by Gale Sears
Eliza went to a basket in the corner of the room and rummaged through strips of braided fabric until she found one the right length. “These are ingenious, you know,” she remarked as she moved to the chink and shoved in the colorful braid. “You could probably sell these at the mercantile for all the drafty cabins we have in the valley.”
“As if I need anything more to keep me busy.”
Eliza looked over at the young woman and smiled. She liked her. Charlotte Squires was a woman of faith, kindness, and intellect. She had been tested in the fire of adversity, and had held to her covenants. Eliza was a keen judge of character and she found the twenty-five-year-old Charlotte faithful and wise beyond her years.
Shortly after she and Lorenzo had married in the Nauvoo Temple in Illinois, mobs had driven them from their home into the harsh wilderness across the Mississippi. At Pisgah, Iowa, Charlotte and Lorenzo had buried their first child—five-month-old Leonora Charlotte, and then, without vindictive accusation of God, husband, or church, the young woman had turned her face to the West and crossed the thousand miles of untested territory only to finish the journey in the arid desolation of Salt Lake.
Even now, coping with a new daughter, an absent husband, and a drafty house, Charlotte maintained an equanimity that touched Eliza’s heart. She moved over and put her hand on Charlotte’s shoulder.
“Is there anything else you need before I leave you?”
“Yes. Would you mind sitting with me for a time? The quiet nights are the most difficult.”
“Of course.” Eliza sat down in the rocker next to the bed. “I admire you, Charlotte.”
“Me?”
“Yes. And don’t look so surprised. You were strong tonight when you read us Lorenzo’s letter.”
“Well, it wasn’t easy.” A slight grin touched the corner of Charlotte’s mouth. “Especially when he shared the story of the Indian attack.”
Eliza placed a hand over her heart. “Goodness sakes, what was he thinking? That scared the wits out of us.”
“But then came the miracle that saved them,” Charlotte offered quickly.
“Yes, but we didn’t know that until after the telling of the tale! It was one time I wished my brother did not have such a command of the language.”
The two women chuckled, and the baby stirred. Eliza looked over anxiously.
“Don’t worry,” Charlotte said. “Once she’s asleep only hunger or a stampede will wake her.” She reached over to the side table and laid her hand on the letter. “And what did he write about the Indian attack? That it was a thrilling scene?”
“Huh!” Eliza scoffed. “From here on I will be grateful for civilized encounters and calm seas, thank you!”
“Amen,” Charlotte concurred. “But the miracles do testify that the Lord’s watchful eye is on them.”
Eliza reached over and patted her hand. “That is a comfort.”
Charlotte changed subjects. “Elder Toronto seems to be a great help with the language and teaching about the Catholic faith.”
“I know Lorenzo will find both useful when they reach Italy.”
Charlotte nodded and yawned. “Where do you think they are now?”
“Perhaps near to setting sail in New York,” Eliza said.
“First to England for several months.”
“Yes, and then to Italy.”
Charlotte sighed. “Each ship taking him farther and farther from home.”
“You know he would not take one step from your side unless the Lord asked it.”
“I do know that,” Charlotte said with a sad smile. “And I’m not complaining . . . just missing him.”
“Of course.”
“After he was called to Italy, he spent many hours on his knees. He told me he would leave his family and cross the ocean for even one convert.” Her voice became thick with emotion. “But he wondered if there would be one person willing to hear his words. He kept praying and pleading, and before he left, he was filled with feelings of love and compassion for the Italian people. He knew he was called to take them the light of the gospel, no matter the sacrifice.”
Eliza nodded and wiped away a tear. A stiff wind blew through another crack between the logs, and she went to stuff a braid piece in the chink.
“Did you ever think you would find the light of truth, Eliza?”
“I hoped.”
Charlotte leaned forward. “Yes. I hoped too. My entire family was searching. We went out to all the revival meetings. We found some truth here and some truth there, but we never could get back to the primitive church. We never felt like we were sitting on the seaside as the Lord taught the apostles, or fed the five thousand, or healed the sick. Where was the purity and the priesthood?”
Eliza sat back down in the rocker. “Our family was searching for the same.”
Charlotte laid back. “And then we met the Smith family, and we were given a Book of Mormon.” She rubbed her eyes. “Everything changed. Everything. We gave up position, and kin, and security. We faced mobs and were forced time and time again from our homes into a barren wilderness. I wondered what would break our faith, but—”
“But nothing could,” Eliza finished.
“No, nothing could.” They were both silent. Charlotte closed her eyes again.
“Charlotte?”
“Hmm?”
“You’re tired. I think it’s time for me to go.”
Charlotte opened her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve kept you too long.”
Eliza stood. “Not at all. It was a joy talking about someone we love.”
“And bringing him near for Christmas.”
Eliza went over to admire the sleeping child. “Is there anything else before I go?”
“No, dear sister. Little Roxcy and I are tucked in for the night.”
Eliza smiled. “How kind of you to give her one of my names.”
“It is fitting,” Charlotte said. “I only hope she will grow up to possess half your remarkable qualities.”
“I’m just a worker in the kingdom,” Eliza said, running a finger along the baby’s cheek. She took a deep breath and turned. “I will be here tomorrow around noon with squash pie, cornbread, and a chicken to roast.” She went to put on her coat. “Oh, and of course, a few small presents for the children.”
“That is so generous.”
“Nonsense. My mother taught me to never attend to an invitation empty-handed. Besides, your family is doing the largest portion.”
“As is fitting.”
Eliza leaned over and kissed her sister-in-law on the cheek. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Eliza.”
“Get as much rest as you can.”
“I will. We have a lot of helping hands here in Lorenzo Snow’s family.”
Eliza smiled. “He would be proud of you.” She walked to the door and opened it onto a dark house. As she glanced back, Eliza saw Charlotte reaching to blow out the candle. Her heart ached, knowing the feelings of loneliness and separation Charlotte was experiencing—feelings she carried with her from the loss of her husband at Nauvoo. She moved quietly through the main room to the front door, and out into the night. She paused and lifted her face to the stars twinkling in the cold night sky. “Merry Christmas, dear brother. May the Lord keep you safe, wherever you are.”
Note
The letter to which Eliza and Charlotte refer is actual correspondence written by Lorenzo to his family. The event of divine protection during an Indian attack was an actual occurrence encountered by the brethren as they crossed the plains.
Chapter Eight
Torre Pellice
April 1850
The snap of the crisp linens in the spring air made Albertina smile. As she hung the last of the inn’s pillowcases, she sighed with contentment. She loved hanging laundry: one, because it meant the washing wa
s finished; two, because she loved the look and sound of the sheets flapping in the sunshine; and three, because it meant her little brother would soon be creeping out to play “catch the goose.” It was Joseph’s favorite sport; every Monday, secreted away behind a tree or stone wall, he would watch until the last clothespin was secured, and then he would run for his hiding place among the sheets. He would growl in his wild fox voice and chase his sister up and down the rows. Albertina was an engaging goose, honking madly, and running just out of reach of the fox’s claws.
Albertina gazed at the shimmery tunnel created by the white fabric, and saw in her mind’s eye her sister, Pauline. Pauline, the creator of the game, Pauline the trickster. There was the crooked grin and the patched dress as she stood with her hands on her knees, waiting expectantly for the fox to strike. The girl who was the best at games and playful mischief. The girl whom little Joseph loved more than any other member of the family. Albertina took a deep breath to stop her emotions. They had lost her last year to fever, a loss that had laid a permanent sorrow on her mother’s heart. Albertina shoved another clothespin onto the pillowcase. They had lost her to fever. Why had her mind conjured those words? She hated it when people used those words about someone who had died. It was like the family had gone on a hike into the mountains and one of them had simply taken another path, never to come home. After Pauline’s death, their mother had become fretful and overly cautious about the well-being of her remaining two children, especially Joseph. Albertina brought her mind to the clothespin. Now where was that cunning fox? She expected to hear his growl at any moment, but instead she heard someone calling her name.
“Albertina!”
It was her friend Madeleine! Albertina ducked around the side of the sheet and waved. “Here I am! What are you doing in town?”
Madeleine held up her satchel. “I’ve brought bread for your guests!”
Albertina knew the bringing of bread was more of an excuse for the two of them to visit than it was concern for the guests at the inn. Madeleine came puffing to her side.
“There’s only one problem with your charity,” Albertina informed her.
“What’s that?”
“We don’t have any guests at the moment.”
Madeleine frowned. “Not one?”
“Not one.”
“Well, what am I to do with this big round of bread?” She looked disconsolate, and then she brightened. “Would your family like it?”
Albertina picked up the laundry basket. “I’m afraid not. Mother just went to the bakery.”
“Oh.” The two girls walked together to the house. “What are you looking for, Albertina?” Madeleine asked after a time.
“What do you mean?”
“You keep looking around. Are you expecting someone?”
Albertina smiled. “Yes, my little brother. Every wash day we play this game while I’m hanging the laundry, and today he didn’t come.”
Madeleine shrugged. “Maybe he found another game.”
As they rounded the corner of the house the reason for Joseph’s absence became evident. He sat up on one of the Guy family’s work horses while his father led him carefully around the yard. As soon as Joseph saw his sister he called out.
“Look! Look at me, Albi! I’m riding!”
Albertina looked quickly around to find her mother. She was standing by the front door, a taut expression on her face and in her body. Albertina went to her. “Are you all right with this?”
Francesca Guy pressed her lips together and then said, “He will be fine. His father promised.” She turned to Madeleine. “A good day to you, Miss Cardon.”
“Good day, Mrs. Guy.”
“So your family has moved back up into the high valley?”
“Yes, we’ve been there a month now.”
“Of course. That’s why we haven’t seen much of you.”
“There is always so much to do when we move back up.”
“And the weather has been good? Not too much rain?”
“No.”
“Too much rain and I would worry about mudslides.”
“Mother,” Albertina interrupted, “you don’t need to borrow trouble.”
Mrs. Guy gave her daughter a dismissive look. “All I’m saying is that the mountains are dangerous. Is that not true, Miss Cardon?”
“Yes, that’s true. But I guess our people have lived there so long we don’t think about it. We see the mountains as a fortress.”
Mrs. Guy nodded. “You have walked far for a visit.”
“I have. And I brought bread for your guests, but Albertina tells me you don’t have any guests.”
“No, not today.” She stepped forward as Rene urged the old horse to a faster pace. “Rene, not so fast.”
“Fast?” Rene called back. “This horse is moving so slowly he’s almost going backwards.”
Albertina’s mother gave a huff of frustration and stepped back. She broke her gaze from the horse and its rider and focused on the two girls. “Why don’t you take the bread to Rene’s uncle at the monastery? I’ve made soup for supper and you can take him some of that, too. He likes my soup.”
“That’s a good idea!” Albertina said happily. “I haven’t seen the old bear in weeks.”
“But I’m sure this bread will be too country for him,” Madeleine said with concern.
Mrs. Guy opened the door and stepped inside the house. “He likes heavy country bread. He can dip it in his soup.” She led the way into the kitchen and the girls followed.
Father Andrew sat on the stone bench, watching the reaction of his two supper companions as their table was set on the library’s balcony. He observed their wide-eyed stares as the table was placed in the sunshine, covered in a linen tablecloth, and laden with an array of plates, glasses, and silverware. The serving plates held cheese, early pears, orange melon, prosciutto, dark olives, pickled cucumber, French pastries, and Madeleine’s country bread. And in the center of all the glory was a china tureen filled with Mrs. Guy’s vegetable soup. When the preparations were finished, and the workers on their way back to the kitchen, Father Andrew barked at the girls.
“Come on, you two! Stop standing there with your mouths open and help me up.” The girls rushed to his side, giggling. He put a hand on each of their shoulders and pushed himself to his feet. “No sense letting a good meal go uneaten.”
“The old bear needs his supper,” Albertina said, helping her great-uncle to sit. “Would you like me to serve you?”
He smiled at her. “First you bring supper and now you want to serve?”
“Well, we didn’t bring all of this!” Madeleine broke in, gazing at the banquet in front of her. “The least we can do is serve.” Moving to the table, she picked up the knife and began slicing the bread.
“If I weren’t so old, I would be serving you. You have brought light to my dreary day. Just look at those shining faces.”
Albertina patted his face. “Aw, you’re a tenderhearted old bear, aren’t you? Now, what would you like to eat?”
“A little bit of everything!”
After the girls had served him and made their own selections, the three companions sat eating and talking in the early evening gloaming. The talk was mostly of everyday events and activities: the work in the high valley, the pruning of the vineyard at the inn, Joseph riding the horse for the first time. The girls asked about Father Andrew’s work—was he copying old boring records or translating something interesting for a king? His niece teased him about his ink-stained fingers and his love of words. Andrew’s mind went to the vellum parchment with its words of torture and death. He looked at the little Waldensian daughter and grief tightened his breathing.
“Uncle! Are you all right?” Albertina asked in alarm.
Andrew focused on her. “What?”
“Are you all right?”
/> He took a breath and nodded. “Yes . . . yes, of course. Why do you ask?”
“Your face went very white. Are you having a hard time breathing?”
Andrew sat back in his chair and forced another breath. “No, no. I’m fine. I think I just had a few too many pastries.”
“You see, that is why gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins.”
“There are far worse things,” Andrew mumbled.
“What was that, Uncle?” Albertina asked, leaning forward.
Instead of answering her, he looked over at Madeleine. “Life has been difficult for your people in their high mountain valleys, hasn’t it—a prison of sorts for hundreds of years?” From the look on her face and ensuing silence, Andrew could tell she was surprised by the change of topic and the unexpected question. “I am being genuine in my question, Miss Cardon. I want to know your feelings.”
“But you and my grandfather are friends. You’ve talked about our people—about our stories.”
“Yes, but I want to know more of your life. I want to know if the stories have been passed down. The Glorious Return. The Easter Massacre.”
Madeleine looked down at her empty plate. “Perhaps we should just forget those things, Father.”
His mind conjured a vision of the ancient parchment in the fire. “No,” he said gently. “No. I think they should be remembered. Not for sorrow or for vengeance, but to correct us on our path.”
Madeleine looked at him. “The Easter Massacre was two hundred years ago.”
“Yes. 1655,” Andrew said.
“So long ago,” Madeleine answered.
“Yes, but you know the story, right?” She nodded. “Go on then,” he prompted. “It begins with the Duke of Savoy, Charles Emmanuel.”
“Uncle, she doesn’t want to.”
Andrew looked at his niece. “There is a reason for my asking, sweet Albertina. There is a reason.” He turned to Madeleine. “Please, Miss Cardon. Tell us.”
Madeleine took a breath. “My grandfather says that Duke Charles Emmanuel was a zealot for the Church, and he saw us as evil heretics because we went against its authority.”
