The Western Dream

The Western Dream; part 1

I was thirteen years old when it happened, my Father was a Civil War verteran and Ma was a steamstress, making uniforms for the confederate army. Being only ten at the time of war, I wanted to be a soldier and follow my Father. For as long as I live I'll never forget those words he spoke to me the day of his departure. 

"Joshua, son listen to me," He began and kneeled to my level," You are too young for war, you have a big future ahead of you, don't waste it all in this horrific battle. I want you to look after your Ma and sister for me, you're now the man of the house."

Ma, my sister, and I watched him walk down the hill from our house, this being the last time we'll ever might see him again. I've always dreamed of becoming a farmer, just like him. I spent many hours wandering around the farm to see what could be done, waking up at early hours to feed the chickens and clean the coop. Even hitch up the team to plow most of the fields, which later then where lost during Sherman's March. When my Father returned, he was heartbroken. Years and years of getting the farm how he wanted, all destroyed to nothing. That's when he decided that we should move west, get a fresh start and a new way of life. Spending the next year or so planning out our route and packing, sold most of the animals except for a few chickens and the horses. Father said that once we get there that he is going into the cattle business. That winter is when the journey started, Amalie stayed behind at the house, she was older by five years. I knew she was afraid, didn't want to admit it. I could tell by the look in her glossy eyes and the way she that spoke; filled with worry and fright. Amalie stayed behind in our house for quite some time and later on moved a few miles down. 

It was snowing hard that morning, Ma sat up front with Pa and I stayed behind in the back, trying to keep warm. I watched the snow fall through the open flap of the wagon cover. The nearest town was 'bout sixty miles away yet. The sound of the snow crunching from the horses had suddenly came to a harsh stop. They gave out a neigh as if something was making them nervous, I stayed low behind some crates and pulled a blanket over me, so only my eyes were peeking out. Ma turned around, our eyes meeting. She put her fingers to her mouth signaling me to be quiet. I closed my eyes tightly and then there were violent screams. I covered my ears, frightened. When all was quiet again, I carefully crawled up front. My parents were missing, I still stayed low and got out of the wagon. In the distance were four tall figures, behind them was a trail of fresh blood. They were dragging my parents into the woods, their heads limp and mouths wide open as if their screams where the last and final words. The shadows had disappeared into the woods and forever gone. My heart was telling me to go after them, but my mind overruled and told me not to do so. Nothing could be done, as much as I hate the thoughts of my parents being dead, told myself to move on. I ran back to wagon to look for the map Pa had in his bag, when I was younger he taught me how to read and use it. The horses still anxious were in the direction that Pa was going in, I took the map and found my bag as well. I had forgotten that I put a journal inside. Before heading off I wrote a new entry.

Decemeber 15 1868

Today I experienced an event a child should never have to witness. The death of one's parents. Pa wanted a new way of life and that ended in death. No one deserves to die in such a cruel and harsh way. I hid behind some crates while watching Ma giving me the signal to keep quiet. The last time I ever saw the two of them was when their killers were dragging them off into the woods, so badly did I want to chase after those Indians, but my mind stopped me though my heart told me to go. I wish to fill this journal with the experiences I have along the way, by finishing Pa's dream.

Joshua R.

I stopped here and there to take sleeping and eating breaks, I had about four miles left, those last miles were on foot. The horses got out of control due to a icy path and crashed. I managed to jump before it tumbled over, getting away with a few cuts on my face and arms. I went back over to the wagon, its wheels spinning fast, the horses were gone and I grabbed a few important things. The closer I got to the town, I heard music playing loudly and that was a sign. I made my way to the saloon, it stood out from the other buildings. Tall and wide it was, the large sign above saying Saloon EST. 1846. Inside I ignored all the benders, most of them were knocked out and lay on their sides; some even holding the bottle still. It smelled musty, but looked like it was still well maintained. I sat at the counter and watched the bartender slowly wipe it back and forth with a cloth.