The Undaunted

by Gerald N. Lund

  “So are you the one who captured that outlaw and ran off all them Indians?” Eddie persisted.

  “Eddie!” his mother exclaimed.

  David ignored her. “All them Indians happened to be only four,” he said confidentially, “but don’t tell the others. It makes a much better story your way.”

  Sister Davis suddenly jerked up. “Oh, good. Here comes James.”

  David turned to see a man coming at a full run toward them. “Mary, are you all right?” he called even before he reached her.

  “Yes, dear. We’re fine. Thanks to Brother Draper’s quick thinking.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, reaching up and taking her hand. “I was back with our extra horses. Someone just told me you were having problems.”

  “Everything’s all right, James. Really.”

  David stood and jumped down beside her husband. “She did good,” he told him. “She didn’t panic or do anything foolish.”

  Emily poked her head over the side of the wagon. “Brother Draper saved our lives, Daddy.”

  James laughed and extended his hand. “If you saved Emmy’s life, then I am much obliged.”

  David took it, liking the firmness of the grip. James had much the same accent as his wife, only with a little deeper rounding of the vowel sounds. “Glad I was nearby,” David said. He looked up at Emily. “After all, it’s not every day you get to save a beautiful damsel in distress.”

  She put her hands on her hips, and her lower lip jutted out. “I’m not a damsel.”

  David bowed low. “Beggin’ your pardon, m’lady.” Then to her father, “It’s not every day you get to save the life of a beautiful princess in distress.”

  Emily’s hand flew to her mouth and she giggled softly.

  He turned back to Brother Davis. “The horses are feeling all the excitement. They’ll settle down once we hit the road.” He looked around. “Speaking of which, it looks like it’s about time to do so. I’d better get mounted.”

  James Davis turned and walked with him back to Tillie. “I really do appreciate it, Brother Draper, I—”

  “Please,” David inserted quickly. “We’re going to be together for the next six months. How about just David?” He was trying to feel a little peeved at this man who was dragging a pregnant wife and four young children into the wilderness, but he was having a hard time doing it. James was as pleasant and likeable as his wife.

  “And I’m Jim to everyone but my wife. She still insists on calling me James. But thank you again.” He lowered his voice, glancing back over his shoulder. “I feel terrible making her drive a wagon, especially in her condition, but when you have two wagons there’s no choice. I’m teaching Eddie how to drive,” he went on, “but he still needs a little more experience.”

  David picked up Tillie’s reins. He put a foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. “You have a fine family, Jim. That little Emmy is a charmer.”

  His eyes softened. “I think so too.” He started away, then turned back. “We’d be right pleased to have you join us for supper tonight, wherever that happens to be.”

  “The first few nights with the cattle will be a challenge and I’ll be riding night herd, but once we get them settled into a routine, I would be honored to join you. Thank you.”

  Sunday, April 20, 1879

  In his early life, David had never given much thought to Sunday other than it being the best day of the week because the mines were closed. It had become the Sabbath only when at age thirteen he had arrived in Coalville with his father. Every Sunday, in spite of numerous and vigorous protests from his son, John Draper had taken David to church, and Sunday had become not only a day of rest but a day of worship. (Though, David thought wryly, to be truly honest, it was a day of worship for his father, and more like a day of endurance for David.)

  That pattern had basically ended when he turned sixteen and left home to go out on his own. When he was visiting his father on a Sunday, he went to church with him. Occasionally he would visit a local ward if he happened to be in town, but mostly Sunday became his day again—to rest, to get things done, to do something for himself.

  All of that had ended about eight months ago when he had come to Cedar City to accept a job as mail rider and had bumped headlong into the McKennas. Since then, worship services had become a part of his life. Although he didn’t find them all that objectionable, if it had been totally up to him, he probably would not have gone every Sunday.

  David was thinking about all of this because he had just come from their first Sunday worship service on the trail. It had been simple. The people were seated on the ground around Silas Smith’s wagon. They sang a hymn and opened with prayer. The sacrament was passed—small chunks of bread baked in Dutch ovens, and two tin cups of water passed from person to person. Silas Smith took about half an hour and spoke of their mission and the importance of keeping faith. They sang another hymn, had a closing prayer, and that was it.

  There was never any question about participating in religious activities. Mormon wagon trains traveled on Sunday only if they were in critical circumstances, such as having to press on to reach water or to avoid danger. There was always a worship service on Sunday—and usually on Thursday evenings as well. In addition, each day the trumpet would blow at 4:30 or 5:00 a.m. to wake everyone up, and then at six it blew again to call everyone together for morning prayers. At 9:00 p.m., the trumpet signaled time for lights out, and they would gather for evening prayers before retiring. Religion and religious worship seemed to permeate everything in the Mormon way of life, and although that left David feeling somewhat uncomfortable, he grudgingly admitted that at least they weren’t Sunday-only Christians.

  Most of the company stayed around Silas’s wagon to visit, but David slipped away, preferring to be alone with his thoughts. Now he sat under a cedar tree, his back up against the rough bark, and contemplated things. They had been on the trail for six days, and he pretty well knew everyone now—some better, some less. There was a good spirit among the group, and David was quickly growing comfortable with them.

  Then, before he could catch himself, his thoughts turned to his father. Had he left Cedar City by now? He certainly had been anxious enough to leave. How long would he stay in Salt Lake City? David had left Cedar City eleven days ago. Theoretically, his father could have gone to Salt Lake, gotten whatever it was he was supposed to get there, and boarded a train for New York or Boston by now. He might even have booked passage on a steamship.

  When he had passed through Panguitch yesterday afternoon, he had thought about writing a letter and sending it to his father. In another few days, there would be no more settlements and no more post offices, so if he was going to do it, it had to be pretty soon. But he had finally rejected the idea. He had no idea of the address of the mission headquarters in Liverpool.

  But he had no excuse not to write to the McKennas, especially Molly. David’s replacement as mail rider would be through before long and could take his letter back to Cedar City. But he didn’t write. He also thought of answering Abby’s charge that he was a microscope breaker, but quicky nixed that as well. He could hardly write Abby and not Molly. So, in the end, he did nothing.

  He turned his head at the sound of footsteps. It was Jimmie and Emmy Davis, the two middle children of Jim and Mary Davis. He stood up and brushed the dirt and juniper needles from his backside. “Hey, you two,” he called as they approached. “Where are you off to?”

  They were both still dressed in their Sunday clothes. Jimmie’s hair had been plastered down with water earlier, but now sprung loose again in all directions. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the neck and both wrists. He was a boy who looked greatly relieved to be done with church.

  Emmy looked more like she was going to church, not coming from it. Her red hair was brushed out and looked like the embers of a campfire. She was in a blue gingham dress and white bonnet, but wore her walking shoes—heavy brown clunkers. And yet, as he watched her coming, arms swi
nging, eyes sparkling, he decided even the shoes fit. This was Emily, a spunky leprechaun in a blue dress and brown clunkers.

  “We came to get you,” Jimmie said as they reached him. “Mama sent us to find you.”

  Emily nodded vigorously. “Daddy said you promised to eat dinner with us.”

  “Oh, yes.” David had made excuses several times now, but the herd had settled down, and starting tomorrow, David would begin scouting duties with Kumen Jones, Joe Nielson, and George Hobbs. “Okay. How soon?”

  “Mama says to come right now,” Emily blurted.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes!” She was very emphatic.

  “Eddie wants to show you something, too,” Jimmie said. The two of them looked at each other, some secret passing between them, then hid a wave of giggles behind cupped hands.

  “Emmy!” Jimmie shushed fiercely. “Don’t give it away.”

  She darted up to him and grabbed his hand. “Come on, David. Let’s go.”

  Dinner, and the time afterwards, turned out not to be as awkward as David had feared. In fact, it proved to be quite delightful. The children were excited to have a guest for dinner, especially one who had driven off a whole tribe of Indians, arrested all of the cattle thieves in Utah Territory, and who, just a few days before, had raced to their rescue and saved Emily from certain death. Mary, a little embarrassed by their unabashed hero worship, kept trying to tone them down, but David waved her away. This was fun, and it was good for him right now.

  Finally, their parents sent them off to the river to wash the cooking pots and the dishes. Jimmie and Emmy mightily protested, begging their mother to let Eddie show David the big surprise first, but both father and mother were adamant, and finally the three adults were alone.

  “I am so sorry, David,” Mary said. “I shan’t let them bother you too much if I can help it.”

  “No apologies are either necessary or accepted,” David said. “Your children are wonderful, and I enjoyed every minute of it. I never had brothers or sisters, so this is really great for me.”

  “Well,” Jim said, sitting down beside his wife on a blanket, “thank you for being so patient with them. They can be pretty nonsensical at times.”

  David chuckled. “‘Shan’t.’ ‘Nonsensical.’ Do you know how good it is to listen to you two? Your accents remind me so much of my mother.” He turned to Mary. He shook his head, his tone suddenly wistful. “It really is quite remarkable.”

  “Mary told me you’re from Yorkshire,” Jim said. “I would never have guessed that.”

  “Thanks to my mother. She worked very hard to teach me to speak more proper. She said I had a good ear for language.”

  “Was she from London, then?” Mary asked.

  “Near there. She was born and raised in Battersea, southwest of London.”

  “Know exactly where it is,” Jim said. “It’s just a few miles from where we grew up.”

  From then on, David had no problem talking with them. He asked them questions and listened to their responses. Jim answered a few of them, but seemed content to let his wife do most of the talking. And while David had thought of Mary Davis as being somewhat reserved by nature, she opened up and talked freely about herself and her family, and seemed pleased—almost eager—to do so.

  They had both been born in Middlesex County, which included London in its boundaries. Both were raised in working-class homes. Both had been converted to the Church there and emigrated to America together. After arriving in Salt Lake, they were sent to Cedar City.

  “That was right after we were married for eternity in the Endowment House in Salt Lake City,” Jim said. He turned and smiled at his wife. “April twenty-third, eighteen sixty-four. Fifteen years ago this next Wednesday, actually.”

  She was momentarily startled. “Oh dear. This Wednesday? It is, isn’t it.”

  He laughed. “Aye, and for our anniversary, I thought we might ask David to watch the children for the day so we could take a sailboat ride down the River Thames.” Of course, he pronounced it Tems, not Thaymes, as Americans tended to do.

  Her eyes softened. “Ah,” she sighed, “now you’re making me homesick, James.”

  “Molly told me that when you first came to Cedar City, you lived in a dugout.”

  “True,” Mary said.

  “For almost three years,” Jim added.

  “Our first two children were born there,” Mary went on. “Mary and Edward.”

  “Mary?” David asked. “Do you have a daughter I haven’t met?”

  A shadow passed over her face. “Mary was our firstborn. She died when just a baby.”

  “I’m sorry,” David said, feeling stupid for asking the question.

  “That seems to be our lot in life,” James said quietly.

  Close to tears, Mary kept her head down and stared at her hands. “We’ve actually had four girls and four boys,” she whispered. “We lost Mary at two months. One son died at fourteen months, and two other girls passed away, at six months and five and a half months.”1

  David was shocked. Four children! And all at a tender age. He could barely fathom what that would cost a mother and father. And suddenly his mother was in his thoughts again. Here was another woman who had faced terrible loss and tragedy. Why hadn’t Mary Davis turned bitter, like his mother? Why wasn’t she cursing God? Four out of eight children? If God was so good to them, like Jim seemed to think, why hadn’t He blessed them in this aspect of their lives? These were good people. They were trying to be faithful.

  He realized that she was watching him closely, puzzled by the expression that had come over his face. “So you’re hoping this one is a girl?” he said quickly.

  She managed a smile. “It is.”

  The conviction with which she spoke surprised him. “It is?”

  “Yes.” Her smile noticeably warmed. “Emily told Heavenly Father that she already has enough brothers. This one better be a little sister or she’s sending it back.”

  “I see,” David said, chuckling softly. “If I was Heavenly Father, I’d probably not cross Emily, either. She’s pretty strong-minded for such a little wisp of a thing.”

  “Who, me?” Emily called.

  They turned to see the four children returning, arms laden with dishes. Even little Johnnie, not yet three, carried a small teakettle as he toddled along. They trooped to their mother and let her do a quick inspection. “Very good,” she said. “Put them away in the wagon.”

  “Then can I show David my surprise?” Eddie wailed.

  “Yes,” Emmy cried. “Can we? Can we?”

  Mary laughed, “Yes, children. If David is up to it.”

  David shrugged. “It takes a lot to surprise me, Eddie.”

  Off they raced to the wagon. There was a clank of dishes and metal; then, a moment later, they all reappeared, Eddie in the lead. He was holding a piece of paper in both hands. Jimmie and Emily were right behind him, whispering instructions to him, eyes dancing with excitement.

  When Eddie’s father saw what his son had in his hand, he groaned, but his wife poked him sharply. “Don’t give it away,” she said.

  David was a little taken aback to see that the sorrow that had filled her eyes just moments before was completely gone now. She seemed almost as excited about this as the children.

  They all gathered around David, the parents leaning in to see, the children crowding into a half circle. Up close now, David saw that what Eddie held was not a sheet of paper but a letter-sized envelope with the flap tucked down inside it.

  “We found these yesterday here in camp,” Eddie said. He tipped the envelope enough that David could read some crudely scrawled words on the front of it. He looked more closely. RATTLESNAKE EGGS. That was scrawled in rough letters across the top. On each corner, written diagonally, were smaller letters: Handle with care. Keep warm. Do not shake. Danger.

  He looked up at Eddie. “You found rattlesnake eggs?” he asked skeptically. “Come on. You don’t expect me to believe t
hat, do you?”

  Eddie just nodded, very solemn now. “Wanna see?”

  David looked around at the others. “All right. What’s the catch?”

  “It’s no joke,” Emmy said gravely. “Really.”

  “Give it to him, Eddie,” Jimmie said. “Let him see for himself.”

  Eddie extended the envelope toward David. “All right. But be careful. Don’t take them out. Just peek inside.”

  David looked to Mary for some clue as to what was going on. She gave him an enigmatic smile. “Only one way to know for sure,” she said.

  Still highly suspicious, David took the envelope. Eddie quickly stepped back, as if to make sure he would be clear if something happened.

  Laughing, knowing that something was up but not sure what it was, David gently felt the contents through the envelope. There was some kind of a bump in the center, then a flatter, wirelike something surrounding it. He looked at the circle of faces. They had all gone very still now, squirming with anticipation. Carefully, he pulled the flap open with one finger. He couldn’t see inside, so he used his finger to spread the envelope open.

  BRRRPP! The rattling sound was like a gunshot in the silence. At the same instant, something vibrated hard against the palm of his hand. With a yell, David flung the envelope into the air and fell back. Heart pounding, mouth suddenly dry, he watched in shock as it fell to the earth. The family exploded with a roar of delight. Emily shrieked with laughter. Jimmie was dancing up and down, whooping like an Indian. Eddie was grinning like he had just won the three-legged race at the county fair. Mary and Jim were chuckling.

  “What in the world?” David exclaimed. His face went red as they laughed all the harder.

  The envelope had landed next to Mary, so she picked it up and handed it to David. “Take a look,” she said, barely repressing a giggle, sounding very much like Emmy at that moment.

  David took the envelope, somewhat gingerly now, and felt it carefully again. Nothing had changed. Carefully he opened it wider, steeling himself for another surprise. Then he snorted in disgust. “You’ve got to be kidding!” he cried.