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"Tell us about Oregon," asked Loraine.
"Mostly I know the Willamette Valley where I’ve spent time twice... Once for a winter."
“Is it all we’ve been
told?" Amy moved into the circle, sitting on the ground, her arms wrapped
around her knees.
He smiled. “Well, I don’t know
what you were told, but it’s pretty country, rich land, some of the soil almost
black and will grow anything. A big river flows right down through it with
tributaries coming out of the mountains on both sides. Hot springs... and the fish, you ought to see the salmon when
they go up the rivers. A man could almost walk on them. There are huge cedar
and fir trees, lush meadows, snow covered peaks to the east."
"Tell me more about the
farmland," Amy's father requested, a gleam in his eyes.
"I’m no farmer but looks to
me like a lot of water, good soil and with mild winters, that it’ll be easy to
raise crops. Winters are mild. Mostly the snow only lasts a few weeks, a month
at the most. The year I was there, it only snowed one time and melted almost
right away."
"With the Homestead Land
Act passed last year, are you thinking of staking a claim yourself this time?”
"Man has to stay on it four
years to claim it. I used to think no place was worth staying that long. I have
been thinking though... Maybe I might want to do that." Adam's gaze
settled on Amy.
Amos smiled, nodding his head.
"They told us there’d be no
Indian problems,” Amy’s mother said, as she pushed a wayward strand of hair
behind her ear.
"No trouble in the main
valley, the country near Portland
and Oregon City."
"You hear stories about
scalpings... savages attacking peaceful settlers. For instance, there's what
happened to the poor Whitmans," she said, a worried frown crossing her
beautiful face.
"The thing with the
Whitmans was a tragedy based on misunderstandings. It wasn't in the Willamette Valley though, and it was with Eastern Oregon Indians, the Cayuse—not the
same at all."
"Why do you say
misunderstandings?" Amy's father asked.
Adam shrugged. "I'm not
fond of second-guessing people, what they do or don't do, and I didn't know the
Whitmans. I hear they were good folks, but too many times the missionaries come
to the Indians unwilling to learn anything about their customs and determined
to change their way of life. They talk but don’t listen," His voice grew
hard as he continued, "When the Indians fight back, everybody wonders
why."
"That's a severe
condemnation of those doing God's work." Amy's father's expression had
turned thoughtful.
"Maybe so. I'm not the best
man to judge," Adam said, his dark blue eyes saying he'd prefer to discuss
something else... anything else.
