Wagons South By Adora Mitchell Bayles
To
Ople Chapter One
The
Williamses: Hardships Twelve-year-old Ople Williams pressed her eyes shut, as her mother, Molly, rinsed her soapy hair in the kitchen sink. Wrapping her own head in a towel, Ople ran to her room to dress for her Saturday walk with Papa. "I gotta hurry or he will go off and leave me," she told her mother irritably. She sat on the bed in her cotton slip and panties. Pulling on a stocking, she noticed a movement by her window. She gasped at the dark face peeping in at her. "A man! Papa! Help!" she screamed as she ran from her room. She stood trembling in the narrow hallway as Papa stalked into the bedroom, pistol in hand. "Get away from that window, you bastard!" Papa roared, shooting through the screen. Ople stood there weeping and blowing little bubbles from between her lips. "Honey, you finish dressing in the hall. I'll be outside," Papa said, putting on his holster. Ople's hair was still damp when she stepped outside. The street was deserted except for Papa, who stood on the sidewalk, feet apart, arms folded, jaw set, pistol vibrating at his hip. "Hold my hand, Sis," he said, grimacing. Ople had to run to keep up. Allen Williams was not a tall man, but to his daughter, he was a giant. He loomed tall and protective beside her on Tulsa's boomtown streets. The young state had prospered since the discovery of oil in 1907 when Ople was only two. The influx of workers had brought in a dangerous element in spite of the great wealth Oklahoma's citizens had begun to enjoy. A questionable population of young men had settled in the neighboring boarding houses and work camps. Men who had left their families in Mexico as well as all parts of the United States, Europe and the Orient, roamed the streets on Saturdays in search of excitement, entertainment — and females of any sort. Ople and Papa hurried past a group of dark, mustachioed men who crowded the sidewalks near the bars. "Hey, Gringo!" one of them shouted in his sing-song speech, "How much you want for the Chiquita? Ay, cue linda!" He shook his hand as if to dry his fingers. Allen shot him a menacing glance and caressed the holstered gun at his hip. The crowd shifted away. "Okay, Sister, keep your head down and eyes straight ahead," Papa rumbled. "Don't ever make eye contact with any of them!" He pulled her off the wooden sidewalk and they walked in the street until they reached the edge of town. Climbing their favorite hill, father and daughter settled on its grassy crest. Papa stretched out on the grass and gazed at the sky with his hands clasped at the back of his head. Ople sat nearby, chewing on a tender shoot of grass. She combed her long reddish-blonde hair and its bright golden highlights sparkled in the September sunshine. She had escaped from Mama's tight braiding to take her Saturday walk with Papa. The black smell of oil and tar filled the air. "Papa, what are hardships?" Allen awakened from his daydream. "Hmm?" Ople pursued the question with her own answer, "Is that a covered wagon? Is that why they had hardships? Because they were too hard to float so they put wheels on them and went west?" Allen looked at his daughter blankly. "Hmm? What?" "Papa! You're not listening to me. We've been reading in school about the Santa Fe Trail when all the people went west. The teacher said they had hard ships! Is a real sailing ship soft?" Allen laughed. "No, darlin', hardships are not boats and they're not covered wagons!" "Well?" She shrugged. "What are they?" "Baby, hardships means that people were having a hard time. Their oxen died, their mules got sick, their kids fell out of the wagons, the drinking water was sometimes poison. Sometimes the Indians would stop the whole wagon train and rob everybody. That's what they mean by hardships." Ople thought a moment. "What's a prairie schooner?" When Papa looked at her with a puzzled expression, she continued, "My teacher made us read about Prairie Schooners and they were like sailboats in the grass." "Honey," he said, sitting up now, "prairie schooners are covered wagons. Some poet watched a wagon train go by in the tall grass. Their canvas tops reminded him of a whole fleet of sailboats. The grass waving back and forth in the wind reminded him of ocean waves. So he called them 'prairie schooners' and the name stuck." Allen scanned the grassy hill and nearby trees nervously. Then he dozed. Ople listened to her father sleep. Quietly, she watched a shapely cloud turn to a new design. "Papa," she said in an almost whisper, "Did you ever want to take a long trip…" Allen opened his eyes and looked straight at her. Ople continued, "…in a covered wagon?" "Yes!" he said, emphatically. The two looked at one another for a long time. Then his great round blue eyes seemed to look inside himself. Papa was looking at Ople but he was not seeing her. "Tulsa is getting too big," he said. "I'm going to buy some land in Florida." "Is Florida really far away?" Ople said in a high voice, furrowing her brow. "Are we never coming back? Do I have to say goodbye to all my friends?" Great tears spilled from her eyes and left little wet spots on her dress. "Tulsa is no place for a young girl to grow up," he said. "There's another problem, Ople," he said ruefully. "Your Papa is about to become a draft-dodger." |