The Undaunted : The Miracle of the Hole-In-The-Rock Pioneers

by Gerald N. Lund

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the wagon flap pull back, and a moment later Mary climbed up to sit beside him. “Are they asleep?” he asked softly.

  “Finally. Emily is still so excited about all that happened, I thought she was never going to give up.” Then she looked around. “Where’s young James?”

  He pointed to a rider alongside the lead wagon. “With me driving, Tillie’s feeling a little rejected, so I asked Jimmie if he would take care of her for a while.”

  There was immediate skepticism. “He asked you first, didn’t he?”

  He drew a finger across his lips. “If you don’t ask, I don’t have to tell.”

  “And who’s going to spoil my children when you leave to go back to Cedar City?”

  “Are you kidding? Living in the lap of luxury over there in San Juan? They’ll be so spoiled before year’s end, you’ll need me to straighten them out again.”

  Her chuckle was soft and amused. She looked up at the sky. “How long before we stop?”

  “Decker wants to push on until dark.”

  “Good. The farther we go, the better I feel.”

  They fell silent for a time, letting the sway and bump of the wagon lull them a little. “I was really proud of you last night,” David finally said. “Things got a little dodgy there for a time, but you never flinched.”

  “Oh, yeah? Good thing you couldn’t see the inside of my stomach. It was doing flip-flops the whole time that beast was waving his knife around.”

  “Well, it didn’t show on your face, and that’s what’s important.”

  “Thank you.”

  Another five minutes went by. Finally, she drew in a deep breath and turned to look at him. “David, there’s something I need to tell you.”

  “All right.”

  “The night before we left Cedar City, Abigail McKenna came to see me.”

  That brought his head around with a jerk. “Abby?”

  “Yes.” She looked a little sheepish. “We’re very good friends. Both she and Molly have watched our children for us from time to time.”

  “And what did she want?” he asked darkly. “Did she ask you to watch over me, see if you could redeem my soul while we’re traveling together through the furnace of affliction?”

  She laughed merrily. “Abby was right. You really are defensive about this, aren’t you?”

  He softened a little. “Sorry. I . . . I just get a little tired of being everyone’s project.”

  “I see,” she said thoughtfully. “Do you think that’s how Jim and I see you? As our project?”

  “No,” he replied instantly. “And thank you for that. It’s been refreshing to be just David.” He hesitated. “So what did she have to say?”

  “Not much. She told me what had happened with your father and Molly. She said you were hurt and angry, and probably could use a friend.”

  He gave her a long look. “Ah, so that whole thing with the skittish team that first morning was nothing but a trap?”

  She touched his shoulder briefly, laughing again. “Of course. Couldn’t you tell? I thought Emily’s ‘You saved my life’ speech was an especially nice touch.”

  “All right,” he growled. “Point well taken.” He looked directly at her now. “And did Abby lay out my whole history for you—tell you of my traumatic childhood and how it has soured me?”

  “No, but you did that yourself the other day.” Then she pursed her lips slightly. “She did say one thing that I found rather strange. She said that, in her opinion, your problem is that for you, God is an abstract.”

  He was totally taken aback by that. “An abstract?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what she said.”

  “And what is that supposed to mean? That sounds so like Abby.”

  “I’m not sure. When I asked her, she refused to say any more.” She cast him a quick sidelong glance. “I’ve thought about it a lot, actually.”

  “And?” he said, a little wary now. His expression made her chuckle again.

  “I’m not going to preach at you,” she said after a moment, “so you can relax.”

  He did relax, feeling the defenses immediately lower. He couldn’t resent this woman whom he had come to admire so much. “So, did you come to any conclusions?”

  “Usually abstract refers to something that is unclear or difficult to define.”

  He was shaking his head. “I don’t find the idea of God difficult to understand. And I don’t have trouble defining what He is. I think what bothers Abby—and especially Molly—is that my definition happens to be quite different from all of yours. I just don’t see Him as hovering over us, interfering in our lives and—”

  “That’s an interesting choice of words.”

  “What, hovering?”

  “Well, that too. But I meant interfering. I don’t believe God interferes in our lives either. Intervenes? Yes, definitely, but not interferes. I don’t believe He ever forces Himself on us.”

  He brushed that aside. “Interfering, intervening—I don’t see a lot of difference. Anyway, I think He’s out there. I think He created the world—and us—and now has gone on to other things.”

  “So you think we are His creatures?” At his puzzled look, she continued, “You said that He created us, so that makes us one of His creatures. Like an elephant or a beetle or a . . .” It trailed off.

  Sensing a trap, he nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Not His children?” she asked softly.

  “Well, in one sense, but—”

  “No, not in one sense, David. Do you believe that He is our Heavenly Father? That we are literally His offspring, just like Johnnie and Emmy are my offspring?”

  “No,” he said shortly. “I believe He is our Father in the same sense that we say George Washington is the father of this country.”

  There was a long moment of silence, then a soft sigh. “Now I understand what she meant.”

  “So enlighten me,” he said, suddenly finding himself getting a little irked by it all.

  To his surprise, she shook her head. “No, I want to think about it for a time.”

  “Come on, Mary, I can take it.”

  But she just shook her head, and for the next quarter of an hour she refused to say another word. When she spoke, her words once again took him by surprise. “Do you remember when we talked about the blessing Bishop Arthur gave to me?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t think I told you this then, but in the blessing he promised us that if we went, we would be protected from harm.”

  “No,” he said slowly, “you didn’t mention that.”

  “So here’s my question to you, David. And I’m just going to say it straight out, okay?”

  He laughed. “So you’re trying a new approach, eh?”

  That made her laugh too. “James says it’s my best and worst trait.” She took a deep breath. “All right, here it is. We are out here, two hundred or more miles from home, in a forbidding and desolate land where Jim and I have never been before. Suddenly, we are confronted by an enemy who hates us. Unbeknownst to us, he is so angry, he rounds up twenty-five more braves with the intent to come back and massacre us all. Then, at the moment of gravest danger, an old Navajo shows up. This man has just happened to learn that a family by the name of Davis is traveling through the area. And this particular Davis family just happens to be the same one who treated this Navajo kindly many years ago. And so this Navajo just happens to decide to follow us and just happens to be close enough to see the danger we’re in and just happens to show up in the nick of time to save us.”

  She paused, but only for more breath. “Oh, and by the way. During all of this, fervent prayers are being offered by the Davis family for God to intervene and protect their family. In fact, even as a knife is being waved under the nose of the mother of this family, the only thing going through her mind is, “Please, Father. Help us. Protect my children.’” Have I got that pretty much right, would you say, David?�
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  She had him, and they both knew it. “Yes.”

  “You were an eyewitness to this, David. You saw it with your own eyes. So are you just going to pass it off as another—” she made quotation marks in the air with her fingers—“remarkable coincidence?”

  “Ouch!” he said. “Just how long did you and Abby talk?”

  “Long enough.” She smiled. “So answer my question. Can you truly, after that experience, still maintain that you do not believe in a God who hears our prayers and cares for His children?”

  He was silent for a long moment. She simply watched him and waited.

  “No,” he finally murmured. “I can no longer say that.”

  Tears came to her eyes. “Thank you. No further questions. When you return home, I should like you to take a letter back to Abby for me.”

  “And what are you going to say?”

  “I’m going to tell her she’s wrong. God is no longer an abstract for you.”

  Note

  ^1. James Davis provides the account of this old Indian and his pivotal role in the deliverance of the Davis family and those who were bringing them on to the San Juan. Some details, such as the name of the old man, and how he learned that the Davis family was traveling across the reservation, have been added to flesh out the story. But the fundamental facts—his having received kind treatment years before from the family, his tracking them while they traveled, and his urging them on in order to escape Po-ee-kon’s wrath—all come from Davis’s own words (see Miller, Hole, 156).

  Chapter 43

  Saturday, August 2, 1879

  David set his shovel against the cottonwood tree and walked over to the barrel of water. He removed his hat, wiped at his perspiring brow, then filled the dipper and poured it over his head. It was cooler than the late afternoon air, but barely. Didn’t matter. He took another, then did it a third time. Suddenly, he saw a movement and turned. Eddie Davis was standing a few yards away, hat in hand, looking at him.

  David hung the dipper over the side of the barrel and jammed his hat back on. “Is it time?”

  Eddie nodded. “Pa thinks it will be any time now.”

  Forgetting the shovel, David walked swiftly to him. “Let’s go then, boy,” he said, slapping him on the shoulder. “Let’s not be dawdling here.”

  About an hour later, Elizabeth Harriman, the only other woman who had traveled with them, came to the entrance of the Davis house and pulled back the burlap sacks that served as their front door. Jim Davis shot to his feet, as did David and all four of the children.

  Before she could speak, they heard a tiny wail from inside the house.

  “You have a new baby, Brother Davis. Congratulations.”

  “How’s Mary?” he said.

  “Fine. Tired, of course, but she did real good.”

  “Is it a girl?” Emmy cried, running up to her.

  Sister Harriman laughed. “That’s not for me to say, darling. Let’s let your Daddy go in first, and then in a minute or two you can go in and see your new baby.”

  Five minutes later, Jim reappeared at the door. The children gathered in around him, clamoring to know what it was. Jim’s relief was such that it looked like he needed to sit for a few moments. But instead, he dropped to one knee and looked Emily in the eye. “Emmy, do you remember how you said that if you didn’t get a little sister, you were going to send it back to Heavenly Father?”

  She started to nod. Then, as it hit her what he was saying, her face fell. “Is it a boy?”

  He laughed and swooped her up in his arms. “Well, we’re going to name it Ethel Olive Davis. That’s a pretty funny name for a boy.”

  Emmy stared at him for a moment, then shrieked in delight.

  “You have a little sister, Emmy. A precious little sister. ”1

  Tuesday, August 19, 1879

  Silas Smith rode up the line of wagons, checking with each driver to make certain they were ready to roll. When he reached the end of the line, he swung down. The Harrimans and the Davises stood together behind the last wagon, looking somewhat forlorn. David stood with the Davis family, holding Tillie’s reins.

  “So,” Jim Davis said to Silas, “you’re going back another way.”

  Silas looked somewhat disappointed. “We are. I think we’re all agreed that the route we took coming over just isn’t going to work for the main company.”

  “I think that is a wise decision,” Mary Davis said. Holding little Ethel in her arms, she stood beside her husband. “I can only imagine how Po-ee-kon would react to that.”

  “So,” Hank Harriman said, “should we be watching to the north for your return?”

  Silas shook his head. “That’s the way we’re going back, following much of the Old Spanish Trail, but I’m not sure that’s the answer either.” Then he smiled. “But we will be back, one way or another.” He swung back up on his horse. “In the meantime, you’ll be in our prayers.”

  “And you in ours,” Sister Harriman said. “Most fervently.”

  Silas looked down at David. “And we’ll see you back in Cedar City.”

  As he rode away, Jim gave David a sharp look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I talked to Silas this morning. Because of my commitment to the McKennas, he’s agreed to let me ride on ahead and not wait for the wagons. That will save me at least a week.”

  “Great idea,” Mary said. “I’m sure they are very anxious for your return.”

  Behind them, they heard Silas shout something. A moment later the first wagons began to roll. With that, the Harrimans shook hands with David, turned, and walked away. David watched them go, then turned solemnly and shook hands with each of the two older Davis boys. “You’re all grown up now, Eddie,” he said. “You’re pulling the weight of a man, and I’m proud of you. And you, Jimmie,” David said, holding him in his grip for a moment, “for a moment there, I thought you were going to take on old Po-ee-kon all by yourself.”

  He flushed a little. “Well, it made me real mad when he started scaring Mama.”

  His father looked at him, eyes warm with pride. “I’ve never been more proud of you boys.”

  “We’ll go shooting when I get back,” David said. “Maybe go up on the Blue Mountains and hunt some deer. You, me, and Eddie.” He dropped to one knee and gathered little Johnnie into his arms. “Tell you what, John. When I come back, I’m going to bring you a whole sack of all-day suckers. Would you like that?”

  His head bobbed so vigorously his whole body wiggled.

  David turned to Emmy, who immediately threw her arms around him. “And what about you, little princess? What do you want me to bring you?”

  “I don’t want you to go, David,” she wailed.

  “I have to, Emmy. I promised Brother McKenna I’d help him bring his family back here.”

  “Can I go with you, then?”

  He shook his head. “Then baby Ethel wouldn’t have a big sister to watch over her. We couldn’t have that, could we?”

  Her shoulders fell. “Promise me you’ll hurry.”

  “You have my word on it,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek, held her tightly for a moment, then stood up and faced her father.

  “Thank you, David,” Jim said. “Thank you for all you’ve done for my family. We owe you a great debt.”

  “On the contrary,” he replied. “Getting to be part of your family has been one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. I’m sorry for ever thinking it was a mistake for you to come.”

  Jim hooted softly. “And I’m sorry for wondering if it was a mistake for us to come.”

  Finally, David turned to Mary. She handed the baby to her husband, then reached in the pocket of her apron and withdrew a letter. She held it out, and David saw “To the McKennas” written across the front of it. “Would you deliver this for me?”

  He took it, stepped back, and put it in his saddlebags. “So, you’re making me a mail rider again,” he teased. “Do I get to read it before I deliver it?�
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  “No!” Then her mouth softened. “But it’s not what you think it is.”

  “Which is?”

  “It’s just not what you think it is.” She came to him, put her arms around his shoulders, and hugged him as tightly as Emily had done. “Good-bye, David. Thank you.”

  He found his throat suddenly tight. “And what can I bring back for you, Sister Mary Davis?”

  “You. With Molly by the hand. Maybe a ring on her finger.”

  Startled, he gave her a long look, then laughed. “I can promise the first. Can’t do much about the second.”

  “Yes, you can,” she said fiercely. And then suddenly her expression changed. A look of wonder filled her eyes. “On second thought, I won’t hold you to either of those.”

  Totally taken aback by her words, he said, “You don’t want me to bring Molly?”

  She laughed merrily. “Of course. And Abby, and the rest of the family too. But not with a ring.” She was very serious now. “Not even with the promise of a ring.”

  That really rocked him. “But why?”

  “It’s not time for that. Not yet.” She paused, as if her thoughts were surprising even her. “You have to find yourself first, David.”

  And then, as he stared at her, she stepped forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Good-bye, dear David. And may the Lord be with you until you return.”2

  Notes

  ^1. Mary Elizabeth Davis carried her baby to full term. She gave birth to a little girl just a few days after their arrival at the new settlement on the San Juan River, the first white child born in the San Juan Mission. She went on to have two additional girls while living there in Bluff, giving her four girls and three boys (from the Family Group Sheet of James Davis and Mary Elizabeth Fretwell Davis). True to the blessing of her bishop, she never lost another child.

  ^2. Leaving the Harriman and Davis families settled at what eventually became Montezuma Creek, the exploring party started on their return journey sometime in mid-August. They took a northern route up through Moab, Green River, Castle Valley, and back into Paragonah via Bear Valley. Miller gives a good summary of their return journey, then states: “It was mid-September when they again reached Paragonah. . . . They had made a circuit of almost a thousand miles and had built several hundred miles of road through the desolate desert country. Most important of all, they had located a site for the San Juan Mission settlement” (Miller, Hole, 29–30).