Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  “I didn’t answer you. Do you know why?”

  He shook his head.

  “Because I suddenly realized that if you had to ask, that didn’t say a lot about me.”

  He slipped off the bench and dropped to a crouch in front of her, taking both of her hands. “Look, Maggie . . . ”

  For a moment, her heart leaped with hope. But his next words quickly dashed it.

  “I told you, you can believe what you want.”

  “I was sixteen when I was baptized, James,” she said, her voice wooden now. “It wasn’t as if I were a kid who didn’t know what she was doing. I didn’t just do it because my mother wanted me to. I prayed about it. I really wanted to know if it was true.”

  He straightened, blowing out his breath. “All right! So you’re a good Mormon. That doesn’t mean you have to go to America.”

  She dropped her head, staring at her hands. Then finally she spoke without looking up. “I love my family, James. I love them very much.”

  “I know that, but—”

  Now her head came up. “And believe it or not, I love my church.”

  She saw his jaw go tight and his eyes narrow. “And what about me? Do you love me?”

  She just stared at him for several seconds, unable to believe that she had heard him right. “Do you have to ask?” she whispered.

  That seemed to satisfy him. “No, of course not.” And that seemed to solve everything, for now his mind jumped to other things. “So then, what we need to do is start looking for a place for you to stay. How soon will your family be leaving?”

  She bit her lower lip, her eyes stricken. “Probably in May.”

  “Well, that’s plenty of time to find something.” With that settled, he turned and looked around. “Where would you like to go?”

  “I’d better go home, James. Mother will be home in a little while.”

  “Not for an hour,” he said in surprise.

  She didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve got to help Hannah with supper.”

  He stared at her for several seconds, finally sensing that something was wrong. But then his jaw tightened. “All right. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  Chapter Notes

  Although fictional, the McKensie family and their experiences are based on what is known about some of the Scottish Latter-day Saint families who journeyed to Utah in the 1850s.

  Having been called to Church service in the British Isles twice before, Elder Franklin D. Richards, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, returned to England in 1854 to preside over the Church’s affairs in Europe.

  Chapter 2

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  I

  Wednesday, 6 February 1856

  It was a little past seven-fifteen at night when Mary McKensie opened the door and entered the flat. Maggie turned from the sink where she and Hannah were cutting up the last of the potatoes and carrots for a dinner stew. “Hello, Mama,” they both said.

  Robbie came out of the bedroom and down the short hallway. “Hello, Mama.”

  “Hello.” She took off her coat and hung it on one of the pegs behind the door.

  “How was work today?”

  She shrugged. “How is work every day? Long. Tedious. Tiring.”

  Just as she started to turn back to her work Maggie saw her mother take a newspaper from the pocket of her coat. Curious, she peered more closely, but then Robbie came over and her mother opened her arms to him. “Any trouble at school today?”

  He shook his head. Tomorrow it would be one month since the boys from school had attacked Robbie and Hannah. Even Mary now admitted that having James pay a quiet visit to the boys had solved the problem, at least the overt problem. Her children were still treated like pariahs at school, but no one openly bothered them anymore.

  “Good.” She let him go and moved to the stove, dropping the paper on the table as she passed. From where she stood, Maggie immediately recognized the masthead for the Latter-day Saints’ Millennial Star, the newspaper published by the Church in England. Maggie stepped closer, squinting a little at the line below the masthead. No. 4, Vol. XVIII. Saturday, January 26, 1856. Price One Penny. The headline below the masthead read, “Thirteenth General Epistle.”

  Maggie’s surprise was twofold. That had to be the latest issue, barely more than a week old. Usually it took a couple of weeks before copies started showing up in Scotland. But even more than that, this seemed to be her mother’s own copy. The Church kept the price very low so the members could afford it, but the McKensies always had to let the missionaries or others in the branch tell them what the paper contained. Even one penny was badly needed elsewhere.

  “That smells good,” Mary said, lifting the lid to the kettle and breathing deeply.

  “It’s almost ready,” Hannah said.

  Maggie walked back to the sink. Cutting the last potato into small squares, she dumped them into the kettle. Her mother stirred the stew a couple of times with a wooden spoon, then replaced the lid. “You bought a copy of the Star?” Maggie asked, keeping her voice casual.

  Her mother appeared momentarily startled, but then shook her head. “No. The missionaries were waiting when I finished work. They lent me their copy.”

  That brought Maggie’s head around. The missionaries were actually waiting for her? That had never happened before.

  “There’s something important they wanted us to be able to read and study carefully.”

  “What?” Hannah asked. She didn’t see the look of dismay on her older sister’s face. Maggie didn’t know what it was, but she had guessed what it was about.

  Mary glanced quickly at Maggie, then away again. “Let’s get dinner over with,” she smiled, “and then we can talk about it.”

  •••

  “Leave the dishes,” Mary said to Robbie. “Let’s read what the missionaries brought.”

  Robbie gave a little whoop of joy. Postponement of doing the dishes for even five minutes was something to celebrate. He and Hannah came over and sat at the table. Their mother retrieved the newspaper, then went to join them. Maggie was wiping off the sink and cupboard beside it. She went on as though she hadn’t heard.

  “Maggie?”

  Still she didn’t turn. “I can hear fine, Mama.”

  “Maggie, I’d like you to sit with us, please.”

  She wiped at the last spot, then tossed the dishcloth into the sink. She moved over and sat down slowly beside Robbie.

  Her mother smoothed the newspaper in front of her. As Robbie tried to read upside down, his face screwed up in puzzlement. “What’s an ee-pis-ta-lee?” he said.

  “Epistle,” Hannah corrected him. “It’s a letter, only more important than just a common, everyday letter.”

  “Yes,” their mother said, the first touch of excitement creeping into her voice. “This is the Thirteenth General Epistle sent to all the Church by the First Presidency. It was written at the end of October but was just published in the latest edition of the Millennial Star.” She looked at her son. “A general epistle is an important thing. It means the First Presidency has something they want all the Church to know.”

  “Have you read it, Mama?” Hannah asked, sensing her mother’s excitement.

  Mary glanced quickly at Maggie, then spoke to Hannah and Robbie. “President Young has found a solution to the limited amount of funds available for this season’s emigration.”

  “You mean we get to go to America?” Hannah burst out.

  Her mother smiled and then nodded. “Yes. It looks like it.”

  Maggie dropped her hands into her lap and stared down at them. She felt sick.

  “President Young is asking all who cannot afford to pay their own way and who are asking for help from the Perpetual Emigrating Fund to cross the plains by handcart.”

  That brought Maggie up with a jerk. She gaped at her mother. “Handcarts?”

  Robbie looked puzzled. “What’s that?”

  “They are small two-wheeled carts which people push or
pull.”

  “They’re asking people to walk across the plains?” Maggie’s voice was heavy with shock and disbelief. “I know they’ve talked about that before, but I didn’t think they were serious.”

  “That’s not as bad as it sounds,” her mother explained quickly. “Even with wagons, most people walk anyway. The wagons are usually too loaded, and they say that a wagon ride on those rough roads is unbearable.”

  Maggie was still staring, shaking her head slowly.

  “Outfitting a wagon and teams is very expensive, almost a hundred pounds for each outfit,” her mother rushed on. “According to the missionaries, that’s why the Perpetual Emigrating Fund is in trouble. It is so costly to bring people to America. And last year in Utah there was a drought. The grasshoppers came in and destroyed much of the wheat crop, which is the primary source of funds for the Church. But by forming handcart companies, the First Presidency says they can bring many more people, even with the limited funds.”

  Maggie looked openly dubious. “This handcart scheme will save them that much money?”

  “Yes. If we go by handcart the cost will be only forty-five American dollars. That’s less than nine pounds per person.”

  Hannah’s eyes were wide. “Only nine pounds for all the way to America?”

  “Yes!” Mary was exultant. “Can you believe it? That counts shipboard passage, the train ticket to Iowa City, and then a handcart and enough supplies to cross the plains.”

  Maggie finally looked away. “Four people will still cost thirty-six pounds, Mama. That’s three times more than we have been able to save.”

  “I know, I know. But that is what is so wonderful. If we are willing to go by handcart, then the PEF will pay for whatever we do not have ourselves. All of us.”

  Robbie clapped the table in delight. “I’ll go by handcart, Mama. I don’t mind.”

  “Me too,” Hannah exclaimed, watching Maggie carefully. Hannah was three years younger than Maggie, but they were very close and Hannah well knew that Maggie was greatly troubled by the whole idea of leaving Scotland.

  Maggie whirled on them. “You don’t know what you’re saying. It’s not going to be easy or fun.”

  Hannah gave her a long look; then her shoulders straightened slightly. She and Maggie had talked for a long time about Maggie’s determination not to go to America. And Hannah perfectly understood why she felt the way she did. She had no desire to hurt Maggie, but neither was she about to pretend that she was not excited about going, nor would she take Maggie’s side against their mother. She took a quick breath. “I don’t care. If we get to go to America, I don’t care.”

  Robbie was almost bouncing on his seat now. “Can we go, Mama? Can we go this year?”

  There was a long moment of hesitation, and then Mary nodded. “Yes. Several ships are already booked, but with this announcement, they are securing others. The missionaries say that there is one sailing in early May that still has room for us.” Now she turned and looked squarely at her daughter, knowing that there was no more time for dodging the issue. “I told the Elders that we would be happy to go by handcart. They will send our names to Liverpool tomorrow.”

  “Happy?” Maggie said in total disbelief. “You told them we’d be happy to go?”

  When Mary spoke, her voice was even and filled with patience. “I told them that Robbie, Hannah, and I are going for sure. I told them that you had not yet decided whether you would be going or staying. I didn’t want to make that decision for you.”

  “Well, that’s something, at least.” She made no effort to suppress her bitterness. “Thank you very much.”

  Ignoring that, her mother picked up the paper. “It’s a pretty long epistle, but let me read you some parts of it.”

  Maggie stood abruptly. “I’ve got to get some sleep before I have to go to work.”

  “It will just take a minute or two.”

  “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m very tired.”

  And without waiting, she turned and went down the hall and into her bedroom. She fought back the temptation to slam the door, and shut it firmly instead. Then in three quick steps she reached the bed and sat down heavily upon it. Through the thin door panels she could hear the soft murmur of her mother’s voice. She turned to the small table and picked up the box that sat upon it. For a moment she fingered it softly. It was not fancy in any way. There was no design in the wood, and the inside was lined only with a soft cotton cloth and not velvet. But this had been a gift from her father on her twelfth birthday. It was the only tangible thing she had left from him.

  Through the door, Maggie heard Robbie laugh. Quickly she turned the box upside down and turned the key. Then she lifted the lid. The tinkling sound of “Loch Lomond,” her favorite Scottish folk song, began to sound. Closing her eyes, she laid the box against her cheek. “Oh, Papa,” she whispered. “I wish you were here. Oh, I wish you were here.”

  II

  Friday, 8 February 1856

  It was two nights later when Maggie came out of the bedroom an hour earlier than usual. Her mother looked up in surprise. She was sitting at the table writing a letter. “Can’t sleep?” she asked softly.

  Maggie shook her head and walked to the sink, where she dipped herself a glass of water out of the bucket which they filled from the well in the basement each morning.

  “You’ll be exhausted before morning. Why don’t you try again?”

  She shook her head. “I’m all right, Mama. I slept hard for about an hour.”

  Her mother turned and looked at the small clock on the shelf of their dish cupboard. It was barely nine o’clock. That meant that Maggie didn’t have to leave for her night shift for more than an hour yet. “Is everything all right?” she asked softly.

  Maggie was still drinking from the glass, and so all she did was nod. She and her mother had barely spoken since the reading of the Millennial Star announcement two nights previously. Maggie had deliberately gone to bed early that night, and last night she had gone walking with James once supper was over. She didn’t want to talk about America. She didn’t want her mother asking questions. She had also forbidden Hannah and Robbie to speak of it in her presence.

  Mary McKensie gave her daughter a searching look, but said nothing. After a moment, her head dropped again and she continued with the letter.

  Still holding the glass, Maggie turned enough that she could study her mother. Once again she was struck with how strong the resemblance was between the two of them. Except for the aging. Maggie was a little shocked to see the unmistakable toll that life was taking on her mother. Mary Stuart McKensie had turned thirty-seven the previous November. Yet her hair was already showing gray. There were wrinkles now starting around her eyes and lines around her mouth. Her body was slender, the result of long hours of hard work and a simple diet. Her hands were slender and graceful, but the knuckles seemed more prominent than Maggie remembered. Is that what hour after hour, day after day at the sewing machines was doing? Once her hands had been truly beautiful.

  Mary Stuart had married Robert McKensie when she was seventeen years old. Both of them came from poor working-class families. She gave birth to Maggie a little over a year later. Though it was a great challenge to get by, the couple determined that for as long as possible, Mary’s work would be the nurture and care of their children. What a bitter disappointment it must have been, Maggie realized now, when time after time after that first birth, Mary would be with child, only to lose it within a few weeks. It had taken three years to get Hannah, and another four before Robert, their “final gift from God,” came. Maggie had known about none of that until a year before when she had asked her mother why she had waited so long between children.

  A little more than three years ago, Robert McKensie, Sr., had stopped at a street meeting held by two Americans. He learned they were Mormon missionaries and was impressed with their quiet courage and faith in the face of a hostile and jeering crowd. Two nights later he had taken Mary back with him to a meeting
in a rented public hall. Though it took them three more months before they were certain that they wanted to be baptized, they knew on that first night that the church the missionaries represented was something that interested them greatly. In the ensuing months, the family met with the Elders often and shared their meager meals with them.

  When it became common knowledge that the family had joined with the Mormons, Maggie’s father had been called in by the foreman of the plant and fired without explanation. It was shortly after that that he had gotten sick. Three months later he was gone. And the mother who had never worked a day outside the home in eighteen years of marriage had become the breadwinner of the family. Maggie quit school and started work in the paper mill the following month.

  Maggie looked away, suddenly filled with pain. Life had not been easy for Mary McKensie, and Maggie couldn’t bear to see the growing evidence of that fact in her face. And that made the guilt that filled her now all the more sharp, all the more unbearable. Maggie turned back, realizing that her mother had stopped writing and was watching her steadily now.

  “Mother, I . . .”

  Mary sat back, her eyes gentle, her face encouraging. “Yes?”

  To Maggie’s surprise, the response irritated her. She didn’t want gentleness right now. She didn’t want her mother’s patience. It only highlighted Maggie’s own turmoil and restlessness. She set the glass down and came to sit down across from her mother. “Mother,” she began again, her voice betraying her frustration a little, “is there no way that you would reconsider your decision?”

  Mary didn’t have to ask what decision Maggie referred to. Her face remained calm, but Maggie saw that her hands trembled slightly as she set the pen aside and pushed the letter back as well. “Maggie, I have thought long and hard about this. I know what it means for our family to leave Scotland. For you especially.”

  “Do you?” Maggie cried.

  “Yes.” There was sorrow now in her eyes. “Yes, I do.” She began to draw patterns on the tabletop with her finger. “Do you think it’s easy for me, Maggie?”

  Maggie’s head came up in surprise.