She nodded gravely. “Terribly so.”
“But why? It sounds wonderful.”
“Because he was not there.”
Nathan’s head rose slowly. “He wasn’t?”
“No, he was the only one. All the rest of us were there.”
“But . . .”
She nodded. “He was sure that was a sign that he was going to die that night. That’s why he called you all to his bedside.”
Nathan remembered that night very clearly. Then the next morning had been what came to be known as the day of power. Joseph Smith had risen from his own sickbed and started among the Saints. It was as if an angel were passing through the ranks of the sick and the dying. Everywhere he went, the sick were spared, the stricken were healed. And Benjamin was one of those.
Mary Ann was still talking. “I was cross with him. I told him to stop talking like that.”
“You didn’t think that his not being in the dream meant he would die?”
“No. I don’t know why, but I knew he wasn’t going to die.” There was a long pause; then her eyes were suddenly shining in the firelight. “Not then.”
“But why wasn’t he in the dream? I would probably have thought the same thing.”
“Because somehow in the dream I knew that your father was already in the city. I knew he was waiting for us to join him. There was no sadness in me at all.”
“I see.” It came out as a husky whisper, for Nathan now found his own chest constricting as he thought of a headstone on the western banks of the Mississippi River.
For several moments there was no sound except for the crackling of the fire and the soft laughter coming from Derek’s tent.
His mother reached out a hand and laid it over Nathan’s. “The fact that I miss him—sometimes so fiercely that I think I will surely be unable to bear it—doesn’t mean that I am despairing, Nathan. I grieve, but I do not despair. I know he’s there in that glorious city. I know he’s waiting for me and for the rest of us.”
He nodded mutely, taking her hand in his. He slid closer to her and put an arm around her shoulder. “Thank you, Mama. Thank you for telling me.”
A movement off to their left caught Mary Ann’s eye. Joshua called out to Solomon as they secured the last of the tent ropes and pegs.
Suddenly Mary Ann’s voice was urgent. “Nathan, in my dream, no one was missing except your father.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant. “What are you saying?” he asked tentatively.
“Caroline was there. Melissa and Carl were there.” She looked over to where Joshua and Solomon were finishing tightening the guy ropes on Solomon’s tent. “Joshua was there.”
“He was?”
“Yes. Everyone! It’s not right that they are not here, Nathan. Caroline especially. She needs to be here with Joshua.”
“I know, Mama, but . . .”
She shook her head quickly. Joshua was finished and was starting toward them. “I don’t know how you will do it, but you must get them here with us, Nathan.”
And then, as Joshua came up to them, she looked up and smiled. “Come sit down, son. Nathan and I are just visiting.”
There were several more around the fire now—Jessica and Solomon, Derek and Rebecca, Jenny. Jenny was alone, however, as Matthew had guard duty tonight and had gone to take his station. Rachel, Josh, and Emily were with them, feeling more comfortable here than playing games with the children. After lying down for half an hour, Lydia had come out again and sat beside Nathan. It was full dark now and getting chilly again. They sat in a tight circle talking quietly. The subject of Caroline and Melissa and Carl did not come up again.
Then suddenly a noise was heard that brought up every head. Off somewhere in front of them, someone had started to play a trumpet. It was not playing anything in particular, just running up and down scales, as though the player were warming up his horn. In a moment, another trumpet started, and then a trombone.
Behind them, the wagon flap on Matthew’s wagon flew open and Christopher came bursting out, followed by the other children. “It’s the band, Papa. They’re gonna play. Can we go!” Christopher was seven now and proving to be as husky as his father. His eyes were wide and his face infused with excitement. “Please, Papa.”
Emily and Rachel had jumped to their feet and were staring off in the direction of the sounds, which were swelling in volume now with every moment. “Is there going to be a dance?” Emily said, her eyes shining.
Lydia groaned in mock horror. “You can think about dancing after today?”
“Oh, yes, Mama!” came the instant reply.
In the distance, the trumpeter started the first line of “Now Let Us Rejoice,” then let it disintegrate into a series of trills and runs.
People were coming to their feet, and tent doors and wagon flaps were being opened all across the camp now. People were pointing and calling out to one another. Just then a man came riding toward them on a horse. He was hollering something as he passed. They turned to listen. “Concert at the main campfire in five minutes. Brother Pitt has his band together. Concert in five minutes.”
Nathan turned to his mother and smiled. “What do you say, Grandma? Shall we go and hear Brother Pitt tonight?”
Mary Ann started to shake her head, then immediately changed her mind. If she begged off, claiming she was tired—which she truly was—she knew what would happen. Nathan would volunteer to stay with her. Lydia would then insist on staying with him. Then Joshua and the others would decide maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all, and none of them would end up going. She turned and looked into her grandchildren’s eyes. They were shining brightly in the firelight, and they were filled with pleading. She couldn’t help it. There was a soft laugh and she got slowly to her feet. “But of course we’re going.”
As the children whooped and threw their arms around her, Jenny stood and spoke up quickly. “I’ll stay with the babies. You all go on.”
She waved her hand as the other mothers started to protest. “No, really. Another night, when I have Matthew with me, then one of you can stay and we’ll go.”
That settled it. As one they moved off, Joshua taking one of his mother’s arms, Emily taking the other. The whole camp was stirring now as people came out of their tents or climbed down from the wagons and streamed toward the central part of camp where the Twelve had their wagons. And Joshua, watching the other families moving together, talking excitedly, felt a great longing for Caroline and the children. It was hard enough being gone from them, without times like this. And yet, at the same time, he also felt a grudging admiration for Brigham Young’s wisdom.
Brigham hadn’t missed much. He had organized a pioneer company under the direction of Stephen Markham, the members of which would go ahead of the main camp, breaking trail, building bridges, securing work and food, preparing ferries for the wider rivers. Bishop George Miller, leading a dozen or so wagons and three or four dozen men, had moved out a few days before, the surest sign that Brigham was serious about starting west. Brigham had asked Hosea Stout, the chief of police in Nauvoo, to create a “police” company. These men, most of whom owned rifles, served as guards, provided protection for the camp, and dealt with those few disagreements that could not be settled by the captains of tens or captains of fifties. The creation of a police company was sobering evidence that Brigham Young was still worried about the threat from their enemies. There were also commissaries appointed to secure food, treasurers to handle the finances, wagon masters, blacksmiths, carpenters, and a dozen other positions required to keep a large body of people moving.
And there was William Pitt and his brass band. And who would have guessed that that would be part of the organization? In Nauvoo, Pitt and his band, while perhaps not the finest in the land, had been immensely popular. When Pitt, a British convert, came to America, he brought with him a large collection of music for brass bands and found many opportunities to use it. The Nauvoo Brass Band, as it was called, played grand marches, qu
icksteps, and gallops, as well as the hymns. They played for dances and gave concerts at the Masonic Hall, which served as the city’s cultural center. When it came time for the exodus, Pitt had specifically been asked by Brigham Young to keep his musicians together in one company so that the band could continue to function on the trail. Joshua had spent years hauling freight across the back roads of western America. He knew how lonely the trail could be and how important morale was. The decision to keep the Nauvoo Brass Band together and functioning was already proving to be a brilliant move.
And then, even as they approached the central campfire, the band began to play a song that in the last few months had become one of the most popular among the Saints. They heard the distant sounds of applause and cheers. Holding on to Joshua’s arm tightly as they moved across the frozen ground of the camp, Mary Ann tipped her head back and began to sing. Momentarily startled, Lydia laughed, then joined in. Then it was Emily and Rachel and others around them. In moments, the whole stream of people moving toward the fire were singing lustily.
The Upper California—Oh, that’s the land for me!
It lies between the mountains and the great Pacific sea;
The Saints can be supported there,
And taste the sweets of liberty.
In Upper California—Oh, that’s the land for me!
Kathryn Marie McIntire Ingalls was worried, and Peter could see it in her eyes, though her head was high and her chin firm with determination. As he pushed her along the boarded walk toward the home of James Reed, he sought for the words that might make her less anxious, but he sensed that unless his attempt was positively brilliant, it would do more harm than good, so he said nothing.
As they approached the large brick home in one of the finer neighborhoods of Springfield, Illinois, he saw her shoulders come back and she drew a deep breath. They were not yet to the corner of the Reed property, with its wrought-iron fence and its beautiful flower gardens. She turned her head. “All right, Peter. I’d like to walk from here.”
He frowned, but immediately nodded. “All right.” He stopped the wheelchair and untied the crutches from the back of it. Stepping around to face her, he held out his hands.
There was a sudden shake of her head—quick, emphatic, stubborn. “Don’t help me, Peter, someone may be watching.”
He took a breath, letting it out slowly, and handed her the crutches. Then he stepped back to brace the chair so it wouldn’t roll. It was not as if he hadn’t seen this stubborn streak in her before they were married. It fact, he had nearly lost her when she thought he might be marrying her out of pity. But in the four and a half months since then, he had come to understand just how fiercely it burned within her. And while sometimes it exasperated him beyond measure, he understood its source and loved her all the more for her determination to make the best of her handicap.
And she was getting very strong. He watched as she put one crutch under her arm and then hoisted her body up, steadying herself on the arm of her wheelchair. With a little flip of her upper torso, the second crutch was in place and she moved away from the chair. “All right.”
Looking around, Peter found a place beside some bushes and pushed the chair into them, well off the walk so it would not be in anyone’s way. When he turned back, she was already moving forward with smooth, even motions. He walked forward to her side. “You really are getting very good, Kathryn.”
“Thank you, dear.” She smiled one of her prettiest smiles at him, but it darkened almost instantly. “I just don’t want the Donners to think Mrs. Reed made a mistake when she hired me.”
“They won’t. And even if they did, Mrs. Reed and the children think you’re wonderful. She won’t change her mind.”
“I know,” Kathryn said, her jaw thrust out, “but I want them all to know that I am not going to be a burden to anyone.”
He grinned at her. “Are all the Irish like this?”
She flashed him a smile back. “All right, Peter. I’ll behave myself.”
They had reached the gate that opened onto the walk that led to the front door of the home of James Reed. Peter moved forward, opened the gate, and stepped back, holding it open for Kathryn. She gave him an impish look, that look that reflected so well her temperament. “Well,” she said with mock primness, “I don’t give a fig what anyone else thinks. We have been hired by the Reeds to help them out, and all we need to do is please them.”
“Which you have,” Peter said firmly, ignoring the fact that she was lying shamelessly to herself.
As they reached the ornately carved wooden door, she hesitated, and he could tell that her bright courage was wavering just a tiny little bit. Peter touched her elbow. “It will be all right, Kathryn. You’ll win them over, just as you won over Mrs. Reed.”
She bit on her lower lip for a moment, then again brought forth her best smile. “But of course, Mr. Ingalls. What else would you expect from the woman you married?”
There were about twenty people squeezed into the large and sumptuously furnished parlor of the Reed home. Originally, this whole thing had started in a reading society. During the fall and winter of 1845–46, westward fever began to sweep the country. Newspapers wrote articles about that great unknown that lay west of the Mississippi River. Books were published and became immensely popular. A few months earlier, Mrs. George Donner had persuaded her reading society group to turn their focus to readings about the West. Very quickly the fever had infected most of the group.
But it was no longer just a reading society. The decision had been made. Now it was planning time. Most present came from three families. The rest, like Peter and Kathryn, were the few “bullwhackers” and assistants who had been hired so far. There were even some of the older children present, wide-eyed and a little breathless to think that this was really going to happen. But it was the Donners and the Reeds who were behind it all. George and Jacob Donner were brothers. Jacob, the older of the two, and his wife, Elizabeth, had seven children who would be accompanying them (two of these being Elizabeth’s by a previous marriage). George had lost his first two wives and married again to the present Mrs. Donner. He had eleven children in all, but many were married. Only five would be going west. James Reed and his wife, Margret, had four children and Mrs. Keyes, the aged and infirm mother of Mrs. Reed.
As Peter looked around the room, there was no question but what the Donner brothers and James F. Reed were well-to-do men. The Donners were both older men, probably in their sixties, Peter guessed, and had made good as farmers in western Illinois. Reed, considerably younger at forty-five, was probably the richest of the three, having had success in such enterprises as furniture manufacturing and railroad contracting. Even now it staggered Peter to think that these men were not selling all their property to finance their trip. George Donner had been trying to sell one of his farms, but even if that fell through, it wouldn’t stop him from going. So if the promise of California proved to be ephemeral, they would still have something to which they could return. That left Peter a little bit dizzy. He had seen the outfits these three families were putting together. Brand-new wagons. The finest of Durham steers, already well proven as draft animals. They would have new tools, ample supplies of food, riding horses, milk cows, beef cows. An average wagon and team, with supplies enough to take one west, cost about seven hundred dollars. But each of these families was taking not one wagon but three, which meant they were easily spending twice or three times that amount; and the fact that they did not need to sell off land in order to do so took Peter’s breath away.
This was the first meeting to which Peter and Kathryn had been invited, and they sat quietly in the corner, listening to the discussion, both of them a little cowed by their surroundings and their company. George Donner stood before them, waving a book in the air as though it were a flag and he was using it to call them to battle.
“Listen to this,” he cried loudly. “Just listen to this.” He opened the book and started thumbing for the place he wanted.
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“Tell them what book it is, Mr. Donner,” Tamsen Donner told her husband, with a tolerant smile toward the others. “That’s important.”
He shoved it toward them, spine first, as if they could read the small print from that distance when it was bobbing and dancing like a living thing. “It’s called The Emigrants’ Guide to Oregon and California. The author is Lansford Hastings, one of the few men who have been west and learned the country.”
Now, compliance to his wife’s request done with, he opened the book, thumbed a few more pages, then found his place. “He says here that the climate of western California ‘is that of perpetual spring.’ And over here”—George turned the page over—“he says that since there aren’t any marshy regions in California, ‘the noxious miasmatic effluvia, so common in such regions, is here, nowhere found.’ ”
He looked up in triumph, daring anyone to fully comprehend the wonder of that statement.
“Noxious mia what?” Kathryn whispered out of the side of her mouth.
Peter suppressed a grin. “Bad smells that make you sick,” he whispered back, nudging her.
She did not answer but seemed suitably impressed.
Donner lowered the book again, too excited to simply read the words. “He says that oats grow to be eight feet tall and that you can get seventy bushels of wheat per acre, a hundred and twenty in some of the richer spots.”
One of the drivers let out a low whistle. While the bullwhackers and the other hired help traveling in this company would earn little more than room and board while going west, such people usually had dreams, as this man did, of picking up three or four hundred acres of the free land that was waiting in California. While Peter was no farmer and had other reasons for wanting to go with this party, reasons that would likely be incomprehensible to this group, he did not find it hard to understand the look of astonishment he saw on the faces around him.
“Tell them the part about the fires,” Jacob Donner urged his brother.
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