[An excerpt from Chapter 1 “The Journal”, of “Enchanted Journal”, ; Copyright 2022, Gordon S. Buck.]

Chapter 1: The Journal – April 8, 1859, Friday

Abigail Roberts was picking berries—or rather searching for them on the Oregon Trail. After only a week on the dusty trail, Abigail already yearned for her Tennessee home. She could always find berries back home; here, she had to keep their covered wagon in sight and berries were few and far between. Still, she was not about to wander any farther, especially after Jeff Cromwell stared hungrily at her as she attempted to slip out of camp unseen. Her hand dropped for the comfort of the sharp patch knife hidden in her trousers. I’ve got to tell Papa that Jeff scares me.

Abigail pulled her felted hat lower in a futile attempt to block the sun’s glare. Yielding to a strange urge, she stepped out of the wagon wheel rut and turned to her left. What was behind those bushes? A book? The thin brown book lying in the sandy dust seemed to invite her and wait for her to pick it up. Abigail could almost hear it. “Read me. I can help you.”

Why would anyone throw a book away? Although some emigrants were already reducing their wagon loads by discarding heavy items, no one would toss a book at this stage. Books carried weight in entertainment and in silver.

Calling for closer examination, the brown leather journal was irresistible. How long had it been lying there? Abigail picked it up between her thumb and forefinger. It was not wet, rotten, or smelly—just dusty, like everything else on the trail. She gingerly placed it in her open palm, careful not to damage it, and thumbed through the still pliable pages. The first few pages contained writing, but the rest of the sheets were blank.

*****

After a few pages, the writing ceased and Abigail studied her surroundings. Abigail’s family was in the same location as Milli Madison’s family had stopped years ago. Poor thing, I bet she was sad to lose her journal. Looks like she only wrote in it for a few days. But I’ll take good care of it. I’ll read it tonight. It will become my journal.

On her way back to their encampment with half a handful of berries, Abigail considered her own situation. Almost exactly seventeen years after Milli Madison, she, too, left Tennessee on a similar mission and route, their prairie schooner loaded with much of the same equipment. However, whereas Milli was excited about her journey, Abigail was not. She wished they had not left Tennessee, but what else could she do? Like her brother and sister, and even her mother, she had to follow her father’s wishes.

Fifteen years old, Abigail Roberts was the oldest child of Michael and Alice Roberts. More than a tomboy, she was tall and slim, but strong and hardened by farm work. Abigail helped her mother in the kitchen, but also cooked entire meals on her own. Her mother and father taught her to manage the farm, farmhouse, and family. Abigail would make an excellent farm wife; however, none of the boys or young men in their small community attracted her.

With Milli’s journal in her hand, Abigail recalled the gleam in her father’s eyes when he bought Randolph Marcy’s book “Prairie Traveler: A Handbook for Overland Expeditions.” More than read, Michael studied the handbook late that night, his calloused hands turning pages forward and backward. All the next day, he talked about the wisdom of the handbook as they worked in the fields. After her father finished the handbook, he insisted Abigail read it. Then he read it again. At that point, Abigail knew they would head west, and she dreaded it.

Abigail sighed as she remembered her father’s decision and their preparations for the Oregon Trail.