by F. M. Parker
Mathias ignored the mustering of the noisy St. Joseph people watching them. He raised his voice and it rang out over his followers. “Zion is there beyond the Missouri, beyond the broad prairie and in the heart of the Rockies.” He swept his arm west at the yellow sun hanging a finger’s width above the flat horizon. “The construction of our handcarts is nearly completed in Florence. In three days we shall leave this city of St. Joseph. You must endure the laughter and scorn of the nonbelievers of this place until then. Tell them of your faith, and in your testimony your voice shall sound like brass horns and tinkling cymbals to the wicked around you. We have journeyed four thousand miles together, many of you with but a few shillings. Now, together, we shall go up into the mountains to the beautiful shore of the Great Salt Lake.”
He lifted both arms to the sky. “There you can live a righteous life and serve our God. You shall surely go to his Celestial Kingdom when your time here on earth is finished.”
As Mathias ceased speaking, a puff of wind sprang into life, as if it had been waiting for the pronouncement. It swept upon the missionary’s back and lifted his hair and flared it around his head. The low, slanting rays of the sun caught the strands of his hair and for a few seconds turned the strands into golden, flaming filaments, as if a golden halo had been placed upon his head.
A murmur of astonishment rose from the converts as they saw the sudden flash of radiance around the missionary’s head. Several of the people jumped to their feet.
“Look! Look!” a young woman cried out.
Mathias heard the surging rise of voices. He stared at his converts in an uncomprehending manner, a man with a temporary halo upon his head and a perplexed expression upon his face.
The wind died, and a limb of a tree resumed its position and blocked out the sun. The missionary stood in deep shadow. The people’s voices quieted.
A rough-looking man shouted out in a strident voice from the crowd of townspeople. “Preacher, you promise the women your Celestial Heaven in the hereafter, but I have a different plan for them. I’ll take half a dozen of them for wives. No, make that an even dozen, half blond and half dark heads. I’ll give them heaven right here on earth.” He laughed in a coarse, ribald tone.
An uproar of laughter erupted from the townsfolk.
“You tell them, Jack,” a man shouted. “I’d take a pretty one myself, but my wife would kill me if I did.”
A bedlam of hoots and shouts broke from the crowd. Some of the men began to stomp the ground in a drumming rhythm.
Mathias looked stonily at the troublesome throng until the hubbub finally stilled. He began to speak again to his followers. “There’ll be a meeting of the leaders of the groups of ten later this evening. Much must be planned for our journey. But now we shall sing ‘Come, Come Ye Saints’ to open the regular evening service.”
Caroline was one of the leaders of the groups of ten. She had not sought the position. Mathias had simply told her on the day of their arrival at the camp that she was to represent the other nine girls who shared a tent with her. He had looked steadily into her eyes for a moment after his announcement, then pivoted on his heel and left. His abrupt, dictatorial manner had bothered Caroline. Yet there was something else in his eyes, something that had stirred her blood.
As Caroline sang with the others she pondered the meaning of the momentary halo that had appeared around Mathias’s head. Was that a sign the man held some religious, perhaps divine power? She thought not, for in all her short, hard life she had witnessed nothing but the tough knot of everyday reality. What had occurred was a mere coincidence of time and circumstance, of wind and sunshine. But others of the converts might disagree with her. There would be much discussion of the event in the tent that night. The song ended and Mathias began a discussion of the Book of Mormon.
Caroline found her mind wandering, as so often happened during the religious ceremonies. From nearby, faintly heard, came the voice of Anton talking to his converts in their strange tongue. The English and Swedes tended to remain apart because of the language difference. But soon they would all be joined together in one caravan for the long trek west over the plains.
“May I sit beside you?” asked a young woman who had drawn near, unnoticed by Caroline.
“Of course,” Caroline replied, glancing up. The girl was a stranger, not one of the converts. She was about Caroline’s age. A shy expression was on her pretty face. She was dressed in a blue silk dress with many ribbons and bows. A blue hat with a small thatch of feathers sat primly upon the brown curls of her head.
The girl dropped down beside Caroline, seemingly unconcerned about the stains the ground might make on her fine clothing. Caroline ruefully reflected upon her own cheap cotton dress.
The girl spoke to Caroline. “I heard there were Mormons camped near town and just had to come and see for myself.”
Caroline was not sure how she should interpret the girl’s statement. Did she think Mormons were something strange, like a freak show in a circus?
“I’m Ruth Crandall,” the girl said.
“My name is Caroline Shepherd.”
“Are you one of those who came from England?”
“Yes. But we should not talk while Elder Rowley is conducting the service.”
“Oh, yes. Of course, you are right.” Ruth turned to face Mathias.
Mathias had noted the arrival of the well-clothed young woman. As he went on with his sermon his attention and words were often directed at her. His voice deepened, its timbre becoming more solemn.
Caroline remembered back to the first time she had heard Mathias preach. His voice was now like that other day. She looked at Ruth.
The girl was leaning forward. Her face had lost its shy expression. Her lips were parted and her eyes were locked upon the missionary’s handsome countenance.
Caroline saw Ruth drinking in the words of the missionary. She knew the fervor and power of Mathias to sway people to his religion. He might gain another convert in Ruth. Caroline should have been pleased with the thought. However, for some unexplainable reason, she was not. Should she say something to the girl? Foolish thought, there was nothing to say. Fate would take the girl wherever it willed.
Mathias finished speaking. His last look was at the new girl. Then he began to talk with members of the congregation as they drew close with comments or questions.
“My, he’s a wonderful speaker,” Ruth said to Caroline.
“Very eloquent and very persuasive,” Caroline said.
“I understand all of you will soon be going on to Salt Lake City,” Ruth said.
“In three more days. The handcarts are almost all built.”
“Handcarts? What are handcarts?”
“I’m not certain exactly what they look like. I’ve been told they have two high wheels and can be pulled by four or five people. We’ll use them to carry our possessions with us across the prairie.”
“There are no wagons or horses?”
“Only to haul the heavy items, such as part of the supplies of food, water, and those who become too ill to walk.”
“How many miles must you pull the handcarts?”
“More than a thousand.”
“A thousand miles would be difficult to walk, let alone pulling handcarts.”
“I don’t think it will be easy. But others have done it before us. We can too.”
“Do you live there in those tents?” Ruth asked, and pointed at the canvas structures beyond the trees.
“Yes. There are ten girls to a tent. Or two families with children in each.”
“Your religion must be very strong for you to travel all that long distance across the ocean from England.”
Ruth’s statement brought remembrances to Caroline of the ocean and the African Blackbird. She recalled again the rape of Esther and the beating death of Seaman Timson.
She shivered as the face of Captain Varick came into her mind. The feel of the knife in her hands as she stabbed and cut the man’s flesh would
never leave her. Sometimes she awoke at night in terror, the captain reaching for her.
Caroline wondered if she could still be a good Christian, a good Mormon, after committing murder. A very troubling question.
“Are you married?” Ruth asked.
“No.”
“Will you get married in Salt Lake City?”
“Maybe.”
“Do the Mormon men have several wives?”
“I believe many of them do.”
“What do you think of that?”
Caroline folded her hands in her lap and looked at Ruth. “What do you think of it?” she asked.
Ruth was silent, pondering the question turned back upon her. At last she spoke. “It would depend on the man.”
“Exactly,” Caroline said.
Somewhat flustered at the turn of the conversation, Ruth rose to her feet. “Well, I’ve asked far too many questions. You have been kind to talk with me. I must go.”
Ruth walked a few steps, then whirled around to look back at Caroline. “What time is your morning service? You do have services twice a day?”
“Yes, morning and evening. Morning service is at eight o’clock, at least while we are in camp here.”
“Thank you. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” Caroline said.
She watched after Ruth for a moment, then went through the grove of trees toward the tent village. Sophia fell in beside her.
“Who was that girl who sat beside you?” Sophia asked.
“A girl from St. Joseph named Ruth Crandall. She was curious and came to see what we were like.”
“I saw her face as she looked at Mathias. She will be back.”
“I think so too,” Caroline said.
“I’ve heard Mathias and Booth Clark talking. The resentment against the Mormons is increasing day by day as we stay here in St. Joe,” Sophia said. “He should not try to convert anyone, especially one of the town girls. That could bring trouble to all of us.”
Caroline gestured at the group of men and large boys still lingering and watching. “I agree. They could get mean about that. However, if Mathias gets the opportunity, he will try to persuade the girl to give up her religion and accept his. I don’t think he can help himself.” She felt a premonition that the pretty girl in the expensive clothing would bring tragedy to the Mormons.
***
Rain drummed with a dismal sound on the tarpaulin of the tent. Caroline had heard the storm come in during the night. The rain had not slackened at all. She doubted Mathias would hold a morning ceremony.
She rose from the cot and made her way through the women and down the narrow aisle in the middle of the tent. She lifted the flap and peered out into the downpour.
To her surprise a woman stood in the rain at the edge of the trees and watched the camp of the Mormons. A black umbrella was held low over the person’s head to keep off the rain. Still she was wet from the waist down.
The woman shifted the umbrella and Caroline recognized Ruth Crandall. The girl saw Caroline and lifted her hand timidly in greeting.
“For goodness sakes, come in out of the storm,” Caroline called, and made a sweep of her hand to emphasize her words.
Ruth left the trees and hurried over the short stretch of meadow. She ducked her head and entered the tent.
“What were you doing out there?” Caroline asked.
“I didn’t want to miss your religious ceremony,” Ruth said. “Will there be one?
“I don’t think so, not in this rain. We have no tent large enough to hold all the people.”
“That’s too bad. I enjoyed listening to Elder Rowley yesterday.”
“You came out in this rainstorm to hear him preach?”
Ruth’s cheeks turned crimson through their wetness. “To hear him tell the truths of his religion.”
“Don’t you have a church to go to?” asked Caroline.
“I do. I’m a Baptist, but our church is so dry. They do nothing exciting like the Mormons do. Even our revival meetings are dull and long.” Ruth’s voice quickened. “The Mormons are the talk of everybody, how their missionaries go all over the world and bring back converts. I want to be part of an adventure. Like you’re coming thousands of miles from England.”
Ruth’s excited speech silenced Caroline. She did not consider her journey from England an adventure. It was a necessity if she was to better her lot in life. And she had been forced to kill a man. Would Ruth think that killing somebody was an adventure?
“So you came out into the rain to see the Mormons because they do exciting things?” Caroline said.
“I’m not sugar, that a little rain will melt me,” Ruth came back tartly.
“All right, you’ll not melt. Are you also thinking about hooking yourself to one of the handcarts and dragging it for three or four months across a thousand miles of plains and mountains that have no road?”
“Maybe I will,” replied Ruth, her tone sharper.
“May I come in?” Mathias’s voice came from outside the tent entrance.
“We’re all decent, so come in,” Caroline replied.
The tent flap parted and Mathias’s tall form appeared in the opening. He stepped inside and straightened. His head brushed the ridgepole of the tent. He removed his hat. “I wanted to inform you that there’ll be no services held until the rain stops.”
He noticed Ruth sitting among the other young women. “Hello,” he said. “I saw you yesterday. I’m Mathias Rowley.”
“I know,” Ruth said. “Caroline told me. I’m Ruth Crandall. I thought your sermon was excellent.”
Mathias inclined his head in acceptance of her compliment. His eyes brightened. “Perhaps sometime I may talk with you about our religion,” he said.
“I would like that,” Ruth said.
“It’s raining now and there’s nothing much that can be done. Would this be a suitable time?”
“Now would be fine,” Ruth said.
“I have my Bible and the Book of Mormon in my tent. If you will wait here, I’ll go get them and then we can have a discussion about the two great books and how they complement each other.” He spoke to Caroline. “If that is okay with Caroline and the other women that we use their tent.”
Caroline checked with the other occupants of the tent. They all nodded in the affirmative. Sophia had a knowing expression on her face.
“We are all agreeable to that,” Caroline said.
“Good. I’ll be back in a moment.” Mathias shoved aside the flap of canvas and left.
Caroline saw the glow of anticipation in Ruth’s eyes. What was the girl thinking? Was it a search for true religion or a young girl’s attraction to a handsome man?
Caroline picked up her coat and threw it over head. She left, crossing the meadow through the wetness toward Ellen’s tent. She did not want to be present while Mathias talked with Ruth. Caroline had already experienced his fervor to convert a new disciple for his Mormon religion. In England that was expected of him. Somehow here in St. Joseph, with the dislike of the townsfolk so prevalent, his unbridled enthusiasm could be very dangerous. For had not Joseph Smith, founder of the Mormon religion, been slain, his followers driven into the wilderness because of their beliefs?
Caroline caught herself up. She had thought of the Mormon religion as Mathias’s; however, it was also hers. But even the acknowledgment of a joint religious belief did not lessen her concern that Mathias’s actions would bring harm to the people.
15
The river steamer Sioux, a large stern-wheeler, heeled far to the side as the winds of the storm front caught it broadside. The thick oak siding of the boat slammed the wharf with a thunderous, pile-driving bang. The gangway fastened to the boat and resting on the dock instantly dropped nearly four feet.
Caroline’s knees almost buckled beneath her as the gangway stopped its fall with a spine-jarring jolt. She grabbed the safety rail and held on fiercely to keep from being thrown into the river. With her other hand she tightly clut
ched her blanket-wrapped bundle of personal possessions to her.
The Sioux rolled back onto its keel. The gangway accelerated upward to its original position.
“Oh, my God!” cried Sophia, hanging half over the handrail against which she had been thrown. She pulled herself back from the precarious position above the water and stood erect. She shuddered. “I can’t swim,” she said to Caroline.
“That was a terrible wind,” said Caroline. “Are you hurt?”
“My ribs feel broken from hitting the railing,” said Sophia as she rubbed her side. She grinned at Caroline. “But I’ll live.”
Other people were catching their balance on the gangway. A man shouted to those in the line ahead of him. “Hurry, move on! Get off the gangway before the boat rolls again and breaks it!” The men and women hastened on.
“More bad things are on the way,” Caroline said, spotting the curtain of white sweeping down the river under the heavy gray overcast of clouds that filled the sky. “Looks like a snowstorm is coming. Will winter ever end?”
She hunched her shoulders and ducked her head as the storm pounced upon the steamboat and the people. She had been wrong. The whiteness of the storm was not soft snow-flakes but hard balls of sleet streaking down like arrows. A hissing, popping sound immediately filled the air as the ice balls struck the deck and bounced across the wooden planking.
Driven by the added impetus of the stinging sleet, the people scampered even faster up the slanting gangway. Their feet slipped and slid on the slick, ice-covered wood. A woman cried out as she dropped her package of belongings into the river. A man on the dock ran to the edge of the water and fished the sodden bundle out before it could sink. More people entered onto the gangway.
***
Mathias moved about on the dock, encouraging his people to hurry on board the Sioux. He saw Anton gathering the last of his Swedish converts. Several of the families were carrying a very large number of items. They were bringing far too many possessions. Most of it would have to be thrown away in Florence. Anton should have told them that much earlier, rather than let them bring it the long distance from their homes in Europe and then have to discard it.
