The Journal of Sarah Whittaker

Now read an entry in Sarah Whittaker's journal about life on the frontier.

An Excerpt from the Journal of Sarah Whittaker

Well, it has been some time since I made an entry in this here journal of mine. Ma and I have been busy as ever since Isaac was born. Who would have thought such a little person could create so much work! But, as I said, we are surely blessed and it is true we have all a body could ever need here in our cabin.

When I looked over what I wrote last time I had to laugh just a little. I made it sound like times was always rosy here on the “frontier” and, truly, it has been no such thing! In the beginning, I must admit, I believed my father had lost his mind bringing us to these strange parts. If truth be told, and my Ma says it must, my Ma probably would have agreed with me. But we never did speak of it. Not then, not now, and I know we never will. Some things just are “best left in the quiet of the heart,” as my Ma says.

When we first came, we arrived here in Kansas in our wagon with little but an ax, an auger, some vittles, two shotguns, a few animals, and the clothes on our backs. At night my Pa would tell Ma and me stories of great deeds of frontiersmen that came before us. He said that any day now we would build ourselves a fine cabin made all of logs. He said that then we would be warm and safe and have plenty of food on the table. I know my Pa was excited enough just owning this land, but that wasn’t great comfort to me when the coyotes would howl outside our wagon at night.

It wasn’t days or weeks that we lived in that wagon, but months. And, believe me, it got cold at night. My Pa had to keep putting off building our house in favor of planting crops, filing claims for this land, and finding the food we needed to survive. My Ma never complained, even though I knew she wanted to. My Ma told me, “Sarah, honey, your Pa has to make hard choices. He’s got to put food in our mouths before he builds us this fine house of ours. This land is going to bring us good times and a fine life, you’ll see. For now, though, we must be brave. We must work hard each day and make sacrifices so that someday soon, our lives will be fine and we will have everything we hoped for.” I nodded when she said those words. But in my heart, I didn’t always believe her, especially when those coyotes got loud.

One day, though, my Pa did start the foundation of our home, just like he said he would. He and Mr. Beemer dug out the earth, and laid those rocks down so the logs, when they finally got around to putting them down, would not get wet and rot. My Ma and I cheered and sang all that day. We knew for certain the house would be done in no time at all. But it didn’t quite happen that way. Every day it seemed my Pa had another hard choice to make. We needed skins to keep us warm, he said, or the claim had to be refiled. And so we waited. We worked the land. And we prepared for the time my Pa could make the choice to build our home on the foundation he had laid. “The time had to be right,” my Pa said. “Your Pa knows best,” my Ma said. Those times were hard, I can tell you. But we did not starve, and we did not freeze neither.
Now, well you saw what I wrote. I guess my Pa really does know best. Our life here in Kansas really is fine, just like Ma said it would be. Sometimes a body has to make sacrifices so as better things can come later. That’s what my Ma says, anyway.