“Do you feel this is the right thing to do?” she asked, her head coming up.
“I do. I have great confidence in those two men and their recommendation and—”
She waved that aside. “I’m not talking about which route we take. Do you think this is the right thing to do for our family?”
He sat back, struck by the importance of her question. “I . . . I guess I can’t speak for your family, so . . .” His voice trailed off. Every eye was on him. Then suddenly he nodded, surprising even himself. “Yes, Molly. I guess I do.”
It was Abby who reacted first. “Really!” It was said in surprise, not as a question.
“Yes.”
“As do I,” Patrick murmured. “Thank you for your honesty, David.” Then he turned to Molly. “We still have two more weeks, my dearest Molly. If you still feel that way by that time, then perhaps you should stay behind.”
Sarah gasped and Abby visibly started, but Molly just stared at her father. “Do you mean that, Daddy?”
“I do, but I can’t speak for your mother.”
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at her youngest daughter. “It would break my heart to leave you, Molly, but if that is how you really feel, yes, I agree with your father.”
“Thank you,” Molly whispered.
“Abby?” her father said. “Anything you would like to say?”
She started to shake her head, then changed her mind. She looked at Billy Joe. “I guess I have a puppy and a couple of kittens fighting inside my stomach, Billy Joe, but I have felt from the beginning that this is what the Lord wants us to do. I think there will come a time when we understand why we were asked to do this and thank Him for helping us do it.”
“Carl?”
Carl Bradford turned to his employer, thought for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s not the same question for me, since I will be returning to Cedar City once you’re settled. As for the decision made yesterday, I feel that was a good one, and I, like you, am glad things are finally settled. We’ve waited long enough.”
“Thank you.” Finally, Patrick turned to his wife. “Anything you wish to say, dear?”
She took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. Tears still glistened in her eyes, but she managed a tiny smile. “I think you all know that I am the woman who would rather stay in St. George and go shopping with my sister than camp out in Zion Canyon.” As they laughed at that, she went on. “I’ve always wondered how in the world I ever came to be a pioneer woman. Give me the streets of Boston and a concert with a symphony orchestra and I’ll be happy. But, the Lord doesn’t always see things as we see them. And He certainly doesn’t always put us where we feel most comfortable.”
She glanced at Molly, then away. “Like Molly, I have grave misgivings. I cannot fathom how we shall make our way across the wilderness, how we shall ever bear to part with our dear friends, or how we shall regain the comforts with which we have been so richly blessed.”
Her eyes moved from face to face. “However, there is only one thing of which I am sure, and that makes all the difference. I know this is what the Lord has called us to do, and I know, as it says in the scriptures, that all things work together for good to them that love God. So I shall shut the door on our beautiful home. I shall walk away from our coal stove with its four hot plates and an oven large enough to bake six loaves of bread at the same time. I shall leave behind our pianoforte and my china dishes and our lovely porcelain tub where I can soak in a hot bath as long as I wish. I shall do so because I love your father more than all of these. I shall do so because I love the Lord even more than that.”
Both Abby and Molly were sniffing back tears now, and Patrick’s eyes were soft and shining. Sarah wiped quickly at the wet streaks on her cheeks and managed a shaky laugh. “The only thing that gives me hope is that there is so much to do in the next two weeks, I won’t have time to sit around and bawl. Maybe that opportunity will come, but I don’t have time for it now.”
Laughing and crying, Molly stood and went to her mother and threw her arms around her. Abby was right behind her. In a moment, Billy and his father had joined them and they all stood together, hugging each other and crying.
David got to his feet, as did Carl. This was a time for the family, not outsiders. As they started to edge away, Patrick saw them and turned. “Sorry,” he said in a choked laugh. “We get like this every now and again.”
David nodded. “We’ll see you at six tomorrow morning,”
“Wait just one moment,” Patrick said, stepping back from his family. “I have one more thing I would like to say.” The girls and Billy Joe returned to their seats, but Patrick remained standing with the two men. He laid a hand on David’s shoulder. “When you were speaking about leaving England, a scripture came to my mind. It was given to Joseph Smith when he first arrived in Jackson County, Missouri. Some of the Saints had come with him and were going to stay and establish settlements there. They were thrilled to think they would be among the first to live in the land of Zion, but they too were nervous. They asked the Prophet to inquire of the Lord what His will for them was at that time. I find the Lord’s opening words of His answer very instructive and directly applicable to our own situation.”
He paused, his eyes half closing. “I can’t quote it exactly, but it goes something like this. ‘You cannot behold with your natural eyes at the present time, the design of your God concerning those things which shall come hereafter, and the glory which follows after much tribulation. For after much tribulation come the blessings.’”
His eyes opened and he looked around. “I quote that for me, as much as for any of you.” Then he turned to David and Carl. “We’ll see you first thing tomorrow.”
Abby looked up as a soft knock sounded on her door. She looked at the small clock she had brought with her and saw that it was after nine. She then turned and looked at Molly, but she was sound asleep and breathing deeply. She got up and tiptoed to the door and opened it a crack.
“I’m so sorry to bother you,” David said, “but I saw your light was on, and—”
“That’s all right,” she whispered. “I was still reading.”
“I . . . I was wondering if you knew where that scripture your father quoted comes from.”
She opened the door wider. “It’s in the Doctrine and Covenants. Section fifty-eight.”
“Oh.” He hesitated, clearly embarrassed.
“I have a copy of the Doctrine and Covenants with me. Would you like to borrow it?”
“I don’t want to be a—”
“Wait here,” she said. A moment later she was back and handed the book to him. “I put a marker in the page where it is.”
“Thank you.” He took the book and turned away without another word.
She stood there at the door for a long moment, staring after him. Then, as she closed it, she said to herself, “What is happening to you, David Draper?”
Tuesday, October 7, 1879
Billy Joe came busting through the doors of the dry-goods store and slid to a halt. “There you are!” he exclaimed.
“You looking for me?” David said. He was at the counter going through the long list of supplies Sarah had given him earlier that morning.
“Come quick. Daddy says he’s found another driver. He wants you in his office right now.”
“Who is it?”
His shoulders lifted and fell. “Dunno. He just said to come real quick.”
Smiling at the boy’s breathlessness, David turned to the clerk and handed him the list. “I’ll be back.” Then he laid a hand on Billy Joe’s shoulder. “Okay, let’s go.”
When they entered the hotel lobby, David was surprised to see both Abby and Molly standing just outside the office door. They were talking animatedly, but the moment they saw David, their mouths clamped shut. Abby gave a soft knock on the door and stepped back.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”
They both just looked at him, faces grave. B
efore he could ask them anything further, the door opened and Patrick slipped out. He shut the door behind him.
“What is it, Patrick? Billy Joe says you’ve found us a driver?”
He laughed easily. “I did. But I wanted you to meet him first and see if you approve.”
Behind them David heard Molly giggle. “Who is it?” he asked, surprised that Patrick had felt such an urgency about this.
“Come in and see who came in on the morning stage,” he said. He opened the door and gestured for David to go inside. As he started to move, David saw that Abby and Molly were now grinning almost as broadly as their father.
Then as he stepped inside the office, he froze. His jaw dropped.
“’owdy, Davee boy,” John Draper drawled. “It be a reet keen pleasure ta lay eye on ya agin, laddee. A reet keen pleasure.”
“All right,” David said, sitting down across the desk from his father, “I’m still in shock here. Start over again and tell me what you are doing here. I haven’t heard from you in a couple of weeks now and I was starting to get worried.”
After the initial shock had worn off, Patrick and the girls had backed away, leaving David and his father alone in Patrick’s office.
“Well, it be marvelous simple,” his father began, “an’ a bit of a miracle, if Ah do say so meself. As Ah tole ya in one of me letters, after workin’ in Liverpool fur a time, Ah was sent ta labor in the Black Country, down in the West Midlands. Guess they thought this ole coal miner might know ’ow ta talk ta them workin’ class blokes over thare.”
“Yes, I got that letter.”
“Sum say they call it Black Country cuz thare be so much coal near the ground that the dirt is aboot ’alf coal dust. But they also call it that cuz thare be so much smoke an’ grit in the air from all the steel mills and coke ovens.”
“Like Sheffield,” David observed.
“Yah, exactly, only mooch worse. Well, that an’ the cold wet air doon thare finally got ta me. Ah started coughin’ aboot a month after gittin’ thare. At first Ah thought it be joost a cold, but it wudn’t go away, even when the air turned warmer.”
David felt his heart drop. “Not the black lung, Dad. Don’t tell me it’s that.”
There was a slow nod. “Ah be sorry ta say it, but ya be exactly reet.”
“But the doctors in Coalville said you didn’t have it.”
“Naw. They only said Ah didn’t ’ave any of the symptoms. Part of that was b’cuz even though the air in Coalville cud get very cold, it was also very dry, very low humidity. So Ah never ’ad problems wit it thare. Ah guess all the pollution in the air ’round Wolverhampton kinda irritated me lungs. That’s what cums frum workin’ thirty years in the mines.”
David put his head in his hands. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you go.”
That miffed John. “Ah dunna r’member me askin’. Ah joost went.”
“How bad is it?” David asked.
To his surprise, his father grinned at him. Then his hand shot out and gripped David’s arm. “Naw bad e’nuff to be slowin’ me doon mooch, but bad e’nuff that the doc said Ah ’ad ta be in a hot, dry climate. Like in a desert country. Lots of sunshine. That be the best thing fur me.”
David gaped at him.
Now the grin spread. “Me mission president in Liverpool, ’e knew awl aboot me call ta the San Juan. So ’e gave me a letter recommendin’ that me mission assignment be changed. An’ when Ah stopped in Salt Lake, they confirmed that.”
David shot to his feet. “You’re going with us?”
His grin was so big it filled half his face. “Yah, if’n that be awl reet wit ya.” His eyes got a mischievous twinkle. “Ah’ll naw be ’avin’ ya fightin’ me on this one, Son, cuz Ah be determined ta accept that call an’ finish oot me mission, no matter what ya ’ave ta say aboot it.”
Chapter 48
Tuesday, October 21, 1879
“David?”
David turned. Abby was at the door to her father’s office, a stack of papers in her arms.
“Hi,” he said, veering over to join her. “What are you doing here so late?” The hotel lobby was deserted. Even the night clerk behind the front desk was dozing in his chair.
“I might ask the same question of you.”
“I wrote a letter to Jim and Mary Davis and left it in the post office. We’ll probably get there before it does—mail down to Montezuma Creek is a bit of a miracle if it happens at all—but I thought I’d let them know we’re on our way.”
Her face softened. “She is a woman I much admire and respect. And love.”
“She’s one of my heroes,” he said with equal softness.
“I think the proper word is heroine.”
He shook his head. “If you had seen her stand up to Po-ee-kon, you’d call her a hero too.”
“Speaking of letters—” she shifted the stack of papers to one arm, took an envelope from off the top, and handed it to him—“I was going to drop this off to you on my way home.”
David looked at the handwriting and recognized it instantly as Molly’s. “How is she doing?”
“About like the rest of us,” she said. “Knowing this is our final night at home is pretty rough. We’ve all been bawling our eyes out.” That was said with a sardonic smile.
“Abby McKenna bawling?” he said. “I have a hard time picturing that.”
Her chin lifted slightly and there was challenge in her eyes. “I try to do it when no one is looking, but I am capable of tears, in spite of my inscrutable manner. And don’t worry about Molly. She’s tougher than you think.”
That surprised him. “I know that—she’s going, isn’t she?”
“No, David,” she said again, “she’s tougher than you think. I’m having a rough time of it, and Mom too, but we’re committed to going. Molly’s not, and yet she’s going.” She pulled a quick face. “If that makes any sense. Molly dreads it with every fiber of her being, but she’s still going. She is one of my heroes.”
“And you one of hers. In a way, for you this is Angel’s Landing all over again, isn’t it?”
Her eyes lifted to meet his and he saw the surprise in them.
“I’ve watched you, Abby,” he teased, “so don’t play innocent with me. Knowing you’re going to be driving a wagon for two hundred miles or more, some of it over some pretty rough terrain, leaves you highly uncomfortable. Understanding your fear of heights, I saw your face when Brother Collett was talking about the Hole in the Rock. You can shoot a rifle well, but you don’t enjoy it. You don’t hate camping out as much as Molly does, but you would prefer a comfortable bed and hot food each morning. You might as well come clean. For all your pretensions otherwise, you are going to miss Cedar City and your lovely home and your good life as much as your mother and Molly will.” He gave a short laugh. “Well, maybe not quite as much as Molly.”
“So?” she said, somewhat irked, “that’s probably true of every woman going. What has that got to do with Angel’s Landing?”
“Because, as much as you dread it, there’s something down deep inside of you that says, ‘I’ve got to do this.’ Not just because you think the call is from the Lord. Not just because you wouldn’t abandon your family. You have to prove something to yourself. It’s that rock spine all over again. The eight-hundred-foot drop on both sides scared the spit right out of you and yet—”
She hooted. “It surely did that. My mouth was so dry I thought I would faint.”
“But you did it. And you’re going to do this, too. And Molly knows that about you. She wants to be more like you. You are one of her heroes, too.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Well, aren’t you the little analyst.”
“Am I wrong?” he shot back.
After a moment, she shook her head. “No.”
David decided to change the subject. He reached out and took the stack of papers from her arm. “Where would you like these?”
“I’m taking them home to be put in our cellar. These ar
e the last of Dad’s papers. And speaking of having a hard time, I think he asked me to do this because he can’t bear the thought of not coming back to his office ever again.”
“I’ll walk you home, then.”
As they walked toward the door, the night clerk awoke with a start, looked around wildly, then gave them a sheepish look. Abby waved one hand. “Good night, Albert. Or, I guess we should say good-bye.”
“Good luck to you,” he called as they went out.
The streets of Cedar City were mostly deserted. It was past nine o’clock at night, but as they walked slowly along, savoring the crispness in the air and the smell of wood smoke, David noticed that there were very few homes without lamplight in the window. Jens Nielson, captain of the Cedar City contingent, had called for a five a.m. departure, but few of those going tomorrow were sleeping yet. Like David and Abby, they were finishing up last-minute tasks, or doing the last of their packing, or tidying up the house before they left it for good.
“And what about you, David?” Abby said as they approached the McKenna home, where all the windows were still ablaze with light. “Are you dreading it?”
He turned in surprise. “The trip? No. Actually, I’m looking forward to it. I’m glad to be under way finally. And . . .” He debated about sharing this, then saw no reason not to. “I know everyone says that country is wild and desolate, with hardly any inhabitants. But that actually appeals to me. It’s a place to start anew. Hopefully Dad and I can start our own ranch at long last. No, I quite like the idea.”
“Only because you are so antisocial,” she said.
He chuckled. “Well, yeah. That, too.”
“It is wonderful to have your father back with us.” She shot him a sideways glance. “So are you going to break this microscope, too?”
He winced. “Meaning?”
“Are you going to tell me what a remarkable coincidence it is that he was sent home just in time to join us for the trip?” She smiled sweetly at him. “It really is a truly remarkable and marvelous coincidence.”
“I got it,” he growled, remembering his conversation with Mary about those very words. Then he expelled his breath. “Dad called it a miracle the other day.”
The Undaunted Page 53
