Hope's Path to Glory: The Story of a Family's Journey on the Overland Trail

CONTENTS Cover Title Page Map Dedication Chapter One: A Broken Home Chapter Two: Traveling to the End of the World Chapter Three: Leaving Home Chapter Four: Beginning the Trail to the New World Chapter Five: Traveling with Wagons, Mules, Oxen, Dogs, and Men Chapter Six: New Ways of Cooking and Eating Chapter Seven: Much Beauty along the Trail Chapter Eight: The Long, Hard Road Chapter Nine: Sierra Nevada Mountains—The Donner Party Chapter Ten: Meeting Someone Familiar and New—Frontiersman Jim Beckwourth Epilogue Author’s Note Historical Background Note Time Line Source List Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright Guide Cover Start of Content Title Page Map Dedication Author’s Note Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author Copyright II III V X 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 
 
 Hope’s Path to Glory
 The Story of a Family’s Journey on the Overland Trail
 Jerdine Nolen
 
 
 
 
 
 For Judy Newton, who is on her glorious path
 
 
 
 
 
 
 CHAPTER ONE A Broken Home
 
 
 August 25, 1848
 Alexandria, Virginia
 I am inside my twelfth year. I serve Mistress Elizabeth Barnett. She calls me her lady’s maid. She says she is teaching me to care for her personal needs. She says she elevates me above the rest by calling me “servant” because all my work and chores are directed inside the home and are most dedicated to her. Though I feel no comfort from this, I must do what I can in the best ways that I can to learn all that I can to please her. The work is daylong and throughout the night if Mistress has need of me. Of late, my mistress has fitful, worry-filled nights of one thing and then another. So much has happened in these past few years.
 One day, I will be in complete charge of Mistress’s garments, from making repairs to washing and pressing them to assure she is always neat. I am to do the same for myself to keep myself presentable. In a day, there is always much to learn. For now, most of her clothes are ready-made. I am learning to sew. I will be required to make some of the things she wears.
 The clothes we wear show our station in life. My daily attire is a printed cotton dress, long sleeves, and a stiff white cotton apron. I have one dress for Sundays if it is required of me to wear for special occasions. It is the deep-blue-colored cloth, indigo, of the same style as my everyday wear. This dress includes a white collar. I am to keep myself neat at all times. Momma helps me with my hair. I keep it arranged in two large plaits pinned to my head.
 Because Poppa—Ezekiel—had the good favor of the first mister of this house and Mistress Barnett, Momma—Adelaide—was allowed to keep me with her after she birthed me. Mistress feels it her responsibility to name each of the babies born here on Belle Hills Farm. “Favor or not,” Mistress says, “money paid for you makes you my property.” Momma would not accept the name she gave to me. My mistress named me Clementine. But secretly to me, I am not that name. Momma gave me the name Hope.
 “I give this name to you, my daughter, because your birth moved me past my own understanding of these hard places within this world. You are my hope.”
 When I hear Momma voice these words, “my hope,” it fills me up with what she aims my name to mean inside me. It fills me up with a feeling that each new day that rises with the sun brings a promise of something better—at least, for all our sakes, I must hold to this.
 One of my morning duties is to read the news of the day out loud to my mistress. It is hardly a chore as reading brings me much satisfaction and clarity in my mind. Mistress taught me to read and write alongside her very own three boys. Jason, the eldest, is more a man than a boy. In our younger days, he spoke as easily to me as he did one of his brothers. Now I must lower my eyes and refer to him as Mister Jason when I speak to him on things my mistress would want him to know. He is soon to be twenty. Edward is older than me by two years. Then there is the youngest, Paul, who is ten years of age. All along the way of learning to read, Mistress tells me, “Clementine, I would not say this to others, but you have a quick and