Maps of Fate

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  Johannes swiftly surveyed the situation. The people of the other wagons were waving and smiling, obviously excited to link up with kindred spirits headed west into the unknown. Curious, he thought. The men seemed to have clean clothes on, a few of them in black suits. Several of the older men had wide, round black hats that appeared particularly well cared for.

  He turned to Rebecca, “Look at them. It is like they are dressed up for Sunday church.”

  Rebecca’s head snapped, the surprise at the first words Johannes had spoken to her in four days evident in her expression. “Well, Mr. Svenson, perhaps that is because this is indeed, Sunday. I believe these people are some of the Mormons Mac spoke of. According to what little I’ve read in the London papers, they are very devout.”

  Johannes absorbed her words. “Makes sense.” He set the wagon brake, tied off the lines, and took one quick look out at the endless expanse of prairie. He could see the dust of the riders Mac had sent out to sentry. He was about to turn to Rebecca and Inga—to ask if they needed assistance—but Inga had already clambered to the ground, and Rebecca was in the process of doing so.

  He shrugged to himself and, curious, ambled over alone to the other wagons. A young, pretty girl smiled at him and flicked her eyelashes. He grinned at her mechanically, without passion, and tipped his hat.

  On the other side of the wagons he was surprised to see a group of the darkly clothed travelers gathering. To his left, Inga and Rebecca had been joined by Sarah. Damn sure the three prettiest women between St. Louis and Cherry Creek, he thought. They were engaged in animated conversation and continuous smiles with a plump woman who wore a bonnet and dark dress similar to the others. All up and down the line, people congregated, exchanging small things, talking, and pointing this way and that, though usually their gestures were to the west. Mac and a man equally as broad, with an air of command, stood up by the lead wagon of the Mormon train engaged in earnest discussion and gesturing. Johannes grinned inwardly at the contrast between Mac—his wild red beard, worn wool clothes overtopped by a dirty crumpled felt— and the trim, black, almost dapper attire, and clean-shaven face of the other wagon master.

  He felt a tug on his arm. A well-built man about his own age, with an unusually long, pointed nose and thin face, but a genuine smile, stood next to him. “I am Joseph. Welcome, brother, we are absolutely delighted to have company on this day of God.” His tone was warm and sincere. “Though the Good Lord knows any day would be a fine day for company on this long trail. From where do you hail?”

  Johannes began speaking, realizing quickly that Joseph was surprised by his heavy Scandinavian accent. “I am Johannes Svenson. I guess you could say we started across the ocean, at least some of us, and then New York, St. Louis, and now, here, in the middle of this great city,” Johannes waved his arm, laughing.

  “Perhaps one day there will be a city here, where we stand. I understand that there are settlers on the way to build houses and stake their claims down by Fort Kearney. We are part of the Exodus bound for Zion.”

  “Zion?” Johannes could not remember a place with that name on Reuben’s maps.

  “The Cache Valley, north of the Great Salt Lake. These wagons transport just three families. We are from many locations, but primarily Ohio and Illinois. We are Mormons.” He looked at Johannes expectantly, seemingly half-braced for some negative reaction or derogatory comment.

  Twenty-two wagons for just three families? Johannes felt his eyebrows raise. The memory of the unrest in his own country, the brewing bitterness among the German populace, many of them Schleswig-Holsteinism liberals who wanted independence, crossed his mind.

  “Our wagon master told us a bit about you folks,” he said. “Seems you are good people fleeing narrow minds and establishing a colony of similar souls, where you can find the unfettered freedom to believe as you please.”

  Joseph’s facial muscles relaxed, a smile creased his lips, and a relieved look flashed across his eyes. “My father, Charles, is an elder. They have much stature in our church. Our wagon master is, too, and those other three men, one of them being my wife’s father…,” he pointed to the heavier set, more dowdy of the now two women talking with Rebecca, Inga, and Sarah, “are also elders. They make many of our decisions. In many ways, our life is our religion, and our religion is our life.”

  “It is good for the soul to have a cause,” said Johannes raising his hand to Joseph’s shoulder. “In many ways I envy you.”

  Joseph smiled, “It’s a shame you weren’t here yesterday. My little sister got married.” He pointed out a cute, very young girl, her arms draped around the arm of a tall, gangly, dark-clad lad. They can’t be more than fifteen. She was glowing, a huge smile seemingly pasted on her face, and he noticed the boy constantly reached up one hand and patted hers where it wound around his arm. The two stood side by side, their legs touching, joined, and now apparently inseparable.

  Johannes felt a strange twinge of sadness and took a deep breath. Averting Joseph’s gaze, his eyes fell upon Rebecca, whose stare was also riveted on the young couple. Joseph’s wife must have told Rebecca the news. Rebecca was smiling, but her face also wore a soft, pensive look. He realized the Mormon was speaking to him.

  “I’m sorry, Joseph, would you say that again?”

  “I was asking if you would like to join us for services. They begin in a few minutes. They won’t be long, and I’m sure the elders would not mind, given these unusual circumstances,” he lifted his hands and twirled them around indicating the nothingness surrounding the lines of wagons. “Normally we do not allow non-Mormons to enter the Temple, although we are pleased to have them, and they are most welcome at events outside the Holy Tabernacle.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve been to church of any type since my mother used to haul me down there on Sundays before she died. I was young, and I always protested. My father was military. Once in a great while, he and I might have had an unplanned meeting with someone of religious persuasion, but I can’t remember when the last time was. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind if I stand and listen?”

  Jospeh shook his head, “Absolutely not, brother Johannes, absolutely not. I am delighted, and I’m sure the elders will be, as well. Anyone in your train is welcome to listen. We all share the same God, no matter what some may call him, and he holds all of us in his equal love.” There was an angelic glow lighting the man’s face. Serious. I’ll be damned. Good for him.

  The rest of the Mormons were now gathering in a circle. In the center were several of the elders, one with two thick, open books. A number of the people from Mac’s train had joined those gathered. Some looked thirsty for a church-like ceremony, which they missed, others curious. All the men in the crowd took off their hats, and Johannes hurriedly mimicked them, with the instant flash of a dim memory of his mother’s face smiling sweetly at him as he stood behind the polished pew in the Church of Our Lady in Copenhagen, “Johannes, honey, remember—always take off your hat in church.”

  He noticed Rebecca and Reuben leaning against a wagon, perhaps one hundred feet away. Their attention was on the group, but they did not join. Reuben had taken off his hat. Occasionally they would begin talking. Johannes could tell by the way they were moving their hands that there was some disagreement between them. Rebecca stomped her foot, and they lapsed back to silence for a few minutes and focused on the gathering group of worshipers. Then they resumed their discussion, and their arms started gesturing again, Rebecca’s rather emphatically. Doesn’t look like Reuben’s getting the best of whatever’s going on, Johannes chortled to himself.

  He felt an inner surge when his eyes fixed on Inga on the opposite side of the crowd. Even from a distance, he could see her face was sad and drawn. Again, he felt that wrench in his heart. The elders gave the invocation, and they began reading from the book. Joseph had been joined by his wife who nodded and smiled at Johannes. The couple stood next to him, Joseph’s wife holding the hand of their very young son. Joseph whispered in his ear,
“Our church is also called the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. We use the King James Version of the Bible. The other book is the Book of Mormon. It is an important adjunct to the Bible.”

  The elder stopped reading, looked up, and surveyed the crowd with a serious, but kind, look. “Today, we will talk about forgiveness, how our Lord, Jesus Christ, forgives us, and how and why we should forgive others so that we may bring happiness to ourselves and to the world.” Johannes started, and knew his eyebrows were arched. He looked up at the sky. What are the chances? What is that phrase Reuben always uses—oh yes—there are no coincidences. He redirected his attention to the Mormon elder and listened attentively.

  The elder’s words were powerful, his voice strong, and Johannes knew half-way through the sermon which of the warring voices within him would win.

  The service concluded. He saw Mac shaking hands with his counterpart, and then heard him shout, “All you folks in the red-bearded Irishman’s wagon train, let’s get back to your wagons. We have places to go, people to meet, and things to do.”

  A murmur of voices all around filled the air as people said goodbyes with smiles, handshakes, and hugs to their new friends. Whom they are likely to never see again in this life. Threads meeting, then diverging, the thought flashed through Johannes’ mind, but then again, who really knows?

  Joseph shook his hand warmly, and his wife smiled and nodded, her smile growing wider when Johannes swept off his hat, bent from the waist, and kissed her hand. “If you ever get out to the Cache Valley, which is supposed to be very pretty, please, Johannes, you be sure to stop by and visit.”

  “Won’t we see you at Fort Kearney?”

  “Perhaps, though we do not travel on Sundays, and the elders have determined we will halt only long enough to pick up a Dragoon Escort. They call them Cavalry now. Our wagons have only three families, so we are small enough to qualify.”

  Johannes smiled. “Not sure I will make it that far west, Joseph, but you can count on me stopping by and saying hello if I do. Who knows? Does the danger warrant a Cavalry escort?”

  Joseph’s eyes widened. “You have not heard of the Grattan Massacre?”

  Johannes’ interest was piqued. “No, tell me.”

  Joseph sighed. “A very sad example of men’s lack of understanding of other men. A Mormon wagon train on the Oregon Trail passed through Fort Laramie last summer, less than a year ago, in August. One of their cows strayed. An Indian staying at a nearby Sioux camp, they say his name was High Forehead, happened upon the cow and killed it to feed his family. The Sioux sent a representative to the fort to settle the matter. The commander in charge wanted to ignore the incident, but his next in command, Lt. John Grattan, a young West Point graduate with delusions of grandeur, wanted to arrest the Indian. The next day, indulging in drink, the foolish Lieutenant took twenty-nine soldiers, two cannons, and an interpreter to the village. They were intoxicated by the time they reached the encampment— an encampment with over five thousand Indians, I might add!” Joseph raised his arm, extending his hand and spreading his fingers wide.

  “The young lieutenant demanded that the Sioux turn over High Forehead. The interpreter called the warriors “women” and other slurs. The chief, Conquering Bear, his warriors surrounding Grattan and his men, offered to give the emigrants a horse or another cow as a replacement. A frightened soldier raised his weapon and shot a warrior.” Joseph looked down, shaking his head.

  “All of the soldiers—Grattan, the interpreter, and the chief, who was shot in the back—were killed.”

  Joseph shook his head sadly. “The tension along the trails is even greater now. But are we not all God’s children?”

  Johannes began the walk back to their wagon, mulling over this new information, his awareness of the dangers they faced heightened. He spotted Inga moving slowly in the same direction, looking dejected, her head slightly bowed. He went to her. She looked up into his face, her eyes widening with a mixture of doubt, joy, and trepidation.

  “Inga, I….”

  She leaned forward, anxious.

  He continued, “I’ve been thinking…it was a shock, you know. Not something I expected at all.”

  “Johannes, I am so…”

  He put a finger to her lips then turned his hand so that her chin was cupped in his fingers. He tenderly stroked one side of her jaw with this thumb. “I know you were. I know you are. I just have to sort some things out. Maybe what’s happened is a good thing. This has made me realize something important about you, and me. I think, in the long run, we will look back on this and believe it made us stronger. But I won’t talk about it just yet. I want to organize my thoughts so that we can put this to rest, get everything in the open, suffer the anguish that might cause, and see if it breaks us or strengthens us. I believe it will do the latter, but I’m not prepared just yet.”

  Johannes saw Inga’s face brighten when he said for the long-term, and then become anxious again as he finished speaking. He squeezed her arm. “Come on, Inga, let me walk you back to the wagon. In the next week or so, when I have my thoughts firmly settled in my mind, we will spend some time together, alone.”

  “Johannes, there is something I must…”

  “Shhh—we will have plenty of time for each of us to say what we need to.”

  Inga’s throat moved as she swallowed, a feeble smile playing on her lips. She nodded.

  CHAPTER 30

  MAY 5, 1855

  FORT KEARNEY

  “Weren’t those Mormons fine people?” asked Rebecca.

  Reuben, his back to Rebecca and engrossed with the team, replied, “Uh-huh.”

  “And that newlywed couple. So young, so cute…so much in love.”

  “Uh-huh…ouch—damn!” Reuben shook his hand rapidly, then bent to check the left hoof of one of the horses.

  “I’m glad we had our talk when we stopped to visit them, Reuben.”

  Reuben straightened up from the horse, gave her a quick look, and then turned his attention to unharnessing, methodically unhooking the britchen from the back straps.

  Rebecca watched the way his shoulders moved under his shirt and waited, but he said nothing further. She walked up to him, stood close, and laid her hand gently on his shoulder blade. She could feel the muscles move beneath her finger as his arms and hands worked on detaching the collar.

  “Reuben,” she said, “if I did not make it clear when we were discussing the situation, I understand you did what you thought right. And it was certainly the best thing for Sarah. There was no option, really. I can’t blame Sarah for not wanting that monster alone with her things in the wagon overnight. She certainly could not have spent the night in the wagon with him. Either she would’ve been brutalized, her screams silenced by the storm, or he would’ve been dead. Or both. A very dangerous situation, and… and…”

  Reuben turned, “And what?”

  “And I know you didn’t want what happened in that wagon, especially between Inga and Johannes, to happen. It was not intentional. Sometimes the best heartfelt intentions go terribly wrong.”

  She saw his facial muscles relax, and there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.

  “I might have to write these words down,” he said, “and press them in a book for someone to read one hundred years from now. The day Rebecca Marx half-apologized.”

  “I did not apologize,” she stomped her foot. His shoulders shifted back to the horse.

  “Okay,” she reached her hand out to his arm, “I suppose it was… at least, a partial apology.”

  He turned part way back to her, and her hand fell back to her side. She continued hastily, “You did the right thing. Unfortunately, it had a terribly wrong outcome. I would’ve done the same had I been you. And…,” she cleared her throat, “this is an apology. I’m very sorry we have not been speaking much the last few days. That was my fault.” She sighed, “It was just very traumatic. You have no idea how hurt Inga is. Her heart is broken and she is terrified.”

 
; Reuben’s expression became puzzled. “Terrified? Johannes would never lay a hand on her. He’s wildly in love with her—even though he is too… too set in his ways to get it through his own thick Viking skull.” “Yes, and she longs for Johannes. She prays that he will forgive her, and they can move on. She is very much in love with him.”

  “So what is she terrified of?”

  Rebecca reached up again, squeezed his arm, and looked away, her gaze scanning the circle of wagons. She replied, without turning toward him, though her hand remained on his arm. “Something else. I shall tell you later.”

  “Well, then, let’s kiss and make up.”

  Her eyes snapped back. Reuben grinned, teasing, his eyes twinkling. “Mr. Frank, I shall not kiss you in front of the entire wagon train!” she smiled coyly. “However, we could ride and make up. We’re supposed to be getting into Fort Kearney sometime later tomorrow. Perhaps we could join Mac at the head of the train.”

  She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes at him. “Of course, when we ride into the fort, they will think that I am the wagon mistress, and the two of you are just my assistants.”

  Reuben burst out laughing. “Rebecca, you are certainly one of a kind! I’m sure Mac would love the company.”

  Mac admired how easily the beautiful brunette sat her saddle. “It’s not often we have somebody as pretty as you ride at the head of the wagons, Miss Marx.” Mac grinned at her as he spoke the words. “We saw you standing out there front of the wagons and the rest of the pilgrims, when your man there…”

  The brunette quickly glanced at Reuben, and, Mac noticed, blushed scarlet. He laughed. “As I was saying, your man here saved the day. Would’ve been in quite a pickle if he hadn’t turned the odds so quick and surprised ’em.”

  Reuben’s eyes were studiously fixed on some point between Lahn’s ears that only he knew, looking embarrassed, too, Mac observed.

  “Yes.” said Rebecca, talking more to Reuben than to him, not taking her eyes off the young man. “Yes, I think Mr. Frank did indeed save some pioneer lives.”