Page 12 of Shoshone Sun

“True. We’ll need to insure that it’s level, so we can’t rush things,” Paul began and then continued with advice on building the cabin.

Peter listened to the older man carefully, his mind already whirring with the plans he’d need to put into motion. The more he worked, the more real this all became. He was going to build a cabin for his family. Not just any cabin—a home that would shelter them through every storm, every winter, every challenge the land threw their way.

The next few days passed in a blur of activity. The men continued to clear the land, chopping down trees and dragging logs to the side to make way for the cabin. Susan and Mary worked in tandem, their hands skilled at turning the earth into sustenance. Jane kept track of Petey and took on what responsibilities she could, fetching water from the creek, hauling firewood, and assisting wherever needed.

The work was grueling, but there was a sense of camaraderie that kept them moving forward. They ate together, laughed together, and found strength in one another. Each evening, they would gather around a fire, sharing the day’s successes and frustrations. The cabin was slowly beginning to take shape in their minds, and every log that fell brought them closer to their goal.

It was a simple life, but it was their life. And every day, they were carving out a future.

By the end of the week, they had cleared all the trees and brush they needed to, and had begun to lay the cabin’s foundation. Peter started to map out the basic dimensions of the house, using stakes and twine to mark out where the logs would sit. The stones for the foundation had been gathered, and though they were rough and uneven, they would hold.

The promise of their new life was becoming real—each swing of the axe, each stone placed, each turn of the soil was a step toward making this land their own.

In the evening, back at Paul’s cabin, Peter stood on the front porch, looking out at the land. The sky was painted with shades of pink and orange, the air growing cooler with the approach of evening. Behind him, the sound of happy voices—gentle laughter and the clinking of dishes—carried through the air.

He could already picture it: his own cabin, standing tall and sturdy, the garden flourishing, his children running through the grass. This land, which had once seemed so wild and untamed, would soon be their home.

Peter smiled to himself. They were doing it. They were building something that would last.

And he couldn’t wait to see it through.

Chapter Seven: Settling In

- Peter Jacobs Land Claim, 1866

Ninety miles west of Fort Laramie –

The air was crisp with the delaying winter, the coolness a sharp contrast to the late autumn warmth of just a few days earlier. Peter stood on his very own cabin’s front porch. The valley stretched before him, the soil dark and rich, but untamed. His gaze swept over the land to where the distant line of pine trees marked the edge of the foothills, their needles whispering in the wind. In the far distance, beyond the trees, were the first foothills of the Rockies, their snow-capped peaks standing like sentinels over the plains.

It had taken many months, seemingly endless travel, and backbreaking labor to get to this point. Months filled with anticipation, uncertainty, and hard decisions. Peter had once stood outside a cottage in England, staring at land he had hoped would one day become his, but never did. When his landlord kicked him off of the farm he had worked diligently for five years, that marked the last straw for Peter. He had brought his family to America—where everything was different.

Here, land was free for the taking, if you were willing to toil, sweat, and fight for it. And Peter was willing. He had promised Susan that they would build a life together, far from the bustling factories of London and the memories of the smog-choked streets.

Now, standing before the land he had claimed, Peter felt a surge of both pride and restlessness. The family’s dream had become a reality. It had been hard, exhausting work. But they had made it. They had their land, their cabin, and a few possessions to make their lives a bit easier. The barn was rising nearby, built with the same hands that had swung hammers and nails into the cabin’s walls. The fences were complete, the fields of late-season vegetables just beginning to show the fruits of their labor.

“Peter?” A voice called, gentle but firm.

Peter turned to see Susan standing in the door of the cabin, baby Petey nestled in her arms. She was a steady presence, her calm demeanor a difference to the chaos of daily life on the frontier. Her shining brown hair was pulled back in a simple knot, a few strands falling loose from the effort of the morning chores. Susan had never been one to complain, even as the weight of motherhood, hard labor, and the overwhelming responsibility of their new life bore down on her.

“Coming,” Peter called back, his voice rough with the dust of the earth. Once he and Paul had finished the fencing, they’d travelled to Fort Laramie and purchased the first of Peter’s livestock: two horses, three cows, six pigs, four goats, and twelve chickens. The cattle and horses had been moved into their respective pastures, and the pigs, goats and chickens were settling into the newly completed pens and hen house.

Peter made his way into the cabin, the stiff breeze blowing across the porch ruffling his hair. The land had been kind to them so far, but he knew that winter was fast approaching, and they were far from ready. The livestock had been bought—small in number for now, but enough to get them started—and the barn would soon be finished and filled with hay and grain through the generosity of his uncle. Soon though, the harsh winter would set in.

“Are the stock all right?” Susan asked, stepping aside as Peter entered the cabin.

“Aye, they’re settling in,” Peter replied, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it by the door. “Not as heavy and strong as I’d like to see them going into winter but, they’ll do fine once they’re put up in the barn eating Paul’s excellent crop of hay and grain. And with any luck, we’ll have two nice foals and some calves, piglets, kids, and chicks by the spring.”

He moved toward the fireplace, where a small fire crackled and popped, casting a warm glow over the rough wood walls.

Susan nodded, her eyes soft as she glanced at the cradle where Petey now slept, his small hands curling into fists as he kicked his legs in his sleep. The baby was their pride and joy, though there had been many sleepless nights as they adjusted to the demands of a life far removed from the comforts of their homeland.

Peter sat down on the bench near the fire, rubbing his hands together. Though his hands were calloused and rough, the skin cracked from days of labor, his heart swelled with satisfaction. “It’s a good life, Susan,” he said quietly, watching her as she moved to prepare a small meal. “Hard, but good.”

Susan paused, turning toward him, her brow furrowing slightly. She smiled, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes. “You’re sure we’re ready for winter?” she asked, her voice carrying the edge of doubt that had begun to creep into her thoughts in recent days.

Peter sighed and leaned back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “We’re as ready as we can be. The barn’s almost built, Paul will provide us with enough feed to see us through the winter, and the livestock should be fine as long as we keep an eye on them. The fences are strong enough to hold the animals. It’s just the snow and cold I’m worried about.”

Susan nodded thoughtfully as she set a pot of stew on the small stove. The flames flickered and crackled, filling the cabin with the sweet, earthy scent of cooking meat and vegetables. She stirred the food dreamily, her mind clearly elsewhere. “What about Jane? She seems so melancholy lately,” she commented, glancing at the bedroom door where her sister had been taking a rest. “It’s almost as if now that there’s less hard work to do and she doesn’t need to mind Petey as often, she’s grown unhappy.”

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