The Undaunted

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Other questions?” David asked.

  Abby’s hand came up. “What about our own personal preparation? I’m guessing there are some skills we need to learn.”

  “Excellent point. I would recommend three things. First, we need to toughen up physically. The trail will do that automatically once we start, but it’s much less painful to get started on that in advance. Walking as much as possible will be important, not just around town, but longer walks. Ten to fifteen miles in one day on the trail won’t be unusual, and you’ll find out very quickly that riding in a wagon is not like riding in a carriage. A wagon going across open country can be a pretty bruising experience.

  “Second, how many of you have ever cooked over an open fire? Other than helping me in Zion Canyon?” When all three of the women shook their heads, he said, “Well, this will sound silly, but as soon as the weather warms up a little, we need to start doing that. We’ll build a campfire, maybe out behind the livery stable, and let you practice. You’ll find it very different from cooking on a stove or baking in an oven. We’ll purchase some Dutch ovens so you can practice baking, too.”

  “Actually, that sounds fun,” Molly said. All of this was weighing her down, and she was happy to find something that had any lightness to it.

  “It will be fun here,” he said. “Out there it will be critical.”

  He saw momentary hurt pass across her face and realized that his answer had come out sounding blunt. He smiled at her. “And it can be fun, too.”

  She smiled back.

  “Next, we need to make sure all of you, including the three women, know how to handle both a pistol and a rifle. If you already know how, we’ll seek to improve your marksmanship.”

  “Why?” Abby said. “With the three of you—” She saw Billy’s head come up. “With the four of you men, do you really think that’s necessary?”

  “Good question,” David said. “Did you know that of the tens of thousands of people who crossed the Oregon trail, more died from gun accidents than from trouble with Indians?”

  “No,” Abby said. “You’re just saying that.”

  “Sorry, but it’s true. Here’s what happens. Someone who hasn’t handled guns very much lays his rifle in the back of the wagon. Soon people are piling clothes and other things on top of it. Then he sees an antelope or an Indian. He grabs his gun by the barrel and yanks it out. The trigger catches on something, and . . .” He shrugged. “His wife is left a widow.”

  Abby was contrite. “Sorry.”

  “I hate guns,” Molly said suddenly. “Can’t the others do it for me?”

  “Unless you happen to be alone when a sage hen . . .” He paused, debating about finishing, then decided it needed to be said. “ . . . or a rattlesnake comes along.”

  Her body involuntarily shuddered.

  Patrick stirred, his face somber. “David’s not saying everything that needs to be said. We all heard what Elder Snow said in conference. One of the major reasons for us going over to San Juan country is because peace with the Navajos is very fragile. Suppose there is another tragic incident like the one in Grass Valley. If a group of hostiles were to come when us men weren’t there, you’d have to be able to defend yourselves.”

  There wasn’t a sound. The faces of the three women had paled. Molly looked like she might be sick. Abby was staring at the floor.

  David went on, more gently now. “That is not likely. Frankly, I don’t expect any trouble, but if it does come, it will be too late then for shooting lessons.”

  “Sign me up,” Molly said in a low voice. “I’m sorry I asked.”

  “I won’t be afraid,” Billy Joe said.

  No one laughed. It hadn’t come out as a little boy’s boasting, but as the calm assurance of a would-be little man.

  “I know you won’t,” David said. “You’re already becoming an excellent shot. In fact, maybe I could get you to help me when I teach your sisters.” He looked at Patrick. “This boy knows more about guns than I do.”

  Billy Joe’s chest puffed out and his chin came up. “I can help, if that’s what you need.”

  It sounded so grown-up that the mood in the room instantly brightened. David glanced at the clock over the mantel. “We have plenty of time to sort all this out. That’s the good news. So, Patrick, unless you have something to add, I think everything else can wait.”

  Patrick nodded and got to his feet. David sat down beside Carl. He expected Patrick to thank him for what he was doing and give the family a little pep talk, a let’s-go-do-it kind of thing. But he didn’t. He stood there for almost a full minute. David saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down several times as he tried to get control of his voice. When he did, it was low and husky. “I love my family,” he began. “More than anything else in the world.”

  He stopped. Sister McKenna, eyes shining, was watching him intently. So were Abby and Molly. Even Billy Joe sat perfectly still.

  “I’ve always been proud of you,” he went on. “Each of you.” Then he was suddenly fierce with emotion. “But I want you to know, I have never been more proud of you than I am at this moment. Thank you for standing with your mother and me in this. Thank you for what you are and for what you are willing to do.”

  Note

  ^1. ZCMI, or Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution, was a cooperative retail enterprise started by Brigham Young in 1868 to “bring goods here and sell them as low as they can possibly be sold and let the profits be divided with the people at large” (see Ludlow, Encyclopedia of Mormonism, 2:621). The cooperatives quickly spread to many settlements in the territory, and for over a century, ZCMI was the largest retailer in Utah.

  Chapter 32

  Saturday, February 15, 1879

  When David arrived at the stable that afternoon, he saw through the door that Molly was carrying a bale of straw toward the nearest stall. “Hey,” he called, “let me do that.”

  Molly set the bale down and turned to smile. As he entered the barn, someone else greeted him. Billy Joe was in the hayloft above. “Hi, David.”

  “Hiya, Billy Joe,” he said. “How you doing?”

  “All right,” he grumbled.

  Molly was directly below her brother and out of his sight. She gave David a helpless shrug.

  David moved over to the straw and picked it up. He carried the bale into the stall, pulled out his pocketknife and cut the twine, then began to spread the straw out. Molly came in to help. “Sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t know he was coming. Mama says he has to work here for an hour.”

  They worked together for nearly half an hour, cleaning out the stalls and putting in fresh straw while Billy Joe forked down hay for them from the loft. The work kept their conversation to a minimum, and Billy Joe prevented it from getting too serious. Finally, Billy Joe came down the ladder. He was covered with hay dust and sweating heavily. “Has it been an hour yet?”

  It hadn’t, but Molly wasn’t about to quibble. “It has. Thank you, Billy Joe.”

  David brushed the worst of the dust out of Billy Joe’s thick brown hair. “You really worked up a sweat there, Billy Joe.” Though it was only in the forties outside, inside it was quite pleasant. David took out his bandanna and handed it to the boy. “Here, use this.”

  Billy wiped the sweat away from his forehead, his eyes, and the back of his neck. He handed the bandanna back, then began rubbing at his hair vigorously with his fingertips. “It itches.”

  “Yeah, sweating does that when your hair is longer, like now. Maybe your mom will give you a butch cut now instead of waiting for summer.”

  “How come God just doesn’t make our hair so we can take it off when we get hot?”

  David hooted aloud. “Billy Joe, you are one creative thinker.”

  Molly came over to join them, and rubbed his hair for him. “That’s my Billy boy.”

  David was still chuckling. “You expect a lot from God, don’t you? Which reminds me,” David said, “did God ever answer your letter about Puffy?”
>
  “Yep.” Billy Joe gave his hair one last swipe, then started away. “I’ll be out with Paint.”

  David grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Whoa there, boy. You got an answer?”

  “Yep.”

  “Billy Joe!” Molly exclaimed. “You never told me that.”

  He shrugged, starting to squirm under the attention.

  “So,” David asked, “is your cat in heaven?”

  “Yep.”

  “Are you telling me you got a letter back?” David asked, intrigued now.

  “Nope. Didn’t need one. I saw Puffy in a dream.”

  Molly knelt down in front of him. “You did? What happened? I mean in the dream.”

  His shoulders lifted and fell.

  “Are you sure it was her?” David wondered.

  At his look of disgust, Molly murmured, “Puffy was a boy cat.”

  “Sorry. So how did you know he was in heaven?”

  Billy Joe was looking at his feet. “I just did.” Then, before any more questions came, “Can I go?”

  Molly touched his cheek briefly. “Of course.”

  They watched him trot out the back doors to the paddock where his horse was pastured.

  “Well, that was a surprise,” Molly said.

  David was still looking at the empty doorway, considering the sweet simplicity of Billy’s words. “To say the least,” he finally said.

  “Do you believe him?” she asked.

  He turned, caught off guard by the question. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I mean, do you believe that his dream was from God?”

  He sighed. He knew what this was about. After that night when her father had announced they were courting, David had sat her down and quietly shared his feelings about God. He said nothing about it being a request from her father, because he had planned to do it anyway. She took it quite stoically, but he guessed she had given it much thought since then. This wasn’t a question about Billy Joe. This was about David. So he chose his words carefully. “I think God has special feelings for young children. Especially one as delightful as Billy Joe.”

  She gave him a chiding look. “Well, that was a safe enough answer. Do you think his dream was from God or not?”

  “Does it matter? I mean, Billy was really concerned about Puffy. Now he has his answer. It would be a natural thing for him to dream about the cat. If that convinced him that Puffy’s in heaven, what does it matter where it came from? The result was the same, either way.”

  He was tempted to say more, to say that it troubled him how so many people in the Church tried to make a miracle out of every little thing that happened. But he didn’t, of course.

  Something in his expression must have warned her they had just moved into sensitive territory, because she decided to change the subject. “I thought when you started working for Daddy on this new job, I’d see more of you.” She formed her lips into an exaggerated pout. “It’s only been three days and you’ve been off to Paragonah to see Silas Smith. Now you and Carl and Daddy are going to Salt Lake for a month to buy wagons.”

  “Five to seven days is hardly a month.”

  “But it will feel like a month,” she said.

  “I’m here now.”

  “Yes, you are,” she said softly. She motioned to the large bin where they kept the oats. “And I have some things I want to say.”

  They moved over and sat down, arms touching. He nudged her. “Go ahead.”

  “All right. First, did you know about Daddy’s job offer before you left on this last circuit?”

  “I did, but he asked me not to say anything until I returned.”

  “And what about asking Daddy if we could court? Earlier, you said it was too soon.”

  “When he offered me the job that day, suddenly it seemed like the right time.”

  She pretended to be offended. “So I’m the last to know.”

  “Not really. I didn’t tell Tillie until after your mother made the announcement.”

  She slugged him.

  “Well,” he said, “she’s the one I always confide in.”

  She moved closer and slipped her arm through his, then laid her head against his shoulder. He sensed that her mood had just changed. “What’s the matter?”

  Her eyes searched his, then her face crumpled. “Oh, David! I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “What? The mission, you mean?”

  She nodded. “It sounds completely awful to me, and I feel terrible about that. Abby’s actually excited. Can you believe that?” Her lips pulled down. “That’s what’s worrying me. That it will be a whole new experience.”

  “I shouldn’t have spent so much time talking about the challenges this morning.”

  “No,” she exclaimed. “It’s not that. We need to know what to expect. But . . . it’s me, David. I’m not a good cook, even in a nice kitchen. Going without a bath or washing my hair for more than two days makes me very grumpy. I love my soft bed. And I hate guns. I close my eyes and plug my ears before anyone pulls the trigger.” She pulled a wry face. “Is it possible to do that while trying to keep a bunch of Indians at bay?”

  “That does present a challenge,” he said with a laugh. “Molly, you’re worrying too much. It won’t be easy, but you’re tough.”

  “Ha!” she snorted. “Where have you been?” But then she shook it off before he could answer. “What kind of wife does that make for a rancher?”

  He considered that. “Well, maybe we could put up a sign telling the Indians about your cooking, and that would do it.”

  She slugged him again. “I’m serious, David. Am I really cut out to be a rancher’s wife, living in a dugout with gunnysacks for curtains, a thousand miles from the nearest nowhere?”

  “And am I really the man you want to marry?” he fired right back. “A doubting skeptic who goes to church only because you do?”

  She didn’t answer, which told him that she had asked herself that very question.

  “Look, Molly,” he said, “I didn’t ask your father for permission to marry you. Only permission to begin courting you. Isn’t that what courtship is for? To get a chance to really know each other and see if this is what we should do?”

  She straightened. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. Why must I always be so impatient? I don’t want to see if it’s going to work out, David. I want it to work out right now. I agree with President Lunt. You need to just hurry up and marry me before we have to leave.”

  “Is that what you really want?” he asked softly.

  “If I said yes, would you do it?”

  There was a trap if ever he saw one, but even as he thought about it, she shook her head. “Sorry. This is just a courtship. You’re right. Just tell me to be quiet and let things take their proper course.” She let out a long, pained sigh. “I’m sorry I’m not strong, David.”

  “You are strong! You’re going, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t want to look like a sissy in front of you. I want to be more like Abby—Abby, who does everything; Abby, who rides and shoots and walks for miles and bakes pies that float off the table, they’re so light.”

  “She shoots?”

  “Yes. Carl took us out yesterday. I wouldn’t say she loves it, but she did quite well.” Her nose wrinkled into that mischievous look that was so her. “Me? Well, let’s just say that with my eyes closed, I was lucky to hit the mountain on my third shot.”

  “There is one thing I know for sure, Molly McKenna. I love you. I’ve never said that to any other girl. But part of loving a person is making them happy. And right now, I can’t honestly say that I know marrying me will make you happy.”

  “Oh, David, it would. More than you know,” she breathed.

  He sat back, trying not to show his frustration.

  She touched his arm. “I know, David. I know what you’re saying. And you’re right. We’re not engaged. We’re not even promised.”

  Those large grey eyes searched his for a long moment, then
looked away. “Do you know what I worry about the very most?”

  “If I can ever change?”

  Her eyes widened momentarily at that. Then she shook her head. “No. I think you are changing. You just don’t know it yet. No, what really frightens me is that, if I did turn out to be unhappy as a rancher’s wife, you would give it up for me. And when I try to picture you like Carl Bradford, living in town, working behind a desk, clerking in a bank, selling sugar and flour and thimbles in a dry-goods store, it makes me want to weep. I can’t do that to you, David.”

  Deeply touched as well as astonished by her openness, he could only nod. “So,” he finally said, “let’s give it time. The Lord has answered your prayers. At least we’re going to be together to work this out.”

  She reared back, her eyes mocking. “What? Did I just hear David Draper say we might have gotten an answer to our prayers?”

  He smiled sardonically. “No, I said you might have gotten an answer to your prayers. But think about it. Two or three months on the road, crossing trackless deserts, living out of a wagon—I can’t think of a much better place to find out if this is going to work or not.”

  “You’re right. So we just let it happen, right? And see what comes of it?”

  He felt a tremendous relief. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  She cocked her head and looked at him. “Then I have only one more question.”

  “What?”

  She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, letting her dark lashes lie softly against her cheek. “Do you want to kiss me right now?”

  “Have to think about that.” He took her by the shoulders and gave her a long, lingering kiss.

  “Umm,” she murmured. “Think about it some more.”

  He did. Then both of them jerked apart as Billy Joe’s voice rang out just behind them, “Molly’s kissing David. Molly’s kissing David.”

  Molly turned a deep scarlet as David jumped up and strode toward him. Billy Joe gave a yelp and ducked into one of the stalls, slamming the door behind him, cackling with delight. When he peeked through the slats that formed the manger, he started singing again. “Molly’s kissing David. Molly’s kissing—”