Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  It had taken him some time back in camp to finish covering the grave, so by the time he finished he figured the company was a good half an hour ahead of him. With that, he had hoped it would be a while before he came across the first stragglers. But within a quarter of a mile he had caught up with the first handcart. And just ahead of it were two of the wagons, the oxen plodding along barely enough to keep the wagon moving. So he had gathered the people up, encouraging them on as best he could, and stayed back with them as Elder Willie had asked him to do. Now there were six handcarts moving along slowly, together with the wagons, helping each other through the drifts or up the steeper parts of the trail.

  But this was the first time he had come upon someone who had stopped completely. Concerned, he hurried forward. To his surprise, as he got closer, he recognized William James and his son. Brother James was seated on the ground, his back against the cart, his head down on his chest. He looked like he was asleep, and Brother Chislett felt a sudden start. Was he . . . ?

  But at the sound of his footsteps, the boy stood up, waving. Then Brother James’s head came up too. Greatly relieved, the subcaptain rushed up to them. “Brother James, are you all right?”

  There was a brief nod and a weary smile. “Yes, Brother Chislett. Reuben and I just stopped to rest for a moment.”

  John Chislett saw the concern in Reuben’s eyes. The boy stepped back enough so that his father couldn’t see him and held up ten fingers. Chislett shook his head. Ten minutes. That was not good. Without movement, frostbite could start to set in very quickly. He half turned, considering the wagons, but immediately rejected that. They were already so full that he feared that the animals were not going to keep them moving.

  “Come, then,” Brother Chislett said cheerfully to Brother James. “You’ve had your rest now. You can come along with the rest of us laggers.”

  Reuben bent down and got his father under the arms and helped him to his feet. He stood, but Chislett saw that he was weaving back and forth and had to grab his son’s arm to steady himself. Chislett made a decision. He turned to the boy. “Is there anything in the cart you cannot leave behind?”

  Reuben considered that for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s mostly bedding. Brother Willie says we can get more when we reach the wagons from Salt Lake.”

  “Good. Then let’s leave the cart. You and your father can walk along with us.”

  “My shotgun,” Brother James cried, his head coming up in alarm.

  Reuben steadied his father. “It’s all right, Papa. We won’t leave your shotgun.” He looked to Brother Chislett. “He’s worried that he won’t be able to provide for us.”

  “Get it for me,” Chislett said. “And any other things you may absolutely need.” The subcaptain noted that his other charges were going by slowly, barely glancing at the little scene playing out as they passed. He could delay no longer.

  Reuben went around to the back of the cart and returned with a finely made double-barreled shotgun. He also had a bag filled with some smaller items. Brother Chislett took the bag from him and quickly tied a knot in the top. He then slipped the bag over the end of the shotgun barrel and placed the gun on William James’s shoulder. “There you go. You are good to worry about your family, Brother James. But leave the rest behind. We have to keep moving.”

  Chislett’s eyes were shining as William James gripped the shotgun, straightened, and looked at Brother Chislett. “Thank you.”

  •••

  Eric concentrated intently, moving in a dull and monotonous rhythm. One foot up. Swing it forward. Place it down firmly, making sure it doesn’t slip on the snow-packed trail. Shift your weight forward. Next foot up. Swing it forward.

  His eyes were open as he leaned against the crossbar, but he saw little. There was really nothing to see. The whiteness stretched out in every direction, broken only here and there by small bare patches of ground, or by the jagged edges of the rock escarpment which seemed to beckon to them like the menacing fingers on some unseen hand.

  Mary McKensie walked beside him in the shafts. They didn’t speak, but without conscious thought they matched their steps in perfect timing as though they were being controlled by the same puppeteer. A short distance ahead of them, Jane James and Maggie were in the middle of the road with the children, plodding steadily forward. Jane had young John, who was four, on her back. Maggie held the hands of Mary Ann and Martha and was almost pulling them along, they were so tired. Robbie brought up the rear, walking with seven-year-old George, too exhausted at the moment to help with the cart. They hadn’t seem Emma and Sarah and their cart now for some time.

  Eric groaned inwardly. Just ahead of where the family was walking, the trail started to climb sharply again. And here and there he could see the tops of rocks in the middle of the two tracks made by the thousands of wagons which had passed here before them. Beyond that, he could see the tracks going on for some distance, and all uphill. There was no one else in sight now. They were falling behind.

  And here was another incline.

  The hill would have been challenge enough. They could see dark gashes where previous feet had dug into the snow and reached the dirt beneath. It was not terribly steep but it was sharp enough that they were straining to keep the carts moving. But now the wheels were hitting the rocks in the track. Some of the smaller rocks they bounced over easily, though it rattled the cart and jarred them as they pulled. But some rocks protruded out of the ground three and four and five inches. They tried to steer the cart around them, but they couldn’t in every case and the wheels would hang up on them. Then it took superhuman effort to lunge forward and take the wheels up and over.

  About two-thirds of the way up the incline, there was a loud crack and the cart jerked Eric and Mary around hard. They grunted, shoving their bodies forward. The cart rocked forward an inch or two, then fell back again.

  “Harder,” Eric gasped.

  They hit it again. Panting and grunting, they threw every ounce of strength they had against the crossbar. The cart lifted slowly. Then suddenly the wheel cleared the obstacle and the cart shot forward. With a startled cry, Eric leaped forward as well. As his feet clawed for leverage, one foot hit a patch of snow and shot out from under him. With a yelp, he went down to one knee, cracking it hard on something sharp. He got up slowly. A red cloud seemed to whirl before his eyes and he shut them quickly to make it go away. Reaching down he started to rub his knee, then winced sharply. He had torn a hole in this trouser leg and he could see the deep abrasion beneath.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Just hit my knee a little.”

  It was burning like fury but he put it aside. Still panting, he looked ahead, tempted to call for help. But Maggie and Sister James were now a good fifty yards ahead of them. If they came back down they would have to ascend the hill a second time.

  He looked at Maggie’s mother. Her face had splotches of red now and he could see that she was trembling. “Can we do it?”

  She lowered her head, taking in deep gulps of air. “I’m all right. Just give me a minute.”

  •••

  Eric stopped and licked his lips, looking at Maggie’s mother. It was not yet twenty minutes since the last incline. It was not yet fifteen minutes since he had bruised his knee trying to get up one short hill. Now here was another one. He and Mary McKensie were still moving along by themselves. Robbie had come back to help but had lasted for only five minutes before Eric made him quit. His face was white and he looked like he might faint.

  Eric pulled a face. His head was light and he felt like he might faint too. Maybe if fortune smiled upon him someone would come along and suggest that he take a break. He smiled grimly. He decided he would get very cold waiting for that to happen.

  The next rise was only fifty or sixty feet long before it gentled again, but it was steeper than the last one and the two-track road was once again studded with rocks. He dropped his head and closed his eyes. Not another one. Not now. His lun
gs burned. His legs were trembling violently. His face was numb and there was a strange tingling sensation in his cheeks. At that moment he knew without the slightest question that his body was no longer capable of what it would take to go up and over that hump. It didn’t matter whether or not he had the will. His body would not, could not, respond. He would collapse in the trying.

  “I don’t know if I can make another one,” Sister McKensie whispered beside him.

  He turned and saw the same utter hopelessness in her eyes that he was feeling. He nodded, taking in deep breaths to steady himself. Sister James and Maggie and the children were not in sight now. They had gone up and over this rise and on. Eric tipped his head back and shouted. “Sister James!”

  A gust of wind snatched the sound away before it was fully out of his mouth. He waited for a moment, but there was no answer.

  “I can’t, Eric.” Mary slumped forward against the crossbar, lowering her head to her hands.

  He reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. He could feel the tremors in her body and knew she was right. He shook her gently, and after a moment she looked up. He forced a smile, which probably looked more like a grimace than anything. “Can I quote you some scripture, Sister McKensie?”

  For a moment, she was startled, and then she smiled faintly. “I could use a good one about now.”

  “It’s my father’s favorite.”

  “Which is it?”

  “From the book of Ether.” He paused a moment, making sure he could remember it correctly. “It goes something like this. ‘I give unto men weakness that they may be humble.’ ” He stopped, shaking his head. “I’m feeling pretty humble about now, how about you?”

  “Quite,” she said, the smile deepening into something genuine.

  Now Eric spoke with greater force. “ ‘My grace is sufficient for all men who humble themselves before me. And if men will humble themselves before me’ ”—his eyes looked deep into hers—“ ‘and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.’ ”

  Mary McKensie slowly began to nod. “I have always loved that scripture.”

  Eric straightened. “Me too.” He looked straight ahead now. “Are you ready, then?”

  Her eyes closed for just a moment. “Could we say a little prayer first?”

  He nodded, a little chagrined that he hadn’t thought of it. Both of them bowed their heads.

  “Heavenly Father,” Mary said softly. “We cannot do this alone. Wilt Thou help us to get over this next rise, we pray in the name of Thy Son. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  Now she looked up at him, her lips set. “I’m ready.”

  “Then here we go.” In unison they started forward. They broke into a lumbering trot as they approached the bottom of the hill in order to give themselves a little momentum. That carried them up for about twenty feet, but then gravity became more powerful than momentum. Eric dug in, commanding his legs to keep pumping, feeling the pain shoot through his injured knee. To his surprise they kept moving, even though the wheels were bouncing and clattering over the rocks.

  “Don’t stop,” he gasped. “Keep going.”

  Beside him, Mary cried out as her feet slipped on the packed snow beneath her. She caught herself by hanging onto the shafts of the cart, nearly dragging Eric to the ground with her. But as he staggered forward, she caught her balance again. Suddenly a blast of wind buffeted them, rocking the cart and momentarily blinding them.

  And then suddenly, as they fought their way forward, the cart seemed to lighten. Mary McKensie was pulling ahead faster than he was. Scrambling to keep up with her, he was afraid for a moment that the cart was going to hit him in the back.

  Then he saw that she was looking at him in astonishment as well. She was pushing, but not that hard.

  “Go!” he shouted at Maggie’s mother. They spurted upward, in the steepest part of the incline now. But amazingly the cart did not slow.

  Eric snapped his head around. It was as if someone had thrown their weight against the back of the cart, as if someone had suddenly come up to help them push. But there was no one there.

  “We’re going to make it,” Mary shouted into his ear.

  “Yes!” he exploded. “Yes, we are.”

  They crested the rise and the trail suddenly leveled again. With a cry of relief they let the cart roll forward another ten or fifteen feet, then brought it to a stop. As they stood there, their chests heaving, their heads down, they looked at each other. Mary’s eyes were enormous and filled with wonder.

  “What happened?” Eric blurted.

  “I don’t know.”

  They both turned. They could see a full half mile back down the trail. No one was in sight. They were totally alone.

  “Maybe it was the wind,” Sister McKensie suggested.

  He started to shake his head and then stopped. He didn’t know what it was. He wasn’t even sure if it was something. Then his head dropped. Hers did the same.

  “Thank you, Father,” Eric whispered.

  “Yes,” Mary McKensie added softly.

  •••

  It was about quarter of an hour later when they heard a shout. Eric looked up. They were coming around the brow of one of the ridges. Ahead they could see where the trail dropped down into a gentle swale, then rose sharply again to a long ridge to the south of them about four or five hundred yards away. As he squinted into the wind, he saw two figures on the far ridge, standing on an outcropping of rock, waving their arms back and forth.

  “It’s Maggie and Jane,” Sister McKensie said, raising an arm and waving. “We’re coming,” she shouted weakly.

  There was a snatch of something they didn’t catch.

  Eric stopped the cart and cupped his hands. “What?”

  A moment later it came in, quite clearly now. “This is the top.”

  “Glory,” Mary breathed in relief.

  “All right,” Eric shouted hoarsely. “We’re coming.”

  “We’re going on. The children are cold.” Then there was something else but it was whipped away with the wind.

  “What did she say?” he asked.

  “Something about Robbie.”

  Just then a shorter figure appeared beside the others. All three stood there for a moment, and then the adults jumped down and disappeared. Eric nodded. “Robbie’s staying to help us with that last pull.”

  Mary McKensie was already eyeing it. From here it didn’t look too terrible, but they had come up this trail enough now to know that when they reached the base, it would look three times steeper than it did from here.

  “We can use him,” Mary said in a strained whisper.

  He knew what she was thinking. If Maggie and Jane knew how close she and Eric were to total collapse, they would stay to help too. But it was too late for that now. “We’re almost there,” he sighed. “One more pull.”

  It took them another ten minutes to reach Robbie, who had come down to the bottom of the last incline and was waiting for them. Eric was relieved to see that his color was better and that a bit of his chipper self had been restored.

  “Thanks, Robbie,” his mother said, as he fell in behind them.

  “You’re welcome. This one is a bad one.” One hand lifted and he pointed ahead. “The rocks at the top are terrible. The worst yet. You can barely get your footing on them.”

  Eric’s heart sank. He could see what Robbie was talking about. Up here on the uppermost ridge top, the wind had whipped much of the snow away. The whole top of the ridge was one long rock escarpment, layer after layer of rock folded in one on top of the other, their protruding edges as jagged as a saw blade. Some jutted up as much as a foot from the ridge itself.

  “I’ll help,” Robbie said.

  Eric took a deep breath. The ground was already starting to slope upwards. “All right, here we go.”

  The first hundred feet or so got them out of the swale and that wasn’t so terrible. The ground wasn’t rocky yet and was frozen and hard. Ev
en then they were breathing heavily by the time they traversed that stretch. Now the ground rose sharply and they were into the first of the rocks.

  “Push, Robbie,” he shouted. Eric leaned forward, steeling himself as he felt the weight of the cart start to pull back on them. There was a shout of acknowledgment from Robbie, and Eric felt the cart push forward slightly. Good. It might just be enough to make the difference.

  “Here we go,” he said to Mary through clenched teeth. “Let’s keep it moving.”

  To their surprise, Robbie made a great deal of difference. It took all of their strength, of course, but with him pushing, their progress was steady. The cart clattered and bounced wildly over the escarpment, but they were moving forward with enough momentum to clear every obstacle.

  In three minutes it was done. They crested the knife-edge of the ridge, threaded their way through some large boulders, following the other tracks, and came to a stop in a large open area. Eric turned around. “Robbie, thank you. That was—”

  But Robbie wasn’t there. He looked at Mary in surprise, then dropped the cart and walked around behind it. There was no Robbie. Breaking into a stumbling run, both of them made their way back to the ridge. They stopped dead, gaping in astonishment.

  Robbie was trudging slowly up the hill, still two-thirds of the way from the top. They could see that the front of his coat was covered with snow. He looked up when he saw them. “I’m sorry, Mama,” he called in discouragement. “I slipped and fell and couldn’t catch up with you again.”

  Chapter Notes

  Many years after the handcart companies experiment was over, a Sunday School class in Cedar City, Utah, was discussing the Martin and Willie Handcart Companies. The teacher and some of the class members were sharply criticizing the Church and its leaders for letting the two companies come so late in the season. What happened next provided the inspiration for the experience shared in this chapter by Eric Pederson and Mary McKensie, though the man who stood and spoke, Francis Webster, was part of the Martin Company and what he described did not happen on Rocky Ridge but farther east along the trail. The following recollection was written by William R. Palmer, who was in attendance at the class: