is all.”

I felt like bawling, I, Margaret Richardson, according to the list, was going on this risky journey. On the other hand, Will Harris, the one person who brought me all the joy in my day, was not. I glanced at him and he barely even registered my emotion. He gave me a half smile, meaningless in every way. Is this how it was going to be, after I left; he forgets me, and then after the long days, weeks, and months on a wagon, I forget him too? I wouldn’t go. I just wouldn’t.

On my way to issue my decree to my mother, my mind’s rant was interrupted by the loud, bellowing voice once more. “My sincerest apologies. I have seemed to skip over a name. The last, and as I have now doubly checked, and final family venturing west will be the Harris family.” I was overjoyed, frozen in my path. I was in utter disbelief. Daydreams began to rush through my head; I was more adrenalized than ever! Not only would I be able to spend the rest of my life in the same area of the country as Will, it was our destiny to be together as we would be able to grow closer during the next few months. We would have to spend time together! There were not many children older than twelve going on this trail. I knew after trying to learn as much about him as I could—when I saw him in the most recent weeks—he would want to be around individuals with similar interests and knowledge, so he would have to frequently accompany me! This excitement invigorated me! Within the past few minutes, my thoughts had changed drastically, from extremely depressed to savoring the moment.

As people started to traipse to their respective parts of town, my mother and father made their way over to pay their homage to Mayor Thomas. I had known for a while that they wanted this opportunity to help our country expand, and now they were so grateful for what they were given.

As we departed from the square, my parents and I discussed how I needed to prepare for our trip. When my father had conversed with the mayor, he became alarmed by the confines of the strict weight limit for the wagons. How could a family of four pack all of their life into eighty-five pounds? This would be very difficult due to our clothing being so conservative and heavy (from the extra fabric) and many sentimental items like gold jewelry, a Bible passed through our family, and my sister’s and my first pairs of shoes, so I could not bring along any trinkets like small, wooden toys or useless, unimportant purses or bracelets. Final packing list for the rest of my life: my two favorite dresses, one pair of shoes, and one other object of mine. Of course, I chose my brand new book. It was recently published—The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass—I was very excited to read it after being raised in a family of abolitionists. A man, formerly a slave, wrote this novel. He escaped and wrote to inform us all about the horrors of life as a slave. What a marvelous tool to show that individuals can empower themselves. I heard it was inspirational, so I felt like giving it a try. If I enjoyed it, I would recommend it to my new friends out west even if they were dissidents of the abolitionist group.

Finally reaching home, I ran to my room to find the book and choose my clothing. Without a doubt, I searched for the dresses that were flattering on me, to impress Will. What I had heard about going on the Oregon Trail conveyed that it was not very comfortable, so I also kept in mind that I should not pick stiff dresses, despite their beatific potential. Once I made my final decision, I brought down my favorite brown shoes, the two dresses, and my book. Mother analyzed my collection, seeming flabbergasted that I did not choose a toy, but my book instead. She wanted me to be knowledgeable, so she placed it in the pile of items for the journey without questioning.

“Oh, how I wish that I could just press a button and all of this tiring packing would be done! I feel as if these bags will bust if I must put in anything else. I need your father’s help so badly, but he is far too busy,” Mother sighed. I giggled at her unreasonable desire and ascended up the stairs. I sat on my bed and daydreamed of what life would be like travelling with my love. I could not even begin to imagine the volume my happiness would be of during the movement. It gave me goose pimples when I realized Will could be thinking about me contemporaneously —even though I doubted it. Once I read my new piece of literature, I would sound so much smarter and be able to have an adult-like colloquy with him, appraising Frederick Douglass’ work.

After having a long, somewhat unrealistic fantasy, I headed over to my best friend Mary’s house only a few roads away. She was probably more upset about my having to leave than anyone. Her parents had just gone through repudiation and she was feeling very lonely. She had been one of my cronies for a very long period and I was her source for a great amount of support.

I spent approximately an hour there simply explaining that I had to leave. It was almost as if the law was banishing me, or gouging my family, in a polite manner. I promised to mail her letters and tell her how I was doing once I reached my new home. I assured her that I would miss her dearly and my life would never be the same. Her explanation of how she would long for me to be with her exceeded my feelings; perhaps because Will was consuming my thoughts. I felt horrible that I was leaving, but I had to go.

Back at home, I rested and in the morning the week proceeded as normal outside of my empty home. The only thing in my outside life that was changed was schoolwork. My teacher did not distribute any assignments to my classmates that were leaving or me; for we would be gone before she had graded them. All we had to do was listen to her lessons daily until our departure.

I was slowly realizing that my time in Greenville was truly coming to a close. I would be able to have my greatest wish of spending a large portion of everyday with Will, yet I would miss out on so many of the experiences I had looked forward to all my life. I would not be able to spend another Christmas with Mary’s family, or lay the Easter eggs around the neighborhood for the little kids to hunt for. Tears filled my eyes, but I had to remind myself to be happy. There was nothing I could do about my mandatory trip, so I would have to focus only on the perks. I knew that there were enough, but I was just beginning to understand that it was real life and I was about to turn a major corner where there was no turning back. Of course, I was bursting with jubilation, but when reality struck, I had to second-guess myself.

I pondered about what the true emotion I should be feeling was for a short while. Eventually, I came to the realization that of course I would miss Greenville, but that was what memories were for, weren’t they? I needed to remain enthusiastic and look forward to being with Will. Just like before this period of judgment, I couldn’t wait to go!

Before I knew it, it was time to get our wagon assignments. Back in the town square, Mayor Thomas called the public to attention. “Welcome back. I am sure that you all have had a very busy week. Now it is time for me to share the groupings of all of your families. In the first of the three wagons there will be—Mitchell, Kelly, Brown, and Ali. On the next wagon will be—Smith, Richardson, Jones, and Mason. Finally, on the last wagon will be—Harris, Adams, Thompson, and Wood. The wagons will be here tomorrow morning at 7 A.M. I expect everyone to be here thirty minutes ahead of schedule, ready to load their belongings on to the assigned item of transportation. You will immediately begin your travel to Independence, Missouri. It looks like it will be an ideal day of May to start your long journey. After a long trip, you should reach your destination in about October.”
Obviously, I was upset about not being with Will on my wagon, but since I was ahead of him, I would most likely be able to look at him through the back of my wagon. Additionally, I could socialize with him during our daily break from travelling whether it was for lunch or dinnertime.

At home for the very last night, I shimmied into my old, trundle and fell asleep to the sound of my little sister Martha crying in Mother’s arms. I hated that I had to listen to this obnoxious noise, but there was nothing that I could do. I dreamed about being with Will eating our dinner and becoming closer friends daily. Despite the negative remarks I heard about the Oregon Trail, I knew that with my state of mind and the people at my side, it would be just fine. I couldn’t help but to wonder, however, about the specifics of the trip that I was unaware of. How would we all sleep in just three wagons? What would we have to eat? Who would be informing us of what was next to come along our path?

Morning came rapidly. We bolted out of our home (which now would be just another house to us) faster than ever before, barely getting to grasp all of the memories we built there. There was no time to dawdle. I grabbed a pittance of bread for my breakfast and dashed after my family. We were very late for what might have been the most important day of our lives! There was not one second to spare.

Like usual, we were later than everyone else as we arrived at the square. Before we loaded our belongings with our wagon-mates, Mother and Father—once again—extolled the mayor for letting us travel west. I just wanted to get on with our journey and signaled to them with faces that I felt they should hurry up.

Finally, all of the travellers were ready to go and the wagons proceeded towards Independence. There we would get our final directions and cross over the Missouri River, from there our journey would continue and eventually come to a close. The road was anything but smooth and with a bumpy start, I started to become slightly worried.
* * * *
Being worried was definitely reasonable. The journey got more unpleasant and more unpleasant as days went by. Members of our wagon were vomiting off of the sides and onto the road below us. The whines and descriptions of how much pain individuals were suffering from were enough to make me feel ill as well. There had been nine deaths on our wagon alone and we had to bury them along the way. This trip was not filled with positivity and joy as I had assumed. It was all negative and utterly disturbing. I had imagined that I would spend more time with Will, but clearly there was no time for enjoyment. We were all travelling to expand our country, but other than the new land, what was really in it for us? I began to question if this was worth it. I still adored Will, but I saw him more at home. I never thought it would even cross my mind, but I liked things more as they were before.
Now, we were a week past Independence and all I wanted to do was turn home. Going to this city expecting a break from the journey, all we had to do was tell the people there who was travelling with us and we were sent on our way again. The not-even-an-hour amount of time I got to see Will every day and the few seconds at I time that I could peer at him through the back of the wagon were not nearly enough. The bumps on the paths had become nauseating and members of the wagon were beginning to feel ill. I heard rumors that the severe sickness cholera was spreading and I was stressed.
Continuously flowing and rushing loudly, the river was near. I was very worried to cross it being that I was unable to swim. The weather the past few days hadn’t been so promising either. The men on the wagon were preparing to load everything onto a boat and before I knew it we were afloat.

Shaking and wobbling like nothing I had ever experienced, the boat moved with every peak in the water. Even though it was May, the water had an icy, threatening appearance almost mocking my fear of not being able to swim. Travelling worse than the wagon and with the current only made the boat go faster—with less control. I never thought I would believe this, but there was something worse than travelling on the blazing hot, dirty paths. It was floating along with the rapid, unpredictable currents. All of the weak passengers seeming to be coming down with the sickness were vomiting from motion sickness. There was a disgusting stench. I could not imagine any situation worse than this.

Martha began to wail annotating the moans and groans of our shipmates. I crawled over to her knowing that I would never have been able to keep my balance if I had walked. I placed her tiny, frail body in my arms and tried to rock her more peacefully than the waves. Rocking her for a good ten minutes, she fell asleep. Continuing to cradle her in my weakening arms, I thought about how I was really going to need to adapt on this journey and be more helpful than normal. My parents had helped me for all of my life, and now—as I could see they were becoming sick—I was going to need to act mature and never be reluctant to help out.

I peered out towards Will’s boat behind me. In the distance, I could make out his figure. If I were with him right now, his soothing voice would take away all of my fear. Concealed by the clouds, the sun was no longer in sight as the water became whiter. I felt the boat speed up with the push of the waves and I gripped my little sister as hard as I could. We could all feel the imminent storm in the air. Speeding up, the water pulled Will’s boat close enough to mine that I could see horrified looks splash across their faces. Our captain shouted that we were pulling over to the riverbank because of the unbelievable danger. I felt a jolt in my bones as we hit land.

Suddenly, a massive wave emerged simply out of nowhere. Will’s captain had failed to get to a somewhat serene area in time and their boat was smacked. It sped past mine until I could no longer see it. There was a loud crack and snapping sound, overpowered by distant screams and cries. I started to shake once again, but this time it wasn’t from the Missouri and its swelling tide.

* * * *

Gone—along with the rest of his ship—Will was to never take another breath. The funeral was tonight, and I had to attend even though I dreaded it more than anything. I didn’t want to go to officially hear that Will had left us, to have other travellers commiserate me, and to show publically how much I lament Will’s death. It would not bring me peace as everyone promised it would. It would only bring me into more depression. I had accepted that Will was dead and I wanted to move on, but according to all of the people around me forgetting was not enough.

Sure enough and despite my mental wishes that it would be adjourned to somewhere I could not make it to, I was dragged to the service. It was awful. Sad music was being hummed throughout the crowd along with the words of sorrow from my wagon-mates. They all knew about my vehemence for Will—or at least had an idea—based on my making sure that I was always as close to him as possible. As everyone paid their respects, I tried to hide behind the crowd and distract myself.

After playing with a stick in the mud—the most entertaining task I could find—we began to wander back to the wagons loaded off of the ships. There were coughs and complaints of weakness among us. The sickness had hit. Strange enough, my bad luck did not continue—I felt fine, and from her squeals and giggles, I assumed Martha did too.

The next morning came around, I was positive now that over half of the group on the journey was extremely sick. The heat and humidity was no help. Cooped up in a tight wagon with too many people and a repulsive odor, I had to tend towards Martha. She was unaware that she needed to be calm because she was so young. Mother and Father had some of the worst symptoms and I was very worried that I would loose another person on this trip. To try to keep them focused on getting better, I entertained Martha without hesitation. What kept her the quietest was reading to her. No matter what the story was, she loved to listen to it. I took this opportunity to begin my book hidden in a crypt between the floor panels of the wagon. She clearly didn’t understand what I was saying, but it was fine. Within a chapter or two, she was fast asleep. I carried her towards Mother to notify her that everything was all right.

“Margaret, I need to talk to you,” Mother screeched through her cough and raspy voice. “I realized that you wanted to just forget about Will and his tragic death, but when life brings you obstacles you need to reflect on them and see how you can grow. I know it may seem impossible right now, but as your heart mends, you will be able to look back on the fun times you had with your friend. From this . . . you can see what a great person he was. Also, his being gone will teach you how to remember why you loved his company. It will teach you about appreciation—how it is a quality we must have when something or somebody is with us and when he, she, or it is gone. I understand it is hard, but you are a strong girl and I know you can handle these adult-like thoughts,” she confessed and explained thoroughly.

* * * *

As I continued to care for my little sister and watch her as she slept, I had time to think about how Will only had a positive and strengthening impact on my life. He only painted smiles on my face and pulled laughter from my lips. While in this new state-of-mind, I thought about the sickness coming over our journey. Even though it brought major discomfort, it was making me stronger and well respected as a caretaker. I was creating a bond with Martha and proving to her that I was anything but weak. I had even heard about a woman Elizabeth Blackwell who recently became the first female doctor. Like her, I was explaining through my actions that anyone could do anything. Even if I felt alone, I had to realize that I wasn’t. My family had faith in me, and I had faith in myself. No matter what came my way, I was able to conquer it. Everything—even if it doesn’t seem like it at first glance—could change me; change me for the better. As I neared my new home, I was a new woman and I knew, nothing could stop me!