The Heart that Truly Loves

by Susan Evans McCloud

  We departed today. I am writing this in the wagon and shall post it in one of the Iowa cities we shall pass by on our first stretch of the journey. We are as well outfitted as most. Giles has painted the wagon boxes a bright, jaunty blue, and our oxen are large, good-looking beasts. The men have thoughtfully arranged warm, quilt-piled nests in the backs of the wagons for beds.

  Mother has convinced the little ones that it will be an adventure to look forward to. “Each night you will have a new, different bedroom,” she tells them, “with new things to see outside your canvas windows, and there will be bright prairie flowers to pick in the spring, and lots of fresh air and singing round the camp fires at night, and then, one day, mountains—have you ever seen a mountain?” Of course, none of them has. She shows them pictures and tells of the rolling hills in Vermont and the mountains back home in Ireland. She has made it all right for them. For myself, it is like wrenching part of my heart out to leave Nauvoo.

  I stood this morning on the corner of Parley Street and watched the wagons roll by. The women all had their faces wrapped in scarves and shawls against the bite of the moist wind, and most of their eyes were downcast. How did any of us dare meet one another’s eyes and reveal the pain that was there? “Tear Drop Lane,” that is what the Saints have come to call Parley Street, where we turn our eyes from the city and take our last walk away from Nauvoo. It is cold, very cold. The reeds and willows along the river are frosted, and the ice is thick.

  “Three cheers for Zion!” Giles just shouted, peering in here and seeing the set of my face. “Three cheers for Zion!” Our line of wagons has taken up the cry, and I can hear it in a hundred voices, and the tears are choking my throat. Zion—“the pure in heart.” That’s what Joseph taught us. Zion, the Lord’s chosen people.

  Giles told me this morning as he walked beside me and caught up my cold, chafed hand in his, “We go with God, Verity. He will watch over us, and all will be well.” All will be well—I cling to those words, Millie, and try to remember my faith. Spring will come, and in time the journey will end—but I can’t look that far! It builds a longing in me that is far too painful. One step at a time, one step after another, with Giles smiling encouragement to me, and my child in my arms, and those words in my head: God goes with us; all will be well.

  Your little pilgrim who loves you dearly,

  Verity Winters

  These Mormons! The Lord’s people! That is what Millie had so hated about them at the first. Who did they think they were, setting themselves up above others? They have paid for it, a little voice said as she tucked Verity’s letter away with the rest. “Never make the mistake of mocking those who have found their way to a truth, just because you are still blind to it.” Old Daniel had said those words to her. Now, what made her think about that?

  Irritated, Millie marched out to the kitchen and began to beat up a big batch of muffins. She had some dried blueberries left in the pantry that she could mix in. The Mormons had taken Verity and the others away from her. She could stand in her kitchen and pretend she was mixing up these muffins so she could take a warm plateful over to Verity; she could pretend all she liked. But the truth was, Mormonism had brought her life nothing but trouble and woe. Heaven knew how long it would be before she heard from Verity, to know whether they were dead or alive. Wherever this Brother Brigham was taking them, they would be beyond civilization, and certainly beyond the postal coach route—beyond all communication, all hope, all love! It was good she knew the receipt by heart, for her eyes swam with tears as she bent over the bowl and stirred the muffin batter and tried to forget.

  Summer was so full of sweetness that Millie almost felt guilty enjoying it. Thoughts of Verity and the others and what they might be suffering sat just under the surface of everything she experienced. Almira continued to be friendly, and Millie continued to woo her. They had picnics together out by Bass Rocks or on the beach at Briar Neck, eating their fill of flounder, whiting, and tender swordfish. If Millie thought of Verity off in the middle of nowhere, with nothing to eat except weevily flour and beans, the food would clog in her throat. But life must go on, and in Gloucester during the summertime, life was good.

  As though not to spoil her, summer ended abruptly, with a dark squall that tossed whitecaps far up on the beaches and rattled the gray roof shingles and spattered cold rain in the streets. It was never really warm again after that. Adria, used to roaming the wharves with the old seamen who coddled her, ignored Millie’s warnings to stay inside. The first day of bright sun she skipped down to the waterfront. The old men were happy to see her again. They treated her with tasty tidbits from the lines they were fishing and regaled her with tales. Millie, who had walked over to Thomas Erwin’s to return some books and take him a warm pie, cut her pleasant visit short when she noticed the sun disappear behind a solid gray bank of clouds. When she returned home she found the house empty and the sky churning gray. With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she started back toward town.

  Storms can blow up of a sudden along the coast. As soon as the sea started to moan and heave the old sailors sent the child on her way with a gentle shove and a warning not to dawdle. Adria meant to obey. But as the wind piled the sand into shifting dunes she saw a little white dog, all dirty and bedraggled, trapped on the rocks above the sea ledge, whimpering piteously. Her child’s heart did not stop to reason; she knew she must rescue the poor, helpless thing. The wind frightened him; he crouched low on his belly and, at the sound of her voice, crept toward the edge of the rock. There was no way but up; she must scale the small outcropping to reach him. She crooned to him reassuringly as she groped for foot- and handholds, all the while thinking of what fun it would be when she got home and told her adventure to Mother, who would clean and dry the poor dog and give him a bowl of warm milk. And she would be a heroine of sorts, to be fussed over, and surely Mother would let her keep the little dog for a pet.

  She may have made it if the rain had not struck and made the black rock instantly slippery. The dog inched back from the edge. The pelting drops stung Adria’s face, and she could not see where she was going. She quickly repositioned one foot, thinking she had wedged it in properly, but when she lifted the other foot everything started to slide all at once, and she couldn’t grab hold. With a little cry she slid down the face of the rock, striking her head as she fell on the jagged base of the promontory. She lay sprawled and quite still, with her face in the sand. The white dog wormed cautiously forward, laid his nose on his paws, and began to whine.

  Millie frantically scanned the path that winded its way by the sea as she hurried to town. When she reached the main street of Gloucester she alerted Almira and Amos to help her, while Matthew rounded up others who would be willing to scour the beach in the storm. It was Amos, with his young ears tuned to such noises, who heard the dog whine and followed the sound to the base of the cliff. When they carried her home and laid her across her own bed, she was still unconscious, and hot to the touch. Dr. Thatcher shook his head, looked her over carefully, then shook it again.

  “Keep her warm and dry, Millie. Watch for choking and convulsions. If she wakes up, call for me. If she gets any hotter, cool her down with cold cloths. I’ll come again in the morning.” He patted the top of her head with a firm, gentle hand. “There’s nothing else I can do.”

  Almira kept watch with her that night, and Amos stayed, too, and kept the fire going and ran little errands for them. Millie couldn’t go wild with grief the way she wanted to, not with Almira right there.

  The morning dawned gray and empty. The doctor came again as he had promised, but he could do nothing for her. His face told Millie what she did not want to know.

  All through that long night and the leaden hours of morning Millie had tried to pray. Her mind pleaded with the unknown God of power to save her child’s life. She is all I have, all! Don’t take her from me, I beg you, I beg you! She said the same words over and over again.

/>   After a little while Almira went home to see to her duties. Amos, who had scooted off along the sand as soon as the doctor appeared, came back with the little dog on a leash and tied him securely at the back of the house. He talked Millie into lying down for a spell, surprised at his power to do so, and made a solemn promise that he would sit every minute beside Adria’s still form. He broke his word a bit by sneaking a bowl of water and some scraps out to the starving, shivering puppy. Then, to make up for his duplicity, he stroked Adria’s white cheeks and sang out loud, very softly, every song that he knew.

  In the next room Millie fell into an instant sleep, from which she woke an hour later, feeling strangely refreshed. Something had awakened her, but she couldn’t say if it was real or if she had dreamed it. Of course she had dreamed it, for, clear in her mind, she had seen Nicholas Todd in a room in Liverpool, low-ceilinged, almost bare of furnishings, its small-paned windows coated with a thin layer of ice. He and another man were bending over a low, cot-like bed, on which huddled three small children, thin as wraiths and as ghostly pale. The men placed their hands on the head of the first child and closed their eyes. She heard Nicholas’s voice, but only as a murmur that soothed her, bathing her with a feeling of light. They repeated the process on the second and the third child. Then Nicholas looked up, across the cramped, cold room, and met her eyes. At that moment, she knew. She knew exactly what she must do to save Adria’s life.

  When Almira arrived at the house later that afternoon, she learned from her son that Millie had been gone these past three hours. She shook the truth out of poor Amos, despite his pledge to secrecy. But it made no difference now. Millie had taken the coach to Boston and would hopefully return before the next day. Almira was furious, as angry as Amos had ever seen her, and, being her son, he knew why—because she had come to care deeply for that snit of a girl who had snared her Luther and then not been able to give him a child. And nearly as much, she loved the sea-borne girl who she had swore would never be accepted as kin of hers. All she could do was sit by the bed of the still child and wait. But she did that with a grace that would have surprised Millie and warmed her sore heart.

  Millie remembered the name; it came to her as clearly as everything else had. The train took her to Boston in just over an hour. She located Boylston Hall with ease, and stumbled up the narrow steps in her haste. The first floor of the building was a market, divided into stalls for the sale of all kinds of goods. The unexpected din and press of people disoriented Millie; she stood momentarily frozen, uncertain, then hurried up the stairs to the next floor, where the confusion was only a vague echo in the back of her head.

  This floor was apportioned into four large rooms. The door to one was open, so Millie walked boldly in. The gentleman sitting at a desk with his back to her turned slowly around and regarded her with such a friendly expression that she gathered courage to say, “Sir, I am looking for members of the Mormon church who rent the upper floor of this hall for their services.”

  The man was middle-aged; he had a long, homely face, but the eyes of a dreamer. He continued to smile as he answered, “Then you have found what you seek. I am Brother Forsyth. How may I help you, my dear?”

  In a torrent Millie told him, finding it easy to unburden her soul to this stranger. “God answered my prayers. He sent me to you. Do you believe that is possible?”

  “And why shouldn’t it be?”

  “I do not really believe in him.” She faced the man squarely; she would not lie to him.

  An expression flickered over his features that robbed them of their plainness. He placed his hand on her arm, and all the tenderness and faith of his spirit flowed into her.

  “Ah, but God believes in you, Millicent Fenn. He loves you as much as he loves any of his children, and for the moment, that is all you need to concern yourself with.”

  Albert Forsyth located another elder of the Church, and they accompanied Millie back to Gloucester on the afternoon train. When they entered the house Almira was nodding by the bedside and Amos was at the back of the house, playing with the little white dog. Almira was frightened when she saw the two strange men with Millie, but something in the girl’s face silenced her. She stood in the corner of the room and watched them anoint the child’s head with oil, then cover the tangled flaxen hair with their hands and say the strangest of words. She felt the hush of the moment, but Millie felt more. Millie felt light—light all around and within her. She could almost hear the light singing, and she opened her eyes, startled.

  Brother Forsyth had stopped speaking and stood back from the bed a bit. Millie saw Adria stir. She saw the blue eyes slowly open, flicker, and then dart wildly, looking for her. In a moment she was on her knees beside her daughter. “Welcome back, dear heart,” she cried.

  “Mother, I had the loveliest dream,” Adria murmured sleepily. “But I cannot remember it, and now I am glad to be home.”

  Millie fed her broth and chamomile tea, and she seemed nearly herself again by the time the men left. Millie walked with them down the stone path to where the sea could be seen like a silver rope edging the shore.

  “I have nothing to say,” Millie began. “I could never thank you if I tried for the rest of my life.”

  “You could thank Him, and more easily than you know.” Albert Forsyth patted Millie’s hand, and again she felt the warm strength of him. “May we return to check on the child’s progress?”

  “Come for supper Saturday,” Millie urged, and they agreed. She did not wait to watch them walk away, two dark figures against the chalk-white surface of the path. She raced back inside and was surprised to hear Adria’s voice raised in distress. “What is it, Amos? What is Adria saying?”

  Amos stood by the door, his head hanging, shuffling his feet in obvious discomfort. “She says it was a wee stranded dog she was after. She fell from the ledge trying to reach him.”

  “Where is he, Mother? Did he die in the storm? I so wanted to rescue him.” Adria’s blue eyes filled with tears.

  Amos tugged at Millie’s sleeve, and she walked a short distance off with him, where he stood on tiptoe and whispered into her ear.

  Millie nodded her head, and he disappeared out the door and round the corner of the house. In a moment he appeared at the back door, pulling something gently along with him. Adria let out a low cry and opened her arms, and, with the perception born in some animals, the small dog trotted right to her and laid his head in her lap.

  Thus Millie’s main task for the remainder of the evening was to keep the house still enough to quell the excitement that burned in Adria’s eyes. At last Millie was able to assure Almira that she could manage by herself and that the best thing for Adria was total quiet, and so Almira took her son and left. No word of what they had both witnessed passed between them, and Millie was grateful for that. As night fell like a soothing curtain, the small dog slept by the fire, and Adria grew drowsy herself. Almira sent the doctor back, and when he examined the child he shook his head again. But this time his eyes glowed.

  “Nothing short of a miracle, Millie,” he marveled softly. “We don’t understand these things. It’s God Himself who takes over in cases like this.”

  “I can let her sleep, then?”

  “Let her sleep, let her eat—don’t let her run and play yet. But she’s going to be fine.”

  Still, it was difficult for Millie when she saw the child sink into a peaceful slumber. She didn’t feel sleepy herself. Something within her still surged with the light she had felt.

  I’ll sit in the rocker beside Adria’s bed and read until I get tired, she thought. Going in search of a book, she found her fingers rummaging the high shelf and bringing down the small, dusty volume that she had not looked at for years. She settled in the rocker with the Book of Mormon in her lap, opened to the spot Nicholas had marked for her, and started to read.

  * * *

  When her visitors came on Saturda
y she had so many questions for them that their food got cold while they answered her. She asked sharp, discerning questions and wanted thorough answers. By the time they were through they had sat at table over an hour after the meal had ended. Finally, pushing his chair back, Albert Forsyth said, “Why don’t you come to meeting tomorrow and see some of these things for yourself?”

  “No, I couldn’t. I don’t think I could yet.”

  The man saw more than timidity in her eyes. “You are drawn by the doctrine but you do not want the way of life. Why is that, lass?” He knew there was a reason, he could see it in her eyes and in the fact that she would not meet his gaze. “You needn’t tell me until you are ready,” he said gently. “Anyway, come if you’d like. You will be welcome, you know that.”

  He clasped both her hands in his own. And Millie wished she could just keep standing there, drawing his strength and tenderness into her own parched soul.

  She did not go that week nor the next, but she kept reading, and her questions compounded. Christmas was approaching. Perhaps she would take Adria and show her the bright city in its holiday dress. Little harm in paying a friendly visit this one time.

  They arrived a bit late. The opening song was in progress when they took a back seat. It was a song Millie had never heard before, but the words smote her heart; there was a power in the song that pierced to the soul of her being.

  “The Spirit of God like a fire is burning . . .” She could feel it; she did not want to feel it, but she knew what it was. And it was different from anything else she had ever felt in her life—except for those moments when Albert Forsyth had placed his hands on Adria’s head and brought her back into life.