Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  She glanced to her right. On the other side of Eric, Maggie’s mother sat with Robbie. And beyond them the James family. She still felt the loss when she saw Sister James sitting without her husband. She felt a touch of the old horror when she looked at Reuben’s face and saw the sores that still were not completely healed and pictured the missing tips on several of his toes. But on the other hand, what a change had transpired in those three short weeks! Robbie’s face had filled out again, and the smile that had almost disappeared for a time was back in full. His hair was neatly trimmed and combed back and he wore clean, warm clothing. The cracked lips, the snow-burned face, the haunted eyes were gone now.

  What a day of celebration that had been when they gathered around the fire in the back of the Granger barn and threw their rags, their tattered shoes, their threadbare blankets and quilts into the flames! Something important had happened to Maggie that day. She would always have the memories of their experience—the days of gnawing hunger, the endless nightmare of Rocky Ridge, the shock at having Eric slap her face, the numbing grief of standing around that mass grave at Rock Creek and seeing the willows laid over the faces of William James, Olaf Pederson, little Jens Nielson, and Bodil Mortensen. But it was as though the worst of the horror of those days was tossed into the fire as well. The memories, though still present, were somehow purged and cleansed by the flames.

  With that thought, she turned and looked on the other side of her. Here was the answer to how that healing had come. The Saints of the Valley had taken the haggard emigrants into their homes, fed them at their tables, clothed them from their wardrobes, nursed their frostbitten hands and feet. Truly these Valley Saints had taken the Savior’s counsel to heart when He said, “I was a stranger and ye took me in.” Now Maggie felt her eyes start to burn as the gratitude she was feeling threatened to completely overwhelm her.

  Seated down the bench on the left side of her were the ones who had taken the McKensies in and followed the Savior’s counsel. On impulse, Maggie reached out with her other hand and took Eleanor Granger’s hand. The girl, just two years younger than Maggie, looked at her, surprised at the sudden gesture. Maggie could only smile at her, squeezing her hand just as she did Eric’s. Again the memories flooded over Maggie McKensie.

  As the handcart company was nearly swarmed under that day on the ninth of November, Maggie had noticed a young girl going around from wagon to wagon, obviously looking for someone specific. As the girl approached the wagon where the McKensies and the Jameses were, Maggie heard what she was asking. “Does anyone know of the whereabouts of David Granger? He was one of the rescuers.”

  Maggie called out to her, waving her over. Immediately a man and a woman and several other children came over to join her. The moment Maggie looked at the man, she knew he was David’s father.

  “We met David,” she said. She was motioning for Eric and her mother to come over as well. “He brought us food and clothing at the Sixth Crossing.”

  “Is he with you now?” his mother asked anxiously.

  Maggie’s mother had answered. “No. Captain Grant took part of the company on to find Brother Martin’s group. David went with them.” Then Maggie’s mother had begun to weep. “Your son was a godsend to us,” she whispered. “Thank you for sending him out to us.”

  And that had done it. The Grangers opened their home to the McKensies and found a place for the James family on the neighboring farm.

  Maggie felt a twinge of sorrow at the thoughts that they would be leaving the Grangers soon. The company that had come so far together, that had suffered and endured so much together, was already scattering. James G. Willie, their faithful captain, and the subcaptains would finally have a chance to be reunited with their families. Assignments to the various settlements were already starting to be made. Jens Nielson and Elsie, now childless, had been assigned to a settlement called Parowan, somewhere to the south. This couple, who could have bypassed so much suffering by keeping their money and coming west with the independent wagon companies, wouldn’t leave until spring because Jens’s badly frozen feet also needed time to heal. But little Elsie Nielson had saved her husband’s life. Now they had a deed for twenty acres of land and would have a chance to start a new life there.

  Dear Sister Bathgate and Isabella Park, the two intrepid walkers befriended by Eric who had been so determined to make it on their own, were safe and were going to stay here in the Valley. The James family had already left from the home down the street from the Grangers. They were sharing a farm with another family somewhere along the Jordan River, just a few miles south of the Granger place. Most of the Scandinavians would go to somewhere called Sanpete Valley, also to the south. For a time, Maggie had been afraid that Eric was going to be assigned to go with them, but Brother Granger, she learned later, had quietly reported their coming marriage to Brigham Young, and also the fact that they had family still coming in with the Martin Company. So they were on hold for now, but rumor had it that they too would be staying in the Valley, at least for a time.

  And so it went. Names like Provo, Ogden, Bountiful, Nephi, Farmington, Lehi, Alpine, Heber City were being heard now as those in the Willie Company who had survived were given opportunity for a new life. The next to last group of handcart emigrants was finally in safely. There was no profit in lingering overly long on the ordeal they had experienced.

  And with that thought, Maggie closed her eyes and silently offered yet again the same prayer she had given so many times before. Oh, please, dear Lord, bring Hannah and Ingrid safely in. Let them return to us whole and well. And thank you for our safe arrival in the Valley.

  •••

  It was noon when the meeting ended. Though the sun was shining brightly outside, this last day of November was still a cold one, and the people were not particularly anxious to go back out into it. When the “amen” of the congregation rumbled through the Tabernacle, the people stood up, but most of them stayed where they were, talking with those around them. A few started moving for the doors, but only slowly. Maggie and Eric stood quietly together, waiting for Maggie’s mother and Sister James. They had not seen the Jameses for over a week now, and so this was a sweet chance to visit again. Maggie would wait until they moved out into the aisle, and then she wanted to go see Sarah and Emma and learn how their new home was. But just then Eleanor Granger tugged on Maggie’s sleeve. When Maggie turned, Eleanor inclined her head toward the pulpit. “Look,” she said.

  Maggie turned. With everyone standing up, she wasn’t sure at first what she was supposed to be seeing. But then as she glanced at the podium, where President Young and his counselors and the other leaders of the Church were gathered in small groups, Maggie saw someone who looked out of place. A man was standing at the side door closest to the podium. He was fully dressed for winter, with coat and hat and gloves still on. In a momentary break in the crowd, Maggie caught a glimpse of riding boots.

  As Maggie watched, the man motioned in the direction of the First Presidency. It was Heber C. Kimball who saw him first and went over to see the man. They conferred quietly for several seconds; then Maggie saw President Kimball stiffen. He grabbed the man’s arm. The man nodded vigorously. President Kimball spun around and walked swiftly back to President Young.

  Now others were noticing what was going on up front and the buzz of conversation began to die. People nudged each other and pointed. Soon many eyes were watching as Heber Kimball spoke quickly to Brigham Young. Brigham Young jerked around, staring toward the east, even though the building had no windows on either side through which to look out, then whirled back and motioned for the heavily clothed man to come over beside him.

  “Brothers and sisters,” Heber C. Kimball shouted. “Could we have your attention please.”

  Now the sound was cut off completely as everyone turned to see what was happening.

  President Young stepped forward. “Brothers and sisters.” His voice boomed across the large congregation. “As you know, the handcart company is n
earing the Valley. We thought they might be arriving tomorrow and planned a warm welcome for them.”

  Suddenly Maggie was leaning forward on her feet, her breath caught and held. The new arrival had taken off his hat and scarf, and she saw that it was Joseph A. Young.

  “Well,” President Young said, clapping his hands in delight, “they have surprised us a little. My son has just arrived with some wonderful news.”

  As he came forward, his father laid a hand across his shoulder. “Tell them, Joseph.”

  There was a brief nod, and then the son leaned over, looking at the more than two thousand upturned faces. “My fellow Saints,” he cried, “it is a great pleasure to announce to you the arrival of the Edward Martin Handcart Company, the fifth and last of this season.”

  The congregation exploded as surprise and astonishment swept through the crowd.

  “How soon will they be here, son?” Brigham called. He already knew the answer, but he wanted the congregation to hear it too.

  The noise stopped as cleanly as though chopped through with an ax.

  Joseph A. Young smiled broadly. “At this very moment, the first of the nearly one hundred wagons are rolling up East Temple Street, no more than two or three blocks from where we now stand.”

  •••

  East Temple Street, as their driver called it, was surprisingly wide for the main street of a growing city. Once the wagons turned onto it at Five Hundred South Street, they began moving up alongside one another until they were three abreast. That brought the wagon in which Hannah and Ingrid and the Jacksons were riding up to where they were only ten or twelve rows back from the lead wagons.

  Hannah and Ingrid were both on their feet now, standing on the wagon seat and trying to see around the wagons in front of them. The streets were not paved and the wagons were chewing the recent snow into a dozen tracks which showed the dirt beneath. But once again Hannah was surprised at what she was seeing. Business establishments lined the street on both sides. There were livery stables, blacksmith shops, millinery shops, dress shops, a dry goods store, an apothecary. After Edinburgh, it looked quite primitive, and perhaps ten months ago she might have sniffed a little at the sight. But after seeing nothing but Fort Laramie and the Platte Trading Post and Fort Bridger in the last three months, it was as if they had been dropped into the most wonderful and glorious place in all of existence.

  “Do you see them yet?” Martha Ann Jackson called, tugging on Ingrid’s coat.

  “Not yet.”

  “We’ve still got another two blocks before we reach Temple Block. That’s where they’ll be meeting.” The driver reached inside his coat and drew out a pocket watch from his vest pocket. He opened the lid, then nodded. “It’s just a few minutes past noon. They’ll be getting out soon.” Then he chuckled. “Unless, of course, the Saints haven’t been fully doing their duty. Then the brethren might keep them a little longer calling them to repentance.”

  Then suddenly he stood up as well. He grasped onto the bow of the wagon and leaned way out to the left. Their wagon was on the left side of the street, so he had a clear view all the way up past the other wagons. He straightened again and looked at his charges. A big, slow grin stole across his face. “I think the meeting’s out.”

  “Why? Can you see them?” Hannah blurted.

  “I think somebody must have given them the word,” he said with forced nonchalance. “There are people pouring out of the gates of Temple Block like bees from a beehive.”

  •••

  The image that came to Maggie’s mind was that of turning a stream of water loose into a sluice. If Joseph A. Young had any more to say to the crowd, no one heard it. With his announcement that the wagons were on the street just east of Temple Block, the people gave one roar of joy and headed for the doors. The Tabernacle was in the southwest corner of the block, and there were gates on all four sides. The closest was the one that emptied onto South Temple Street. Seeing most of the people head for that one and pile up as if someone had dropped a board in the sluice, Maggie grabbed Eric’s hand and pointed to the east. “Let’s go out that one,” she cried.

  Eric nodded. He had Sister McKensie by the arm, so he pushed forward in front of Maggie, then let go of her. “Stay right behind me,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll make us a way.”

  “Hang on, Robbie,” Maggie cried, grabbing at his coat as they rushed forward. The east gate was a good choice, but they still had to slow to what seemed like an agonizing crawl as the crowd packed in to push their way through the narrow portals. Once through the gate, the crowd boiled out into East Temple Street, spreading rapidly.

  “There they are!” someone shouted.

  Maggie went up on her feet, arching her neck, looking to the south. There was a half sob of joy. The whole of the street to the south of them, which sloped gently away from Temple Block, was filled with wagons. There were dozens of them, and she could see that there were people standing up beside the drivers, jumping up and down and waving their arms. Farther back, people were tumbling out of the wagons like beetles leaving a sinking gourd. “Yes, Mama! I see them. I see them.”

  After their own experience three weeks ago, Eric knew better than to just search for faces in the crowd. If the Martin Company was no different than the Willie Company, the wagons would be jammed with the sick and the weak as if with cordwood. “You watch the crowd,” he shouted into Maggie’s ear. “I’ll check the wagons.”

  The street was pandemonium now. Wagons stretched as far down East Temple Street as he could see—a hundred at least, maybe more. Unfortunately the first wagons were like a dam in the river as everyone swarmed around them. As he started toward the nearest one, Eric saw Sister James and Emma and Sarah come in behind Maggie and her mother. Good. They could help. “Sarah, see if they are in these,” Eric shouted, motioning at the first row of wagons. “We’ll go further on down.”

  Sarah nodded, and she and her mother turned and started pushing their way in.

  “Wait, Maggie,” Emma shouted. “I’m coming with you.” She darted forward, grabbing for Maggie’s hand.

  By the time they got to the fifth row of wagons, the crowd was thinning. It hadn’t come this far yet. Now Eric leaped forward. “Do you have Hannah McKensie with you?” he called up to the teamster.

  The man shook his head. “Not here.”

  Maggie was already at the back of the wagon on the far side of that one. She stuck her head inside, calling out. Nothing.

  They raced on to the next row, calling and shouting and looking into every wagon.

  “Hannah McKensie?” Eric called up to a man on a horse. He recognized him as one of the young rescuers Eric had seen at the Sixth Crossing.

  “I know who she is. She’s with the Danish girl, right?”

  Maggie’s hand shot out and grabbed at the man’s saddle. “Yes! Are they here?”

  “Back another couple of rows.”

  A great cry of relief was torn from Mary McKensie’s throat. “Are they all right?”

  “Yes, they’re fine. They were seated by the driver when I passed them a minute ago.”

  •••

  “Stop!” Hannah grabbed the teamster’s shoulder and gripped it hard. “I see them!” Then even as the man began to pull in the reins, she started jumping up and down and waving her arms. “Mama! Mama!”

  “There’s Maggie!” Ingrid shouted. “And Emma! I see Emma!”

  As the wagon came to a stop, the teamster held out his hand to help Hannah down. She didn’t even see it. She put one hand on his shoulder and leaped over the side, nearly stumbling as she hit the ground. She was up and running, flinging off her winter bonnet and casting it aside. “Mama! Mama!”

  There was a cry as Mary McKensie turned and saw Hannah coming toward her. Maggie also shouted for joy and spurted forward. She could have outrun her mother but at the last moment she held back. With tears streaming down their faces, mother and daughter threw themselves into each other’s arms, laughing and cry
ing and kissing each other over and over.

  Maggie stood back, her own vision blurred. She should not have been shocked at the sight of her sister. Just three weeks ago she had looked just as terrible, almost frightening herself when she had first seen herself in the looking glass Eleanor Granger had given her. But as she watched her sister clinging to her mother, Maggie’s heart wrenched sharply. The light brown hair was dark and matted. There were deep circles around her eyes and they looked almost as if they had been bruised. She wore a shawl over a man’s winter coat. The shawl had been pulled on tightly so many times that it hung in loose disarray. Her cheeks were sunken and her mouth pinched.

  Maggie felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned, then gasped. Ingrid Christensen was standing before her, her smudged cheeks streaked with tears, her arms half-outstretched.

  “Ingrid?” Maggie’s cry was one of pain and joy. “Oh, Ingrid!” She threw her arms around her, pulling the frail body in against her, feeling the sobs suddenly begin to shake them both.

  Then suddenly she felt other arms around her. Hannah had turned from her mother and come in now too. Maggie felt like she was going to suffocate. Her throat had choked off until she could barely breathe. She let go of Ingrid with one arm and swept her sister into her grasp as well. “Hannah! Hannah! Hannah!” was all she could say.