Fire and Steel, Volume 2

by Gerald N. Lund

  Mitch looked around, pleased with how much fun they’d had with it. “So, total up your scores. The family scoring the highest gets first place in the pie line.”

  “That’s not fair, Dad,” Frank exclaimed, “you old people know a lot more than us.”

  “Yeah,” Bishop Jones sang out, “but we remember a heck of a lot less.”

  7:45 p.m.

  Frederick I. Jones was a not a particularly large man, but he was solidly built with square shoulders, a full head of hair, and a full beard and mustache, which included sideburns right up to his ears. Now, at age sixty-nine, his hair and beard were pure white, and he looked like an Old Testament patriarch. His eyes were blue and quick to twinkle. Now they were quite serious as he looked around the group.

  He looked over at Edie and Mitch. “Our deepest thanks to Brother Mitch for a delightful activity”—he slapped his stomach—“and to Sister Edie for making my belt much too tight.” Everyone applauded. Mitch and Edie smiled and waved in acknowledgment.

  Bishop Jones let it die out and then nodded thoughtfully. “We do live in a time of rapid change. I was really quite surprised at how many things we were able to list. And those things have brought us many blessings. New things come in and old things fade away. I predict that someday even stubborn old Dan Perkins will be found driving a car around his pasture.”

  Dan, who was laughing, raised a hand and conceded that might be the case.

  “But here is my question for you young people,” Bishop Jones went on. “We have listed many things that have changed in the last forty years, but what things haven’t changed?”

  For a long moment, the room was silent, and then Tina Westland raised a hand. Bishop Jones nodded at her. “Families,” she said softly, looking at her parents.

  “Excellent. What else?”

  “Truth,” one of Nean’s daughters said. “Integrity,” called someone else. Now the hands were coming up rapidly. “The importance of an education.” “Love.” “Helping others.” “True friends.” “Chastity.” And then Rena gave the answer that said it all. “God. God has not changed.”

  “Aye,” Bishop Jones said softly, “and as you young people become adults and take our places, always remember that. There is nothing wrong with new inventions, or new foods, or new clothing styles, or even new ideas. But let us not get so caught up in acquiring the things that do change that we let the things that never change slip out of our grasp.”

  Bishop Jones continued. “Let me illustrate this with a story. A true story, actually.”

  He clearly had their interest. Even the younger children were listening raptly.

  “It has to do with this thing we call the telephone. In 1906, the Moab Telephone Company completed a ground telephone line to Monticello, giving us reliable phone service for the first time. Then they ran a line down to Blanding and Bluff. Finally, in 1910, a line was run down to Mexican Hat from Bluff.

  “Well,” Bishop Jones continued, “One day, a Navajo brave by the name of Bilgay came in while Will Brooks, who owned a trading post down there, was on the phone with Frank Hyde. Frank ran the trading post in Bluff. After listening to one side of the conversation, Bilgay was puzzled and asked Will what he was doing. ‘I’m talking to Nock-I-Eze’—that was Frank’s Navajo name. Bilgay, of course, didn’t believe him, because he knew Nock-I-Eze was thirty miles away. So Will put Bilgay on the phone and told him to talk to Frank. Frank, by the way, was fluent in Navajo. So he started talking to Bilgay as if they were in the same room together.”

  “Well, poor Bilgay, this was too much for him. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said, and handed the phone back to Will. Then he ran outside and went all the way around the store looking for Frank. When he came back in, Frank told him again that Nock-I-Eze was in Bluff. Bilgay, still finding this impossible to believe, ran out and jumped on his horse and took off for Bluff.”

  Mitch was chuckling, as was everyone else. The younger ones looked a little skeptical.

  “Will said he wished he could have been there to see Bilgay’s face when he confirmed that Frank really was in Bluff, but then he quickly forgot about it. The next day, the phone rang. It was Frank. ‘Have you got any Navajo in your store right now?’ he asked Will. When Will said yes, Frank said, ‘Put one of them on the phone.’ So Will did, and it was Bilgay on the other end. He started telling his friends that he was in Bluff on this new invention called the telephone. They laughed him to scorn. Talking to someone thirty miles away? Ridiculous. They recognized their friend’s voice and understood his words, but they assumed he was hiding somewhere close by.”

  The story was well received, and people were chuckling or laughing all around the room.

  “Now, here’s the lesson,” the bishop said as it finally quieted. “I surely do not comprehend how a telephone actually works, but that doesn’t stop me from using it. Sometimes the Lord does miraculous things for us, things that we don’t understand or can’t comprehend. He asks things of us that make us uncomfortable. He makes promises that seem too wonderful to be true. By the still, small voice, He warns us in times of danger. But we may shake our heads and say to ourselves, ‘That couldn’t possibly have been from the Lord.’” He paused for just a moment and then added, “And because we refuse to believe, we may lose those blessings.” Another pause, and then he concluded. “Remember,” he said, very solemn now, “you don’t have to fully understand something in order to believe in it or make use of it in your lives.”

  Edie was pleased to see Tina turn and whisper something to Frank and then see him nod, looking almost as solemn as Bishop Jones.

  The bishop drew a deep breath. “The second story I would like to share with you tonight is a good example of what I’m trying to say. It too is a true story and involves some of the people in this room.” He looked around. “In my mind, the lesson we learn from them is the one of the most important—if not the most important—lessons of life.”

  He took a deep breath and quietly began. “It was in the spring of 1888, not quite thirty years ago now. We had come back for our second season in the Blue Mountains after wintering in Bluff. But this time we came determined to get homes built and fences strung and crops planted so that we could stay through the coming winter. The men had come up in March, as soon as the snows had melted enough to make the road passable—if you could call it a road back then.”

  Bishop Jones had not told Mitch what he was going to say, but by this point, Mitch knew exactly which story he was going to tell. He reached out and took Edie’s hand as she looked up at him, and he saw that she understood too.

  “Well, there were three women who were anxious to be reunited with their husbands, fathers, and—in one case—her fiancé-to-be. So they decided not to wait for the rest of the families to come north. They started out on their own. One of them had her three-year-old daughter with her.”

  He turned and looked at Evelyn and Nean. “She was three, right?”

  Evelyn nodded. “Not quite, but close.”

  “The weather in Bluff was warm and beautiful when they set out. They had only been across that road twice before, and both times in good weather, so they were not familiar with what a difference three thousand feet in elevation can make, especially in springtime. As they approached the Blue Mountains, they were caught in a fierce storm. Very quickly they were in snow up to the horses’ bellies, and the animals were unable to pull their wagon any farther.”

  Edie had started to silently weep. Seeing that, Abby moved over and climbed onto her lap. A moment later, Benji did the same. Mitch saw that Evelyn Adams and Nean were also crying now. And it was clear that Bishop Jones was struggling with his own emotions.

  “Those of us who were already here had no way of knowing they were coming. We never dreamed that there could be someone out in such a storm.” His voice was barely audible now. “The women unhitched the team and rode one horse for a while, taking turns riding and holding the child on their laps. But the snow proved to be too much for the exhaust
ed animal, and he finally collapsed in his tracks. Incredibly, those women struggled on through snow up to their thighs. Wet, cold, on the verge of collapse themselves, they pushed on, all the time carrying a precious child, determined they would die before they let her die.”

  Many in the room knew this story well, and there more than a few wet cheeks now. There wasn’t a breath of sound.

  “And then, the Lord took a hand. One of our number—also here this evening—was coming home from the mountains. He was tired and cold and anxious to be home. His team was headed for the barn with eagerness. But as he came to the turn that led homeward, he had an impression. ‘Keep going south.’ It wasn’t a voice. Nothing shouted at him. It was just a feeling. An insane feeling—that was his first reaction. This blizzard was so fierce that even the horses were anxious to find shelter. But he couldn’t shake off that feeling. And so he turned south. And he kept going, even when all reason was shouting at him to turn around. And then. . . .”

  He had to stop. Sister Jones reached out and briefly touched her husband’s hand. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed quickly. “And then, there they were. Three women and a little girl. Barely visible through the blowing snow.”

  He turned. “And they are all here now, with the exception of Leona Walton. Would those four people who are here tonight please come up and stand beside me?”

  They did. Evelyn and Nean gripped hands as they stood up, as did Mitch and Edie. They lined up beside Bishop Jones.

  “Some decisions, though they may seem simple at the time, have enormous consequences for us and others. For Mitch Westland, the decision was whether to turn south or go home. I want to illustrate the importance of learning to hear, recognize, and then follow the still, small voice of the Spirit, even though we may not understand how it works. Would all of you who are present here tonight who would not be here if Mitch Westland had not followed that prompting and gone south, please stand?”

  For a moment there was total silence, and then people began to get to their feet, holding up the small children as necessary.

  Mitch stared in astonishment as people all around them got to their feet. Beside him, Edie clutched blindly at his arm. “Oh, Mitch,” she whispered. “Look at that.”

  He was looking, but he could barely see through his tears.

  Bishop Jones had been counting. “If I am right, we have thirty-eight people on their feet right now.”

  His wife called out. “Don’t forget Leona, who isn’t here. She and her husband have seven children and six or seven grandchildren. So there’s fifteen or sixteen more.”

  Her husband nodded, adding quickly in his head. “So over fifty.”

  The bishop nodded for them to sit down. He waited until all were seated and then spoke in a voice heavy with emotion. “Do you see that, you young people? Do you see how important one seemingly insignificant choice can be? Thanks be to God that the Lord whispered to Mitch Westland to go south that night.” His voice caught. “And thanks be to God that Mitch Westland listened.”

  Chapter Notes

  The numerous “new items” listed here come from The People’s Chronology, 554–732.

  The story of the Navajo and the telephone is told in Norma Perkins Young’s Anchored Lariats on the San Juan Frontier, 197, 149–52.

  Dan Perkins stubbornly refused to buy an automobile until 1927, when he and Nean paid $600 for a new Model A Ford (Anchored Lariats, 199).

  The story of Mitch’s rescue in the spring of 1889 is told in more detail in Only the Brave (2014), 259–270.

  February 18, 1919, 3:25 p.m.—EDW Ranch, Monticello, San Juan County, Utah

  “Dad!”

  Mitch had the ax above his head, so he swung it downward, burying the blade deep enough in the piece of cedar wood that it split neatly in two. Then he turned. Frank was coming at a trot from around the front of the house.

  “Dad! There’s a car turning into our lane.”

  Mitch turned, but he was far enough around the back of the house that he couldn’t see the lane. “Who is it?” he asked.

  “Dunno. But Dad! It’s a Cadillac.”

  That brought his father’s head around. “You sure?”

  “Yup,” he exclaimed. “A Model 55 Club Roadster.”

  Along with all of his buddies, Frank knew every make and model of car on the road. Mitch could hear the sound of an engine now and the crunch of tires on gravel. He buried the ax in the chopping block and moved forward enough that he could see around the house without making himself conspicuous. To his surprise, a car with a bright red body and black trim was coming slowly up the driveway.

  “Who do you think it is?” Frank asked, gawking like a kid looking at the new girl in town. “No one from Monticello, that’s for sure. Maybe they’re just turning around,” he added.

  Frank moved closer. “Ain’t she a beaut?” he crowed as the vehicle drew closer.

  His father shot him a dirty look. “What did you say?”

  “Isn’t she a beaut?” he crowed. “Wow! That’s the first one I’ve ever seen in real life.”

  It was something to see, Mitch had to admit. He stepped back as the car turned into the yard. He pulled Frank back as well. “Stay back until we’re sure they’re stopping.”

  The crunching sound stopped, and a moment later the engine was shut off. Mitch gave his son a swat across the bottom. “Go tell Mom we may have company. I’ll go see who it is.”

  As Mitch came around the house, brushing his hands off on his Levi’s, a man was just getting out of the car. Mitch could see that there was a woman in the front seat, and thought he also saw movement in the back seat. “Howdy,” he called.

  “Good afternoon.” The man wore a dark brown leather bomber jacket over a light-colored shirt and brown twill cotton pants. His trouser legs were tucked into laced boots that came up almost to his knees. It was quite jaunty looking, as if he had come to camp out for a week. Definitely not cowboy dress.

  As they shook hands, Mitch took further note of him. He was about three inches shorter than Mitch, with thinning sandy hair and eyebrows and pleasant blue eyes. He was clean shaven, with a strong jawline and a warm and pleasant smile. One thing caught his eye, though—there was a prominent two-inch scar just above his left eyebrow.

  “I’m looking for Mitchell A. Westland,” he said.

  “That’s me,” Mitch said, “only everyone in these parts calls me Mitch.”

  “I am delighted to meet you, Mitch. Or perhaps I should call you Kirchenältester Westland. My name is Jacob Reissner. Kirchenältester Jacob Reissner.”

  Mitch eyes widened. “Kirchenältester? I haven’t been called that for a long time.”

  “Since about late summer of 1914, I’m guessing.” The visitor was clearly enjoying himself.

  “Yes, I. . . .” Then Mitch snapped his fingers. “Reissner? From the Swiss-German Mission?”

  “The same,” the man said, laughing aloud now. “We’ve never met, but I saw and heard your name often enough when I worked in the mission office.”

  Mitch was dumbfounded. “What in the heck are you doing in Monticello?”

  He laughed. “Actually, we’re on our way to Mesa, Arizona, to spend some time with Adelia’s family. So we thought we’d stop and meet you at last.” He took Mitch by the elbow and pulled him toward the car. “Come. I want you to meet my wife and daughter.”

  Inside the house, Edie and Frank stood at the door that led from the kitchen to the living room. From there they could see through the front window to the yard. Edie watched as the husband came around and opened the door for his wife. The woman got out of the car and then helped a little girl out from the back seat. The man’s casual dress had barely caught her attention, but the sight of his wife caused her to stare. He might be dressed for the outdoors, but she was dressed for a night at the opera.

  She wore a full-length black woolen coat trimmed with fur around the hem, neck, and cuffs, along with expensive-looking snow boots that came to her ankle.
A brilliant red scarf covered her head. To match the car, of course, Edie thought.

  The little girl was equally well dressed. Her coat, also wool, was a deep blue. She wore a knitted stocking cap to match and had both of her hands thrust into a muff of white rabbit’s fur. The black galoshes, however, seemed a little out of place with the rest of her outfit.

  Tina came up behind them. “Who’s that, Mama?”

  “I have no idea.” She was still studying the three of them, who were now talking with Mitch. But then Mitch motioned toward the house and started forward, which jerked Edie out of her reverie.

  “Oh, dear,” she cried, reaching back and fumbling to untie her apron. “Dad’s bringing them inside. And I’m a fright.”

  She felt a tug at her back and half turned. Tina was untying the strings or her apron. “Let me take this, Mama. You go meet them.”

  “No!” She was in a sudden panic. “Frank, you go to the door. I’m going to go brush my hair. Maybe put on another dress.”

  Obviously pleased with that assignment, Frank started forward, but Tina grabbed at his arm. “No, Frank! Daddy will want Mama to meet them.” Then to her mother: “You look okay.”

  Right. Okay. She looks like a fashion model, but I look okay. But she knew Tina was right. “Frank, go tell Mitch Jr. and June that we have company. Get the twins, too. Oh, and tell June to call Rena and Bill. Tell them we’re having company for dinner.”

  Frank stared at her. “How do you know they’re staying for dinner?”

  “Because I know your father. Now go.”

  “But Mom, I want to talk to them about their car.”

  The look she shot him turned him around in an instant, and he started toward the back door. Edie ran her fingers through her hair and tried to straighten her dress a little. Her house dress. The one she had worn yesterday, too.

  “All right.” Edie was half in a daze. “Clean up the kitchen a little. And start a pot of water boiling.” And then she moved into the living room as the front door opened, and she put on the warmest smile she could muster.