Ezekiel Thomas, or old Doc Thomas as he was known in these parts, stood on the front porch of his old general store, looking out upon the dusty streets and mostly deserted buildings that surrounded his once thriving business. “Sure been a lot of changes,” he said, to the old wood beams; beams he had cut and placed by hand so many years before. Taking a match from his vest pocket, he struck it against the beam and lit the pipe that had been hanging from his lips. “Yep, sure been a lot of changes,” he said again, tossing the match into the street. Watching the sun setting beyond the hills, behind what had once been Billy Tate’s Saloon, he thought back to why he and his late wife Martha took the wagon train west from Saint Louis after leaving their home in Western Pennsylvania.
It was eighteen-sixty-three. Ezekiel was back at their small farm recovering from wounds he suffered while serving with the 61st Pennsylvania Volunteers at the battle of Fair Oaks (Seven Pines). He was no longer the idealistic, young patriot who had marched off to war in September of sixty-one, but rather a bed-ridden, disillusioned realist who felt he had done enough and the rest was none of his business. It was that Ezekiel who told Martha they were going to sell everything and move out west.
“Out west, a man can be free of politics and live his life the way God intended,” he told her.
Martha was a smart, brave and handsome woman with long blonde hair and eyes that lit up a room like a thousand candles. “Won’t the war be over soon?” she asked.
“I’m as much against slavery and for preserving the Union as the next man,” Ezekiel said, “but I reckon this war ain’t ever gonna be over. Either way, it makes no never-mind to me. Uncle Jedidiah was in Carson City, last we heard, and we’ll be goin’ there soon as I’m able.”
If Martha had any misgivings, she kept them to herself and set about tending to Ezekiel’s wounds and nursing him back to health.
When they arrived in St. Louis, Ezekiel bought a covered wagon and loaded it with what personal belongings they had kept, as well as supplies and merchandise he figured he could sell to the miners. “We’ll set us up a fine general store, Martha,” he told her, “maybe do some prospecting, too. Then I’ll build you a fine home and we’ll live in grand style.”
Martha smiled, she had never wanted to live in grand style or in a stately home; she just wanted to see Ezekiel happy. She loved the foolish dreamer with all her heart and soul.
The wagon train headed northwest from St. Louis to Atchison, Kansas to avoid guerrilla raids to the south along the Missouri-Kansas border. Once there, they followed the newly established Overland trail to avoid the Indian uprisings occurring along the Oregon Trail farther north through central Wyoming along the Sweetwater-South Pass route.
By the time they had reached Cherokee City Station, they had battled runaway horses, stampeding cattle, and a prairie fire. Martha spent much of her time helping others suffering from sunstroke, lice, and snake bites. Thanks to Ezekiel’s quick thinking and trading ability, they avoided any trouble with the tribes of Indians they encountered along the way to Cherokee City Station.
Cherokee City Station was a main junction point; there were stages coming and going from three directions in addition to the numerous wagon trains heading west. The only building there was a long, low, one and one-half story structure facing south. On the north side, a one-story room addition included a large dining room, kitchen, bedroom, storeroom and telegraph. It also served as a storehouse for grain, soap, candles and other supplies.
As Martha returned from visiting one of the sick children, Ezekiel was loading some supplies he’d bought from the station manager.
“I reckon we’ll be here till mornin,” Ezekiel said to her as she approached. His mind was too full of the riches that awaited them in Carson City to notice the worn, tired look on Martha’s face.
“Yes, dear,” Martha said, and slowly pulled herself into the wagon.
It wasn’t until later that evening that Ezekiel, after meeting with some of the other men to discuss the next leg of their journey and drink some corn whisky, went to check on her. She was burning up with fever, and frequented by a bad cough that only got worst. Two weeks after the rest of the wagon train headed west, Ezekiel buried his beloved Martha there at Cherokee City.
Ezekiel, heartbroken and guilt-ridden, no longer cared about the riches of Carson City, or much of anything from that point on. He wintered there by Martha’s grave, nearly yielding to the harsh elements. He found little comfort in the corn whisky he traded his supplies for, and spent most of his days crying by her side. On more than one occasion, the station manager thought of putting Ezekiel out of his misery the way one would any wounded animal. He once even stood ready, but at the last minute, could not pull the trigger.
When the first wagon train of spring came through, a much older-looking, sullen Ezekiel traded his wagon and what supplies he had left for a horse, bed roll, and rife. After saying goodbye to Martha, he went to thank the station manager for his kindness.
“Were ya headed, back east?” The station manager asked, as Ezekiel mounted his horse.
“As far as the western sky,” Ezekiel replied, and rode off. The great Rocky Mountains lay ahead, and beyond that, destiny.
I like this. A true story of the old West. You seem to be leaving a lot out as you jump from scene to scene. For example, you have Ezekiel bed ridden in Pennsylvania, and then the next line you have him loading a wagon in St. Louis. What are his wounds? What does it take to get him on the bed and up and around again? By her interaction with him, caring for him and getting him to the point where he can carry out his dreams, you can develop Martha's character more. Also there's a lot missing on the wagon train. I would have him having two wagons, one for his personal use and household goods, and another for the supplies for a general store. How does he interact with the Indians?
