Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  “What a beautiful spot,” Hannah said, looking around even as she sank to the thick carpet of grass beneath her feet. “Let’s stay here for a week.”

  Ingrid took the pair of shoes from around her neck and let them drop to the ground; then she sat down beside Hannah. “How about a month?” she said wearily.

  Elizabeth Jackson came forward to lift little Aaron down from the cart. He immediately ran to the water and squatted down so he could put his hands in it. The other Jackson children were with their father far enough back that they hadn’t reached the camp yet. Aaron Jackson was not doing particularly well, and his wife had finally persuaded him—with additional urging from Hannah and Ingrid—to let them pull the cart this day and to simply walk with the children.

  Elizabeth turned, searching the faces of those still coming in. “There they are,” she said after a moment. “Can you watch little Aaron if I go help Brother Jackson with the girls?”

  Hannah started to get up, feeling guilty. “I can go. Why don’t you sit down for a while? You look exhausted.”

  There was a fleeting smile. “Everyone in this company looks exhausted,” she said. Then she shook her head. “No. I’ll go.”

  “Tell him we are saving him a place in the shafts tomorrow,” Ingrid said.

  She smiled. “He would like that, believe it or not. He hates it so badly to think that you girls have to carry his load.”

  Hannah tried to look stern. “Tell him that we’re going to hire a little better-quality help if he keeps hobnobbing with all those sick people.”

  Elizabeth laughed as she started away. “I’ll tell him,” she called over her shoulder.

  Five minutes later, Brother and Sister Jackson came up with Martha Ann and Mary Elizabeth. Ingrid and Hannah watched Aaron Jackson with some concern. He was walking slowly and looked very tired. “Good news,” Elizabeth called out before they even reached them. “Captain Martin has called a halt for the day.”

  “For the day?”

  “Yes. The teams need the rest—not that we don’t—and this will also give us a chance to do some washing.”

  “Wonderful!”

  “I’ll help the brethren put up the tent,” Brother Jackson said.

  Elizabeth whirled on him. “You will sit down and rest, Aaron Jackson.”

  “Elizabeth, I can do that much.”

  “Do you want to ride in the sick wagons tomorrow?”

  That stopped him. He had already done that once, and that was before every wagon was filled chockablock, with the sick jammed in like cordwood or forced to sit up shoulder-to-shoulder.

  She glared at him until he finally nodded and found a place to sit down. Little Aaron darted over and climbed onto his father’s lap.

  “Oh, by the way,” Elizabeth said to Hannah and Ingrid, “Elder Martin wants a meeting with all the company this afternoon at two o’clock.”

  •••

  As Hannah watched the people in her company come over to the grassy area beside the wagons and sink slowly to the ground, she found it hard not to give face to her inner apprehensions. She and Ingrid were young and strong, and so far, thank heavens, they had escaped the sickness that was striking down so many now. And yet, with all that, she felt like every step was made with lead boots, that every movement of her body required a conscious act of will. She had never been so totally, thoroughly, utterly tired before in her life. So what must the elderly be feeling now? How did those who were only marginally sick and had to walk keep going?

  Two days before, Aaron Jackson had ridden in one of the wagons all day, trying to regain at least some strength. The next morning he had told them that conditions in his wagon were so terrible that he would not go back, no matter what it took for him to continue on.

  She looked at the faces around the growing circle. What she saw in many cases was deeply alarming. The deaths were coming frequently now. Almost every morning there was another brief funeral service. Previously, though, it had been the elderly and those who were most seriously ill. Now she saw the shadow of death on the faces of young and old alike. The signs were the same—the gaunt face, the sunken cheeks, the empty look, the utter lassitude.

  In two or three more days, according to Elder Martin, they would reach the Platte Bridge. There was a trading post there. Perhaps they could find additional food. Perhaps there would be something to postpone what was quickly becoming the inevitable.

  She finally shook it off. She couldn’t dwell on this or it would drag her down. She leaned over and nudged Ingrid. “Do you think Eric has worked up his nerve enough to tell Maggie that he likes her?”

  Ingrid immediately shook her head. “No. Do you?”

  “Probably not. What do you think Emma is doing about now?”

  “Flirting with Olaf,” Ingrid shot right back.

  Hannah laughed. “Oh, yes. I’ll bet you’re right about that.”

  Sister Jackson was close enough to have heard. She leaned forward and smiled at her two charges. “The more important question is, what is Olaf doing?”

  Now it was Hannah who answered without hesitation. “Dreaming of Ingrid and me.”

  They all laughed, winning questioning looks from some of those sitting around them. Trying not to giggle, Sister Jackson put a finger to her lips. “Shhh! Here comes Elder Martin.”

  Elder Edward Martin was a strong man and one who seemed to be filled with vigor and energy. As he came forward and climbed up onto the tailgate of the nearest wagon, Hannah saw the price being captain was exacting from him. There were dark circles around his eyes and deep lines around his mouth. He had been a little portly when she had first seen him at Iowa City. Now he was lean as a picket fence, and most of the humor in him had long since disappeared.

  Once up, he straightened and took a moment to look around. His five subcaptains were standing nearby. There were a lot of people sitting around waiting for him to begin, but Hannah guessed that at least a quarter, and perhaps as many as a third, of the company had not come. They were simply too exhausted to care. They would hear about any decision eventually.

  “Brothers and sisters, as your leaders we have met in council this afternoon to deal with the circumstances we now find ourselves in. This is one of the reasons that we stopped here today. In addition to everyone’s needing the rest, we felt that there were critical decisions to be made.”

  He looked around, searching the faces that were before him. “I don’t need to tell you,” he finally said, looking at that moment very, very tired, “that our company is wearing down. We have worn ourselves out in getting as far as we have. We are living on reduced rations. Our cattle and oxen are wearing away as well. The weather grows colder all the time. Each day the wagons are filled with more and more who can no longer even walk, let alone pull the handcarts.

  “What all of this together means is that in recent days our progress has slowed considerably. We are making fewer miles than we should—than we must!—if we are to survive until help from the Valley reaches us.

  “We are still four hundred miles from Salt Lake. We clearly cannot make that on our own. As you know, we recently received a letter from Elder Richards promising that there will be wagons coming, but we likely cannot meet them before South Pass.” He stopped for a moment and rubbed at his eyes. “At the rate we are presently going, we will not reach those wagons until at least a week after our supplies have run out. At least a week.”

  There was no outcry, no exclamations. He was only confirming what they already suspected. The only question was, what could they do differently than they had already done?

  “We must increase our speed or we face imminent disaster, brothers and sisters, and yet we are too weak to do more than we are doing. Therefore, as your leaders, we are here to call for a sustaining vote on a proposal.”

  Now the heads that had been down came up. Those who barely seemed to be listening looked to the front.

  “We see no alternative but to lighten the handcarts so we can press forward with g
reater dispatch.” He stopped for just one moment. “I want to say that again so you understand me perfectly. We do not see any alternative. Owing to the growing weakness of both our people and our animals, our baggage, including bedding, cooking utensils, and clothing, has to be reduced immediately. We propose that each person eight and older be limited to ten pounds of personal belongings each. Each child under eight is to carry no more than five pounds.”

  He stopped as if expecting an uproar. It did not come. There were stunned looks here and there, but many more faces were showing relief and gratitude.

  “All in favor, please show by raising your right hand.”

  Hannah looked around. She could not see anyone whose hand was not up.

  “If you are opposed to this plan, you may also make that known.”

  He waited, turning his head back and forth. There was no movement. He nodded curtly. “The voting has been unanimous in the affirmative. All right, brothers and sisters, you’d better go to your tents and go to work.”

  •••

  By the time the sun went down that night, the air temperature had dropped to near freezing. But tonight, at least for a time, the cold would not be a problem. In four different places in the camp there were roaring bonfires. The flames lit up the grove of trees and were reflected off the clear, cold waters of Deer Creek. The choices were painful but relatively easy. Most of the extraneous things—family treasures, personal items of lesser consequence, dressier clothing—had long since been discarded, and the priorities now were simple. Anything that was food stayed. Not that individuals had much of their own any longer, but if they did, that was set aside first. Next came extra clothing. Hannah had only two complete sets of clothing. Inside the tent she removed what she was wearing, and put on her other set, which was cleaner and less worn. She kept a blouse because she could wear it beneath her dress. She also kept one extra petticoat for when they got wet crossing streams. She could put on something dry at least. The rest she folded neatly, then walked to the nearest bonfire and threw it in.

  The outerwear was more difficult. They had four hundred miles to go and it was mid-October. So far they had not seen snow. That couldn’t last. She picked out her heaviest coat, a pair of mittens her mother had bought before leaving Scotland, and a thick woolen scarf. A sweater, a light jacket, a heavy woolen petticoat, and two extra pairs of stockings went into another pile. She made a second trip to the fire.

  When she got back to the tent, Ingrid was just picking up the pile of discards she had made. Off to one corner sat the new pair of shoes that she had carried around her neck since the weigh-in at Iowa City. She saw Hannah look at them and immediately started shaking her head. “Those shoes were never part of my seventeen pounds, Hannah,” she said defensively. “They won’t be part of my ten pounds now.”

  Hannah raised her hands in protest. “I wasn’t suggesting anything, Ingrid. When I saw them I was just wondering if you were thinking of discarding them.”

  “I know it’s foolish, but I want to have something for when I see President Young. I don’t mind carrying them.”

  Sister Jackson looked up. On the far side of the tent, she was going through her children’s clothing, making her separation. She stood, then walked over and laid her cheek against Ingrid’s. “Maybe someone needs to do something foolish, just so we don’t go insane.”

  Grateful for her understanding, Ingrid picked up her pile and left the tent. Hannah stood where she was, looking down at the bed where she slept.

  “How much are you going to keep?” Sister Jackson asked.

  “I’m hoping I am close to my ten pounds now,” she answered. “I only have a quilt and one blanket and my pillow.”

  But Hannah was wrong. When Brother Martin and Brother Jaques came by with the scales, she was still at twelve pounds. Ingrid was the same. As they looked at each other, Brother Jaques spoke quietly. “When the wagons from Salt Lake come, they will bring more blankets. It is better to discard one of them than to give away too many clothes.”

  “If the wagons come from Salt Lake,” Hannah responded.

  “They will come, Sister McKensie,” Elder Martin said firmly. “Our brethren and sisters in the Valley will not forget us.”

  She nodded. “I know. But will they reach us in time?”

  “We cannot lose heart,” Brother Jaques said. “If it is our time to find a place of rest and peace, then may His will be done. But if it is not, we must keep our faith up. We must!”

  Hannah felt her face grow hot. “I’m sorry, Brother Jaques. You are right. I’m sorry I was discouraged for a moment.”

  “We all get discouraged,” Elder Martin answered. “But Brother John is right. God is still in the heavens and we are still part of His covenant people. He will not forsake us.”

  Hannah leaned over and removed her woolen blanket from the scales, watching anxiously as the two pans of the scale readjusted themselves. Then slowly they came into balance. “That will do it,” Brother Martin said.

  Hannah nodded, trying not to think about the last two nights when she had been so cold, even with her clothes on, and that had been with both the blanket and the quilt. Well, tonight she would have to keep her coat and mittens on as well.

  Ingrid didn’t even wait. She took off her blanket and put it on top of Hannah’s. That did it for her as well. As the two brethren turned to weigh the Jacksons’ belongings, Elder Martin spied the shoes. He looked at Ingrid, one eyebrow rising.

  “I always carry them,” she said quickly. “I won’t put them on our handcart.”

  He nodded, something in his eyes showing quiet admiration. “I know you won’t, Sister Christensen. I had just wondered if you would keep them.”

  “Yes, I am keeping them.”

  Hannah looked at Ingrid, then picked up the two blankets, handing one to Ingrid. “Shall we, my dear?” she said, extending her elbow as if to an escort at a fancy ball.

  “Yes,” Ingrid said with a smile. “I would be most honored to accompany you.”

  The flames of the bonfire were now towering ten or fifteen feet in the air. The fire crackled and roared like some wild thing, and the heat radiated outward in shimmering waves. Hannah looked at Ingrid. “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  “One. Two. Three.”

  Together they heaved the blankets into the fire, then stepped back. For a moment or two the blankets actually dampened the flames, but the bed of coals—now a good twenty feet in diameter—was glowing white-hot. The blankets began to smoulder, spewing out puffs of dark black smoke. Then there was a sudden whoosh and they burst into flames.

  Hannah forced herself to smile at her friend. “Did you ever think burning your bedding would be so much fun?”

  II

  Sunday, 19 October 1856

  Hannah McKensie stared into the black water, watching it swirl past her, already feeling the shivers up her back, though she had not so much as put the sole of her foot in yet. All up and down the riverbank, the Edward Martin Company had come to a halt, standing at the water’s edge, gazing at this barrier as though it were a stone wall ten feet high and five feet thick.

  “Oh, Mother!”

  Hannah turned. Aaron Jackson was staring at the swift current in stark horror. He reached out and clutched blindly for his wife’s arm. Elizabeth was also gazing at the water, her face like stone. She already knew what this would mean for her husband.

  When they had lightened the carts two days before, it seemed to be just what Brother Jackson needed. A wind from the south had also begun to blow, moderating the temperatures somewhat, and that had helped as well. Yesterday he even took his turn pulling the cart and had gone to bed jubilant. It devastated him to think that he could not care for his family and that Ingrid and Hannah had to take over his responsibilities.

  Then sometime during the night the wind had shifted around to the northwest. The temperature plunged. When they awoke this morning there was ice along the edge of the creek. The canvas of their tent, st
ill damp from a previous rain, was so stiff they finally had to just roll it up as best they could. By the time they moved out at half past seven, the sky was gray and the wind stiffening steadily. It didn’t matter what one had on. It pierced coats, shirts, sweaters, dresses, petticoats, trousers, socks, boots.

  It was more than Aaron Jackson could tolerate. Though he insisted on taking first turn in the shafts, he went less than a quarter of a mile before he had to stop. Since then he had plodded along behind them, his head down, helped along by his two young daughters.

  “Sit down and rest for a time, Aaron,” Elizabeth said. “Brother Martin’s not here yet. We have a moment before we have to cross.”

  He did so, moving around the cart so as to get at least some shelter from the wind. Hannah saw that he averted his face so that he didn’t have to look at the river. Neither did he look up at the darkening sky.

  In the last hour the clouds had thickened and the wind shifted again until now it was coming nearly straight out of the north. An occasional snowflake whipped by, a dreaded hint of what Hannah was afraid was soon to come.

  Beside Hannah, Ingrid sat down on the dry grass and wearily took the shoes from off her neck. Hannah looked around. Evidently it wasn’t just the Jacksons who were waiting for Captain Martin to come up and give the signal. No one had ventured into the river as yet. Feeling the weakness in her own legs, she sank down beside her friend and tentmate. She sighed, a sound of deep longing, then lay back and closed her eyes.

  “What was that for?” Ingrid said, stretching out now as well.

  “I would have paid twice what that trader asked, if I had it,” she muttered.

  “For the bridge?”

  “Yes.”

  Ingrid nodded and turned her head to look downstream. They couldn’t see the Platte Bridge any longer, of course. They had come five miles farther on since they had passed that magnificent structure and the trading post nearby. But she could see it in her mind, etched against the trees and the gray sky, eight hundred feet long and looking as solid as if it were made of steel. The handcart company had stood near its southern end while they waited for Elder Martin and a few other people to finish their meager purchases at Richard’s trading post. For almost an hour the bridge had beckoned to them, enticing them like the sound of the Siren in Greek lore. “Come, walk across my spans and escape the black water below. Feel the solid planks beneath your cart wheels. What I cost is only a pittance to the toll the river will exact from you. Come and roll across before the storms descend.”