Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  Captain Willie turned now to look directly down at his subcaptain. Without waiting for permission, Savage stepped forward a little. “Elder Willie, I have spoken nothing but truth. If you wish to release me from my position as captain of the second hundred, then do so. But you and the others know that what I say is true.”

  “True or not, Brother Savage, the question is, Shall this company stop here, or somewhere nearby, or shall we press forward in obedience to the commands of our prophet and of our God, even knowing that suffering and death might be our reward?”

  Now Willie turned and looked back to the others leaders. “Brethren, have any of you a mind to say more?”

  Millen Atwood raised his hand. “I think every family has to pray to God and find out for themselves.”

  That received a brief nod. William H. Kimball raised his hand and came forward. “It is not as if we have a choice between something that is good and something that is not, between suffering and not suffering. The winter storms blow here in Nebraska as well as on the high plains, let us not forget that. If you go forward, yes, you will likely face storms, but you will reach the Valley by late October, or early November, and then you will have a safe haven. If you stay here you will also face storms, but you will have an additional four months of winter to endure and with no more food coming.”

  He stepped back. Elder Willie looked to the other subcaptains and the Church agents. “How do you brethren vote?”

  “Go,” Daniel Spencer said without hesitation.

  “Go,” said William H. Kimball and George D. Grant. Two of the Church agents who were stationed in Florence that Maggie did not know spoke out clearly. “Go.”

  Nodding, Willie turned back to face the crowd. “Brothers and sisters, you have heard the feelings of your leaders. Now you must choose. I shall give you a moment to talk about this among yourselves, and then we shall call for a vote. Those of you who have already decided to stay until next season will not be voting. The rest should be prepared to show yea or nay by the uplifted hand.”

  Maggie turned as the crowd erupted in a buzz of whispering voices. She looked at her mother, who seemed to be waiting for her to do so. “Is there any question in your mind, Maggie?” she asked.

  Before Maggie could respond, Robbie was shaking his head. “Let’s go, Mama. We don’t want to stop now.”

  William James looked at his wife. Jane was holding their youngest, little John, who had recently turned four. He hadn’t been the youngest when they sailed from Liverpool, but baby Jane had been consigned to the ocean’s depths. If death was being talked about, the Jameses knew personally of what they spoke. Sarah didn’t wait for her mother. “I’m going,” she said. “I believe Brother Willie is right.”

  “Me too,” Emma said. “I don’t want to wait out the whole winter here.”

  “Jane?” William said softly.

  “I vote we go.”

  He nodded and seemed to relax. “Then it’s settled for us.”

  Mary McKensie was still watching her elder daughter. After a moment, though the chill still weighed heavily upon her, Maggie managed a smile. “I don’t remember being called to gather to Flor-ence,” she said.

  Her mother’s eyes brimmed with tears. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “No,” Maggie came right back, “thank you, Mother. Someday I hope my faith can grow to be as strong as yours.”

  •••

  Eric looked at Olaf, his eyes questioning. For a moment Olaf seemed startled. Then he shook his head vigorously. “Do you have to ask?” he said.

  Eric laughed, a sound filled with pride and affection. “I didn’t think so, but I thought I’d better be sure.” They were speaking quietly in their own language, as were those around them.

  “And you?” Olaf asked.

  “Go,” Eric said. “There’ll be no money earned here for sending back to Mama and Papa.”

  “I know.”

  They turned to where Jens and Elsie Nielson were conferring quietly. Jens’s back was to Eric and he couldn’t see his mouth or hear his words, but suddenly Elsie’s head bobbed once emphatically.

  “Are you sure?” Jens asked, loudly enough for the boys to hear.

  Elsie’s head came up proudly. “That’s the same question you asked me when you wanted to buy a handcart and give the rest of our money to the brethren. Do you have to ask it again?”

  He shook his head, then bent over and kissed her gently on the top of her head. He turned and looked at Eric and Olaf. “Are you going to break up our little handcart family?” he asked.

  Eric just laughed. “I’m afraid you must live with us all the way to Salt Lake.”

  •••

  “All right, brothers and sisters.”

  Like throwing a cloth over a bird’s cage, the words brought the noise instantly to a stop.

  Elder Willie looked around. “We shall now call for a vote of the congregation. Again, those who are going to stay, please do not raise your hands. This vote is only for those who are considering going forward.”

  His head swept back and forth, but no one moved or spoke. “All right, then. All in favor of continuing on to the Valley immediately, please show by raising your right hand.”

  Like almost everyone else in the crowd, Maggie looked around quickly as her hand came up. It was a sea of hands. Here and there were people who didn’t have their hands raised, but they were possibly those who had been excluded from the vote. To her surprise she saw Elder Ahmanson. His hand was not up.

  “And all of you who would vote with Brother Savage to immediately go into winter quarters and wait until spring to continue on to Utah, please signify.”

  Again heads craned and people searched across the congregation. Maggie saw a scattering of hands, no more than half a dozen. Puzzled, she noted that Brother Ahmanson didn’t raise his hand this time either. As a great rush of noise erupted, she felt her body sag a little with both relief and anxiety. So it was decided. They would go.

  I’m sorry, Hannah. We’ll see you in Utah.

  Instantly the sound was cut off again. Levi Savage had stepped forward again. Elder Willie made a move as though to wave him off, then thought better of it and motioned him forward.

  He stood there for a long moment. Then his head came back and he squared his shoulders. “Brothers and sisters, I, like you, have seen the vote of the congregation. I just want to say this much more. What I have said I know to be true. But seeing you are to go forward, I will go with you. I will help all I can. I will work with you. I will rest with you. I will suffer with you, and if necessary . . .” There was a momentary pause. “And if necessary, I will die with you. May God in his mercy bless and preserve us.”

  III

  Friday, 15 August 1856

  Mary McKensie looked up in surprise. There was a communal well just two houses away from the empty cabin that her family and the James family had occupied for their brief stay in Florence. She had come out to draw a bucket of water from the well, then stopped for a moment to enjoy the evening air before going back to help start supper. Not far from the well a shed that had been used for making and fixing wagons stood in disrepair. A figure had stepped out from behind the shed and was beckoning to her.

  “Eric?” she said as she recognized who it was.

  He put a finger to his lips. Then, satisfied that she was alone, he came forward. She saw that he carried something wrapped in a dish towel beneath his arm.

  “Good evening, Sister McKensie.”

  “Good evening, Eric. You startled me a little.”

  “I’m sorry.” He was clearly nervous and kept glancing behind her.

  Mary smiled. “Who are you worried about coming out? Sarah, Emma, or Maggie?”

  He laughed softly. “I have to get back,” was all he said, “and help the Nielsons finish packing.”

  “Yes. We are busy getting our things together too.”

  His mouth pulled down. “If we leave tomorrow, you will not see Hannah.”

&
nbsp; Mary had to look away, for the pain came back as fresh and as sharply as it had earlier today when it was announced that they would leave the following morning. “I know.”

  “I am most sorry, Sister McKensie. It is not the same for Olaf and me, but we were very much wanting to see Hannah and Ingrid too. They have become most special friends.”

  She smiled now, blinking back the tears. “I know. Thank you, Eric.”

  He hesitated for several moments, then took from beneath his arm whatever it was he was carrying in the cloth. “This news makes Maggie very sad too, no?”

  Mary’s head bobbed once. “Very. She thinks it is partly her fault that Hannah is gone, that she should have been the one to go help the Jacksons.”

  That didn’t seem to surprise him. He held out the bundle toward her. “Perhaps this will help. Will you give it to Maggie?”

  She stared at it for a moment, not taking it. “What is it, Eric?”

  He shook his head. “She will know. It is my way of saying ‘thank you’ for teaching us English.”

  Mary swung around and picked up her bucket. “You stay right here, Eric. I’ll send Maggie out.”

  He jumped as though she had flicked him with a whip. “No, Sister McKensie. You take to her, please.”

  But she had already started away. She looked over her shoulder. “Don’t leave.”

  Flustered, Eric backed into the shed where he wouldn’t be seen by any passersby. Two minutes later he saw the door to the cabin open and Maggie step out. She looked up and down the street, then started for him, walking swiftly. As she neared the well, he walked out where she could see him.

  “Eric? What are you doing here?”

  “I . . .” He grinned ruefully. “I am here because your mother is stubborn woman.”

  Maggie laughed lightly. “She is that. That’s why I’m here and not back in Edinburgh.”

  He smiled.

  “Say,” she said, remembering something, “did you watch Elder Ahmanson at the meeting the other day?”

  Eric nodded slowly. He didn’t have to ask what she meant.

  “He didn’t vote.”

  “I know. I am sad that he is not happy. He complains about how things are. He doesn’t want to go on.”

  “Because his wife and child are with the wagon companies?”

  He shook his head. “Perhaps. I worry for him.”

  That surprised her, but then she decided to get to what she had come out for. She peered at the bundle in his hands. “Mother said you brought me something.”

  He nodded slowly, his face coloring.

  “What is it?”

  “It is for making you more happy.”

  “Me more happy?”

  “Yes, because we leave tomorrow and Hannah is not here.”

  Her chin dropped and the smile was gone. “I know. I had so hoped she would get here by now.”

  “I and Olaf are most sorry too. I . . .” Then, awkwardly, he held out the bundle toward her.

  “What is it, Eric?” She hefted it. “It’s heavy. It feels like a box.”

  He smiled a little, then inclined his head, inviting her to unwrap it.

  She did so, slowly, still looking at him with a strange look in her eyes. Then suddenly she gasped. “Oh!” The cloth dropped from her hand as she held the wooden box in both hands, staring at it in total disbelief.

  “Where in the world did you—” She stopped, overwhelmed. She lifted the lid and the soft melody of “Loch Lomond” began to sound. Suddenly she was crying as she caressed the wood with her fingers. “But where . . . How did you get this?”

  His face was red now and he couldn’t meet her gaze. “When we weighed our belongings in Iowa City, I was not having enough weight.”

  She laughed aloud, wiping now at the tears with the back of her hand. “No wonder I couldn’t find it. I went back to cover it so the sun wouldn’t hurt it and it was gone. I thought someone had stolen it.” She shook her head slowly. “So you took this so you could have a full seventeen pounds?”

  “Yah, that was it.” Now he met her eyes as he fumbled for the right words. “That day, I saw how taking music box away make you very sad. Tomorrow, going away from Hannah make you very sad again. I thought . . . I hoped that the music box would give back some happiness to you again.”

  She looked down at the box, rubbing the lid slowly over and over. “I can’t believe it,” she said, her voice low. “I thought I had lost it forever.”

  “Not forever,” he said with a crooked grin. “Just until now.”

  The tears brimmed over and began to trickle down her cheeks. Now she made no effort to wipe them away. She stared at him for several long seconds, her eyes as wide as the wheels of the carts. Suddenly she went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Eric Pederson,” she whispered. Then she whirled and walked away, her head down as she clutched the music box tightly to her body.

  Chapter Notes

  On the evening of 13 August, two days after their arrival in Florence, Nebraska Territory, the members of the James G. Willie Handcart Company had what John Chislett described as a “monster meeting.” Sources (contemporary journal accounts and later reminiscences) indicate that the issue at hand was whether or not to continue on to Utah. Those sources do include some of the words of Elder Willie and particularly the speech of Levi Savage (see the following for more details: Turner, Emigrating Journals, pp. 19–20; John Chislett’s narrative in Remember, pp. 62–63; Emma James’s account in Carol Cornwall Madsen, Journey to Zion, p. 625; and Christy, “Weather, Disaster, and Responsibility,” pp. 20–21).

  Modern students of history may be inclined to critique the decision that was made that day. Two things should be noted. In the first place, James G. Willie and the other leaders were not oblivious to the challenges that could await them if the emigrants continued on. They openly discussed the possible hardships and tribulations and exhorted the Saints “to Go forward regardeless of concequenses” (Savage journal, as cited in Christy, “Weather, Disaster, and Responsibility,” p. 20).

  In the second place, the fact that the option of continuing on was also very untenable should be taken into account. If the decision to winter over for another season had been made in Liverpool, or even in New York, it might have been possible to wait a season, though even in those two places it would have taxed the Church’s resources enormously to do so. But in Florence the resources were already stretched to the limit. Only in Salt Lake City were there the resources and the infrastructure needed to assimilate and care for that many people.

  John Chislett, who records the stirring commitment of Levi Savage to stay with the Saints even after they voted against his counsel, adds this significant comment about Savage: “Brother Savage was true to his word; no man worked harder than he to alleviate the suffering which he had foreseen, when he had to endure it” (in Remember, p. 63).

  Johan Ahmanson, somewhere along the way to Utah, became disenchanted with the Church. He left Utah and the Church the following year after arriving in the Valley. He moved to Omaha and became a prominent citizen there. He sued Brigham Young for not paying him “wages” for his service as subcaptain and also for property he claimed the Church stole from him (see Martin, “John Ahmanson vs. Brigham Young,” pp. 1–20). In a later history that he wrote, Ahmanson claimed he was dissatisfied with how things were done on the trek. He does not say whether he voted to stay in Florence or to go, but he was very critical of the decision to go on (see Secret History, pp. 29–30).

  Having Ahmanson not vote was the author’s way of showing that there was a change of attitude happening. It is interesting that, according to the Willie Company journal, on 19 August, just a few days after the company left Florence, a new brother was put in as “interpreter and counsellor to the Danish Saints” (in Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 21). Thereafter, Elder Ahmanson is not mentioned again in the company journal.

  Chapter 14

  Florence, Nebraska Territory

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  Sand Hills, Nebraska Territory

  I

  Saturday, 16 August 1856

  This time when the James G. Willie Company lined up for their departure from Florence, Nebraska, it was in sharp contrast to when they had left Iowa City the month before. Expectation had turned to resignation, celebration to hesitation, jubilation to quiet desperation. Where before there had been a sense of festivity, now there was only grim urgency. The only ones to see them off were the hundred or so who would not be going. And there was no cheering here. They watched with long faces, their expressions a mixture of gratitude and nagging shame.

  As had become his habit every day while on the march, Eric Pederson ran over to check on the walkers, the footmen of the company. As had become their habit, Mary Bathgate and Isabella Park greeted him brusquely, trying not to show just how much they had come to depend on this morning routine.

  “Are you ready?” Eric said cheerfully as he checked Sister Bathgate’s pack and made sure it was fastened properly.

  “Of course we’re ready,” she said, trying to sound stern. “Have you ever known a day when we weren’t?”

  “No,” he admitted cheerfully. “Captain Willie says he would like a hundred more like you two. He said it would make being captain much more easy.”

  “Go on,” Isabella said. “You’re just funning us, aren’t you?”

  That was a new one on Eric. “Funning?”

  “Teasing,” Mary said, squinting at him. “Did he really say that?”

  “Yes, he did. Day before yesterday.”

  “Well, well,” Isabella said to her friend, looking quite pleased.

  “And he asked me to ask you again if either of you wanted to ride in the wagons.”

  “And what did you tell him, young man?” Mary said, fixing her gaze on him.

  “I said”—he let his voice slide into a low growl—“Captain Willie, sir. These two sisters are going to walk all the way, and don’t you forget it!”

  Though her eyes were twinkling with delight, Mary harrumphed grumpily. “Good for you. That’s what you should have said.”