Journeying West Before 1840

She never knew how hard it was going to be to pick and choose.

Judith Robinson walked through the front room of her house, her dark eyes taking in everything. It was a bright, neat room, with light colored walls and plenty of sun coming through real glass windows decorated with simple curtains. As she slowly circled the room, she noted each object: the shelf with their precious books, the spinning wheel, the hearth rug, the table with its white cloth, the settee, the chairs - looking around at what she and her husband had managed to accumulate in twenty years of marriage.

“It’s not like we’re a rich family,” she thought, “but in twenty years, you just manage to get a bit together.”

Every bit of everything they owned weighed and took up space. What did they truly need? What could they leave behind?

Decisions, decisions. She wiped a speck of dust off the cherry wood writing table with the edge of her apron, a wedding gift from her uncle that she suspected would get left behind. Sold, most likely. Maybe it was just that the reality of it was just starting to sink in.

Her husband Samuel had been talking about moving west ever since the end of the war. He had served some time in the western areas where the British had been stirring up the Indians and came back with tales about how lovely the land was. And, truth be known, the times since the war was over had not been particularly good here for him in Pennsylvania. The same was true with so many that she knew. Some had lost their lands, others slipped off in the night, headed south to the Carolinas. Her brother Andrew had been the first of her kin to bolt, and used his bounty land allotment to move to Kentucky. After that, she suspected that it was only a matter of time before it was their turn. And then Andrew showed up, talkin’ about his home and the land, and the opportunity and she knew it was a done deal.

A man walked into the doorway of the room, watching her. He was tall as she was slight, around six foot to her five, and filled the door opening with the width of his shoulders. His red hair now touched with gray was worn a bit long like he still wanted to pull it back. He wore his slops and a smock, and hay was caught on one shoe.

She turned, saw him and smiled ruefully.

“You look like a woman who’s saying goodbye to your best friend, Judith Robinson.”

“Ah, away with you, Samuel. I am thinkin’ about what we can squeeze into our wagon.”

He walked into the room, wrapped one strong arm around her and held her close.

“We will bring what we need. What we can’t make easily, or what would cost more than we want to spend to buy again. What we can’t stand to part with. But remember, we only have one wagon, and it’s going to be hard getting it over the mountains.”

“ I know.”

They stood there in silence. So many memories had happened here, in this room, in this house. All of them, good and bad, seemed to be pressing down on her right this moment. And yet, there was the solidness of Samuel, the feel of his linen smock pressing against her cheek, the smells of barn and sweat and workshop and love all mingled together. Here was her reality, her real home.

“You told me to go ahead, Love,” he said, looking at her deep in the eyes. “I’d never do this if you didn’t agree to it.”

“I know, Samuel. It’s just now that it’s here, I feel a sorrow I didn’t expect,” she said, breaking his gaze, but resting her head against his chest. “I feel so silly to feel so sad.”

“Tell me love if it’s too hard. I haven’t sold the farm yet, and we don’t have to go.”

She looked up at him. There was that part of her that wanted to scream “I don’t want to go!” but seeing him, and how much his dreams were riding on her choice, she knew she would side with love over want. She reached up on tiptoe, kissed his chin. “We’re going, Sweets. Now you have to help me decide what we want to sell before we leave.”