Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  “I did, James. I put a bit on my tongue. It tasted like it would make good baking soda.”

  “It does,” Margret Reed agreed. “We baked bread with it, and it’s as fine as any we could get back in Illinois.”

  “This is an amazing place,” Peter said, letting his eyes lift toward the great mass of rock that loomed over them. It was now almost a pinkish rose in the sunset’s light.

  Reed turned. “Isn’t it, though? Before we move out in the morning, we’ll walk over to the rock. It’s fascinating to see all the names that have been carved or painted here.”

  “Names?”

  “Yes. Everyone seems to want to leave their mark. Some call this place the great ‘register of the desert.’ I found John C. Frémont’s name and the cross that Captain Bonneville carved. It’s something to see.”

  “I’d like to.” Peter hesitated for a moment. “So we’re moving out tomorrow?”

  Reed nodded. “We’ve been here two days. It’s time to get moving.”

  “Any sign of Mr. Bryant and Mr. Russell?”

  “No. We heard they’re four or five days ahead of us now. They are making good time.”

  “Did you know that Governor Boggs left us yesterday?” Mrs. Reed said.

  Peter turned in surprise. “Really?”

  “We decided to stay here an extra day and recruit our teams. He didn’t want to.”

  Reed gave a short laugh. “He is so afraid that the Mormons are going to catch him that he wouldn’t wait any longer. If we catch him again,” he added with a droll smile, “let’s not tell him that the only party of Mormons behind us have turned off for Pueblo.”

  They laughed at that, and Peter was gratified to find that the Reeds found Boggs as unsavory as he did.

  James Reed turned more somber now. “I wasn’t sure if you would come back, Peter. We’re very glad to see you.”

  Peter’s eyes widened slightly. “But I told you I would.”

  “I know, but things can change. Hiram Miller hired on to drive for the Donners, and as soon as Russell offered him a chance to join his pack train, all the promises were forgotten.”

  “Well, mine are not,” Peter answered. “You and Mrs. Reed have been very good to Kathryn and me. Now that I know she’s all right, I’ll see it through to California.”

  “That’s fair enough. And I’ll pay you a bonus for doing so.” He snapped his fingers suddenly. “That reminds me. Did you meet Mr. Bonney on the trail?”

  “Mr. Bonney?”

  “Yes. Wales B. Bonney. It would have been sometime today. He just left this morning going east.”

  “I did see one lone rider a couple of miles away, but I thought it was an Indian and steered clear. He’s traveling all the way back to the States by himself?”

  “Yes, can you believe it? But here’s what I wanted to say, Peter. He rode in here yesterday afternoon, and he was carrying a letter from Lansford Hastings. Hastings is out ahead of us on the trail. He gave a letter to Bonney to read to all the companies along the trail. He’s forming up a train at Fort Bridger and will lead them across his shortcut route to California.”

  Peter remembered the solemn warning that James Clyman had given Mr. Reed about following Hastings’s proposed new route around the south end of the Salt Lake Desert. Evidently his concern showed in his eyes, for Reed frowned.

  “The letter was a great relief to those of us who are determined to take this shorter route, Peter. If he is there personally to lead us, that will make a great difference.”

  “Well,” Peter said, finding it hard to resist his employer’s enthusiasm, “that does make a difference.”

  “It’s three or four hundred miles shorter,” young James said sagely. “We must take it so we can get to California quicker.”

  “More quickly,” Peter corrected him, without thinking.

  “Yes, more quickly.”

  “Well, then,” Peter said, talking to Mr. Reed now, “that is good news, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed.”

  Margret Reed abruptly stood up. “Come, children, you’ve not given Peter a moment’s rest since he arrived. Let’s find Eliza and get some supper started. I’ll bet Peter is starving.”

  “Well,” he admitted ruefully, “I amtired of soggy bread and wet pemmican.”

  “Pemmican?” Virginia cried. “Isn’t that the Indian food?”

  “Yes,” Peter laughed.

  “What is it like?”

  “It’s made from dried meat—which they pound into a powder—mixed with hot buffalo fat and dried berries or fruit.”

  “Ew!” Patty said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Can I have some?” Virginia asked. “I want to taste it.”

  “All right, but it’s all wet now. When I forded the river, the mule got everything soaked and it hasn’t completely dried out yet.”

  “I don’t care,” Virginia replied.

  “Me neither,” said James. “I want some too.”

  Margret laughed happily. “Welcome back, Peter. You go teach my children about Indian food, and Eliza and I will fix you some good hot stew and fresh biscuits.”

  Lydia picked her way slowly through the cluster of wagons, stepping around cold fire pits, ducking beneath sheets and blankets hung up to air. She stopped as she saw a woman sitting beside a wagon a short distance ahead of her. It was Drusilla Hendricks. Drusilla was seated on a stool near the back of her wagon, mending an apron. In the wagon, Lydia could see James Hendricks reading a book. Two of the children were nearby, seated on the ground playing some kind of hand games. William and the other children were nowhere to be seen. That was good. Lydia raised a hand and called out a hello.

  Drusilla looked up, then immediately set aside her sewing and got to her feet. “Lydia, what a nice surprise!”

  “Good afternoon, Drusilla.” She looked toward the wagon. “Hello, James. How are you doing today?”

  He came up on one elbow. “Better, Sister Lydia. And you?”

  “We’re fine, thank you.”

  Drusilla came over and took Lydia’s hands, clearly glad to see her. “I thought I heard that your family had crossed the river.”

  “We did. Nathan had to see Elder Taylor about something, so I came too.”

  “I’m so glad,” she said. “Come and sit down.”

  Lydia hesitated, glancing first at James and then at the children. “Would you have time to go for a walk?”

  A little surprised, Drusilla nevertheless nodded immediately. “Of course.”

  They moved slowly, heads down as they inquired after each other’s family. Not until they were away from the edge of the easternmost camp did Lydia finally lapse into silence. Drusilla stopped, motioning to a spot where there was grass beneath the shade of a tree. “Shall we sit for a few moments?”

  Lydia nodded, and they moved beneath the tree and settled into comfortable positions. Both were quiet for several moments, and then Drusilla gave Lydia a sidelong glance. “Are you ready to talk about it?”

  “What?”

  There was a faint smile. “Whatever it is you have on your mind.”

  That was enough. Lydia turned fully to face her. “Have you decided about William?”

  Drusilla seemed not in the least surprised. “Yes. I am not going to let him go.” It was said simply and without emotion, but there was no mistaking the forcefulness behind her eyes.

  “Did you hear what Brother Brigham said the other day at the meeting?”

  Drusilla didn’t flinch. “I did. It didn’t change my mind.”

  “Tell me why,” Lydia entreated, almost eager now. “I don’t disagree with you, but I’d like to know why.”

  Drusilla’s eyes lowered, and she picked at the grass beside her skirt. “I suppose there are a lot of reasons. First and foremost, I have a husband who is crippled. He can get around the camp now with the help of his crutches or a cane, and for that we are very grateful. We know that is a bit of a miracle after his being paralyzed from the neck down. But he cannot
drive a team. He cannot get water. He cannot chop firewood. My Billy is sixteen now. He’s finally old enough that I have a man to help me again. How can I let him go?”

  “I don’t think anyone expects you to.”

  Her head came up. “Oh? Then why am I asked at every hand if he’s going?”

  “Who is asking you that?”

  She shook her head. “Several. Part of it is because William keeps telling people that he wants to go.”

  Lydia nodded, thinking of Josh. “And what does James say to all of this?”

  Drusilla’s shoulders lifted and fell. She ripped off a handful of grass, then began to pick up one blade at a time and let it flutter into her lap. “I think James would let him go if it were up to him. But he knows how I feel about it and he knows how much I need a man around. So all he’ll say is that unless I agree, William can’t go.”

  “That makes it hard on you, doesn’t it?”

  She didn’t seem to hear. There was a faraway look in her eyes now. “I haven’t talked very often about that night, Lydia.”

  “What night?”

  “October twenty-fifth, eighteen thirty-eight.”

  Lydia didn’t have to ask anything more. That was the day a group of Mormon militia, riding out to rescue some of their brethren from a mob, had accidently stumbled upon the mob’s encampment just at sunrise. In the ensuing battle James Hendricks had taken a ball in the back of the neck that left him paralyzed from the neck down. That night had begun for Drusilla Hendricks eight long years of sacrifice and suffering.

  Drusilla sniffed softly and wiped at her cheek with the back of one hand. She still stared at her hands and did not look at Lydia. “I can’t bear the thoughts of sending off another one of my men to face that. I can’t.”

  “I don’t think the Lord expects it of you. Not after all that has happened. Not after all you have done.”

  “I want to believe that, Lydia. But . . .” She finally looked up. “It’s your son too, isn’t it? Does Josh want to go?”

  “Yes.” It came out as barely a whisper. “He’s as adamant about it as William.”

  “Don’t let him go, Lydia,” she said with sudden fierceness. “The army has called for our men, not our boys.”

  Lydia slid closer and put an arm around her, weeping softly now too. “I don’t want to, Drusilla. I can’t even think about it without starting to cry. And yet I don’t want to be selfish. I want to do what’s right.”

  Drusilla’s mouth was set. “I don’t think God would ask that of a mother,” she said stubbornly. “I just don’t.”

  Chapter Notes

  Independence Rock supposedly got its name when some trappers working with William Henry Ashley’s Rocky Mountain Fur Company camped at this spot at the eastern end of the Sweetwater Valley on 4 July 1825. Even though they were far from the United States, they wished to remember their American heritage and celebrated the holiday with various festivities. They ended by inscribing their names on the rock, along with the word Independence.Today, Independence Rock is a Wyoming state park about midway between Casper and Rawlins. Though many names inscribed on the rock have now faded away, many others are still visible, including some of Mormon pioneers who passed here later.

  Lansford Hastings left California and headed east in the spring of 1846, along with others, including James Clyman, who was somewhat less than enthralled with what he saw as Hastings’s naive enthusiasm for a new shortcut. Hastings’s motives may have partly been economic, because he had invested in property in California and hoped to bring people into that area. He and Clyman parted company when they found Fort Bridger deserted. Feeling a need to get prepared for whoever would accept his leadership, Hastings stopped somewhere around South Pass and decided to return to Fort Bridger and organize a wagon train there. When Hastings arrived at the fort, Jim Bridger and his partner, Louis Vasquez, had returned.

  When he met Wales B. Bonney, a man from Oregon who, incredibly, was traveling back east by himself, Hastings wrote a letter of invitation to the oncoming emigrants and asked Bonney to take it with him and read it out among the companies. Bonney arrived at Independence Rock shortly after the Donner-Reed company had camped there. His enthusiastic report on California, along with Hastings’s letter, only further confirmed Reed’s determination to take the new route. These details come from a letter written by Charles Stanton to his brother on 12 July 1846. It is from Stanton, who was traveling with the Donner-Reed group, that we also learn that Lilburn W. Boggs was still in great fear of the Mormons. (See Overland in 1846, pp. 614–15.)

  Chapter 14

  Carl Rogers opened the door as quietly as he could and stepped inside. He removed his hat and vest and hung them on the pegs there, then bent down and removed his boots. There was a lamp on the table at the head of the stairs above him. It was turned to the lowest possible setting, but it still provided enough light for him to see. As he started down the hallway he stopped. In the parlor there was something large and dark on the floor. Curious, he went in to take a closer look. To his surprise he saw the two trunks which they kept in the loft of the barn. The lids were open, and as he bent down he could see that both trunks were nearly filled with various items. Perplexed, he straightened and looked around. He could see that there were other things piled on the chairs and on the sofas.

  He frowned. What had possessed Melissa to start going through their things now? Normally this kind of sorting was done in the spring or during the long months of winter. But he was too tired to come to any logical conclusion. He moved quietly back into the hallway and up the stairs. He blew out the light, wondering how his wife had known he would be home tonight, then crept into their bedroom. He undressed quickly, then slid between the sheets beside her. Though he tried to do it without waking her, there was a soft murmur and her head turned.

  “Carl?”

  “Yes, Melissa. It’s me. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Why didn’t you come right home?” she murmured sleepily. “Someone told David you were on the six o’clock steamboat.”

  He was startled by that, just as he had been startled by the committee of new citizens waiting for him on the dock. It turned out that they weren’t sure when he would arrive but were meeting every boat that landed at Nauvoo. He had gone straight to the home of James Wilson and gotten the report on the current crisis. “The new citizens committee met me and asked me to come to a meeting,” he said softly. He said no more, hoping she was too sleepy to question him further.

  It worked. There was a soft murmur, and then she was quiet again. Grateful that he didn’t have to face a confrontation this night, he lay very still until he was sure she was soundly asleep, then turned onto his side. He felt like cursing, that was what he really wanted to do. Curse the anti-Mormons for seizing five of the new citizens and beating them without determining if they were Mormons. Curse the five Mormons who were foolish enough to go north past Pontoosuc the very next day when tensions were so high and allow themselves to be kidnapped. Curse the new citizens and their indignation. Let McAuley and Brattle go and get the five hostages released. The determination to show the antis that they wouldn’t knuckle under to their bully tactics was only aggravating things further. And curse the timing of it all.

  Things had not gone as well for him and Jean Claude in St. Louis as they hoped. The price of lumber was down. There was a glut on the market, partially because the long-sustained construction boom in Nauvoo and the surrounding settlements had been choked off as cleanly as a strangled goose. The big lumber rafts were no longer stopping at the bend in the river but went on down to St. Louis to sell the lumber off. So instead of coming home with three or four thousand dollars in his pocket, he had barely a thousand. That wasn’t going to help him convince Melissa that everything was going to be all right. He remembered clearly her parting words before he left. She didn’t want to stay in Nauvoo, which meant that she wanted them to go west and find her family. He had been dreading having to face her ever since he and Je
an Claude had settled on a sale for less than half what they expected.

  He turned over and buried his head in his pillow. Curse the whole situation of the Mormons and their enemies. Curse the state government for not doing one thing to intervene. If it weren’t for that, Carl’s life would be a lot simpler.

  “Thanks for breakfast.”

  Melissa smiled at him. “You’re welcome.”

  “It’s good to be home.”

  “I’m so glad that you are home, Carl. We’ve missed you.”

  “I missed you the most, Daddy,” Sarah said. That started an instant debate over the truthfulness of that statement.

  “Children,” Melissa broke in. “Don’t make your father sorry to be home.”

  That shushed them for a moment, but when they saw their father wink at them they started to giggle again.

  Carl turned to Melissa. “By the way, I saw the trunks in the parlor last night. Are you going through your things again?”

  Melissa’s head jerked around. The smiles instantly died. The older children glanced anxiously back and forth at their mother and father. The tension in the room was suddenly palpable. Melissa looked away. “Carl and David are going to take the children down to the river and watch the steamboats after breakfast. I thought we could talk then.”

  Carl felt himself go cold. This was worse than he suspected. He pressed his lips together, and picked up the last of his bread. “All right,” he said. “We’ll talk then.”

  “Melissa, look, I know you’re upset with all of this, but we are not going anywhere. Things are going to settle down again, once they get those men released.” She watched him steadily but said nothing. Her emotionless expression and the flatness of her eyes irritated him a little. “Well, they are.”

  “Why don’t you go tell that to Sister Young? It’s her husband and son who have been held hostage for the past four days—assuming they are still alive. Why don’t you go tell her that things will settle down? I’m sure that will comfort her to hear you say it.”

  “There’s no call for sarcasm, Melissa. I know the situation is serious, but there is no direct threat to us.”