Emilio Castiglione loves all of his grandchildren, but Audrey is particularly special to him. And for good reason. Audrey's got spunk, which she comes by honestly. One of her great grandmothers, the incomparable Mrs. Henrietta Freudenberger, was an acid-witted, whip-smart pioneer woman who crossed the Oregon Trail in a Conestoga wagon while expecting her first baby. But she wasn't just fighting back morning sickness and the American wilderness along the way. The modern age didn't invent dysfunctional families, and the Freudenbergers knew that first-hand. With a father-in-law with a Napoleon complex, a mother-in-law who was little more than a servant to him, and FIVE sons who couldn't stop bickering to save their lives. the Freudenbergers have their work cut out for them if they're going to band together and get to Oregon safely. As they prepare to leave Independence, Missouri, in the early spring of 1849, even their pre-trip shopping is a battle. And later, on the Trail, when they befriend a large party of pioneers called "The Donners," things get even more dire. Will Henrietta get to the Oregon Territory before the birth of her baby? Will the Freudenbergers all make it there alive? And when it comes to being understood by the their new friends the Donner Party, just what's eating the Freudenbergers to begin with?
This excerpt begins on Page 4 of the story after we meet Henrietta, her husband Wilhelm, and his family, which she calls by their title's acronyms: Henrietta's Father-In-Law (FIL) "Fil," Mother-In-Law, Mil, Brothers-In-Law, The Bils, two of The Bils' wives, Winnifred and Ernestine, and Henrietta's baby in the making, which she refers to as Biscuit. With that introduction, I proudly present the fourth sneak peek of The American Locket, Emilio's granddaughter Audrey's Story, "Henrietta Freudenberger."
Audrey's Story:
Henrietta Freudenberger
Independence, Missouri, America
1849
Henrietta thought back a week to the day, April 1st, when they had stocked up the supplies before setting off. They had been at Matt’s General Store in Independence. Matt was a character. His blue eyes shown out from his little glasses and he would twitch his dark handlebar moustache mischievously at the little children in the store to make them laugh. He was kind, and so they trusted him and put faith in the supplies he led them to buying. But Matt was no pioneer in the end of the day. He was a salesman. And sold he did. They had pooled all their money and ended up with $1,350.00 in total. Fil had decided it was best not to spend it all up front. Not that Henrietta had expected any less. I’ve seen pennies downright bruised from Fil’s pinching!
Matt welcomed them, saying, “Now, come on out here to the stockyard. That’s right. First thing you’ll need is a couple yoke of oxen! Now, there are two of these suckers,” (He smacked one hard on the behind and it bellowed and snorted and walked away.) “in a yoke. Now, I recommend at least three yoke, now. Ain’t gonna get there with less than three.”
Fil put on his most discerning face. “How much?”
Matt smiled. “Forty dollars. Forty bucks, here. For a yoke. Need at least three, now. You won’t get there with less.”
Fil was dubious. “What’s the difference between getting oxen and getting cows? I’m just curious.” Did he really just ask that?
Matt stifled a laugh. “Oxen are cows, Fred! And the difference is, well, cover your ears little lady, castration. If you know what I mean.” Matt very helpfully ran his finger across the front of his lowers and made a cutting sound. Delightful! “Now, with all due respect, now, can’t nobody make it out west in a wagon pulled by cows. Cows are girls- give milk, see? Bulls could pull you, if they wanted to, but they don’t. Can’t make ‘em listen. Got a couple a minds of their own, you know? Hahaha! What if you get stuck in a whole lotta mud, now? An ox can plow through. Cows can’t do it; bulls won’t do it. No, siree. Get you some oxen like a real pioneer.” Eureka.
“We’ll take three.”
“We’ll take four. Yokes, that is. Eight oxen total,” Wilhelm said, interceding. He handed Matt $160.00 right on the spot. Matt smiled, “Smart man, now. Smart son you got here! Four yokes. I’ll have my guys shoe ‘em for ya even. An ox’s got them cloven hooves, you know, two sides! So really you’re getting, well, 64 ox shoes thrown in! Hell, if that ain’t a deal, now!”
Henrietta had just smiled and said nothing, as usual. Who put Fil in charge of this operation? And, for that matter, who gave Matt a store?
Next, it was time for food. This was difficult. It was all just a guess. No one knew the right amount. Every voyager’s story and journey would end differently. Matt said, “Now, we’ll be doing flour, sugar, cured salt pork and coffee for you. I recommend you get, 200 pounds of food for everyone in your party. You’ve got ten, you say? That’ll be 2,000 pounds of food at $.20 a pound… so… $420.00.”
“$400.00” Henrietta corrected him. Matt was no math scholar. Or he was a scheister.
“Right you are, little lady! Woo-wee! She’s quick! Don’t see that very often in women.”
What a charmer you are, Matt!
Fil nearly cried, but dished out $400.00, and they moved on to clothing. This was getting more and more difficult and costly. Two sets of warm clothing per person, Matt said, and each set was $10.00 in his store. That would be $200.00, Matt. Don’t try to get clever. On to ammunition. Henrietta watched in amusement as the blood drained from Fil’s face, a drop, it seemed, for every dollar he was being forced to spend. “Oh, I don’t know that we’ll be needing much ammunition.” That’s because you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.
Friedrich Freudenberger was a lot of things, but a marksman, he was not. He could build things, and to be sure, he made a show out of everything he ever made because he thrived on attention and recognition, but he honestly couldn’t hunt, couldn’t fish, couldn’t shoot to save his life. He was rotund as they came and avoided any tasks that would illuminate his shortcomings. Thank goodness at least two-fifths of his sons were capable of manning up with a gun and feeding the brood.
“Why… not need much ammo? Listen now, Fred, you’re gonna need some ammo! You won’t last long without relying on hunting for most of your food.”
Wilhelm looked concerned. “How many bullets in a box, Matt?” he asked.
Matt replied, “Twenty.”
“We’ll take five for now. We can always buy more at stops along the way.” Will handed Matt ten more dollars. And Fil died a little more with every cent. He was going to need a second life by the time Matt was done with him. Next they bought spare wagon parts; two wheels, two axles and two tongues. Their Conestoga was big and it was going to be carrying a lot of weight and a lot of stress along the way. Best be prepared.
Sixty-dollars worth of preparedness later, the father-in-law Friedrich “Fil” Freudenberger and company were stocked and ready to light out on the Oregon Trail. They had spent $830.00 in all, which left them with $520.00 left. Fil was distraught, but Henrietta thought that number sounded promising. Wilhelm’s face showed that he agreed. They were well supplied, but they also had over a third of their money left for the trip.
Matt, of Matt’s General Store, was lighting his pipe as they left. He puffed his cheeks in and out, cursing the match for burning his thumb. “Well now, looks like you’re ready to start. Good luck!” he yelled. “You’ll need it! You have a long and difficult journey ahead of you!”
That Matt is such a comfort… They loaded the wagon, yoked up the oxen and set off for the unchartered American West via The Oregon Trail.
LATER THAT SUMMER …
“Fog’s gettin’ awful, ain’t it?” a man from a neighboring wagon train called to Fil. Everyone had just stopped to make camp for the night because the fog was too deep to see more than a few feet through. Henrietta inspected this band of pioneers as Fil shouted his response. Their wagon was massive. It had two stories! And there were over three dozen people in their party it seemed. Dismounting from the driver’s seat, their leader walked over to the Freudenberger camp.
“Name’s Freudenberger,” Fil said, extending his hand.
“Donner. George Donner.”
From what Henrietta could gather, George Donner was a farmer from Springfield, Illinois, in this early sixties with a whole slew of family along for the ride. “This’s my wife, Tamzene, and our kids, Frances, Georgia, Eliza, Elitha and Leanna.”
Hmm… Elitha? Like, Frantheth, Georgia, Elytha, Elitha and Leanna? Yeth? Well, then Elitha, meet Bithkit.
“And that’s my brother Jacob Donner, his wife Elizabeth, and their kids, Mary, George, Isaac, Samuel, Lewis, Solomon and William.” Doggone. That’s a lot of kids. “You got a wife, Froyberger?”
“Freudenberger. Yes, my wife Mildred is in the wagon. She’s a bit under the weather. But that’s my eldest Wilhelm and his wife Henrietta” (and Bithkit) “and then that’s Johann and his wife Ernestine, and over there is Dietrich and his wife Winifred then Ulrich and Rudolf.”
“Mighty pleased to meet you. Looks like we might wake up to some tough conditions if the fog keeps up,” Mr. Donner said. “We’ll make the most of it though. Can’t go trudging off into the clouds and expect to get anywhere. This trail’s about survival. Gotta do whatever it takes. Ain’t always a pretty shake.”
“That’s for sure,” Fil said, but it was obvious he was uncomfortable. “We FreuDENbergers have a way of doing things though, and we like to stick to our methods. Because things always work out if you just do a thing right the first time.”
“Gotta be flexible, though, you know? Say, do you all need anything? Your party’s small. Any way we can trade or help out?”
To Henrietta, George Donner seemed like a real pioneer. A smart, savvy man who was generous to boot. She hoped Fil wouldn’t think he was offering charity and be overtaken by pride and shut him out in the cold. To her surprise, he admitted they were well stocked with everything but food, and some trades were made. Will met Jacob and some of the Donner Party’s older sons, and they made some plans to do a bit of trading with the other wagons if the fog was too thick yet by morning to move on, which it was. After a day laid up in the thickest of fogs, 100 more pounds of bear meat was added to the Freudenberger wagon through trade, and a new friendship with the Donners was officially struck up. Fil and George Donner agreed that they might do well to stick together on the trail for awhile, so now they had neighbors. What a fine example of the pioneer spirit! And someone other than a Freudenberger to talk to!
***
“She’s sick. She can’t even get up. And he’s completely unconcerned,” Henrietta said, literally digging in her heels. The line of Bils all looked at their boots, and the wives said nothing. “Are we going to tell him we need to stay here and rest for a few days?” No one spoke. She was growing impatient… and emotional in her condition. “Wilhelm?” He just looked at her, confused and scared.
“Fine. FIL!” she bellowed, heading toward the campfire. Chasing after her, Wilhelm called her name, but it was too late. Friedrich looked up from his work poking the fire coals into perfectly symmetrical piles. “Is something wrong?” he asked, displeased at her tone.
“Yes, something is wrong. Mil…Mildred is sick. Sicker than anyone seems to want to admit. There’s not much of a rash, but she’s burning up. She has barely eaten in days. She can’t even stand.”
“It seems as if you’re upset about this,” he said, calmly, sternly. You don’t intimidate me, Fil. She glared and then said, “Yes, I’m upset about this. My husband’s mother is dying and no one else will tell you we need to rest here for a few days. So I will.”
Friedrich Freudenberger looked at his son. “Are you going to stand there and let your wife speak to your father this way?” He was clearly more afraid that she was right than angry that she was speaking out.
“Father, Hattie is right in saying that mother is…” but Will never got to finish.
“Well, say no more,” Fil said, his red hair flaming bright in the glow of the fire. “If your wife says we need to sit around and lose time on the trail, then we all bend. We raised you to be a man, not to let a woman wear the pants! And let me tell you something, little lady. I don’t know what kind of father raised you to 15! Any girl capable of the kind of insubordination you just showed the head of this family was obviously raised by parents just as manipulative and melodramatic as you are… being… right now.”
He’s not even man enough to sling an insult! What kind of parents raised me, Fil? How about ones that immigrated here from Munich, destitute and impoverished and starving so that I could have a better, more promising, more peaceful life? How about a father that would never teach his children to be elitist and obnoxious and rude? How about a father that didn’t treat women (or even servants!) like they were lowly, brainless possessions? She thought all of these things and said none of them out of respect for her husband, but she felt terrible knowing the baby probably caught the surge of anger exploding inside her.
Henrietta Wagner Freudenberger just sighed in her sadness, helplessness, hunger, frustration and exhaustion. Placing a hand over her stomach, she said quietly, “I don’t care what you say against my family. I just want to help yours. Mildred is sick. We need to camp here for another day.” She looked at her husband.
“She is right,” he managed to say. Golly, what a lionheart this one is!
***
Mil’s fever was at least lower when they started back out; luckily the Donners had lent them some aspirin tablets to help lower it to a safer range so they could travel again. Now to catch up to them! It had been work enough to convince Fil, Will, the Bils and the Dils that Mil was ill!
It was the Fourth of July by the time the Green River came into view, 57 miles outside of the South Pass camp. Henrietta looked up at the stars that dark July night. Some boys from a nearby camp were lighting off small firecrackers in an open field. She watched the colorful explosions they created and thought of the baby that was within her. Life was about to change so dramatically. This baby, no matter its gender, its name, its birthday, would be its own kind of firework, an explosion of talents, a light in the dark itself. Her daughter or her son, would one day be her “sun.” As the boys laughed and chased each other through the grass and lit their tributes to the independence of this young nation which they now traversed, Henrietta looked up at the sky and thanked the Lord right on the spot for all she had been given in this wonderful life. But more than anything, for this little baby, this spark, this “sun”. The now trick is going to be keeping us all alive long enough to see it dawn on us.
***
THANK YOU SO MUCH for your interest in the previews of my second novel, The American Locket. It has been the most intense labor of love for me, and like Henrietta, when the time comes in a few months for my other kind of labor of love, I am honored to have your love and support to get me through. Please feel free to like and comment on this post and please, please SHARE away on social media, as it helps my cause so much. It's still a dream of mine to work to support my family through my writing, and it's friends like you that make dream that a possibility. Love you all- Kelly