“Yes.” She touched his hand briefly, then let her hand drop back again to lie limply at her side. “I know you would.”
“The wind has started to die a little, Alice. I think the storm is starting to blow itself out.”
“Try a dagger.”
He reared back, caught off guard by that. “What?”
“The wind,” she said, the tiniest hint of a smile playing around the corner of her mouth. “If it’s dying, help it out.”
Now he understood and he laughed softly. How he loved this woman, so miserable and so brave all at the same time. “Maybe by tomorrow morning.”
Her eyes closed and he couldn’t tell if that had encouraged her or discouraged her. Her lips moved.
He leaned closer. “What was that?”
“How soon the islands?”
“The captain thinks by Monday morning. Not tomorrow but the next day.”
“Good.” She squeezed his hand weakly.
He squeezed back but said nothing more. If she could sleep again, so much the better. He laid his head on his arm and closed his eyes as well, ignoring the creaking of the timbers and the crash of waves overhead. It was not much, but he could feel that the battle between the ship and the sea was lessening.
“Laura!”
The cry of a man’s voice brought Will up with a jerk. He swung around. Sister Laura Goodwin was standing at the foot of the steep ladder that led out of the passenger hold. Across the room, Isaac Goodwin was climbing out of his bunk. “Laura, wait! Let me help you.”
The Goodwins were a couple that Will and Alice had come to like very much. Though Laura Goodwin was considerably older than Alice—she had seven children and was carrying her eighth—when she learned that this would be Alice’s first baby, she had taken the younger woman to her as though she were one of her own. It had been a great comfort to Alice.
Will stood and turned to see what was going on. Laura stood at the foot of the ladder, peering up at the hatchway cover, looking very ill. “Got to have some air,” she mumbled.
“Wait,” Isaac called. “Let me get my boots on and I’ll help you.”
If she heard, she gave no sign. She grasped the rope railing and started up the ladder. Will leaped to his feet. The hatch above her head was battened down, but salt water from the storm above dripped steadily through the cracks. The ladder was wet and slippery with encrusted salt. Will would not let Alice go up it without his being right behind her. There had already been a couple of nasty falls, and those were in good weather.
“Sister Goodwin,” he called, starting around one of the eating tables toward her. “Wait!”
“Need air,” she said, looking up at the hatch above her. She was climbing up the ladder now, half in a daze.
“Laura, no!” Isaac had one boot on, but forgot the other. He was coming as fast as he could from the far corner, almost losing his balance with the pitching and rolling of the ship.
Will was closer and was moving quickly now. “Come down,” he cried. “Let me get the hatch for you.”
She was at the top of the ladder now, reaching up with one hand to fumble awkwardly at the fasteners above her head.
“Laura!” Isaac shouted. “Hold on!”
At that moment, a wave hit the bow of the ship, sending a shuddering jolt all along the beam. It threw Will hard enough that he slammed against a chair, his shin striking the crossbar. He yelped in pain. Isaac Goodwin flew sidewards and hit the bulkhead.
There was a cry. Will, bent over and holding his shin, jerked up. Laura Goodwin was dangling in midair, one foot barely on the step, the other flailing wildly. One hand clutched at the rope railing; the other was clinging to the hatch fastener. He hurled himself toward her, but not quickly enough. The ship lurched again, fighting its way upward against the driving power of the sea. The movement snapped the ladder roughly. Laura Goodwin’s other foot slipped on the wet wood. She screamed, them plummeted downward, hitting the deck with a sickening thud.
“No!” It was an agonized scream from Isaac Goodwin.
Will reached her and dropped to one knee. She was on her back, her face twisted with pain, her eyes wild and filled with shock. Then Isaac was down beside them. “Laura! Are you all right?”
There was a quick, almost imperceptible shake of the head. “Needed air,” she gasped.
He took her hands. “Don’t speak.” Others were coming to help now.
“Let’s get her into her bunk,” Will said.
Isaac nodded numbly. “It will be all right,” he said to his wife. Her eyes were closed now, her teeth clenched tightly against the pain.
Sam Brannan was suddenly there. “All right,” he said, taking command. “Let’s have six men, three on each side. Easy, now.”
Laura screamed as the men put their arms underneath her.
Her husband grabbed her hands and held them tightly. “We’re going to get you to the bed, Laura. Hang on.”
“The baby! The baby!” She was screaming and sobbing and writhing. She jerked one hand away and clutched at her stomach.
“Go,” Brannan said to the men. “Careful, now.”
As they lifted, she screamed again, then bit down hard on her lower lip. In the far corner, her other children were whimpering in terror, arms outstretched toward their mother.
Pausing to keep their balance, bracing themselves each time the bow dipped and drove down into the waves again, the men moved across the passenger hold, Isaac holding his wife’s hands and guiding them, Laura grunting and gasping with the pain.
Carefully they placed her in the cot where she normally slept. The men stepped back as the member of the company who served as their doctor moved in beside her.
Isaac Goodwin, totally stricken now, looked around. “Thank you.”
“What else can we do?” Brannan asked.
His chin dropped and his eyes looked away. “You can pray,” he said.
The first thing Alice was aware of was that there was a faint light coming through the cracks in the hatchway. The second thing was that the violent pitching and yawing of the boat had stopped. It was still rolling in the swells, but this was normal, this was to be expected. A tremendous sense of relief washed over her. The storm was over.
She turned her head. In the faint light of the one lamp they kept lit in the compartment she could see Will. His eyes opened slowly, and for a moment he stared at the bottom of the bunk directly above them. Then he turned and saw her. He smiled. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s wonderful.”
He turned on his side and took her into his arms. “I told you it was going to blow over.”
She pulled a face at him. “Are you ever wrong?” she chided.
“I was only once.”
She kicked at his leg. “And when was that?”
“When I waited so long to ask you to marry me.”
“Now, there’s the right answer,” she laughed softly, kissing his nose. Then memory returned and sorrow with it. “I wonder how Isaac is doing.”
Will shook his head. “The whole family is taking it very hard.”
“Will the captain honor her request?”
Will nodded again. “Yes. It’s very unusual. Sailors are very superstitious. It makes them very nervous to have a dead person on board, but where we’re so close to landing, the captain said he will do as she requested.”
As Laura Goodwin had grown worse and worse through the afternoon and into the evening and it became evident she was dying, she became obsessed with a fear of being buried at sea. She had always hated the endless ocean and especially the sharks that followed the ship scavenging on the garbage. She begged her husband to promise her that he would not let the crew do that to her. Finally, Will had gone to the captain and interceded in her behalf. Captain Abel Richardson was a good man, a religious man, and he had proven to be a decent man. They both knew how the crew would react to this bit of news, but he had agreed almost immediately. He returned personally to the hold
and promised Sister Goodwin that her wishes would be granted. It was the first peace she had had since the fall from the ladder. A few minutes later she lapsed into sleep, then into a coma; and then she slipped away just before nightfall.
It left the Saints in a deep pall, for the Goodwins were widely respected. Now instead of a wife and eight children, Isaac had seven motherless ones.
Will kissed Alice firmly, deciding not to let her dwell on this. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get dressed and go up top.”
“Yes,” she said eagerly. “I would like that.”
Five minutes later they pushed the hatch open and Alice climbed through it and onto the main deck. Will was right behind her. It was a glorious day. The sun behind them was up a short distance above the eastern horizon and held the promise for a warm and pleasant day. She tipped her head back, breathing deeply, rejoicing in the solidness of a deck that barely moved beneath her feet.
Will touched her shoulder. “Look,” he said.
She turned around toward the bow of the ship, then gasped. Directly off the port bow, some fifteen or twenty miles away, the expanse of the sea was broken with what surely had to be one of the loveliest scenes Alice had ever laid eyes on. Rising up out of the water were massive emerald green peaks. The tops were wreathed in mist that made them seem as if they were crowned with a white garland.
“Oh, Will!” she said.
“Yes.” He too was struck deeply by what they saw. “Isn’t that a sight?”
“The Juan Fernández Islands,” a voice called from behind them.
They turned. The first mate was at the wheel of the ship, with Captain Richardson standing beside him. It was Richardson who had spoken. “The one you see there is the biggest island. It’s called Robinson Crusoe Island.”
Alice turned back. “It’s beautiful.”
“Yes,” Richardson said again, pleasure deepening his voice. “And we should be dropping anchor around noon today.”
“I can’t wait,” she cried.
Will looked up at the two seamen. “Isn’t today May fourth?” he asked.
The captain nodded. “It is.”
“Then it’s three months to the day since we left New York City.”
They both looked surprised for a moment. “That’s right,” the first mate said, “it was February fourth, wasn’t it?”
“Three months at sea without a single break,” Richardson said. “I think it’s time for a stop, don’t you, Mrs. Steed?”
She threw her head back joyously, tossing her hair. “I do indeed, Mr. Richardson. I do indeed.”
Chapter Notes
The ship Brooklyn was nearing the port of Valparaíso, Chile, at the end of April 1846 when a severe storm drove them back again. The travelers being in critical need of resupply—the description of their water supply and the vermin-infested food comes from the account of one of the company— the captain turned and ran with the wind, setting sail for the Juan Fernández Islands, the place which provided the basis for Defoe’s classic novel. (See “Voyage,” pp. 57–58.)
Shortly after sunup on the morning of 4 May 1846, exactly three months to the day after leaving New York Harbor, the Brooklyn came in sight of the Juan Fernández Islands. They reached the harbor and dropped anchor about one p.m. of that same day. The main island had only two Chilean families (eight people) who lived in primitive huts in a leisurely subsistence style of existence. “The island abounded in untended fruit trees, continually reseeding vegetables, and animals (goats, hares, and pigs) which ran wild from previous settlements.” (“Voyage,” p. 58.)
During the storm that drove the Brooklyn back from Valparaíso, Laura Goodwin, who was carrying her eighth child, lost her footing on slippery wood and was thrown down a companionway. She went into premature labor, developed complications, and finally died. She begged her grief-stricken family not to bury her at sea. The captain complied with her wishes and she was buried on the island soon after their arrival. (See “Voyage,” pp. 58–59.) She was one of the eleven passengers who died before the journey was completed.
Chapter 17
Garden Grove Settlement, May 4, 1846 (Monday)
It has been five days since I last wrote in my journal. Emily says it has been even longer for her. Today we promised each other we would write no matter what. This morning the sun was shining when we came out of the tents. It has been sunny and warm all day. The sky is still clear, even in the west. Wonderful! It has rained much since we arrived at Garden Grove. Yesterday during worship services President Young spoke to us. He said that it is the word of the Lord that we should plant crops at this place, and that some should go ahead and start another settlement so those still coming will have food to eat. Today, Papa and the other men split rails most of the day. The north field is all fenced now. Hardly any food left in camp.
Garden Grove Settlement, May 6th (Wednesday)
Rained most of the night again. It stopped raining in the morning though and the men went right back to work. If it is the word of the Lord to build this place, they want to be obedient, even though Papa worked on an empty stomach. He wasn’t the only one. The bridge over the river is coming along fine. Pres. Y worked with the men on it. Afternoon, stormed again—very hard! Many trees were blown down, one fell on a cow and another on a mule. Almost everyone in the camp had to hang on to their tents with all their might, the wind was blowing so hard. There was hail too. I started to complain about the weather at supper time but Emily gave me a lesson on murmuring. “Rachel,” she said, “do you know why they call it murmuring?” Then she told me that it is a word that sounds like what it describes. And that’s what we do when we murmur. We mumble under our breath and it sounds like mur-mur-mur. I don’t want to murmur. It was very miserable today though. That’s not murmuring, that’s just recording the truth.
I just had a strange thought. I wonder if Noah ever murmured.
Garden Grove, May 7th, 1846 (Thursday)
Joy! Joy! Joy! Some of the brethren returned from northern Missouri where they had gone to trade. They brought 35 bushels of wheat and 4 bushels of cornmeal. Much rejoicing in camp. One of the horses which was bit by rattlesnakes died.
Garden Grove Camp, May 8, 1846 (Friday)
Wheat and meal given out this morning. Mama and Grandma and Aunt Lydia baked bread in the Dutch oven. It was so good! The camp commissaries (the men who get supplies for us) loaded up wagons with furniture, beds, saddles, harnessing, and anything else that could be spared for trade. Brother Brigham says to get rid of our feather beds and get something more practical. The wagons left for Missouri again. Fence around the south field done. Saw Jeremy Barker today. He smiled at me!!!!
Garden Grove, May 9. (Saturday)
No rain! Four more log cabins were raised for those coming behind.
Melissa Rogers waited until supper was over; then, as the children got up to clear the table, she spoke to her oldest. “Carl. I’d like to speak with your father. Would you take the children outside for a while? You can do the dishes later.”
He looked surprised, but nodded immediately. “Yes, Mama.”
The other children whooped with pleasure and shot away.
Once they were gone, Melissa turned to her husband. She jumped in without preamble. “A woman came in the store today. She told me about what happened to Andrew Ray yesterday.”
He nodded but said nothing.
“Did you know about that?”
He nodded again. “I heard word of it.”
“Were you going to tell me about it, Carl?” Now there was a slight bite to her voice.
He considered that, then shrugged. “I probably would have mentioned it eventually.”
“Eventually?”
“There’s no use in getting yourself all worked up over this, Melissa. It was an isolated incident that happened outside of town.”
“Tell me what you heard.”
“I don’t think—”
“Tell me, Carl.”
He leaned back, seeing
she was determined. “Evidently Mr. Ray has been trying to sell his farm so he can go west. He’s had some offers but nothing he would consider. So he’s been holding on. Yesterday some ruffians—riffraff from the river probably—came to his farm.”
“And?”
He could see there was no sense softening it. She probably had heard it all anyway. “And they dragged him from his home and beat him pretty badly.”
“With an ox goad?”
He sighed wearily. “Yes, they used an ox goad and jabbed his skin several times.”
She was angry now. “Several times? The word I heard was repeatedly.”
“All right, so they jabbed him repeatedly. But he’ll be all right.”
“And did you learn why they did it?” she pressed.
“They want to drive him off his farm before he can sell it.”
“So they can take it over?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said they were riffraff from the river. Riffraff don’t know about taking over some Mormon’s farm.”
“You don’t know that.”
“And you don’t know but what they were some more of Illinois’s more upstanding citizens, do you?” The sarcasm was heavy in her voice.
He shrugged.
“This is just what Elder Woodruff said would happen.”
“Look, Melissa. It was outside of town. It was—”
“An isolated incident?” she finished for him. “Haven’t there been other reports of mob harassment in the past few days?”
He leaned forward, seeing that she had worked up a real head of steam over this. “Melissa, I know what you’re thinking. And I won’t say there is no cause for concern. But a group of us who aren’t members of the Church—including several of those who have recently purchased homes and businesses here—are talking about forming a group. It will give us a chance to stick together, to negotiate without it looking like we’re part of the Church.”
“Yes,” she snapped. “And these wonderful non-Mormons you’re talking about are the same ones who built a tenpin alley opposite from the temple.”
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