Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

* * *

  It was about a quarter to five and growing dark rapidly when Derek leaned forward, peering ahead through the falling snow. Ahead, barely discernible, he thought he saw a darker line against the whiteness. He raised a hand.

  “Whoa!” he called, pulling on the reins. Behind him, the other two wagons pulled up too.

  “What is it?” Matthew called forward.

  “I think that’s Tenny’s Grove.”

  “What?” Jenny came back to the wagon, shielding her face from the falling flakes.

  Derek pointed forward. “I’m pretty sure that’s Tenny’s Grove. That’s our first stopping place.” He turned and he shouted back. “We’re almost there.”

  Amanda had stood up when the wagon stopped, trying to see beyond the lead wagon. When she heard Derek’s call, she nodded and sank back down beside Jessica. Both of them were soaked through—coats, bonnets, shawls, dresses—and were totally miserable. Amanda looked over at Jessica. “I hope so,” she muttered. Then she shook her head. “One day down,” she said grimly.

  * * *

  As they pulled in under the trees, Derek saw that they weren’t the only occupants of the grove. A horse, still tied to a small cart that was loaded and covered with a bedsheet, stood with its head down. Its legs were little more than sticks, and its sides looked like a half-finished barrel with the staves showing through. It didn’t even lift its head as the wagons pulled in.

  Three small children, the oldest no more than six or seven, stood around the cart. A man knelt on the ground nearby, trying to strike a fire but without success. Even here under the trees, which were nothing more than stripped, leafless branches mostly open to the sky, the ground was snow-covered. Any wood was long ago soaked through.

  At the sound of the wagons, the man looked up, then jumped up. He strode quickly over to Derek. “Now, you’re a welcome sight,” he said, obviously greatly relieved. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Brother Eli Barton.”

  “Derek Ingalls,” Derek said, shaking his hand. He waved a hand over his shoulders. “And a whole bunch of others.” A movement caught his eye and he turned. A woman came out of the trees. She was dragging branches she had stripped off some of the underbrush. Her dress was soaked, and her hands were red and shaking. Her face was pale, and she looked to be on the verge of collapse.

  Barton went to her, taking one elbow and steadying her. “This is my wife, Betsy.”

  Matthew got down, and he and Jenny came forward. Derek introduced them. Then Amanda and Jessica and Willard and Rachel joined them. He introduced them as well. Derek glanced around. Mercy was checking on her own and Mary’s family.

  Jessica was watching Sister Barton. When the latter swayed slightly, Jessica jumped forward. “Here, let us help you.”

  Sister Barton surrendered the branches without protest, looking grateful. “Our little cart is not big enough even for my children to sleep in. I was hoping to find enough branches to get them off the wet ground.”

  “Are you traveling alone?” Derek asked.

  Barton nodded, and his wife murmured a quick, “Yes.” Derek fought to keep his face impassive. No wonder they were relieved to see someone! This close to Far West there were still plenty of the mob element out looking for Mormons to harass, especially any traveling in small parties.

  “Bring your children to our wagon,” Amanda said. “Let them get out of the snow for a while. You come too.”

  Eli Barton pushed his wife forward gently. “You go, Betsy. I’ll bring the children.” His eyes dropped to the wet stick he held. He let it slide out of his hands. “There’ll be no fires tonight,” he said glumly.

  Derek nodded. He had come to that conclusion about three hours before.

  As they turned toward the children, Barton looked beseechingly at Derek. “You wouldn’t have any grease with you, would you?”

  Derek was surprised. “A little, for the wagon axles. Why?”

  The man looked stricken. “We didn’t have enough money for shoes for everybody.” He looked away, shame heavy in his eyes. “I barely had enough to buy two wagon wheels and enough lumber to make that small cart. There was nothing left after that.”

  Derek cocked his head slightly. Shoes? What did that have to do with building a cart or needing axle grease? Then, like a bolt, it hit him. His eyes jerked to where the children stood by the cart. Of the three, only the oldest, a boy, had shoes, and they were worn and scuffed and now wet from the snow. The other two did not; they wore heavy socks—two pair, Derek saw, as he looked closer. But surely they had not had to—

  He glanced at the cart. There was no wagon seat. You didn’t ride this cart; you led the horse that pulled it. His eyes moved backward. Underneath the sheet that they were using for a covering, Derek could see that the cart was filled. The wife had said there was no room for the children to sleep in it. As he looked at it, he doubted there was any room for the children to ride. Maybe one, stuck on the very back. But not three. And not a wife.

  Next to him, Jenny drew in her breath sharply. “Oh!” she cried softly.

  Derek looked away from the cart. The youngest child, a beautiful little four-year-old girl with long blond hair and large gray eyes that seemed to hold the sorrow of the world behind them, had started toward her father. She was holding out her hands, whimpering softly and hobbling painfully as she took two or three steps. But Derek’s eyes had leaped to what Jenny had seen, and what he saw there made his stomach drop in a sickening lurch. Where the stocking feet had been planted in the snow, there were two large, round crimson stains.

  Jenny was to her in an instant and swept her up in her arms. “Oh, you poor thing!” she cried. She pulled the girl in tight against her, burying her face in her hair. “You poor little girl.”

  The second boy—age five or six, Derek guessed—hadn’t moved. He just lifted his arms toward his father. “Papa, help me,” he implored.

  His father moved to him and picked him up. He too left bloody imprints where he had been standing. Barton looked suddenly very old. “Betsy thinks if we could just grease their feet a little,” he said faintly, “they might not crack so bad.”

  Derek swallowed hard, then nodded. “Yes,” he said quickly, “we have plenty of grease.”

  * * *

  Emma Smith went to the door fully expecting that it was another member of the Church with some request or another for help. In the week since she had arrived in Quincy, she had received a constant stream of people asking for help or advice, or wanting to know about family members still back in Far West, or sometimes simply coming by to let her know they had arrived safely in Illinois.

  She opened the door. “Yes,” she started to say. Then her eyes flew open and her jaw went slack. “Joshua? Joshua Steed?”

  “Yes. Hello, Mrs. Smith.”

  He hopped back a little, making sure the crutch didn’t slip off the edge of the porch. Caroline moved out from behind him. “Hello, Emma.”

  * * *

  “We were originally planning to follow the road straight up the Missouri River from St. Louis to DeWitt, and from there to Far West. But then we heard that the exodus had already begun, and we didn’t know if Father and the family had already left. We didn’t want to miss them. They said everyone was coming to Quincy, so we decided to come here first, then move west across the trail.”

  Emma was nodding as Joshua spoke. “They haven’t left yet. Or,” she corrected herself, “they hadn’t when I left.”

  “What day was that?” Caroline asked.

  “We left on the seventh and got here on the fifteenth. But Lydia told me just the day before that your father was insistent on staying to make sure everyone got out.”

  Caroline’s mouth softened into a sad smile as she looked at Joshua. “That’s your father.”

  “But Nathan had arrived back home all right?” Joshua said.

  “Oh, yes,” Emma answered. “He got there a couple of weeks before I left.” She glanced at the rough-hewn crutch that now lay on the floor at Joshua
’s feet. “Nathan told us everything. We’re so happy that you found each other. I just know everything with your son will turn out all right.”

  When Joshua and Caroline just nodded, still finding too much pain to talk about it openly, Emma went on. “But this is an incredible coincidence. She never said anything about your coming. Did you have any idea you would be here at the same time?”

  Joshua tipped his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. “She? Who is she?”

  “Your sister.”

  Now both Joshua and Caroline shot forward. “My sister? You mean Rebecca?”

  Emma’s dark eyes widened. “No, Melissa.”

  Joshua rocked back, as stunned as if he had just been dropped from a cliff.

  Emma’s eyes widened even more. “You didn’t know!” She clapped her hands. “What a wonderful surprise for you!”

  “Melissa here?” He was reeling.

  Emma laughed right out loud now. “Yes, she and her husband, Carl Rogers.” She straightened as she remembered something. “But that’s right. You never met Carl.”

  “No, I—”

  “And they’re here now?” Caroline asked. She too was totally flabbergasted.

  “Yes,” said Emma. “They arrived from Kirtland yesterday afternoon. Just like you. She said your mother had written and told them how bad things were in Missouri. So Carl suggested they do something to help.”

  Emma looked at Caroline. “Unless you know Carl, you don’t know what a miracle that is. He doesn’t think much of Mormons. But he’s brought a wagonload of goods to take to your family. Just like you are doing.”

  Joshua scooped up his crutch and got to his feet, too excited to remain seated. “Do you know where she is?”

  Emma’s hand suddenly shot up to her throat. “Oh,” she cried in dismay. “I totally forgot. They said they were going to try and cross the river this morning.” Her hand fluttered downward. “Oh, dear. I don’t know whether they made it or not. The ice is breaking up in the river, and sometimes the ferryman won’t go out. I heard there were some who went over this morning, but only for a short time.”

  Joshua’s mind was whirling. “Caroline, we’d better go. We’ll have to get our wagons across the river too or we’ll miss them. If they get a day’s head start on us, we may never catch them.” Then he remembered his manners. “Thank you, Emma. I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but we must hurry if we are to catch them.”

  “I understand.” She stood now to face them. “Your family will be so thrilled to see you. The wagons and the supplies will be a godsend. Things are terrible in Far West.”

  Joshua barely heard her. “Melissa! After all these years. I can’t believe it.”

  * * *

  “Look, mister.” The man was chewing on the wet stub of a cigar. He pulled it out of his mouth and pointed at the river with it. “I took my last trip across at noon. See them blocks of ice? This ain’t no time to be trying to ferry wagons across. Come back in the morning and see if the river’s froze solid enough to drive across.”

  “And if it’s not?”

  He shrugged, already losing interest. “Could be a day or two, could be a week.”

  Joshua reached in his jacket and pulled out his wallet. “Tell you what,” he said briskly. “What if I buy your ferry?”

  The man’s head came up like that of a wolf catching scent of a wounded deer. He jammed the cigar butt back in his mouth, staring at the money Joshua was pulling out.

  “’Course, that would leave a good man out of work, wouldn’t it?” Joshua said. “So what say I just give you fifty dollars per wagon if you get me across in the next half hour. Then you can buy another ferry for yourself and become a rich man.”

  “A hundred dollars?” It came out as a hoarse croak.

  “That’s right. Best wages you’ll ever see, I reckon.” He smiled at the look on the man’s face. “I’m not playing with you, sir. I’ve got one hundred dollars cash money if you get us across now.”

  The man swung around. “Jacob!” he bawled. In a moment a young man, about fourteen or fifteen, stuck his head out of the hut built half into the riverbank behind them. “Get a pole, boy. One big enough to fend off them blocks of ice. We’re going across.”

  Joshua walked back to where Caroline was standing with his two teamsters. She was shaking her head at him. “You’re shameless.”

  He grinned at her. “I know.” Then instantly he sobered. “This could be dangerous, Caroline. Maybe you’d better—”

  She cut him off by striding past him toward the ferry. “I may keep my eyes shut all the way across,” she called back over her shoulder, “but I’m going. What about you?”

  * * *

  It was getting close to dark by the time Joshua got his two wagons across the river on the ferry and up to the makeshift camp in the river bottoms. He was stunned at the numbers there. It was as if a miniature city had sprung up overnight. There were dozens of wagons of every shape and size. Horses, mules, oxen, and an occasional pig filled the air with their whinnying and braying and lowing and grunting. The approach of the ferry with Joshua’s wagons created a near stampede as dozens of mud-splattered, exhausted-looking men ran down to see if the ferryman would take a load going back the other way. He refused. And Joshua didn’t blame him. The boy was amazing with his pole and shoved most of the great blocks of ice aside, but when he couldn’t or didn’t, they slammed into the ferry with a sickening thud that shook the wagons and set the horses to pawing nervously. With no load, the ferry would be better able to speed up or slow down as needed. But the ferryman left a lot of disappointed men behind as he took off again empty.

  As the two wagons moved into the camp, every head turned to stare. Children whispered to their mothers; men pointed and spoke in low voices to each other. And then Joshua began to understand. It was not just that they were headed in the opposite direction of all these people. It was also the appearance of their wagons; the fineness of the two matched teams that pulled them; the fact that neither the horses nor the people had the gaunt, haunted look of the hungry. But perhaps more than anything it was the expensive cut and the absolute cleanliness of Caroline’s dress.

  It was all Caroline could do to keep from weeping. The children, most of all, nearly broke her heart. Filthy little waifs, often with tattered clothing and shoeless feet. But the women wrenched at her too—huddled around tiny, smokey fires, their dresses mud-stained up to their knees or higher, smoke and dirt and wagon grease on hands and arms and faces. She saw half-full pots of watery stew that would have to fill six or eight or ten empty stomachs. She saw blankets, wet and dirty, laid out on the ground and realized that this was where someone had slept the night before. Men had that grim weariness about them that comes from weeks of exhausting labor or endless strain or both.

  Joshua asked three different people if they knew the whereabouts of a family named Rogers. In every case there was a blank look and a quick shake of the head. Then Caroline had an idea. The next time they stopped a man, she asked a different question. “Have you seen another wagon like ours come across today?” That brought an instant response. There weren’t many wagons that were in that kind of condition and that were headed west. He pointed up the hill toward the edge of the camp. “They’re up there,” he said.

  They found it immediately. The wagon had seen a lot of trail miles, but the canvas was heavy and well kept, and the horses were fat and strong and well curried. Joshua pulled in behind it, and motioned for his other drivers to do the same. As Joshua swung down, a man stepped from around his horses. His eyes were curious, but veiled and reserved. “Yes?”

  “Carl Rogers?” Joshua asked, stepping forward.

  There was a flicker of surprise. “Yes.”

  Joshua felt a rush of exultation. “Married to a Miss Melissa Steed?”

  Carl was openly surprised now. “Yes.”

  There was a movement inside the wagon. The low sun was behind the wagon, and Joshua could see a dark shadow pass in front of it. Then a
woman’s head came out from behind the canvas. She didn’t see Joshua because she was looking at her husband. “Carl, what is it?”

  “Melissa?”

  She leaned farther out and looked around to see who had spoken. “Yes?”

  Joshua laughed in delight and moved right up beneath her. “Hello.”

  She came outside completely now, standing behind the wagon seat, looking somewhat puzzled and half-embarrassed that she did not know this man who obviously knew her.

  She has gained weight, Joshua thought. Nicely though. From having babies, he guessed. Her hair was shorter now too, and pulled back. And her face was definitely older, more mature. A woman’s face and not the girl’s he remembered. Altogether it made her into a very handsome woman.

  She was perplexed, peering down at him. “I—”

  “Would you look at you?” he breathed. “You always were beautiful, but now?”

  She blushed deeply. “I beg your pardon?”

  Carl had visibly started at Joshua’s boldness and moved toward him, half concerned, half angry. And then Joshua swept his hat off and turned his face full into the sun. “It’s only been twelve years, Melissa. Surely you haven’t forgotten me.”

  There was a shocked look, instantaneously followed by one of pure joy. “Joshua!” she screamed. She grabbed the small railing on the wagon seat and launched herself at him. Startled, he dropped the crutch and jerked up his arms to catch her. Down they went in a heap. “Joshua! Joshua!” she squealed, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing him fiercely.

  Suddenly she rolled away, jumping up. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she cried. “I forgot about your leg.”

  Joshua hobbled to his feet, grinning widely. “You always were the impetuous one.”

  She stared at him for a moment, then came at him again, this time more carefully, throwing a bear hug around him and burying her face against his chest. “Oh, Joshua, I can’t believe it.”

  Joshua saw Carl Rogers’s face over Melissa’s head. He was watching his wife, smiling faintly and yet hardly what anyone would call ecstatic. Joshua reached down and took Melissa by the shoulders. “Melissa, it is time for introductions.” He turned her around. “I would like you to meet my wife, Caroline.”