Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  To Maggie’s surprise, Captain Willie came straight to where the McKensies and the Jameses were waiting. He looked as drawn and tired as the rest of them, but nevertheless he walked with a sure step and his shoulders were back. He was their captain, and he would lead them until he dropped if need be.

  “Sister James? Sister McKensie?”

  Jane and Mary both turned. “Yes?”

  “I am assigning Eric to your two families for today.”

  Maggie snapped around. “You are?”

  “Yes. Maggie, I don’t want you pulling on the cart today at all. I wish you didn’t have to walk, but as you already know, that is not an option.”

  “I’m all right, Brother Willie. Really, I—”

  He shook his finger at her. “You are not all right. I’ve heard that cough. And if you start straining too hard in this cold wind, you’ll get cold air down your lungs and add pleurisy on top of everything else. That won’t do your family any good. Do you hear me?”

  Eric was nodding, looking at her sternly as well.

  She knew they were right, but how could she just stand by and—

  “Sister Maggie,” Brother Willie said, his eyes pinning her down. “I am speaking both as your company captain and as your priesthood leader. Are you going to be obedient to counsel?”

  She looked at him and saw that he was not just trying to tease her into acceptance. He was completely serious. “Yes, sir,” she said meekly.

  He swung around. William James had just caught up with them. “Brother James, I have the same counsel for you. You are to pull only that second, lighter cart. And let Reuben do that alone whenever you are on level ground. If you reach the point where you feel like you cannot make it, then leave the cart. We have deliberately packed it with things that can be replaced at Rock Creek once we reach the other wagons. So if you have to leave it behind, do it. Do you understand me?”

  William James lifted his head, the gauntness in his face a little frightening. “Yes, sir.” His head dropped again. “I’d like to take my shotgun with me, if that’s all right.”

  Captain Willie hesitated. A shotgun was heavy and virtually useless at this stage. It was not as if there were game roaming around out here right now.

  Seeing their leader’s expression, Eric stepped forward. William James had brought a fine shotgun with him from England. Along the trail he had shot prairie hens and an occasional rabbit to supplement the family’s food supply. “Captain,” Eric said in a low voice. “It’s because he thinks it will help him care for his family.”

  Brother Willie finally nodded. “All right.” He tipped his hat and he and Brother Kimball moved away, heading for the front of the column.

  As soon as they were there, Brother Kimball stepped forward. “Brothers and sisters,” he called.

  Everyone turned.

  “The time has come. We have to begin. I won’t lie to you. As we told you yesterday, this is not going to be easy. We are not going to try and keep everyone together. Go at your own pace. As you can see, the wind is going to be a factor. That is typical. Even on the best of summer days, the wind blows very strongly here. Keep yourself wrapped in your blankets and quilts as best you can.”

  He glanced at Captain Willie. “Brother Willie has asked John Chislett, captain of the fourth hundred, to bring up the rear and watch for any stragglers.”

  “Brother Chislett is finishing with the burial,” Brother Willie said. “He will be along shortly. But brethren and sisters, it is important that you do not stop. In this wind you will freeze to death in a matter of a few minutes. Keep moving. Help one another. Encourage those who falter.”

  Brother Kimball came back in again. “We shall take my six wagons with the sick and lead out. We will press ahead as rapidly as possible so we can get them to camp.”

  “Then will you come back for the rest of us?”

  Maggie turned. It was the same man who had questioned the two leaders so sharply yesterday morning.

  Brother Willie’s mouth tightened as he stepped forward to answer. “Brother Foster, this is going to sound very harsh, but the answer is, perhaps. We’ll have to see how the teams are at that point The wagons are overloaded now, far more than these teams should carry. The animals are already exhausted from a very hard push from the Valley. I know, I know,” he said quickly as the man looked as if he was going to interrupt. “So are you. But we still have two hundred miles to go. If we ruin the teams now, all the efforts of the rescue company will have been for nothing.”

  To Maggie’s surprise, the man nodded somberly. “I understand.”

  Brother Kimball spoke up again. “We are having your wagons come along at the rear, along with Brother Chislett. If there are those who absolutely cannot make it, then they will pick them up. But I warn you, your ox teams may already be past the point of recovery. Any person who can walk or who can be pulled in the cart is going to have to do it.”

  He stopped again and his face grew more somber. “Rocky Ridge will be the worst. Once you reach the top, there is a large, flat plain. The road should be easy pulling most of the way after that. Just remember this. Yes, Rock Creek is sixteen miles away—sixteen hard, difficult miles—but when you get there, Brother Reddick Allred will be waiting for us, or at least will be close at hand. He has six wagons filled with food and clothing. His men will be fresh and rested. They will cut firewood for us and help you put up your tents. More wagons will be coming from the Valley every day.”

  He looked around. Like Elder Willie, he looked exhausted, but now he smiled as warmly as he could manage. “Brothers and sisters, see it through this day and the crisis will be over. It will still be difficult, but we will have averted disaster.” His voice rose sharply now. “My beloved Saints, you have suffered so much. But temporal salvation is waiting just sixteen miles from where we stand. May God bless us all with the strength and give us the faith to endure this one last time.”

  He stepped back. Brother Willie nodded slowly, then looked at his charges. “We will leave in five minutes,” he said. “Please be ready.”

  •••

  “What about Olaf?”

  Eric looked up from the back of the cart. “He’s going to help Jens and Elsie.”

  “I feel so bad that you—”

  His look cut Maggie off. “I am here by assignment from Captain Willie,” he reminded her. “You did not ask for this. Neither did Brother James.”

  She nodded as he came around and lifted the shafts of the cart and stepped into them. Maggie’s mother came over and got in beside him. Robbie shuffled around to the back of the cart, adjusting his mittens. Up in front of them, the first of the carts were already moving out, covering the last hundred yards of level ground before the land began to rise. Eric reached out and touched her shoulder. “We’re going to make it, Maggie. Just one more day. Don’t lose hope.”

  She nodded, keenly aware of the raspy sound her breath made even as she tried to hold it in as much as possible. Her expression was bleak. “Somehow,” she whispered, “the fire of the covenant doesn’t seem to be burning very brightly inside me right now.”

  Eric’s eyebrows lowered, but it was Maggie’s mother who whirled on her. “What did you say?” she demanded.

  “I’m sorry, Mama. It’s just that—”

  “What do you mean the fire is not burning within you?” Her mother’s voice was not angry, but soft and filled with love. “Have you once complained about what we are going through right now? Have you ever once blamed God for our circumstances?”

  “Well, no, I don’t feel like that. I—”

  “And have you ever once said that the answer you got that day to come to America was a mistake?”

  Now Maggie turned and looked at Eric, smiling faintly. “No. I know that was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “And do you know, even as you hunch over in pain as the coughing tears at your insides, do you have even the slightest doubt about whether God lives, about whether His Son came to ea
rth and lived and died so that we might live again?”

  Maggie straightened slowly, looking her mother directly in the eye. “No,” she said. “No, I have not the slightest doubt.”

  “Then why do you say that the fire of the covenant has gone out in you? Don’t you see, Maggie? It is that fire that drives us. It is our faith in the Savior that sustains us. That is what gives us the strength to go on, even now as we start this terrible day.”

  Her voice dropped suddenly, so low that Maggie had to strain to hear her. “And it is that faith in Jesus Christ and His sacrifice that allows us to say, ‘And should we die before we reach Rock Creek this night, then happy day! All is well.’”

  Tears welled up in Maggie’s eyes and she bowed her head. “Thank you, Mama,” she whispered. “I love you.”

  “And I love you, Maggie.”

  They turned as the two carts just ahead of them, pulled by the James family, began to move. Maggie reached out and laid a hand on Eric’s arm as he leaned into the crossbar. As they began to move, falling into line behind the others, Maggie’s eyes lifted. Now, without fear, she scanned the scene before her—ridge after ridge, stretching into the distance. Each was crowned with a long cap of snow, and each was nearly obscured by the howling winds and the boiling snow. It didn’t matter. One more day. That was all. Just one more day.

  •••

  Near the back of the column, Olaf Pederson was on his knees, facing five-year-old Jens Nielson. He fastened the top button on the boy’s coat, pulled his scarf more tightly around the lower part of his face, and pulled his hat down more securely around his ears. “Are you sure you don’t want to ride on the cart, Jens?”

  He shook his head. “It’s too cold, Olaf.”

  Olaf nodded. That was hard to refute. The wind was cutting through whatever clothing they had. The only relief was to jump up and down and move about, stamping your feet, slapping your sides, and doing whatever else it took to stimulate the circulation. Walking would be a blessing on this day, in spite of the challenge it would bring.

  “All right, then,” Elsie Nielson said to her son. “You stay close beside Bodil. Mama and Papa are going to pull the cart.”

  “Can Olaf carry me?” Jens asked in a pleading voice.

  His father turned and came to him. “Olaf has to help Papa push the cart, son. It is a time to be brave. Can you be brave for Papa?”

  Olaf took him by the shoulders. “Your Mama tells me that you will turn six years old next week.”

  The boy nodded solemnly.

  Olaf shook him gently, proudly. “I don’t know many six-year-old boys who are as brave as you are, Jens.”

  “Thank you, Olaf.” He turned to look at his father, the brown eyes filled with sudden determination. “I can walk, Papa.”

  “Good boy.”

  “Jens?”

  Brother Nielson looked up.

  Elsie moved to the front of the cart and lifted the shafts. “They’re starting to move.”

  •••

  There was one thing about the wind that proved to be a blessing. Anywhere the ground was exposed, every trace of snow was scoured away, leaving the wagon road dry and frozen hard as cement. Across these stretches the handcarts rolled easily and the emigrants moved steadily forward. But other than that, the wind was an inveterate enemy. It fought them every step of the way. Coming directly out of the northwest, it was blowing hard, probably thirty miles an hour or more, Eric guessed. When it gusted it caught the carts and shook them violently. It was enough to knock you off your feet if you weren’t constantly bracing against it.

  Driven by the wind, the cold became a double-edged sword, cutting every way it turned. It was like a tangible opponent. Eric estimated that the air temperature was hovering somewhere between zero and ten degrees. That kind of cold was a challenge under any circumstances, but when carried by the pummeling wind, it became deadly. The frigid air was like a rasp on exposed skin. It pushed its way into any and every opening in your clothing and seeped through even two and three layers of fabric. It stiffened the hands into frozen claws that could barely keep a grip on the crossbars.

  Another way the wind battled them was in the drifting. The very wind which stripped the snow from off the high spots or along the level stretches deposited it into every swale, every depression, every rut. Even the most gentle rise provided a slight windbreak, and drifts would form on the leeward side. You could move along smartly for a hundred yards or more, the wheels rattling loudly on the frozen ground, and then suddenly the road would dip and you would plunge into knee-high drifts, three, four, or five feet across. The lead wagons were breaking trail, thankfully, but almost within seconds after they passed, the tracks began to fill in again. If there was a break of any distance in the column, each drift had to be broached anew by the next group to reach it.

  Eric hadn’t seen the lead wagons now for more than an hour. In fact, at the moment, there were just the two carts together. The next group out ahead of them was maybe a quarter of a mile away. Behind them, strung out now coming up the long hill, he could see a dozen carts, but the closest was back a good two hundred yards.

  At first there had been three carts in their little group. But once they started, Sarah and Emma found that together they could pull the lead cart on their own, so Sister James had dropped back to help her husband and Reuben. Soon, Sarah and Emma were way out ahead of them.

  Eric and Mary McKensie were in the lead now, with Robbie pushing and Maggie walking alongside with the rest of the James children. Eric had gone out front deliberately so that Brother and Sister James, along with Reuben pushing from behind, wouldn’t have to take the drifts first. It wasn’t much help, but the McKensie cart made at least some track through the snow.

  Eric glanced back. Even with Mary and him breaking trail, Brother and Sister James and Reuben were falling behind again. Their little group of two carts now was moving more and more slowly as the road grew steeper. They had come perhaps three-quarters of a mile since they had started, and now the incline was taking its toll on Brother James.

  Just ahead, the road dropped into a shallow depression. It was no more than five or six feet across, but it was completely drifted in with snow eighteen to twenty inches deep. Without having to say anything aloud, Eric and Mary increased their pace as they approached it. They slammed through, their feet digging gouges in the snowdrift as they strained to keep the cart rolling. In a moment they were through.

  Seeing that, as they reached the depression Reuben shouted at his father, “Faster, Papa!” But William James had no more “faster” in him. As their cart wheels plowed into the drift, William’s feet slipped out from under him and he went down hard. Reuben yanked back on the cart, barely stopping it from smashing into his father and mother.

  “Brother James!” Eric lifted the shafts and ducked beneath them, running back quickly. Maggie heard him shout and turned and raced after him.

  As he reached the front of the cart, Eric saw that William James was on his hands and knees. His head was down and he was panting heavily, his breath coming out in tiny spurts of vapor. “I can’t do it, Jane,” he gasped.

  “It’s all right. It’s all right.” She put her arms around him and tried to help him get to his feet. “Rest for a minute.”

  He shook his head and pushed her away. “You have to go on, Jane. You can’t stop.”

  She was stroking his face, brushing away the snow that was caked on his cheeks. “I can’t leave you.”

  “We’ll come on in a minute,” he said. “But you can’t stop. Take the children.”

  “I’ll help you,” Eric said, bending over to look into Brother James’s face.

  “No!” It came out flat and hard. “You were assigned to help Mary.” He stumbled to his feet, leaning heavily on his wife’s arm. “Just help me get the cart off to one side. Reuben and I will rest for a few minutes. Then we’ll come on.”

  Jane James looked at Eric, her face stricken. Maggie saw that look and stepped f
orward. “Let Eric help them,” she said. “I’ll help Mother pull.”

  Brother James jerked free. There was almost panic in his eyes. “No! You heard Elder Willie. You are not to pull.”

  Jane finally nodded. “He’s right, Eric. You have to help Maggie and Mary.”

  “Just get me off to the side,” Brother James said again. “Then we’ll come on.”

  Eric and Maggie and Maggie’s mother pulled the cart out of the drift and off to one side of the trail where the ground was bare. As they lowered it again, Brother James sank down beside it. His wife dropped to one knee in front of him, pulling his blanket more tightly around him. “Promise me you’ll keep coming, William. Promise.”

  There was a wan smile. “I will, Jane. Reuben will help me.”

  Reuben was nodding. His face was determined. “We’ll just rest for a few minutes.”

  Eric turned around and looked back down the hill. Beyond the string of carts he could see the three supply wagons. “Brother Chislett is still back there,” he said to Jane, remembering what Brother Kimball had said before they started. “He’ll make sure they’re all right.”

  Fighting back her tears, Jane James stood. She reached out and touched her husband’s face once more. “We’ll see you in camp, then?”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  •••

  When John Chislett saw the handcart pulled off to one side of the road, his first thought was that it had been abandoned. Then there was a movement. Looking closer, squinting against the bitter wind, he made out the figure of a man sitting down. No, two men, sitting side by side.

  His heart dropped a little. Not already. They hadn’t even covered the first full mile yet. There had been a couple of steep slopes, but nothing compared to what still lay ahead. He quickened his pace, motioning for the others to come on.