Fire and Steel, Volume 2

by Gerald N. Lund

  And so it was that Mitch Westland Jr.’s call was rescinded and Mitch Westland Sr., who was forty-five years of age and had four children, the youngest of whom was five, received a call to serve for four years in the Swiss-German Mission, headquartered in Basel, Switzerland. He was to depart for his field of labor no later than July 1, 1913.

  Stunned but ecstatic, Edie didn’t flinch for an instant about him going. She decided that Oma Zimmer had just gotten tired of waiting and worked things out from the other side. Of course he would go, and they would make do for the years he would be gone. Mitch’s parents came up from Bluff and moved in with Edie—Gwen would help Edie with the children and Arthur would help Mitch Jr. run the ranch. Mitch Sr. left on the fifteenth of June.

  But fate was not done playing with the Westlands. Much to Mitch’s dismay, just over a year later, Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his wife Sophie were assassinated in Bosnia. Within days, the world was engaged in war. All American missionaries were evacuated from war-torn Europe and returned home.

  It was a bittersweet reunion for Edie. She was overjoyed to have Mitch back, but saddened that the promise to her grandmother had not been fulfilled. Mitch had never even got close to the Mannheim area where the Zimmers had lived.

  Mitch Jr. reached the age to go on his mission shortly thereafter, but by then America had entered the war, and he was drafted into the army. When the military learned of his facility in German, they sent him to France to help with the interrogation of German prisoners of war. A month after the Armistice in Europe, Mitch Jr. returned home to his family.

  Finally, it looked as if life were going to settle back into a normal routine for the Westlands. But who ever said that fate doesn’t have a sense of humor? Three months after Mitch Sr. returned from Europe, a stunned Edie announced that the doctor had just confirmed that she was pregnant. And then came the next surprise. In May of the next year she gave birth—to a little girl and a little boy, born nine minutes apart. They named them Abigail and Benjamin. They were quickly dubbed “Abby and Benji” by their siblings, and “The Miracle Twins” by the rest of the town.

  Edie was thinking about all of this as she sat on the front porch swing of their spacious ranch house. The January thaw had not lessened, and it was an almost spring-like day in southeastern Utah. Mitch was carrying bales of hay from the barn to the corrals, and Edie watched with considerable satisfaction as the twins—now not quite four—trailed after their father like two eager puppies, chattering away at him with every step. It was a sight to warm her heart. What a joy these two were to them at this stage of their lives.

  All three wore cowboy hats and cowboy boots. Mitch’s belt had a large silver buckle. On a trip to Colorado two years earlier, he had found miniature buckles for the twins, who had worn them virtually every day since. After distributing the hay, Mitch retrieved his lariat and coiled it in one hand. He was headed for the corral to lasso a couple of calves he was going to wean from their mothers. Abby, almost stepping on his heels, carried a smaller rope coiled in her right hand and was tapping it against her leg as she walked, in perfect imitation of her father. Benji had his rope too, but he held it by one end and let it drag out behind him like a snake. That was typical, too. Whatever his “older” sister did, Benji did just the opposite.

  This always intrigued Edie. Was it because Abby always made sure that everyone knew she was nine minutes older than her brother? Was it because at four, she was already an inch taller than he was? Edie wasn’t sure. What did please her, though, was that in spite of their fierce competitiveness, the twins were almost inseparable.

  Just then the screen door slammed open and Tina shot out across the porch. Seconds later, Frank burst out after her. “I called it first, Tina,” he shouted angrily.

  Tina, who at eleven was as lithe and fast as an antelope, didn’t even glance back. Frank, who was built somewhat along the lines of a Hereford bull, realized he had no chance of catching her and turned to his mother for adjudication. “Mom! That’s not fair. I saw the mailman first.”

  Edie got to her feet. “Christina!” she shouted. “Let Frank get the mail.” But Tina was already around the curve and halfway out to the road. Edie was pretty sure Tina heard her, but she didn’t stop. “Sorry,” Edie said. She patted the cushioned seat beside her. “Sit down, Frank.”

  He didn’t. “It’s not fair, Mom. She always gets the mail.”

  “I know. I’ll talk to her.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he grumped. Two minutes later Tina reappeared with a handful of mail, smiling at her brother in scornful triumph.

  Edie sighed. “Tina, I know you heard me. That load of clothes in the washing machine should be done by now. Put them through the wringer and then hang them up on the line. It’s such a nice day, they should dry by sundown.”

  From the look on her face, you would have thought Tina had just been banished to a nunnery for the rest of her life. “Mama! That’s not fair.”

  “Ha!” Frank said, thrusting his face next to hers. “Told you not to go.”

  “And Frank, since you seem to need something to do, I want you clean out the ashes in the fireplace, put in fresh wood, and then vacuum the living room. We’re having family night here tomorrow evening.”

  “What!” It was a cry of shock and outrage. “But I didn’t do anything, Mama!”

  Edie was thoughtful. “Well, your father did say that the chicken coop needed cleaning, so—”

  Suddenly she was alone on the porch, and there were no further sounds from the house.

  February 16, 1919, 6:15 p.m.

  Edie looked around the large room filled with chairs placed in a circle. How she loved this house that had been their home for nearly thirty years now. Most of what was now their living and dining room had originally been the entire cabin that Mitch had built for her in the summer and fall of 1889. Back then, it included their bedroom and a bedroom for Oma Zimmer. Over the years, as their family grew, the building had more than doubled in size and become a large ranch house instead of just a cabin. Mitch had built the equivalent of another full cabin on the back of the house, only this time with a loft. That addition contained their kitchen, washroom, and five bedrooms. Their four youngest—the twins, Tina, and Frank—now each had their own bedroom, a corrupting luxury that was ruining them, according to Mitch.

  In the ensuing years, Mitch had also brought running water into the house and put in an indoor toilet—the ultimate luxury, especially in the winter. It was a house made for living in and a fit headquarters for a working ranch. And Edie loved every square inch of it.

  When they had first come to the Blue Mountains, Mitch was just starting what he was calling the Flying W Ranch, its name taken from his registered cattle brand, which was a W for Westland. The brand had short lines extending from the top of the W to represent simple wings. When Edie agreed to marry Mitch, he was so thrilled that he decided to incorporate her name into the ranch’s brand and asked her what she thought. In a little flash of inspiration, she turned the “wings” on either side of the W into a backwards E and a forward D, so that it became the EDW brand, for Edie Westland.

  Farther up the lane from where they were, there was another, smaller ranch house. This was where Mitch Jr. and his wife, June, lived with their two children. From the time Mitch Jr. was ten or so, it was obvious to his parents that he was going to be a rancher like his father. Now he was ranch foreman and would take over completely when Mitch and Edie decided to retire.

  Rena had married one of the Redd boys, who were also successful ranchers over near La Sal, forty miles southeast of Moab. Mitch had offered them a place on the ranch, but they chose to start their own spread. Rena’s husband had started with his own small herd, but more and more he turned to growing alfalfa. Now he was the number-one supplier of hay to many ranches in the area.

  All of this was, of course, a great satisfaction to Edie. If she had her way, all of her children would always live within twenty miles of them. She felt a hand on her sho
ulder. She turned, and Mitch Jr. and his wife, June, were there. “Do you think that’s enough chairs, Mom?” Mitch Jr. asked. They each had a thin sheaf of paper and several pencils.

  “I think so. It’s just the three families besides our own. George and Evelyn Adams, Fred and Mary Jones, and John and Sarah Rogerson.”

  “Which, with our family, makes almost fifty,” June chuckled. “It seems like the Lord knew what He was doing when he called you to come here. You’re almost a whole town by yourselves.”

  A faraway look came into Edie’s eyes. “Yes. But so many are gone now, moved away from San Juan or passed on to their reward.” She looked around the room. “I wish we could invite more.”

  At that moment, Mitch Sr. entered the room. “I do too, dear, but there are eight hundred people in Monticello now. I don’t think they would all quite fit.” Then he turned to Mitch Jr. and June. “So are we ready? There are a couple of families coming up the lane.”

  “We’re ready,” they responded.

  Mitch bent down and kissed Edie on the cheek. “This should be fun. We’ll show these young whippersnappers that we old geezers can show them a thing or two after all.”

  6:40 p.m.

  By the time the last family was in and settled, the Westland living room was bursting at the seams and filled with lots of noise. Each of the families had, like the Westlands, three generations represented—parents, children, and grandchildren. These weren’t the only families who had come in that first group to settle Bluff, but every one of them had arrived by the summer of 1889 and had been here ever since. Almost thirty years now.

  Edie caught her husband’s eye. “I think this is it, Mitch. We can get started.”

  Mitch got to his feet, and immediately the room quieted. All eyes turned to him. “Welcome to our family night,” he said with a smile. “As I look around, I believe it is safe to say that Zion is growing.”

  There were smiles and chuckles from all of the adults. He went on. “Since we are all old friends here, there is no need for introductions. We have a full program tonight, so let’s get started. We’ve asked Bishop George Adams to open our activity with prayer. George.”

  When the prayer was finished, Mitch was on his feet again. “I know that President Joseph F. Smith has encouraged our weekly family nights to be gospel centered, and tonight will be no exception to that counsel. But as an introduction to our gospel message, which, incidentally will be given by our former bishop, Frederick Jones, we are going to play a game.”

  That brought the heads of the young people up in surprise.

  “Yes, that’s right. A game. And the teams will be made up of families. Every family is to work together as a team. You will need a paper and pencil for each family, and I’ll have Mitch and June pass those out while I explain the game.”

  As Mitch Jr. and June got up, Mitch Sr. began his explanation. “This game is called ‘What’s New?’ And no, you’ve never heard of it before, because . . .” He grinned at them. “Because I just made it up this week.”

  More laughter. There were also a couple of groans from his own children.

  Mitch held up a hand. “Okay, as noted, the teams are made up of families. So pull your chairs into a circle as best you can. If your family is too large—such as the Adams family . . . or the Jones family . . . or the Rogersons, or the Westlands . . .” Again he had everyone laughing. “Just do the best you can.” All of you Westlands, gather around Grandma.”

  He moved over beside Edie as the room filled with noise and movement.

  “I don’t have my glasses,” Edie said as her children and grandchildren started to gather in around her. Abby laid a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “I’ll help you, Mama,”

  In a few moments, everyone was settled. Mitch went to the cupboard and withdrew two sheets of paper filled with his handwriting. Every eye was fixed on him. “All right,” he began. “From the time of Abraham, if people wanted to get anywhere, they walked, rode donkeys or horses, or rode in carts and wagons. That was true of Jesus, and it was true when I was born, with the exception of the railroads. Now we have trains, automobiles, motorbikes, tractors, trucks, airplanes, and all kinds of other means of transportation.”

  Dan Perkins, who was married to Cornelia Adams, called out. “Give me a horse any day!”

  Mitch laughed with everyone else. “Sorry, old-timer,” he said to Dan, who was probably ten years his junior. “We’re the old geezers now.” Then he sobered. “But it’s not just transportation. Just this last year, Monticello got around-the-clock electricity. And it was only a few years ago that we got our first telephones. Now we have indoor plumbing, a sewage system, telephones in almost every home, and cars parked in most yards.”

  He raised the two sheets of paper he had retrieved. “So here’s what we’re going to do. As families, you will try to think of things that we now have in our everyday lives and take for granted, but which we didn’t have a few years ago. I’ll give you one example. I can still clearly remember the first time I ate Aunt Jemima pancakes with Log Cabin syrup.”

  Many of the older people were smiling and nodding. However, Tina was genuinely puzzled. “Really?” she asked Edie. “So how did you make pancakes before that, Mom?”

  Edie laughed and reached out and patted her hand. “Oh, Christina, we actually used real flour, and real eggs, and real milk and did it ourselves.”

  “Okay,” Mitch exclaimed above the laughter. “You get the idea. Think of as many things as you can that we have now but didn’t have in 1880. Write them down. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  Chapter Notes

  The introduction of Mitchell and Edna Rae Westland into the Fire and Steel series at this point may come as a bit of a surprise to some readers. They were introduced to readers in Only the Brave. But from the beginning, the plan was to have these two families—the Eckhardts from Germany and the Westlands from San Juan County, Utah—eventually come together and have their lives intertwined. From this point on, both families will be part of Fire and Steel.

  Though we think of family home evening as being a somewhat modern innovation, its beginnings go back a century ago. President Joseph F. Smith introduced a weekly home evening program in 1915, which was often called “family night” by members. No specific day of the week was set, but the First Presidency called for families to “spend an hour or more together in a devotional way—in the singing of hymns, songs, prayer, reading of the Scriptures and other good books, instrumental music, family topics, and specific instructions on the principles of the Gospel” (Clark, Messages of the First Presidency, 5:89).

  Aunt Jemima pancake mix was first created in 1889. Log Cabin syrup was first introduced two years earlier.

  February 16, 1919, 7:15 p.m.—EDW Ranch, Monticello, San Juan County, Utah

  Mitch got to his feet and waved his arms. “Okay, time’s up. Scoring’s easy. We’ll go by families. Read out what you’ve got. If it’s on my list, you get one point. If you have something I’ve missed, that’s legitimate, you get two points. Okay, let’s start with the Adams family.”

  Mitch was pleased to see how eager the young people were. Several of the younger Adams clan were clamoring to read the list. Good. He had hoped that the youth would find this interesting.

  What followed next was almost dizzying, because they came with great rapidity. Mitch checked items off as fast as he could and scribbled in the ones he had missed.

  Nean, or Cornelia, was the oldest of the Adams children and was chosen to read.

  “Okay,” she said, taking a quick breath. “We have, first, the electric light bulb.”

  “Good,” Mitch said.

  “Time zones in the United States,” Nean said. Groans erupted. No one else had thought of that. “Dr. Pepper,” she continued, “then later, Coca Cola and Pepsi Cola. Aunt Jemima pancakes.”

  “You can’t count that one!” Sarah Rogerson cried. “Mitch already gave us that one.”

  Nean crossed it off and went on. “Electric
ovens. Electric irons. Electric curling irons for ladies.” She hesitated, suddenly blushing. “The elastic brassiere.”

  Her husband, Dan, jerked forward. “Cornelia Adams Perkins!”

  She whirled on him. “Well, you may not think that is a great invention, but then, you’ve never worn a corset.”

  The men laughed as Dan blushed even more furiously than his wife. The women applauded with great enthusiasm. Nean then quickly finished with, “Hershey’s chocolate bars, Kellogg’s Corn Flakes, peanut butter, and Tootsie Rolls.”

  Sarah Jane Rogerson read for her family and added the Statue of Liberty, the Washington Monument, Cracker Jacks, Campbell’s soups, and the first national Mother’s Day.

  The Jones family was next. They had a lot of what had already been read, but they contributed Jell-o, Gillette safety razors, Lincoln Logs, Tinkertoys, and electric washing machines.

  As they moved from family to family, new entries became less and less frequent, but when they came to the Westlands, with Frank as their designated reader, Mitch was delighted with how many they had listed—with no help from him—that no one else had thought of: Teddy bears, ice cream cones, Palmolive hand soap, Oreo cookies, the zipper, permanent wave kits for women’s hair, Wrigley’s chewing gum, Life Savers, pop-up toasters, and the Happy Birthday song.

  Sarah Rogerson broke in. “Really? I thought that Adam sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to Eve in the Garden of Eden.”

  That brought a burst of laugher, but then her husband quipped, “And it was after hearing him sing that she partook of the fruit.” And then everyone roared.

  “Any others?” He looked around. When no one raised a hand, he went on. “Here are the last two I thought you’d all get. First, the state of Utah was created in 1896.” Groans all around. “And here in Monticello we now have mail service six days a week. Unbelievable! When Edie and I were first courting, we were lucky to see mail once a month.”