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Near Iberia, Missouri, Summer, 1859.

The rider reigned in his horse at the top of the steep hill.  From there John Williams could see the land that would be his family’s new home⁽¹⁾.  Prairie grass swayed in the wind.  Trees lined the banks of the streams⁽²⁾.  The sight thrilled him.  They had made it!  He felt a great worry lifted from his shoulders.  Ten wagons creaked up the trail behind him carrying family and friends.  It had been a hard trip from their former home in western Kentucky to these foothills of the Ozark Mountains.

Before John was born his father had moved the family from North Carolina to Kentucky.  Now, just over four decades later, John left that Kentucky home and led his family even further west into Missouri.  It was not an easy decision to uproot his family.  It is difficult to leave friends and familiar surroundings.  They may never be back.  But, the farm in Kentucky was not enough to support John's growing family.  His two older sons, Wade and Bluford Barton (B.B.), were old enough to marry.  Soon they would need their own land to support their families.  Nearby land in Kentucky was worn out or too expensive.  In order to find enough good land they would need to move further west into less settled Missouri.  John’s plan was the same as his father’s 40 years earlier: sell expensive land, head west, then buy more land for less money.

The plan worked.  In Missouri John found new, fertile land and there was enough of it for all of them.  But, moving there was not easy.  Their belongings had to be packed into wagons meant for working a farm.  They traveled hundreds of miles following dirt roads through country that was new to them.  They ferried across two great rivers: the Ohio and the Mississippi.  At night they slept on the ground under the wagon or in a tent.  

During the trip John worried especially about his wife.  Mahala Barton Williams had become pregnant before they left Kentucky.  Riding a stiff, wooden wagon over rutted trails is a jarring experience under normal circumstances.  It was even harder for her.

From her wagon Mahala saw her husband stop further up the trail.  Earlier that morning he told her they were getting close to their new land.  Could this be it?  Was the journey finally over?  She ached from the travel.  This trip was not a pleasant thing, but it would end.  Childbirth was not the most pleasant thing either, but it ended and then their was great joy.  Mahala did not dwell on the discomforts of the trip; she focused on the new life her family would have in Missouri.

Mahala was 42 years old, the same age as her husband.  She had given birth to nine children already, ranging in age from 8 to 22.  One more coming.  She knew women who had problems bearing children.  She even knew of some who had died in childbirth.  That happened according to God’s will.  It was not something to worry about.  Better to think about the baby’s beautiful face looking up at you.

She glanced back at the sections of her bed stored in the wagon.  She had insisted they bring it with them even though it was difficult to find the room.  Soon John would fit the pieces back together and she would be sleeping on it instead of the hard ground.  Later this summer she would bear her tenth child on that bed.

The wagon train wound its way down the hill and across the valley to the new land.  The tiresome journey was over.  They started their new life.  Trees were felled.  A log cabin was built.  Mahala slept on her own bed in her new home.  Several acres of prairie grass were plowed under.  Next year, they would make a crop on this cleared land.

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