by Diane Noble
The final straw came when the company was attacked by a roving band of Cheyenne braves near Devil’s Gate. No one was hurt, but they lost several hundred head of cattle and a small remuda of their best horses, including Megs and Sarah’s ponies. Alexander was blamed for the attack by the dissenters, who said more men should have been stationed to guard the herd.
The first time mutiny was mentioned was at Independence Rock on the Sweetwater, when folks began pointing out that they were at least a full month behind schedule. By the time they reached South Pass—immediately following the incident at Devil’s Gate—insurrection was imminent, openly led by Silas Edwards. Alexander’s solution was to simply order Edwards and his followers to take the trail of their choice—as long as it was not the same road taken by the Farrington company.
By the time the wagons pulled into the Green River Campground, the travelers’ spirits were low. They’d trudged hundreds of miles along the California road, a trail lined by hundreds of ox carcasses and furniture and tools unloaded by earlier wagon caravans. As their own teams wearied, some in the Farrington party had lightened their own rigs as well, leaving beside the trail such treasures as spinet pianos, bedsteads, and chests. Ellie had stubbornly held on to her family heirlooms—the cradle Alexander had made for the new baby, the hand-painted trunk filled with a set of blue willow dishes, a stout and sturdy rocking chair made of Arkansas pine—refusing to let anything of hers be left alongside the trail.
Now, here they were at Fort Bridger. They’d made it this far, Ellie thought proudly as she halted the team. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d made it. But they had a thousand miles to go, and she tried not to think about what lay ahead.
She gingerly climbed from the front of the wagon, her growing girth making her movements more awkward by the day. She had just stepped to the ground when she heard the beat of horses’ hooves and Alexander rode up on the Appaloosa. The horse shook its head and whinnied softly, tossing its mane and jangling the bridle.
She smiled up at her husband, the sight of him still quickening her heart. His gaze met hers from beneath his hat brim, pulled low over his forehead. His concern for her was etched on his sun-leathered face.
“How are you feeling, El?” he asked as he dismounted. He removed his hat and raked his fingers through his sand-colored hair.
“Don’t you be worrying about me, Alexander,” she replied, not willing to add to his worries by complaining about her discomforts. “You’ve got plenty enough to think about just getting us on the Salt Lake Road.”
He unharnessed the team and prepared to drive them out to the herd for grazing. “Nonetheless,” he said, “I want you to spend time napping before supper.”
“I intend to, Alexander,” she said, giving him a smile that she hoped would relieve his anxious thoughts about her health. “But mainly because I don’t want to fall asleep before the night-fire council is over.” Tonight Alexander planned to tell the entire company about their coming travels into Utah Territory, mapping out the route and the dangers along the way. He would also be discussing the growing irritation from the Missourians still trailing the train.
He left with the oxen, who now obeyed with just a word to turn them left or right. Ellie watched them go, feeling sorry for the poor beasts with their dull coats, spindly legs, and bony backs. They bawled and complained as they moved, heads down, lifting one heavy hoof after another.
“Mommy,” Meg called, clambering from the back of the wagon. “Mommy!”
“I’m here, child,” Ellie said quietly to her daughter. “You needn’t shout.”
Meg rounded the wagon, braids flying. She was followed by Sarah, who held Phoebe tenderly in her arms. “Mommy! Prudence Angeline said that her mommy’s gonna let her stay up tonight for the night fire. I want to too!”
“Me too!” declared Sarah, her bottom lip already starting to protrude. “I want to dance and sing with everybody else.” She started to sing “Sweet Betsy from Pike” at the top of her lungs and turned in circles, arms wide out.
Laughing, Ellie drew her daughters to her, enjoying the feel of her arms around them. “I’d already decided to let you stay up a little later tonight, girls. Prudence Angeline’s mama and I had already discussed it.”
“You did?” Meg’s eyes were wide.
“The Reverend Brown has a special story planned just for the children.”
“He does?” Sarah asked.
Ellie nodded. “We’ll all gather in the circle right at sundown for some singing and dancing—” She smiled at Sarah. “—and storytelling. Then you’ll be off to bed while the older folks meet.”
The twins started to race off with their news, but Ellie firmly held onto their little arms. “There’s a catch to staying up late, however,” she said.
Meg let out an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose we have to take a nap,” she said. Sarah stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.
“That’s right,” Ellie said, and she hugged them close again. “The three of us are going to lie down together right now, and I don’t want to hear a peep out of any of us for an hour.”
“Peep!” said Meg, hopping along beside Ellie as they headed to the back of the wagon.
“Peep!” mimicked Sarah, then scolded Phoebe for making the sound.
A few minutes later the three were resting quietly on the cornhusk mattress in the shade of the wagon. The twins cuddled close, one on either side of Ellie, and she sighed contentedly, drinking in the puppylike fragrance of children who’d been playing in the sun. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a mix of emotions, feeling protective and proud and filled with her love for them.
She rested on one elbow, gazing down at Sarah, whose sun-browned cheek was resting on love-worn Phoebe. Sarah’s little turned-up nose now had a darker dusting of freckles than when they’d left home, and her sun-blistered lips had turned the color of spent roses. Ellie brushed a stray wisp of hair away from Sarah’s forehead then turned to look at Meg. She couldn’t help smiling. The child seemed full of mischief and energy even when sleeping. Just the curve of her lips suggested she might be dreaming about her next escapade or a trick to play on her sister. Ellie planted a soft kiss on her daughter’s cheek then settled back against her pillow.
She rested her hand on the baby in her womb and frowned, wishing he’d kick or scoot an elbow or heel across her stomach. He’d been so active early on that it worried her that he’d become so still. Her ankles and wrists had nearly disappeared with swelling, and so often now, she couldn’t catch her breath when walking. Ellie didn’t care so much about her own discomfort as she did about bearing a healthy baby.
She gazed up at the arched canvas ceiling above her, relaxing in its soft light, the dappled play of shadows caused by some cottonwood leaves dancing in the breeze outside the wagon.
“Be with my children, Father,” she prayed. “All three of them. They are life’s promise and hope. I suppose it’s natural to worry about our future when it seems so uncertain. And Lord, I try not to worry or fret—and I don’t for myself. Or even Alexander. But it’s for my children I pray.
“Protect them, Father,” she breathed, feeling a flutter of movement in her womb. “Keep them close to you.” As she closed her eyes in sleep, words of comfort settled into her soul.
Their names are engraved on the palms of my hands.
Precious child, fear not; they are my lambs.
Even now, I carry them close to my heart.
That night after supper, Reverend Brown called the littlest children—all those six years and under—into a circle. They ran and skipped and giggled and poked each other as they gathered close.
Ellie watched the excited faces of the little ones sitting in front of the reverend. His face was kind, the lines around his eyes crinkling upward. He was old, so old that many doubted in the beginning that he could pull his own weight. But not only had he taken care of his own rig, but he’d become invaluable in his support of Alexander’s captaincy. He was a voice of calm in the mids
t of the storm, a voice that even disgruntled travelers would listen to, even if they wouldn’t listen to Alexander.
“Little ones,” Reverend Brown said, “I want to tell you a story about three boys named Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.”
Meg turned to catch Ellie’s gaze, wrinkling her nose at the sound of the strange names. Ellie signaled for her daughter to turn around and face the storyteller, which she did.
“These young men were living in a foreign land. They loved God very much, but the people in the land where they were living worshiped idols. Who can tell me what an idol is?”
Meg jumped up and down, holding her arm up as straight as a picket. “I can. I can!” she shouted.
Smiling, Reverend Brown nodded toward her. “Meg?”
“It’s a big thing that’s supposed to be God—but isn’t,” she said with a smug smile, looking back to see if Ellie was watching. Ellie and Alexander had told the little girls this Bible story before.
“Uh-huhh,” said Prudence Angeline. “There’s no such thing. It’s a statue … or something.”
“What’s a statue?” Nancy Huff said, wrinkling her nose.
Reverend Brown smiled. “Well, let me see if I can explain. Imagine if someone carved a big cow out of stone, covered it with gold, then told everyone it was God.”
“That’s an idol?” asked Prudence Angeline, wide-eyed. “A cow?”
“It can be anything that people worship instead of God,” said the Reverend. “But let me tell you what happened when these three young men were commanded to bow down and worship an idol in this foreign land.”
“Was it a gold cow?” Felix Jones asked.
“No one knows for sure what this idol looked like exactly. But I think it might have been made to look like a very tall, very big man, maybe like the king himself.”
“Was it gold?” Meg wanted to know.
“Yes, it was covered with gold.” Reverend Brown paused. “What do you think Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego did when the king told them to fall down on their knees and pray to this golden idol?”
“They didn’t do it,” the children chorused.
“They did not,” said Reverend Brown, “because they loved the one true God with all their hearts. There was no room in their hearts for another god, a false god.”
“Besides,” said Sarah, looking smug, “God told them it was bad to worship any other god besides him.”
“The king told Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego that if they didn’t worship the golden image, he was going to throw them into a blazing hot furnace. And what do you think the young men said to him?”
“Maybe they should’ve run away,” said Meg, totally caught up in the drama, not remembering she’d heard the Bible story before. “That’s what I’d do. I’d run away.”
“Remember, Meg, they were in a foreign land. They were captives of the king of this land. They couldn’t leave.” He smiled at the children. “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego said to the king, If we are thrown into that fiery furnace, the God we serve is able to save us from it. He is able to rescue us. But even if he chooses not to rescue us, we want you to know that we still will not worship your golden idol.’
“The king was furious. He wanted these boys to obey him—not God. He ordered the furnace heated to seven times its normal heat. And he tied up the young men and threw them into the furnace.”
There was a gasp from the children, and a few of them looked over at the nearby campfire and its long tongues of hot, orange flames.
The reverends voice was gentle as he continued. “But something very unusual happened.”
“What?” the children cried in chorus.
“The king jumped up and looked into the furnace. ‘There are four people in the fire!’ he shouted. ‘I thought only three were thrown in.’”
There were murmurs of awe from the children. “Who was the extra person? What happened then?” asked little Felix Jones.
“It was Jesus!” Reverend Brown exclaimed. “The same Jesus who’s with us today! He was suddenly in that fiery furnace—right in the middle of the flames—with the three young men who loved him. He had untied them, and they were all four walking in the furnace.”
“What did the king do then?” Sarah whispered.
“He shouted, ‘Servants of the Most High God, come out!’ and they did. Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walked out of that furnace, and their hair and clothes didn’t even smell like smoke.”
“Mine do,” said Felix. “My ma said she’ll never be able to rid me of the smell of cook smoke.”
Reverend Brown chuckled. “I think all of us feel that way,” he said. “Now I have a Bible verse for you to tuck away in your heart. Will you do that for me?”
They nodded, and he pulled out his worn, leather Bible, flipping through its pages to a place that, as soon as he began reading, Ellie knew was from Isaiah 43, one of her most beloved passages.
“Fear not, for I am with thee.” The children repeated it several times. “I want you to always remember those words. Because no matter what happens—good or bad—God is with you. Even if you can’t see him, he’s there—just as he was in the blazing furnace with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.”
Ellie thought about the rest of the passage as he continued talking to the children. “I have called thee by thy name; thou art mine. When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee…. Fear not: for I am with thee.”
Reverend Brown smiled at the children. “God doesn’t promise us that life will be easy. But he does promise that he will be with us.” He paused.
“Like the time I fell out of the wagon and split open my head,” said Prudence Angeline, rubbing the spot for emphasis.
“Or when I got bit by millions of skeeters from the Sweetwater willows,” added her sister, Becky.
“Or me, when that big rattler jumped at my horse and he bucked me off,” said Billy Tackett.
All the children were now adding their own list of maladies, injustices, and discomforts endured on the trek. “God is with us no matter what happens,” the reverend said when they’d finished. “Let’s say the verse one more time, remembering that it’s God speaking these words to you.”
“Fear not, for I am with thee,” chorused the children again.
“Now, how about a song or two before you head off to bed?” the reverend said, pulling out his fiddle.
“I’ve got one!” Meg shouted. “‘Sweet Betsy from Pike!’ It’s my sister’s favorite song!”
The reverend began to play, and the children sang and danced and clapped their hands. Ellie and Alexander looked at each other over their heads and smiled.
When the little ones had been put to bed in the wagons, Ellie and the other mothers met back at the night circle for the discussion about the trail ahead.
Alexander stood and walked to the center of the group. “As you know,” he began, “we’ve made the decision to take the southern route into California.”
There were a few worried murmurs among the listeners.
“We’ve lost a number of our company in the last several days, and that’s what we need to discuss,” he said. “That leaves us more vulnerable than before.”
There were nods of agreement.
Jesse O’Donnell stood near the back of the group. “There’s that contingent of Missourians—the ones that call themselves the Wildcats—following not far behind us,” he said. “Pretty tough characters. Maybe we ought to let them join up with us.”
“They been tryin’ to anyway all the way from Laramie,” said Alexander’s son Hampton.
Abe Barrett stepped forward. “I’m inclined to agree with the captain on this. He’s held them off all this way because they’re uncouth ruffians. We both think they’d be more trouble than they’re worth.”
Alexander nodded. “Another problem is that they’re open
ly hostile to Mormons. My fear is that instead of giving us strength against the Saints, should there be any trouble, they would cause a greater disturbance. Back in Laramie they were set to kill Lucas Knight just because they suspected he was Mormon.”
“I still say the Mormons aren’t gonna give us any grief,” Jesse O’Donnell added thoughtfully. “They’re known throughout the States as being pleased to offer assistance to wagoners, selling grain and supplies to folks heading out of the Great Salt Lake for the Hastings cutoff or the Old Spanish Trail.”
Several men chuckled. “For a steep price,” someone called out.
Abe shrugged. “We’re a wealthy train. We can afford it. We’ll need supplies desperately by the time we get there—grain for our herd, food for ourselves.”
Liza stepped up to stand beside Ellie. “I remember what you told me about that fellow who was killed in Arkansas,” she whispered, a frown furrowing her brow.
Ellie sighed heavily. She’d been thinking of the same incident. “The man who was killed by an irate husband for wife-stealing.”
“Do you want to say something, or shall I?”
“Go ahead,” Ellie said.
Liza stepped forward to stand by her husband. Abe smiled as she approached. “Folks,” she said, “just before we left: Arkansas, a Mormon man was killed. Ellie Farrington, who told me the story, says she heard on good authority that the man was a special agent of Brigham Young.
“I don’t know about you all, but I worry about going through Mormon country because we’re from Arkansas …”
“No reasonable person would blame the entire state for the actions of one man,” Jesse O’Donnell interrupted. “We may think these Latter-day Saints practice a strange religion. But I believe they’re reasonable people.”
Other voices spoke up, some agreeing, others disagreeing. Finally, Alexander held up a hand, taking charge of the meeting. “I recommend we head, as planned, into the Salt Lake valley. If we sense danger, we can still take the Hastings cutoff.”
