by Adell Harvey
Brother Shumway had posted dates and times for each group to start off across the plains, with about a week in between departures. Andy came up behind them, reading the list over Anne Marie’s shoulder.
“Hmmm,” he pondered. “Captain Martin’s group will be the last to head out this spring. That means we’re last in line for supplies, carts, and grass along the trail. I don’t much like the looks of it, but reckon we don’t have a lot of choice.”
Noting the dismay on the girls’ faces, he brightened. “Look on the happy side,” he encouraged. “We get to stay here longer and enjoy the dances. We’ll walk every day to strengthen our leg muscles and get in condition for the trip.”
His encouragement did little to brighten Ingrid’s spirits. She didn’t want to delay another minute in getting to Zion. The thought of Mama and Papa in Spirit Prison weighed heavily on her, and each day she sat here on the rolling hills of Iowa City was one more day they were imprisoned.
She had to admit she was anxious to reach her new groom as well. Seeing the happy couples and families preparing for their trip together stirred strange emotions deep within her. She wanted to be with her man, begin her family. Anne Marie was a good companion and friend, but Ingrid ached for that sense of belonging she had felt on her wedding day.
Another company rolled out onto the dead heat of the Iowa prairie on June 8, leaving four more groups of immigrants camped in tents, waiting their turn to go. Days were spent in long walks at Andy’s urging, though Anne Marie often protested. “It’s so hot, and I’m tired!” she told him. “I just don’t feel like walking.”
Like a brother with a kid sister, Andy bullied her a little. “You’ve got to build up your strength or you’ll never make it to Salt Lake. Now, come on!”
Taking her hand, he pulled her from the grassy knoll and insisted she continue their daily walk. “Besides, you’re just getting fat and sassy sitting around here,” he teased. “We’ll walk some of that off before we hit the western trail!”
Ingrid noticed Anne Marie wince and pull back as if she had been slapped. Nevertheless, she did Andy’s bidding and followed him onto the path. I wonder when she’s going to tell him she’s carrying his baby, Ingrid mused, having figured out that Anne Marie was indeed pregnant, and Andy was obviously the father. That’s what she’s afraid to tell him, Ingrid realized rather suddenly.
Life in the tent cities became more dreary with each passing day. The coffin makers were kept busy, and in just a few days’ time, Ingrid had attended burials for a man, two small children, a 12-year-old boy, and an infant from her company. She knew the other companies were being hit equally hard because of the dozens of new graves being dug in the cemetery outside the settlement each week.
Just when she thought the heat was beyond bearing, the sky blackened suddenly, sending sheets of cold rain and furious winds down upon the tents. The storm continued on through the night, blowing down many tents, leaving the occupants to shiver in the rain and cold. Ingrid and Anne Marie huddled together, using both their blankets to ward off the chilling rain. “I’ll be so glad when we can leave here,” Anne Marie cried. “This is nearly as bad as Winter Quarters was. Brother Rasmussen better have been telling the truth about the Promised Land, or he’ll have the deuce to pay when I see him!”
Ingrid shuddered. She’d been thinking along those same lines herself. But she would never have admitted to anyone that she had entertained such doubts. “That’s my husband you’re talking about,” she said, trying to put a light touch to her voice. “You know he wouldn’t lie.”
Anne Marie gave her an odd, questioning look, but only shivered and pulled the blanket tighter around herself.
When the storms finally ended, there were a number of fresh graves in the cemetery. Many of those who had endured the wet, cold nights, especially the elderly, were now coughing, taken with consumption, and weakened even further. Knowing Anne Marie’s condition, Ingrid worried about her endurance, but the younger girl now appeared to be the picture of health, almost glowing with an inner radiance. Apparently her days of the morning plague were behind her, Ingrid thought thankfully.
Andy worked hard at keeping their spirits up, putting a positive spin on all the hardships. As they watched two more companies head out for Zion, they were all filled with mixed emotions. Ingrid knew as each company left, it meant their own departure was that much closer, but it also filled her with envy that she wasn’t among the lucky ones who were leaving.
More trains came in from Boston, spewing out hundreds more emigrants, adding to the already overpopulated, underfed multitudes. Standing near the depot with Anne Marie one afternoon, Ingrid let out a little gasp. “There’s Brother and Sister Ahmanson!”
Without hesitation, she ran to them, hugging them tearfully. In a torrent of Danish, she exclaimed, “Oh, it’s so good to see somebody from home! I didn’t realize how homesick I was until I saw you both.”
The Ahmansons were likewise happy to see her. They exchanged pleasantries, told her how her friends back in the Nyhavn district were, and spoke of their journey across the Atlantic aboard the Thronton. With a tip of his hat, Brother Ahmanson encouraged, “We’ll see you in Zion before long!”
In a surly manner, Andy complained. “Oh sure, he’ll see us in Zion. Except the rich ones like him get to go in wagons, and you poor people get to walk!” Ingrid was surprised by his outburst, but he soon recaptured his customary happy outlook, encouraging everybody to look on the bright side of their sufferings.
Morale in their company sank lower and lower, despite Andy’s efforts. The men grumbled because they couldn’t get their handcarts built… too much wood had been used for coffins. They also complained that the earlier companies had taken more than their share of supplies, which hadn’t been replenished as promised.
“Those flimsy Yankee hickory carts won’t hold up for the hundreds of miles across the plains,” Ingrid heard one of the men complaining to Captain Martin. “That wood’s unseasoned and will shrink, warp, and crack. Those single pole hickory axles should at least have iron skeins, and them wooden wheels need iron tires.”
Ingrid held her breath, wondering how the often-grumpy Captain Martin would take yet another complaint. She didn’t have to wait long. “The gold rushers have raised the price of iron beyond reason. The prophet himself designed these carts, and if he says they’ll make it, then, by golly, they’ll make it!” Captain Martin turned his back and stalked away from the complainer, calling back over his shoulder, “And it would do you well to remember the prophet don’t take kindly to criticism of the Lord’s plans!”
Ingrid shared her increasing misgivings with Andy. “Are the carts really that bad?”
Perhaps it was only her own uneasiness, but Andy’s attempts to reassure her rang hollow. “God wouldn’t lead Brother Brigham astray.” He walked her over for a closer examination of one of the carts. “See, the carts are the usual width of a regular wagon track, so they’ll pull right along where the wagons have traveled. And with several people to pull them, they shouldn’t give us any trouble.”
Ingrid wasn’t convinced. Where was her faith? And why couldn’t she believe in the prophet’s messages from God like all these others did? She searched for a plausible explanation. Maybe she should have gotten baptized aboard the ship – maybe that would have strengthened her faith. That had to be her problem, she reasoned. Once in Salt Lake, she’d get baptized right away. That would take care of all these doubts.
Another chilling storm hit with a fury on June 28, again blowing down the tents and soaking the sleepers.
Ingrid tried to look on the bright side. Only two companies were left, Captain Willie’s and Captain Martin’s. It couldn’t be much longer now. Her hopes began to rise. Soon she would be in Zion, married in the Temple Endowment House, Mama and Papa’s spirits would be on their way to the Celestial Kingdom, and she would deliver Ammie Jorgensen’s locket. She fingered the locket lovingly, reading its inscription for the thousandth time. “
May God be with you always.”
Oh, she thought happily. He is with me; I know He is. And once I get baptized and have my faith strengthened, what could possibly go wrong?
The doubts returned quickly when she overheard Andy arguing with Captain Martin. Noting the angry tone of their voices, she stepped behind a building to avoid an embarrassing encounter. “It’s plain suicide to leave this late!” Andy shouted. “We have to wait until next spring.”
Ingrid heard Captain Martin’s voice, which sounded just as angry. “Brother Brigham said to bring these people to Salt Lake, and I’m doing it! I’m in charge of this party, young man, and you’d do well to remember it.”
Andy’s voice dropped to a pleading tone. “I’ve been across those mountains dozens of time, sir, and I’m begging you not to risk it. It’s 1,400 miles of the ruggedest terrain you can imagine, the Indians are rising up all over the place, and nobody leaves this late in the year.” He paused for breath. “Remember the Donner Party? They tried the same foolhardy thing, and look what happened to them.”
“The Donners went over the Sierras. All we’ve got is the Rockies,” Martin defended his position. “Besides, if we stay here in Iowa City, more people will freeze to death living in those blasted tents.”
“Or they’ll freeze to death in the mountains without the shelter of tents,” Andy countered. “I’ve spoken to a number of men around town. They’ve offered jobs to the able-bodied for the winter, and it will give us time to get good materials in for the carts. They’re using green lumber now, and the last group that went out is already having problems with the carts falling apart.”
Ingrid held her breath, waiting for Captain Martin’s response. No way did she want to spend more dreary months here in the tents. But could Andy be right? Was the journey as dangerous as he made it out to be?
Finally, Martin spoke, a tone of finality in his voice that bore no recourse, “I say we’re going. Brother Brigham is the prophet of the Lord, and he wouldn’t tell us to do something that would endanger lives. Besides, there’s no more money to keep feeding this crowd – we’ve got to get ‘em out to the Great Salt Lake. End of discussion.”
Ingrid felt like shouting for joy. As dismal as Andy made it sound, at least they would be on their way. Nothing could be worse than this unbearable waiting.
Andy came around the corner, his shoulders sagging and a look of utter dismay on his face. He looked so forlorn, Ingrid had to fight the impulse to comfort him as a mother would. “Andy, wait!” she called, taking big steps to catch up to him from her hiding place.
“I’m sorry,” she said breathlessly, “but I overheard your conversation. Is it really that dangerous to leave now?”
He gazed at her thoughtfully. How much had she heard? His heart went out to this innocent young girl-woman who had married his father. Did she know what lay ahead for her, and did he dare add to her burden with the true facts of the trip? He hedged. “If we could leave right now, we’d stand a pretty good chance of making it, I reckon.”
Ingrid was too clever for his ruse, however. “But we’re not leaving right now, are we? I heard someone say Captain Willie’s group was pulling out July 16, and we can’t go until after they leave.” Her face wore a worried frown. “The old folks in our company can’t walk 1,400 miles, can they?”
As one older than his years, Andy patted her head. “You think too much for a pretty little girl. I promised Pa I’d bring you safely to him, and I intend to do just that, no matter when we leave.”
She smiled. Andy would take care of her, just as his father would if he were here. She admired and trusted this new stepson of hers more every day. If only she could do something in return for him, something like working out the obvious problems he and Anne Marie were having. Maybe she would talk to Anne Marie again and convince her to tell Andy of her plight. As much as he loved her, he would make it right, Ingrid just knew he would.
They walked back to the camp together, chatting as old friends, making plans for the trip. “Make sure you and Anne Marie sell anything over 17 pounds,” he insisted. “But keep warm blankets and coats. I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”
Ingrid laughed. “I don’t have anything left to sell. Your pa took care of all that over in Copenhagen. And I sure haven’t collected anything else en route!”
As scheduled, the Willie Company moved out on July 16, a rag-tag group of 400 or 500. To Ingrid’s surprise, Brother Ahmanson was driving one of the provision wagons, as leader of one of the company’s sections. Most of the Scandinavians in Iowa City were assigned to the Willie Company, and Ingrid longed to be among them. It would be so good to be with Brother Ahmanson, to be able to speak in her own language again, instead of this constant struggle with English.
Nodding toward Brother Ahmanson, Ingrid playfully jabbed Andy in the ribs. “See, you were wrong about him. He’s going right along with the poor folks.”
Andy smiled. “Only because the leaders told him he had to go and keep the Danes in line. He booked his wife on a conventional wagon train, with some other Danish emigrants who could afford it. I don’t think he’s real happy with the arrangement, but Brother Richards said he was the only one with enough competence in English to get the Willie party across.”
Ingrid digested this information and then turned her attention to the women and children queuing up for the long journey. Again, she noticed the peculiar groupings of several women with each man, accompanied by hordes of children. Most the women were called “Auntie” by the children who weren’t their own, but most the men were simply called “Pa.”
She broached the subject to Anne Marie that night as they lay in their tent, having their “sister talk.”
“I still don’t understand what the Principle is all about,” she ventured. “Why are there so many women with each man?” Anne Marie shot her a questioning glance. “The Principle is just another name for plural marriage…”
“Plural marriage?” Ingrid was aghast. “You mean they marry more than once?”
It was Anne Marie’s turn for astonishment. “You didn’t know? All the Saints believe the Principle. It’s one of the reasons we get chased out of so many places. The Gentiles don’t understand that it’s a law handed down from God to the prophet himself. Fact is, you can’t get to the Celestial Glory without it.”
Ingrid was speechless, taking in this new information. One by one, she had gradually accepted each strange new teaching as it was revealed to her. But this was something she could never, never accept. It just wasn’t right.
Noticing her silence, Anne Marie blundered on, attempting to get Ingrid to see how logical it was. “It’s in the Bible,” she insisted. “Father Abraham, King David, and King Solomon all had several wives, so we know God’s in favor of it.”
Ingrid determined to check it out for herself. If it truly was in the Bible, she didn’t have much choice but to accept it. But it couldn’t be in the Bible! The God she knew and loved wouldn’t approve of something so evil. None of the Saints she knew in Copenhagen had more than one wife, and Brother Rasmussen certainly didn’t. He had told her about Andy’s mother, the wife who had died of black canker in Winter Quarters. But were there others he hadn’t told her about? The horrible thought plunged her into despair. She would not share a husband with another woman! She simply wouldn’t!
She blew out the candle and tried to sleep, her mind all awhirl with questions, questions, questions.
Chapter 6
THE HOT JULY days dragged on, tempers flared, and Ingrid’s questions deepened. The Willie party had left on the 16th. Captain Martin’s group was still camped in tents, waiting for permission to roll out.
Heated arguments about the dangers of leaving so late in the season divided the company; some urged the captain to move on out; others begged him to keep the company in Iowa City until the following spring.
To worsen matters, there were not nearly enough carts available for the more than 500 people still waiting to make the trek
to Zion. Those that were delivered had loose wheels, splits in the wood, and seemed unlikely to be of much use.
All these things bothered Ingrid, but they were only nuisances to be tolerated. Her real questions, the ones that burned into her very soul, were about the Principle. She poured through Ma’s Bible, seeking an answer that would satisfy her. There it was, right in black and white. Abraham had several wives. And King Solomon had nearly a thousand! She must be missing something – God wouldn’t ask her to do such a thing!
She intently watched the families who lived in the camp. It seemed the ones who had been part of the Saints for a longer time practiced the Principle. But those who had emigrated with her on the Enoch Train usually had but one wife. Maybe it was an American custom.
Well, it was one custom she didn’t intend to practice! Once she got to Salt Lake, she’d find Ammie Jorgensen, deliver the locket, get Ma and Pa’s endowment work done, and if Brother Rasmussen decided to take another wife, he’d be minus the one he had now! Thus determined, she began piling her things into the handcart that she and Anne Marie were given to share with three others.
The news finally came down from those in charge – Captain Martin’s handcart company would leave on the morning of July 28. They were grouped in smaller companies of 18 each and were also encouraged to keep close together in case of Indian attacks. The normally cordial Indians had become frightened when more and more of their lands were settled by the whites and were now fighting back to keep their hunting grounds.
Heat swelled across the prairie in visual waves. Ingrid was damp with perspiration before they had walked more than a mile or so. Still, it felt good to be on the way. Andy figured if they walked 28 miles a day on the prairie, it would give them a possible chance of getting through the mountains before winter hit. “Most Oregon-bound trains plan on reaching the half-way point at Independence Rock by the Fourth of July, and here we are, not even beginning our trip until three or four weeks past Independence Day,” he grumbled. “We’ve got about three months of travel to reach the Rock.”