“One more.” Again there was a quick movement, and another cut was made. Mary moaned, and for a moment Eric thought she would faint. But then her head came up again as she took in air with quick, frantic gulps.
Maggie turned her head away as their leader began to squeeze the leg and blood poured out and dripped onto the sand.
Isabella Park laid her head against her friend’s. Mary’s eyes were shut and she was jerking spasmodically with every touch. “It’s all right, Mary. I’m here. It’s all right.”
Finally satisfied, Willie stood up. “All right. Let’s bandage it up, then give her a blessing.”
Two of the women in the company already had thought of bandages and brought out strips of cloth. They undid the garter, then bound the wound tightly, demurely pulling Sister Bathgate’s skirts down over the bandage when they finished.
Motioning for Eric to join them, Elder Willie then directed the administration. Elder Chislett anointed her head and then the wound with the consecrated oil. Then Elder Willie blessed her, with Elder Chislett and Eric assisting.
When they finished she reached up and took each one by the hand. “Thank you. I’m feeling better already.”
Maggie, still kneeling beside her, nodded. “Your color is better too, Sister Bathgate.”
The Englishwoman turned. “Say,” she said, her eyes narrowing in concentration. “Aren’t you that Scottish lass that was teaching Eric his English lessons?”
“Aye,” she said in surprise. She didn’t think she was known to this sister.
Mary leaned back and looked up at her friend. “Did you hear that, Isabella?”
There was a smug nod. “I did. When you spoke about doing something about this matter the other day, Mary, I didn’t think it would be quite so drastic.”
“You hush now, Isabella. If it works, then so much the better.”
“If what works?” Eric said, suspicious now. “What are you two doing?”
“Never you mind, Eric Pederson,” Isabella said. “This is none of your affair.”
Mary gave her an incredulous look.
“Well, not directly, anyway.”
“Sister Bathgate?”
She turned and looked up at Captain Willie. “Yes?”
“Now there is no choice. You’re going to have to ride in the wagon for a time, whether you like it or not.”
She stiffened as violently as if he had cut her again. “No!”
“Oh, yes. Surely you don’t think you can walk on that leg?”
“Oh, yes I can.” She started to get up, trying to catch Eric’s hand for support.
He jerked it away. “Oh, no. Captain Willie is right exactly, yah, and you know it is so.”
“Of course he’s right,” Isabella said sternly. “We’ll hear nothing more of this.”
Sister Bathgate turned to look at her traveling companion. “And I suppose you’ll go right on walking so that you can say that you never had to ride.”
“Of course, but I’ll walk alongside the wagon so I can be near you.”
“Hmmph!” Sister Bathgate said in complete disgust. She turned to Maggie. “I want you to be my witness,” she said.
“Witness to what?”
“That I never got into a wagon until I was compelled to by that cursed snake.”
•••
Eric and Maggie stood at the back of the wagon, looking at the two elderly sisters lying side by side. “You know, Sister Park,” Eric said in a chiding manner, “this was really more than friendship required.”
She grimaced. “Couldn’t have Mary grousing at me all the way to Utah,” she said through clenched teeth.
Sister Bathgate reached over and took her friend’s hand and held it tightly, waiting until the pain eased a little. Then she laughed softly. “Can you believe it? I think both of us must be getting old.”
Maggie reached in and took Sister Park’s other hand. “We’re just grateful that it wasn’t anything more serious.”
Amen to that, Eric thought. Eric and Maggie had followed the stretcher carrying Sister Bathgate back to one of the supply wagons. They had quickly helped the teamster make a bed in the back for the Englishwoman and gotten her settled in comfortably. Throughout, Sister Park hovered nearby, greatly concerned for her companion’s welfare. But the tragedy had been averted. Since the time when the wound was cut open and she had received a priesthood blessing, Sister Bathgate’s color had returned almost back to normal.
Captain Willie, satisfied that she was situated as well as possible, gave the signal for the column to move out again. They had already been delayed for over an hour. Maggie and Eric were just approaching their handcarts when they heard a terrible scream. They spun around and raced back again. To their horror, Sister Park was just being pulled from beneath the hind wheels of the wagon in which Sister Bathgate was riding.
As it turned out, just as the teamster cracked his whip over the heads of his mules, Sister Park had darted in front of the teams to check on her friend one more time. The teamster didn’t even see her. The lead mule knocked her down and she fell beneath the hooves of the teams. How she had avoided being struck in the head was incredible. More incredible was the fact that she had no broken bones.
As those who had witnessed it told the story, Sister Park fell directly in the path of the wagon wheels. The front wheels of the fully loaded wagon went directly over both hips. That was when she had screamed out in agony. Fortunately one of the brethren was standing just a few feet away. When he saw what was happening, he dived for her, grabbed her arms, and dragged her outward. Quick as he was, he wasn’t quite quick enough. The rear wheels then passed over both of her ankles. When Eric and Maggie came dashing up, Sister Park was writhing on the ground in agony.
As Eric watched Maggie giving comfort to Sister Park now, he marveled again. The wagon was fully loaded with flour, about four thousand pounds of it. The wheels had struck her squarely and passed directly over her body twice. And there was not a broken bone. Captain Willie and Brother Chislett had carefully checked and found nothing. Though she was in tremendous pain and would surely be heavily bruised, Sister Park had escaped serious injury. Even the thought of that made Eric shudder. Had even one of the ankles been shattered, with nothing but limited medical abilities out here it would probably have meant certain death.
Once again Eric had stood with Captain Willie and administered a priesthood blessing. And once again they had witnessed the power of the Lord. By the time they got a second bed fixed up beside Sister Bathgate and got Sister Park into it, the pain had dropped to bearable levels for the old woman and Sister Bathgate was teasing her companion about wanting to give her company.
Eric shook his head ruefully, looking at these two who had come to mean so much to him. “I have wondered what to do to get you two so that I don’t have to worry about you every minute of the day. Well, I think this should do it.”
“Pshaw!” Sister Bathgate snorted. “Don’t you get used to it, because Isabella and I are getting out of this wagon first chance we get.”
Eric just shook his head again. They were hopeless. He hopped up onto the tailgate of the wagon, leaned forward, and kissed them both on the forehead. “Fair enough,” he said. “But until then, you just stay here and keep each other company.”
IV
Tuesday, 2 September 1856
The Edward Martin Handcart Company left Iowa City, Iowa, thirteen days after James G. Willie’s company. They arrived in Flor-ence just five days after the fourth company had continued westward. Elder Franklin D. Richards was waiting for them there, having arrived the day before. He and a small party of British missionaries had come by packet ship from England via New Orleans. There they had caught a Mississippi riverboat to St. Louis, then changed to another, smaller boat and steamed up the Missouri River to Florence. They made the entire trip in twenty-six days. This was astonishing, considering that the group that had come on the Thornton was forty-three days just in crossing from Liverpool to New York.
The Horizon took thirty-five days to cross the Atlantic to Boston. But for the Apostle’s group, the winds had been entirely favorable. They sailed directly to New Orleans without a stop, and they had been fortunate to book passage on riverboats without having to wait even a day for their departure.
When the Martin group reached Florence, once again a council was called to discuss the issue of staying in Florence or pressing on in spite of the lateness of the season. Hannah McKensie had been horrified when Elder Richards advised them to consider stopping at Flor-ence for the winter. He noted that Brother Martin’s group had many more elderly traveling with them and said that without a doubt some of them and also infants might die by the way. It was deeply sobering. But what wintering over meant for Hannah was that it would be another year before she was reunited with her family.
Fortunately, Cyrus Wheelock, who was traveling with Elder Richards, joined George D. Grant and the other Church agents to put forth that there was not sufficient means to support a group this size for the winter and urged them to go on with all possible speed. When all were through speaking to the issue, Elder Richards arose again and called for a vote.
It was a solemn moment. Here they sat, these emigrants from a far-off land—bronzed, weathered, and toughened by the trek across Iowa. Hannah was afraid that all the talk of blizzards and high mountains might deter them. She nearly fainted with relief when with uncovered heads and uplifted hands, the company voted almost unanimously to go on.
They spent four more days repairing, refurbishing, and resupplying, and on August twenty-seventh, the fifth and last handcart company of the season rolled out of Florence headed west.
That had been seven days ago—seven hard, long days. Hannah McKensie didn’t mind. At noon today they had ferried across the Loup Fork of the Platte River. The ferryman said that the Willie Company had crossed on the twenty-third. That meant they were only about ten days ahead now. In one way, that was discouraging. Ten days was almost two hundred miles. But at one point the two companies had been separated by two full weeks. They were slowly closing the distance.
If Hannah had her way, the company would keep rolling two or three hours longer every day. Each time a cart broke down and they had to stop for repairs made her want to scream. Every delay was maddening. So now, looking at the gathering blackness that spread across the western horizon, she felt anger. Leave us alone. Take your storm somewhere else. We have to keep moving.
And yet, even as she said it, she felt a deep dread. She had developed a fear of these prairie thunderstorms. Racing eastward with amazing swiftness, they hit with a ferocity that was never seen back in Edinburgh. In moments the wind could turn from a gentle breeze to a howling gale. Rain came in horizontally like pebbles, feeling like it would strip the flesh from your face. Lightning ripped the sky with blinding intensity. Thunder clapped so loudly that it shook the earth. It frightened her so badly, she would clamp her eyes shut as tightly as possible, put her hands over her ears, and bury her head in her lap.
She let out her breath, feeling the tension coiling within her. This one was as black as anything they had seen thus far. She looked at Ingrid and shook her head. At Florence some of the agents had talked about the most feared of all American storms, the prairie tornado. They talked of winds that could strip the roof off a house and drop it across town, of pieces of straw being driven like nails into tree trunks. It hadn’t done much to cheer the emigrants.
As the wind stiffened, Elizabeth Jackson turned and looked around. The children were off to the side of the main column, walking together as they always did. Holding her bonnet so it wouldn’t blow away, she scanned their faces. Young Aaron, her youngest and just two, was nestled in a place they made for him on top of the loaded cart, but her two girls were with the rest of the children. Then she saw her oldest. “Martha Ann! Get Mary Elizabeth. Come quickly. It’s going to rain.”
Aaron Jackson, pulling in the shafts, came to a stop. Up ahead, Edward Martin was riding toward them, yelling at the people and waving his arms. Aaron didn’t have to wait to hear what he was saying. He swung the cart around so that the back of it faced into the teeth of the storm and set it down. “This is going to be a bad one. We’d better get prepared.”
They flew into action. Ingrid took off the shoes from around her neck and set them beneath the cart, then ran off to get the girls. Hannah lifted young Aaron from his place and set him down. She gave him a gentle shove. “Under the cart, young man.”
Familiar with this routine, he crawled in as far as he could. Being the smallest, he always went in to the front where there was the least amount of room. He snuggled in beside Ingrid’s new shoes.
Hannah threw up her hand in front of her face as a gust of wind flung dust and grains of sand into her eyes. She felt the first splash of rain. Aaron Jackson was checking the lashings on the cart. She leaped to help him. “It’s coming fast.”
There was a brilliant flash and a second or two later a tremendous clap of thunder. Ingrid was just bringing the girls in. They all jumped, and Mary Elizabeth started to cry. “That was close,” Ingrid said as she pulled them beneath the shelter of the cart.
All around, people were sprinting for shelter, dragging their children with them. Now the rain began in earnest. The lightning cracked again, and Hannah felt the earth shudder beneath her feet. She closed her eyes and clapped her hands over her ears. “I hate this!” she exclaimed.
The box of a handcart was only about five feet wide—to give it the same width as the wide wagon track—and about five or six feet long. Tipped forward and resting on its shafts, it provided a meager roof for seven people. Huddling in together as tightly as possible, the seven of them crouched beneath the cart as the full fury of the storm descended on the column. Above their heads, the cart shook and shuddered as the wind began to batter at it.
“Grab the wheels!” Aaron yelled at Hannah as he locked his hands on the spoke of the wheel next to him.
Hannah had no choice but to forget trying to shut out the thunder and lightning. She grimaced as she and Ingrid grabbed the other wheel, hanging on fiercely as the cart rocked sharply now. Boom! This time the flash and the crash were almost simultaneous. She gritted her teeth and stared at the ground. Praying that it would pass swiftly, she hunkered down to endure it as best she could.
The rain was coming in sheets now, and in moments the ground was covered and water started to run beneath the cart. Brother Jackson tried to dig a furrow with the heel of his boot to divert it, but it was too little too late, and in a few moments Hannah felt the cold wetness through her dress and against her bottom and the back of her legs. Little Aaron began to whimper and Sister Jackson took him in her arms.
Suddenly the roar of the rain changed to a rattling sound. Hannah looked up, instantly understanding. “Look, Mama,” Martha Ann shouted. “It’s snowing.”
“Not snow, dear. That’s hail.”
The rattling deepened into a drumroll now. The ground all around them came alive with bouncing white pellets. Ingrid reached out and retrieved one, holding it up in wonder. It was as large as the tip of her thumb.
Somewhere off behind them, there was the frantic whinny of a horse. Then an ox bawled. “The stock!” Aaron Jackson cried. “This will drive them mad.” He went up to his knees. “Elizabeth. Hold the wheel. I’ve got to go help.”
Setting little Aaron down, Elizabeth grabbed the spokes. Brother Jackson scrambled out, holding his arms above his head. But even as he started to turn, there was a brilliant flash of light and a simultaneous blast. It was as though they were sitting beneath the muzzle of a giant cannon at the moment it fired. There was not just the flash and the deafening roar, but a tremendous concussion as well. Brother Jackson flew forward, landing face first in the mud.
“Aaron!” Elizabeth screamed as she came up into a crouch.
Hannah was dazed and it took a moment for it to register that the three children were shrieking hysterically. Then Brother Jackson sat up, shaking his head
. His eyes were wide and bewildered. In an instant Elizabeth was at his side, kneeling in the mud, unmindful of the pelting hail. She threw her arms around him. “Are you all right?”
He pushed her back, staring at her. One hand came up to touch his face. “Yes. I—”
“Help. Please, someone! Help me!”
Hannah swung around. Behind them, down the line of carts about fifty feet, barely visible through the pounding hail, she saw a woman on her feet waving frantically. Then she dropped to her knees beside something that had been thrown on the ground. Hannah started. As the hail momentarily lifted, she saw that it was a man, lying on his back in the mud. Strangely, she saw that the front of his shirt was all black.
Aaron stumbled to his feet. “I’m all right, Elizabeth,” he said. He squeezed her hands. “Get back under the cart.” Then he turned and broke into a stumbling run toward the woman who was calling frantically for anyone to come and help her.
•••
In ten minutes the storm was over. The hail gradually became rain again, the wind lessened, and the horizontal sheets of rain became first a downpour, then a drizzle, and finally a light sprinkle. To the west, they could see the edge of the great cloud that hung over them. Beyond was blue sky. One by one the people began to come out from beneath the wagons and the handcarts. No one seemed to notice that their clothes were soaked and muddy. Every eye was turned to the cluster of people about fifty feet from where Hannah and Ingrid stood. The two older girls had their arms around the two younger Jackson girls, who shivered violently now in their wet clothes. Elizabeth Jackson stood beside them, holding little Aaron against her tightly.
They all straightened as Aaron Jackson suddenly appeared, pushing out from the crowd and starting toward them. His jaw was set and his face grim as he returned to join them.
“Aaron?” Elizabeth said as he came up.
Fire of the Covenant Page 36
