The Fugitive Son

by Adell Harvey

  “Martyrdom!” Hettie harrumphed. “You’ve heard the Saints’ sanitized version of what happened, you mean. Like I said, old Joe landed in the jail because he broke the law and burned down the newspaper office, angry that the editor had the gall to print the truth. He wasn’t no martyr. He went out in a blaze of gunfire, begging for mercy from the Free Masons among the mob.”

  Andy glanced nervously at the door, afraid Pa would come back and hear the conversation. “Does Pa know you feel this way?”

  She shrugged. “’S’pose he does. We don’t talk about things like that much. In fact, we don’t talk much at all. Like I told you, I’m only his wife in the sense that I bear his offspring. When the prophet ordered me to marry him, I agreed – not because I needed a husband, but because I wanted young’uns. I knew I’d make a terrible wife, but I also knew I’d make a durned good mother.”

  Responding to the shock on Andy’s face, she asked, “How many polygamous wives do you talk to?”

  He shook his head. “None that I know of. If Pa has other wives, I’ve never met them. Mostly I’ve been on the trail with the menfolk.”

  Hettie tried to explain. “The way I see it, there’s several different kinds of wives. A few of them, like me, just want kids and don’t need or want a man around telling them what to do. Others fall in love with a fellow and live with a broken heart because they have to share his affections. Still others are forced into the situation and would love to escape, but fear their lives and their souls are in danger. Finally, there are the true believers who think the prophet is their link to God and are willing to do anything he says because they believe it pleases Heavenly Father.”

  “Anyway,” she added, “when Charles and I were sealed at the Endowment House, I figured the best way to stay happy was to volunteer to come and help with the company sent to colonize Parowan. That way I wouldn’t have to put up with your Pa all the time and would be far away from whatever brides or young’uns he decided to have. Some of us homely ones wind up doing all the dirty work while the pretty wives get the luxuries. None of that for me, no sir! I didn’t plan to be maid to your Pa and his other families! I’m okay with raising my own brood, but I had no intention of being a scullery maid for the rest of my life.”

  Andy found himself admiring her spunk, but he feared for her eternal destiny. Was it safe to talk like that and express such doubts here in Deseret?

  “Don’t worry,” she assured him. “I only talk like this to them I can trust. The folks here in Parowan think I’m a bit odd, but a good, loyal Saint. I can play the hypocrite as good as the next one, I reckon.”

  The door burst open and Pa walked in. “Been thinking I’ll go over to town and talk to the bishop and church leaders to see if they have anything they want me to report to the prophet when I leave tomorrow,” he announced.

  “Leaving tomorrow? But I thought Brother Brigham said we were to stay and rest awhile,” Andy protested.

  “He said you should stay and rest,” Pa corrected. “Didn’t say anything about how long I should stay. With all this war talk going on, I figure he’ll need me back up north. Meanwhile, make yourself useful and help your Aunt Hettie with some of the work that’s piled up around here. I’ll send for you when the prophet has a job for you.”

  It was just like Pa to duck all his responsibilities, leaving all the work to others while he enjoyed himself doing “church business.” No wonder Hettie wanted to live a long ways from him. Andy tried to still his wayward thoughts. When had he become so critical of Pa? Surely Heavenly Father wasn’t pleased with his attitude, but how could he respect someone who treated others with such contempt, someone who seemed so self-centered?

  To Hettie, Charles called back over his shoulder, “Me and the boy will sleep in the lean-to tonight. No use disrupting your whole household. I’ll be leaving before sunup, so you can bid the children goodbye for me.”

  Andy barely heard Hettie murmur under her breath. “What he means is I’m beyond the ways of women so he doesn’t need to share my bed.” She then looked him in the eye, “And he doesn’t care a fig about his own children!”

  Andy busied himself the next few days splitting wood, mending fences, and doing other chores around the cabin, amazed at how Hettie had managed so well without a man around to do the heavy chores. He pondered over her thoughts on polygamy and her opinion of the prophets and the Saints as a whole. He couldn’t understand how she grew up in Nauvoo and had such strong feelings against the prophets.

  Another thought shattered his ponderings. “How can the same teaching and leaders affect us so differently? Is it because she spent more time with the women and children than I did?” he wondered. Did the women truly have a different view of the faith? Was it, as Hettie said, a religion made for men, giving them the right to do whatever they wanted?

  Judging from Pa’s attitude toward his wives, Andy realized women weren’t cherished and loved in the religion of the Saints. Or maybe Pa was the exception. Just because he didn’t know how to be kind to a woman didn’t mean all Mormon men were cut from the same cloth. At that moment, Andy determined to find out. He would ride into Parowan and get to know some of the other men. He would listen and learn from them.

  Andy soon discovered that the issues of polygamy and family harmony were not on anybody’s lips. The entire town of Parowan and the surrounding communities could speak of nothing but the news of war. The prophet had sent George Smith to the southern settlements to ready the Saints for action, urging them to prepare their homes for burning.

  Addressing a meeting of the ward, Smith gave them their orders. “Brother Brigham has declared war against the United States, and all of Utah Territory is under martial law, effective August 1. Prepare for evacuation, make all the guns and ammunition you can, and stockpile food and provisions for your animals.”

  Sermons from the bishop and other leaders grew increasingly vehement against the army, shocking Andy with their demands to “wipe out the enemy, the United States.” President Buchanan was declared the arch enemy and threats against Missourians were especially violent. The war hysteria and paranoia gripped the entire community.

  Visiting around the town, Andy tried to stay in the background as he listened to the townsfolk express their worries, dismay, and anger. Visitors, among them Mormon apostles and leaders from Great Salt Lake City, seemed to be fomenting the situation, stirring up emotions and warning the local leaders.

  By listening cautiously, Andy was brought up to date on much that was transpiring in all of Utah. Things that stirred him to his very soul. Apparently, Prophet Young had just found out in July that Alfred Cummings was on his way from Georgia to replace him as governor of Utah Territory. The Deseret News was reporting that Apostle Parley Pratt had been killed in Arkansas by the estranged husband of a woman Pratt had taken as his twelfth wife, confirming the reports Andy had heard from the returning missionaries.

  Rumors circulated that federal troops were advancing, prompting Apostle Heber Kimball to declare from the pulpit, “I will fight until there is not a drop of blood in my veins. Good God! I have wives enough to whip out the United States.” Mormons traveling from the Kansas-Missouri frontier brought word that federal troops were, in fact, headed for Utah, leading to the prophet’s proclamation of martial law on the tenth anniversary of his arrival in the Great Salt Lake Valley.

  What has happened to the Promised Land? Andy mused to himself. The beautiful Zion, promised to us as our forever homeland, where peace and safety will reign? Or is this another persecution to test our loyalty? Or did we ask for this, as the gentile newspapers and politicians are reporting, because of our crimes against America?

  Andy’s head whirled as he weighed the differing opinions. From what he’d witnessed with blood atonement and polygamy, he couldn’t think either of them were pleasing to Heavenly Father, let alone ordained by him. Could he actually go to war against his own beloved country to defend such practices?

  Back at Hettie’s cabin, Andy spe
nt his time getting the shack ready for winter and teaching the boys the games he had enjoyed as a lad. Each day, however, he made a trip into Parowan. Each trip dismayed him further as the paranoia grew worse. The entire area seemed to be under a siege mentality, fearful of the advancing troops.

  Sometimes he took Matthew, Mark, and Luke with him on his daily visits, leaving the youngest boy, John, to stay behind with his mother and sister. He tried to shield the boys from all the frightful talk, but war mongering permeated every conversation, making it inevitable they would pick up on it.

  “Are soldiers really going to kick the prophet out?” Matthew asked one afternoon while they were climbing one of the Castle Peaks.

  Andy steadied his grip on an outcropping and turned to the boy. “They won’t forcefully kick him out. I think they’re just coming to tell him he can’t be governor anymore. The prophet has ruled Utah ever since we first came out here ten years ago, and President Buchanan thinks it’s time to appoint somebody else to be governor.” Even if someone else were the governor, Andy knew that the prophet would still consider himself the supreme ruler of Deseret. Brother Brigham wouldn’t let anyone else govern his kingdom. But he wasn’t going to share these thoughts with his half-brothers.

  Mark chimed in from his perch on a flat ledge overlooking the valley. “Bet a new guv’ner will make Ma happy. She don’t like the prophet. She says he’s a pompous old donkey.”

  “We’re not s’posed to talk about what Ma says at home,” Matthew admonished his younger brother. “Ma says it could get us all in trouble.” He turned toward Andy for confirmation. “Ain’t that right, Andy?”

  “With all this talk about war going on, it’s probably best not to talk about things from home out in public,” Andy agreed.

  But Mark obviously had more on his mind he needed to unload. “But we’re not in public now, are we?” He glanced around as if looking for a spy in the woods. Satisfied they were alone on the mountain, he asked, “Did Ma tell you about what those big guys did at our school?”

  “Don’t recollect that she did. You got some boys bullying you? Just let me know, and we’ll clean their plow!” Andy ruffled Mark’s hair.

  “Oh, no! It weren’t kids from school – it was a couple of church leaders what did it,” Mark said.

  “Church leaders bullying little kids? Maybe you misunderstood…”

  Mark was adamant. “Nope! One of the purty older gals was always making eyes at our friend Eli, and they sneaked off together a couple of times. So one of the church leaders who wanted to marry her followed ‘em and cut off Eli’s man parts.”

  Andy was aghast. Surely this wasn’t true. A church leader wouldn’t do that!

  Sensing Andy’s doubts, Matthew backed up his brother’s story. “It’s true. They hung his bloody parts in the front of the schoolroom to remind all of us boys that the leaders get first pick of the purty gals!”

  Feeling sick to his stomach, Andy had no answer for the boys. What kind of evil place was this? What else were these devilish “Saints” capable of? When he was composed enough to use his voice, he told the boys, “I think it’s time we headed back to the cabin. Your ma probably has supper started for us.”

  When they arrived home, Hettie had an urgent message for Andy from the prophet. “Apostle Smith stopped by to see you, but he couldn’t wait till you came home. Said he was delivering warnings to the saints all over the southern settlements.”

  “So what did he want with me?”

  Hettie handed him a sealed envelope. “Said to give this to you.”

  Andy ripped open the envelope while Hettie and the children stood near in anticipation and curiosity. He glanced at the brief, terse note. “I’ve got to leave right away. The prophet has an urgent job for me, and I’m to make haste to get back up there as soon as possible.”

  Kansas Prairie

  Elsie guided the wagon as it jolted across the endless prairie, glad that she was getting the early morning turn at the reins. Isaac had volunteered to endure the broiling sunshine of the afternoon shift so she could stay under the shade of the billowing canvas top.

  She looked down at her sun-scorched, freckled arms with dismay. “I declare,” she muttered aloud, “no one would think of me as a delicate Southern belle now! I’m more like a field hand. And if my arms are this freckled and burned, what must my face look like?” She tugged at the wide brim of her bonnet, trying to shield her face from further damage. Suddenly the wagon gave a mighty lurch, followed by a loud clanging sound, then stopped dead still.

  Isaac leapt from his resting place inside the wagon. “What in the world? What’s happening?”

  Elsie shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Isaac jumped down and crawled under the wagon. “Oh, no!” he groaned in dismay. “We’ve broken something under the carriage.”

  Elsie climbed down and poked her head under the wagon. “Can you fix it?”

  After what seemed like an eternity, Isaac managed to wrestle the broken pieces off. He slid out from under the wagon, holding the two halves of a metal brace. “See here,” he said as his finger traced along the edge of one of the pieces. “It sheared right in two. The only way we’re going to fix it is if we have a spare one in the parts box. Let me check and see.”

  As Isaac rummaged through the wooden parts box on the back of the wagon, Elsie looked toward the horizon. The rest of the wagon train was just a far-off cloud of dust. Since she and Isaac had been bringing up the rear, the others weren’t aware of their predicament.

  Isaac sighed wearily as he closed the parts box. “We’re not going anywhere anytime soon. We don’t have a spare.”

  “So what do we do now?” Elsie couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. “The other wagons are out of ear shot and nearly out of sight.”

  Isaac hurriedly saddled the horse they had roped to the wagon. “Just sit tight – I’ll catch up with them and get help.” He galloped off in the direction of the wagon train.

  As Elsie watched Isaac fade into the distance, she sat in the broken-down wagon praying, her mood churning between worry and trust. “Dear God, keep us safe. I know the Indians rarely attack wagons this close to civilization, but there’s always a first time.”

  The sun rose high in the sky, and still Isaac hadn’t returned. Where was he? Why hadn’t he come back? Surely the train hadn’t gotten that far beyond them. She watered the mules and fixed a small lunch while she waited. Still no Isaac.

  Another overloaded stagecoach raced by. She tried to flag it down. But the driver merely looked at her and shouted, “No time! Already behind schedule!”

  Disgusted at the lack of chivalry, she muttered, “This is like the story of the Good Samaritan. Nobody has time to stop and help.”

  Addressing the animals, the only living creatures within earshot, she said, “I can either sit around and worry myself into a fright or pass the time improving my mind. Good Methodist girl that I am, I choose to do something useful.”

  She climbed into the wagon and reached under her featherbed for her book box, the box Isaac had teased her about. She smiled, remembering his jests. “Only you would insist on bringing along a box of heavy books. Your brothers said we should only tote items that are necessary.”

  “Books are necessary!” she had declared. “I can’t live without my books! Out on the frontier, there may be no place to buy books and probably nobody to borrow them from.” She had stomped her foot, insistent on taking the books. “If you don’t want to load them, I’ll carry them myself!” Isaac had laughed at her as he hefted the box onto his broad shoulders.

  Today, she was ever so thankful she had won that argument. She looked through the box and finally brought out a well-read copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. She had read all of the books before, but they were certainly worth another go around, and this one was her favorite. Lost in the story of Eliza and her son taken in by a Quaker family, Elsie had forgotten how much the story sounded like home. The Christians who at great risk helped the run
aways, the Underground Railroad, even the steamboat journey – she could relate to much of it.

  Engrossed in the story, she didn’t notice the passage of time until it got too dark to read. Glancing out of the wagon, she saw the sky ablaze with a spectacular sunset over the prairie and shuddered. Nightfall and Isaac still hadn’t returned! Would she have to spend the night here alone on the prairie? Where could he be? Isaac would never deliberately leave her alone. Something had to have happened to him.

  She allowed her thoughts to return to what she considered her “worry mode.” She remembered Isaac’s story about the men who had been watching him in Kansas City. Were they slave hunters looking to make a fast fortune? She knew that strong slaves were much in demand and brought upwards of $2,500 on the auction block. That was about ten times more than the average worker made in a whole year’s employment!

  “Dear God, please keep your hand of safety and protection over Isaac,” she pleaded, as she tried to think of more positive explanations for his delay. Maybe he had caught the wagon train and they were coming back with replacement parts for her wagon. She calculated the time it would take for the train to turn around and come back. Surely it wouldn’t have taken all day.

  Before it grew totally dark, she again watered and fed the stock, thankful that the wagon had broken down near a stream. Chores all done, she shrugged her shoulders and snuggled down in her featherbed. “I will not be afraid,” she told herself. “I will trust in God to protect me and help me get through this.” Listening to the hooting of owls and the howling coyotes well into the night, she frequently had to remind herself of her resolve.

  Elsie awoke to the deafening silence of the morning. All she could hear was a slight riffling of the breeze across the tops of the tall prairie grasses. Looking out across the vast expanse, she drew in her breath. It looked almost like she imagined an ocean would look, the blowing grasses closely resembling rolling waves. She scanned the horizon, hoping to see a dust billow or some sign of movement that would show Isaac returning to the wagon.