I could hardly believe my eyes and ears. Uncle Luther had managed to transform himself from a lecherous swine into a perfect gentleman. Gone was the Uncle Luther from the cabin. He was an actor in a playhouse. His voice and his manner of speaking, his posture, even the soft, watery look in his eyes, gave the impression of a charming, but helpless, oversized dandy. In front of the elders, before they disappeared into the tent, he turned to me, patted my head as tender as a preacher, and said, “Dearest Ophelia, go back home now and read the good book, then work on your penmanship.” As he was walking into the tent, I heard him say to Bishop Marley, “She’ll be a proper lady soon. Then I might be able to take her back east and marry her off to a wealthy gentleman.”
I couldn’t move. I stood there stunned by what I’d seen and heard. Marry me off to a wealthy gentleman? Uncle Luther would be more likely to sell me to a brothel. I doubted he even knew any wealthy gentlemen he hadn’t robbed. Instead of going home, I went around to the back of the tent.
It was dark under the cottonwood trees. I crawled as far into the tent as I could and sharpened my ears so I could hear. Uncle Luther spoke so well he almost fooled me. The men exchanged pleasantries, and talked about the soil and Luther’s long journey from Missouri. Uncle Luther brought up “the problem of Ezekiel” and I strained to hear.
“I followed the boy,” he said. “Followed him straight out of town and watched him climb the high mesa. I kept a safe distance, but I could see he was meeting with the Injuns. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were Black Hawk himself because I could see even at night the shape of a large headdress.”
I’ve eavesdropped on a lot of conversations in my life. Most of them weren’t that interesting, but this was dire. I didn’t have to hear any more. My heart thumped as I inched back, extricated myself from the canvas tent, and ran as fast as I could to our homestead.
I found Zeke at the table playing with the cards, transfixed. I still heard the devil whispering every time the cards made that phlltt, phlltt sound, but I had grown accustomed to it. “Zeke!” I screamed. He didn’t even look at me, so intent was his concentration, and I feared he would become like Uncle Luther. But he wouldn’t live long enough to become like Uncle Luther if he didn’t get on his mare and hightail it out of town. I grabbed a gunnysack and stuffed food into it. “Get up! Get up!” I shouted. “Saddle up your horse. They’re coming for you, Zeke. They’re going to hang you if you don’t get on your way.”
Zeke stood up from the table. Puzzlement covered his face and he shook his head. “Calm down, O. What are you talking about?”
“Uncle Luther! He told the council you’re a traitor. He said he saw you meeting with Black Hawk. You’ve got to get out of here.”
Zeke ran out of the house and over to the lean-to, where he gathered his guns. After he saddled and mounted his horse, I handed him the gunnysack and tightened his saddlebags for him. He looked down at me.
“Don’t tell me what direction you’re going,” I said. “They’ll make me tell them. I’m not going to watch you go. I’m going to close my eyes so I can’t even see which way you ride.” My voice broke and the tears came. I bit my bottom lip to stop them.
“I’ll be back for you, O. I promised Pa I would protect you.”
“You can’t protect me if you’re dead. They’ll be looking for you, and they’ll hang you if they find you. Get as far away from here as you can. I love you, brother. We won’t be apart for long.”
“I can’t leave you with Uncle Luther. What’s going to happen to you?”
“Don’t fret about me. I’m going to marry a gentleman.” I kept my voice light, but hot tears ran down my face. “Now go!” I slapped his horse.
Hooves pounded the earth. My stomach felt hollow, as if someone had punched me real hard. I doubled over and tried to breathe. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. I paced in front of our place trying to gulp the night air, which buzzed and chirped and grunted—the sounds of insects coming out and the livestock settling in. I could hear horses coming up the rutted track. I ran inside and pretended to read my book. Blood pumped through my veins and a loud thumping resounded in my skull. My chest tightened around my heart.
Minutes later, the bishop and four men burst in and started searching the cabin. “Where’s Ezekiel?” Bishop Marley shouted at me.
I looked up from my book. “Ezekiel,” I said slowly as if I had never heard the name.
He ripped the book out of my hands, frowned at the title, and threw it on the floor. “Where is he?” he asked again through clenched teeth. Spittle landed on my face. I winced in disgust and turned my head away.
“Last time I saw him, he was right outside, sir.” I was so scared I almost vomited.
Uncle Luther and toothless Brother Thompson stepped into the cabin. Uncle Luther was still playing the dandy. He put his hand on his jaw and struck a thoughtful gesture. “The Injun boy and his horse are both gone, and he has taken quite a number of his possessions with him. It looks as if he has absconded.”
A gummy smile spread across Elder Thompson’s face. “This girl’s been known to eavesdrop. Bet she tipped him off.”
Bishop Marley was furious. He grabbed me by the ear, dragging me out of the cabin and all the way back down to the council tent. I was in such pain I expected my ear would come off in his fingers. By the time we got there I was wailing and carrying on—begging and crying without shame. Bishop Marley pushed me into the tent. At first I was shocked because women and children weren’t allowed in the tent. I looked around, disappointed at how plain and void of mystery it was. Chairs, some benches carved out of logs, a rickety looking table, and a potbellied stove piped through a hole in the ceiling—this was all I’d been missing.
I curled up on the ground. Bishop Marley stood over me. Other men were loading their rifles and running in and out of the tent. I could hear a posse gathering out front. “Give me a minute to work on the girl,” the bishop called out to them.
He looked at me with fury. “I have a flock to protect. By not telling me where your bro—” He stopped himself and started again. “By protecting that savage, you are jeopardizing my flock. Do you understand that?”
I kept my head down and nodded. With my head still down, I raised my eyes. Uncle Luther was pacing the room, picking his teeth in deep thought.
“I think it’s best if you leave us alone for a minute,” said the bishop. “You just arrived and it would be unfair to ask you to assist in the harsh discipline this situation calls for.”
Uncle Luther’s voice was soft as a sparrow’s. “I understand the girl needs to be punished.” He leaned close and whispered to the bishop. “But do not disfigure or scar her. If that happens, custodianship will be a heavier burden than it already is.” He slipped out the tent door.
I was alone with Bishop Marley. Someone entered the tent and handed him a horsewhip. I made myself as small as I could and shielded my face with my hands, but the whip still cracked the air and stung my back.
“Tell me where he is!”
“I don’t know,” I screamed. “I swear I don’t know.”
A group of men entered the tent, their faces stern and their bodies alert and ready to move. “We should get going, or else we’ll lose him.”
My back stung and felt wet. I touched my shoulder and looked at my fingers—blood. Uncle Luther stood over me and looked down. “Pardon me, Bishop, but I said no damage to the flesh.”
The bishop grabbed me, raised me to my feet, and pushed me into a chair. “Then how do you propose we get her talking?”
Uncle Luther struck that thoughtful gesture again, stroked his chin, and calmly said, “I propose we cover her with honey and let the fire ants do the work.”
“There’s no time. Besides honey is a valuable commodity.”
“It will only take a minute to fetch a jar of molasses,” said Uncle Luther.
The thought of fire ants crawling all over me was too much. “He went west.” I screamed. “But he’s not a t
raitor. Zeke doesn’t know any Indians. I’ve spent every day of my life with him. There’s no way he could visit the Indians, without me knowing.”
“West! Start riding west!” the bishop commanded.
A group of men rushed out of the tent. After a minute, I heard their horses gallop away. I was pretty sure that Zeke would have ridden east. Uncle Luther, Brother Thompson, and the bishop remained in the tent.
The bishop looked from Uncle Luther to me. “Are you calling your uncle a liar?”
I started screaming hysterically. “In our whole lives, the only day Zeke and I have ever been apart was yesterday when that devil took him to Jack’s Trading Post and brought him home dead drunk! There’s no way Zeke is cooperating with the Indians. Don’t you see, my uncle is just saying that so he can—” I stopped screaming and was silent. I looked at the blank, expectant faces of the men. What would they do if I spoke the truth?
“So he can—what, girl?” yelled the bishop. He furrowed his white brows and looked from me to Uncle Luther.
I could not form the words. I could not speak the truth. I looked over at Uncle Luther and Brother Thompson. They stood behind the bishop near the flap door. Brother Thompson had a glint in his eye and he ran his tongue over his lips. Uncle Luther lifted his chin in a dignified manner.
“So he can what, girl?” the bishop repeated.
I looked at the ground. “So he can run Zeke off the place,” I mumbled.
“Now why would any man want to run off a strong boy who can help him work the land?” He wiped his hands together like he was sharpening knives and wiped them down the front of his coat as if to cleanse them. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m going to go calm the womenfolk and then I’m going to pray.” He looked at Brother Thompson. “Tie her to that chair. She needs to stay here all night and contemplate the gravity of her actions.”
Brother Thompson nodded and left the tent to fetch some rope. The bishop stopped and stared at Uncle Luther—stared long and hard enough that Uncle Luther flinched. In a great trembling, thunderous voice the bishop said, “Do not bring your wicked ways upon our people! We are the Saints, the Lord’s chosen ones. Any offense to us and you will feel the wrath of God.”
FIVE
I sat in the forbidden tent alone with my hands pulled behind me and tied together at the back of the chair. The spines of the old frayed rope pricked my wrists. Every muscle ached. My back and shoulders stung. My ear still hurt and my throat burned, but I was too thirsty to cry anymore. A crust of dried dirt and slobber caked my face. I licked my lips and tasted salt.
Hours passed, and although the settlement became silent of human activity, the crickets and grasshoppers tirelessly chirped. A lone coyote howled. Others joined in. The constant tinkling of river water reminded me that I was both thirsty and had to go to the privy—conflicting desires.
Anyone who was not hunting Zeke was probably fast asleep dreaming of the fresh apricots they’d eat for breakfast. In the orchard, fuzzy swollen orbs hung from the trees waiting to be picked. I was supposed to join the sisters in apricot picking the next day. I’d been looking forward to both feasting on the sweet fruit and some female companionship. I didn’t know what would happen to me. I figured I’d be deemed a traitor and everyone would hate me.
I fussed and fidgeted, unable to ease the aching in my back. Zeke was gone and I was alone. I felt like I’d been split in two and my heart had been ripped out. I tipped myself over and landed with a painful thud on my shoulder. Like a helpless infant without even the comfort of a thumb, I lay there all night and let the grief and pity pour out of me—for Ma, Pa, and Zeke, but mostly for myself.
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew someone was fussing with my roped hands, trying to loosen the knot. Fingers brushed my wrist and clasped my lower arm, and I knew from the gentleness that it was a woman. May Belle Hopkins whispered assurances in an uncharacteristically soft, sweet voice. She released my hands and put her arm around me. Her kindness broke a wall within me. I cried again but this time from relief. She got me to my feet and led me out of the tent. It was before dawn and the stars were out. “I’ll get you home and cleaned up,” she said.
I stopped, looked at her, and begged, “Can we please go to your place instead, ma’am?”
She was taken aback for a minute till understanding washed over her. She nodded. “Why of course, child.”
When we got to her place, May Belle sat me at the kitchen table and set down a jelly jar of water and a scone. I gulped down the water, but found my stomach too cramped to eat the delicious-looking scone. Between dawn and sunrise, May Belle went to the orchard to pick apricots. She allowed me to rest on a bed at her house. She had been the first wife of Abraham Hopkins, one of the settlement’s most prominent members, until he passed away last summer. All of his younger wives had been married off to other husbands. May Belle was the only woman I knew who lived alone in comfort.
She came back just before noon, her face flushed with heat, her fingertips stained orange, and the sweet, almost bloody, smell of ripe apricot on her apron. She had been allowed two big baskets full of apricots for herself. The rest went to the common pantry or were put in the storehouse after being preserved. She’d have to go back later to dry the fruit, can it, and make preserves. Anything that wasn’t used by the settlement would be sold, and the profits would be managed by the bishop. She sat in a chair and fanned her face with her hat. I brought her the water bucket.
She took two dippers full before she spoke. “I’d really fancy a tall glass of lemonade right now. You know lemons are plentiful in the California Territory. Someday we’ll be able to go into Rockville and buy them. The wagon men and gypsies will come with carts full to sell or trade. Imagine being able to have a lemon whenever you want one!”
“I reckon that would be some life,” I said and managed a smile even though dread had made me fidgety and sick to my stomach. I wondered if the other Saints knew that May Belle was harboring me. I wondered if the posse had found Zeke. He could be hanging from a tree right now. I wanted to ask her if she’d heard anything, but I didn’t want to ruin our chat.
May Belle clasped her hands in prayer. “Lord, forgive my transgression. I lust for lemon when you have given me a bounty of apricots.” In solemn repentance, she bowed her head and closed her eyes. She raised her head and said to me, “Every day we must thank the Lord for what he has given us and never ask for more. Even if we’re thirsty, if all we have is air to breathe, we need to praise the Lord. Do you remember the crossing, child?”
I didn’t want to talk about the crossing, and I was certainly in no mood to praise God. All I wanted to do was ask May Belle if she had any news of Zeke. But she was being kind to me. I didn’t want to remind her of what I’d done. But then I remembered I hadn’t done anything at all. Zeke was no traitor. They’d punished me so hard, I’d almost believed I’d done something evil when all I’d done was save my brother’s life.
I looked at May Belle and then stared at a basket of apricots so fresh they still seemed alive. “I remember a lot of walking. I remember watching people die and being afraid. I remember how the look of the land kept changing. Most of all, I remember finally arriving and seeing the Great Salt Lake Valley stretched out below with shimmering water in the distance. I thought we were there. But we had to keep on walking for some time. Of the entire journey, those last few miles felt the longest. What stays with me the most is how every day we just kept moving—till finally I felt like a force—like I was a river or something, and I just moved on each day without thinking about it. Even now that movement lives within me. I’ve lived in Grafton since the crossing, but I still feel that movement pulling me toward somewhere else. Every day I have to fight it.”
From May Belle’s expression, I could tell I’d said too much. She looked at me like she was trying hard to understand what I was talking about.
“I don’t mean to change the subject, but is there any news of Zeke?”
; Her stern look returned. “I haven’t heard, nor have I inquired.”
“You know he’s innocent, don’t you? Zeke has never in his life talked to an Indian.”
“That’s up to the men to decide. You should not have interfered with men’s business. It’s no easy job to run a settlement and keep everyone safe in these hostile times. Child, do you realize we are at war with Black Hawk?”
I was going to tell her about the war I’d been fighting with Uncle Luther for the past two days. I was going to tell her what a bad man he was and how he’d tried to get in bed with me. That would let her see his true nature. The words were forming in my head and I was deciding how to tell her, when someone knocked on her door.
May Belle rose, smoothed her skirt, touched the back of her head, and patted the sweat off her face with a hanky. With a straight spine and even countenance, she opened the door. “Why, hello. You must be Ophelia’s uncle—so sorry about your sister’s passing. Do come in.”
Uncle Luther stepped in. He wore the same getup he’d had on last night at the council meeting. He took her hand and pressed her fingers to his lips—still playing the dandy. I rolled my eyes and sighed. He said, “I was expecting a much older and much less vital woman.”
May Belle giggled, blushed, pulled her hand away, and covered her mouth. “Oh, my! Well I’m no spring chicken, but I’m alive and well. My mind is sharp and I do my best to stay out of the sun.”
May Belle usually spoke confidently, but now she seemed shy and fumbled for words. It was as if Uncle Luther had walked into the room and cast a spell on her. I eyed him. He wasn’t a good-looking man, but with his yellow silk cravat and his gentlemanly ways, he had turned a hardened widow to jelly.
“Can I offer you something? I think I have a slice of pie left.”
“I don’t want to trouble you, ma’am. I just came to collect my niece.”
Ophelia's War Page 4