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==Trials==
A thaw, a freeze, followed by a light snow, made the walks dangerous. Coming home from meeting one night, my mother slipped on the unseen ice and fell, hurting her limb. It did not seem serious; the doctor said a little rest would make it all right, but inflammatory rheumatism set in, and my mother could not leave her bed. We had never had hired help in the house, and it was for a moment to be thought of. I could sweep, make beds, set the table and wash dishes. Father said he would do the cooking. The washing and ironing must be sent out.
Well, those were weary days. I soon learned to cook meat and vegetables. Father always made the bread. If there were bakeries then, as now, we did not avail ourselves of them. Once, when we had company, I thought to surprise everybody by a beautiful cake for tea. All went well for a time. When I thought that the cake must be nearly done, I opened the oven door softly, to find the most discouraged looking cake I ever saw! What could be the matter? I confided to my mother. "Did you put soda and cream of tartar in your cake?" she asked. "Oh! I did NOT." Well, never mind, Mercy, you have enough without cake.
Our guest saw me take the cake out of the oven. Seeing, she understood, and with ready sympathy, insisted that we should have the cake for tea. It tasted better than it looked, and all assured me that it would have been a BEAUTIFUL cake if soda and cream of tartar had not been forgotten. I have no doubt that my pride needed just that "wet blanket".
Mother was always cheerful. Whatever she suffered, she did not complain; whatever she feared, she kept it to herself, or, I doubt not, told it to the Lord. The summer was passing and she could walk only a little, and with the help of crutches.
Father was hard at work in his little shop, making a light lumber wagon, which was in some ways peculiar and attracted considerable attention. But he was not his usual, cheerful self. I often heard my father and mother talking after I was in bed. Sometimes in the night, I heard my father groan and toss about. What did it mean? Was it only worry about my mother? I MUST KNOW; so I asked. "Mother, what is the matter with Father? He doesn't seem happy, as he used to be?" She hesitated, but seeing my earnestness, replied: "Your father is in great trouble; he scarcely sleeps at night, and I am sick and cannot help him." She cease, the sound of tears trembled in her voice.
"Tell me, Mother, I can help." "You do help, my child, but you cannot understand. Father's money is gone. The business has failed, and all is lost, Father's money and Uncle William's. When the wagon is done, and I am well enough, we will go West and begin over again, your father a poor man." I'm afraid I felt like asking: "It that all?" for I knew nothing of the importance of money. We had never had much money, and we had been comfortable and happy.
When the South Hill farm and all its belongings were sold, the $7,000 was not mentioned before the children. I do not think I knew how much money Uncle William had invested for my Father, nor that it was practically all he had. Mother's lameness seemed to me the only thing that really mattered. Going West sounded like a promise of good things, and, being young, I could not long be unhappy.
When my Father discovered that I knew, I think it comforted him to talk to me. He explained all about the wagon he was making. The "Prairie Schooner", the canvas-covered mover's wagon, was often seen dotting the prairies, on the westward trail in those days; but THIS wagon was to be of an improved type, hence the curious lookers-on around the shop.
The body of the wagon was light, but strong, and the springs were of the best. The box jutted out over the wheels to give extra room. Behind the spring-seat, wide enough for three, there was a floor level with the top of the box, for my mother's bed, for she was not able to sit up. Trunks and all sorts of things could be stowed away underneath. Over all was a square frame, instead of the usual hoops. This was covered with canvas, and then with black oilcloth to exclude rain. The sides had curtains that could be rolled up, or tightly buttoned down. Overhead were pockets for things needed on the way. At the back of the wagon was my father's toolchest, and a feed trough, ingeniously arranged; underneath, I can't begin to tell what! No doubt many of my father's sleepless hours had been spent puzzling over the arrangement of OUR Prairie Schooner. Those who saw it talked about it, and others came to see.
At last the wagon was finished, painted and striped with the skill that my father had acquired during his apprenticeship. The doctor said if anything could help mother to recovery, it would be out-door air, entire change and diversion of mind. It was decided that we would go to [[Illinois]] in October. Meanwhile preparations went on SURELY if slowly.
Uncle William, almost crushed by his misfortune, and grieved more for my father than for himself, sold all his personal property, including a silver-mounted harness and handsome buggy. He gave his fine span of grey horses, his gold watch, and what money he could spare, to my father. Then he bade us a sorrowful good-bye, and went to South America or Australia, I cannot be sure which. I believe he was only once heard from afterward. Father had also a young and valuable horse which he decided to take with us. It would be useful to ride on the way, and afterwards on the farm which my father intended to purchase. Our household goods were crated to be shipped a part of the way by canal; then by rail to our destination.
* ''Ancestry.com indicates (via Becky7657) that William C. Roberts died Jan. 8, 1880 at Handy Township, Livingston, [[Michigan]]. His wife was Caroline "Jane" Wright Roberts (b. 1838 Iosco, Livingston, MI - d. 1924 Hatton Twp., Clare, MI). They had three children together: Carrie (b. 1862), Milo (1871-1947) & Floyd Ard Roberts (1875-1915).'' Father had also a young and valuable horse which he decided to take with us. It would be useful to ride on the way, and afterwards on the farm which my father intended to purchase. Our household goods were crated to be shipped a part of the way by canal; then by rail to our destination. For some time I had felt dissatisfied with my name, not to my praise, surely, but with some reason. Among schoolchildren, and with some persons, the word "mercy" was a common ejaculation: "O mercy!" or "Mercy on us!" and I had come to wish my name was not Mercy. Now that we were going far away to live among strangers, why not change my name? Father and my mother gave a willing consent. After making several lists of girls' names, and "trying them on", I found that none of them FITTED me. So I concluded to write my name "Anna M.", instead of Mercy Ann, and when asked what "M." stood for, to say Mabel. And so I write it to this day; but in the old Family Bible it is still, "Mercy Ann".
==The Journey==