by Adell Harvey
Not that Ingrid and Anne Marie wanted to walk any faster. Their weary feet felt nothing but hot parched earth beneath their soles, and Anne Marie’s advancing pregnancy made fast walking nearly impossible. Ingrid was glad for the slower pace, giving her time to sort out her thoughts before she reached Salt Lake. Discarding the Book of Mormon, she poured over Ma’s Bible. Ma always said it had the answer for every problem – surely it would help her solve this one.
It seemed no one was in a hurry these days. Rations were cut to less than a pound of flour per person, giving little nourishment for the energy required to continue climbing slowly upward each day. Pulling the handcarts became an intolerable burden. Some of the older travelers simply left theirs sitting in the scorching sun, continuing to walk on with no supplies.
The ides of September dawned hot and bright, the sun already blazing. The emigrants broke camp, awed by the scenery that surrounded them. A towering rock was visible to the southeast, bluffs of various shapes and sizes were across the river, and Scott’s Bluff lay to the southwest. Major Crawford pointed out Courthouse Rock and Jail Rock along the way, explaining they were two of the first road signs encountered by travelers on the Oregon Trail. Once again, Ingrid found herself fascinated by his knowledge of the area and the interesting way he had of making history come alive.
After spending many weeks laboring across the open prairie and sand hills, the travelers found the buttes and bluffs a welcome sight. The rocks resembled towers, walls, and castles. Andy came to where Anne Marie and Ingrid were packing their blankets into their cart. “See that rock up ahead, the one that looks like a chimney?” Both girls followed his gaze as he pointed in the direction of Chimney Rock. “That’s the halfway point. We’re halfway home.”
A cheer went through the company as the word passed among the travelers. “We’re halfway! We’re going to make it!”
Remembering the long ordeal they had already endured, Ingrid grumbled. “Halfway? That means we’ve got to go through at least eight more weeks of this.” She remembered Andy’s argument with Captain Martin. Hadn’t he said the plains were the easy part, and the Rockies were much harder? She sighed. Could it get any harder than this?
As if in answer to her pondering, the way did get harder. She tugged and pulled on the cart, trying to get it up the hill and through the deep sand. Anne Marie pushed, Ingrid pulled, and the cart fought their every effort. “We can’t do it,” Ingrid gasped. “You’ll be having that baby out here in the sand!”
It was Major Crawford and Lieutenant Horne who came to their rescue, helping them get the heavy cart over the bluff. Once at the top, Ingrid brushed the sweat from her brow and smiled at the Major. “It seems every time we have a problem, you’re right there to help us out.”
“Just doing my job, Ma’am,” he teased, tipping his cap in an exaggerated bow. His joking brought an amber glow to Ingrid’s hazel eyes, seeming to light them from inside out. He caught his breath, his own eyes darkening with emotion. “I’d like to be there to help you out of every problem,” he added, a deliberate sincerity coming through his words.
Ingrid was caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy of his voice. They both froze in a stunned tableau, soldier and woman atop the high bluff, a worn-out handcart at their feet. In a sudden mood swing, Major Crawford grasped the cart handle. “Well, we’ve still got to get this thing down the other side. We’d best get at it!”
Others were having extreme difficulty pulling their carts up the steep ascent that divided endless prairie from unknown mountain terrain. Finally, Captain Martin issued orders. “We’ll have to lighten the loads. Get rid of your heaviest things, and get your duffle down to ten pounds.”
What to discard, what to keep? Who knew? Ingrid refused to get rid of Ma’s Bible; it was her only link to reality in this strange, confusing world of the Saints. She glanced at her heavy coat and heavy blankets. The scorching sun seemed to mock, Why do you need those?
Blankets and coats were the heaviest items most of the travelers possessed, and they were the first things to be tossed off the carts. They could always replace them in Salt Lake, and who needed them in this hot sun?
Their loads having been significantly lightened, the group plodded on, many leaving broken handcarts in their wake.
Days later, they finally reached the river bank opposite Fort Laramie, camping for the night. Tomorrow, they would take the ferry across into the fort.
Ingrid used the brief respite to read Ma’s Bible, searching for answers. In her heart, she knew polygamy was wrong, but she needed to convince Andy and Anne Marie if she stood any chance at all of escaping.
The Old Testament did talk about men having more than one wife, but the New Testament seemed to indicate it wasn’t God’s plan. Eagerly flipping through the pages, she came to the requirements for an elder, “The husband of one wife.” She pondered that. If the elders were the leaders of the Saints, how could they have more than one wife and still be obedient to God?
She showed her discoveries to Anne Marie. “See, it says right here that it’s wrong,” she insisted.
Anne Marie read the passage. “It does seem confusing, but our prophet has later revelations from God. Maybe that was for then and this is for now.”
Ingrid shook her head. “I don’t think God changes his mind. If something is wrong, then it’s wrong.”
“I don’t know. Maybe you shouldn’t be reading the Bible so much. You’d better spend more time in the Book of Mormon to build your faith.”
Ingrid shrugged. She didn’t have any faith to build. “I did read the Book of Mormon,” she retorted. “And I found it says polygamy is wrong, too!”
“I don’t believe it,” Anne Marie argued. “It can’t say that.”
“Look it up and see for yourself. It’s in the book of Jacob, the first couple of chapters. It says when David and Solomon had many wives and concubines, it was abominable!” Ingrid paused, then tried to drive home her point. “In chapter 2, it says ‘There shall not any man among you have save it be one wife, and concubines he shall have none.’” The words rolled easily from her lips, evidence she had spent so much time pondering the subject, she had memorized the scripture.
The younger girl refused to look in the Book of Mormon. “All I know is, you’re in grave danger of losing your soul if you don’t accept what the authorities say.”
“Lost soul or not, I will not be a plural wife!” Ingrid insisted.
“They have ways of making you change your mind.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, Anne Marie warned, “I’ve heard of women having their throats slit for refusing to practice the Principle. And they say some boys have been shot right out of the saddle by their very own fathers to keep them from escaping Deseret.”
Ingrid nodded. “That’s what the soldiers told me.” Lowering her voice to a bare whisper, she implored Anne Marie to listen to reason. “If it’s such a cruel place, how can it possibly be God’s Promised Land?”
“It’s to keep them from losing their soul,” Anne Marie explained. “The Prophet Brigham Young says it’s better to kill somebody and take their life than to let them go into apostasy and suffer forever.”
A cold chill washed over Ingrid. “Major Crawford told me that, too. He says lots of women have been killed trying to escape.” She shook her head in despair. “How can you believe a prophet of God would do that?”
Anne Marie was silent for so long, Ingrid thought she must have fallen asleep. Then she murmured, so quietly Ingrid had to strain to hear her words, “I don’t know what to believe anymore. The folks I lived with in Iowa told me how wrong Joseph Smith was, and I was almost convinced. Then the ganger came, and I knew I had to listen to Brother Rasmussen.”
Ingrid shot upright. “The ganger? The night walker? What does he have to do with the Saints?”
Anne Marie raised her voice, just a bit. “Everyone thinks the ganger is an evil spirit, somebody who died with a lot of sin he wants to get rid of. That’s why he stalks at night,
trying to find rest for his spirit.”
She dropped her voice again. In a confidential whisper, she added, “The ganger came to my window. It wasn’t an evil spirit – It was Pa Christiansen! He told me I must listen to Brother Rasmussen and go to Salt Lake to help build the Kingdom of the Saints.”
Ingrid swallowed, hard. Could it be true? Could people come back from the dead with messages? If that were so, how could she fight against it?
Her fingers touched the locket as she placed the Bible back in her duffle. For the first time, its inscription failed to comfort and reassure her. “May God be with you always.” Where was he tonight?
Chapter 8
INGRID STRETCHED her aching feet toward the campfire, the first real fire they had enjoyed in weeks. For the past 250 miles, the trail had yielded no wood for fires except driftwood, and much of the time nothing but buffalo chips.
The crackling, blazing fire and the pungent scent of wood smoke relaxed her, making her forget her problems momentarily.
Major Crawford and Lieutenant Horne had gone ahead into Fort Laramie. Tomorrow, the rest of the handcart company would join them there.
Ingrid sighed, “Civilization at last!”
Andy grinned. “I wouldn’t say Fort Laramie is exactly civilized. It’s just a few buildings, a store, and a small Army garrison. Nothing to compare with Copenhagen, I’m sure.”
Ingrid gave him a playful shove. “I wasn’t expecting Copenhagen. But after walking for 600 miles of dirt-packed trails, then coming over that rise and seeing buildings topped by a waving flag, it sort of does something to me.”
“Yeah, most westward travelers feel that way,” Andy agreed. “But remember, it’s a Gentile fort, and the Gentiles are our enemies. We won’t see real civilization until we get to Salt Lake.”
Ingrid bristled at his condemnation of everyone but Mormons. The Gentiles she’d met so far on this trip were a great deal nicer to her than the Saints. “Just seeing somebody besides these we’ve been traveling with will be a welcome sight anyway,” she replied. Something in her voice raised Andy’s suspicions.
“You seem awful anxious to get into the fort. You tired of our company?”
“Tired of walking, tired of traveling, tired of everything, I guess,” she admitted.
Andy’s tone softened. “We’ve still got a long, hard way to go before we reach Utah Territory. Maybe a day or two’s rest in Fort Laramie would be good for all of us. I’ll talk to Captain Martin and see what he thinks.”
What Captain Martin thought became very obvious during evening prayer meeting. “Our rations have shrunk to nearly nothing, and Fort Laramie will be our last chance to renew our supplies. Every man, woman, and child in this company is responsible for the well-being of us all.” He paused, looking around the weary group.
“Some of you have gold wedding bands on your fingers, jewelry in your possession, hair bobs, tools. These are all things we can do without. I’m ordering that all excess goods be traded at the sutler’s store for essentials.”
Ingrid glanced down at the tiny gold band she had worn since she had buried her Ma, the wedding ring she had slipped from her mother’s finger just before the undertaker closed the coffin. She remembered Brother Rasmussen placing it on her finger following their wedding, humoring her. “Our ceremony doesn’t bother with rings and things, but you can wear it until Salt Lake,” he had promised.
Give it up? How could she? But what good is a wedding band if you starve to death? She twisted the band ruefully. What good is a wedding band if you aren’t really married?
As she slipped Ma’s Bible back in the pouch later that night, her fingers touched the locket. The locket! Was that “something she could do without?” Every nerve in her body tensed. The locket was a sacred trust, a promise to Margaret Jorgensen. She couldn’t sell it! No one else in the company knew about the locket, not even Anne Marie or Andy. She would keep it. Her mind made up, she attempted to sleep off her problems. But sleep wouldn’t come.
She considered the barbarous country they had already come through, the threat of worse yet to come. The heat, wind, rain, diarrhea, and constant death that had accompanied them across the plains had already capped the climax of all horrors. Could it possibly be worse to stay in Fort Laramie and take her chances with the Gentiles?
The noon of night still did not find Ingrid asleep. She pondered Major Crawford’s offer to help her escape at Fort Laramie. Did she dare? And would it be apostasy from the truth? What was truth, anyway? Would Brother Rasmussen come after her to kill her, to save her soul for eternity?
She rose from her blanket, finding her way in the darkness to a rock outcropping. She pressed her burning forehead against the cold stone, praying for her rebellious will to be subdued. “If the Principle is your will, Heavenly Father, show me and make me willing to accept it.”
Even as she prayed, every fiber of Ingrid’s being protested. “It can’t be God’s will. It’s a galling yoke, an intolerable burden.” The silence of the chilly mountain night seemed to oppress her spirit even more. God wasn’t going to answer. If it truly was God who laid this frightful burden on women, he was a cruel tyrant, not the loving father she had known as a child.
But if the Principle wasn’t from God, if the Mormons had deceived her and all the others, then there wasn’t a Promised Land, either. Ingrid shuddered, hitting at the cold stone with her fist. It was all a lie; everything Brother Rasmussen had promised her was a lie! There was no Promised Land, no chosen people, no wonderful blessings reserved for her in the Endowment House. One by one her hopes and dreams shattered into the night air, sending a flash of wild grief ripping through her entire being.
Her sense of loss beyond any tears, Ingrid slowly returned to her bedroll. Life held nothing for her now but an inexplicable emptiness. She would give Anne Marie the locket to deliver to Ammie Jorgensen, stay at Fort Laramie and take whatever life handed her. Her decision made, she lay back in her blanket, just in time for the morning bugle call and the first gray light of dawn.
Ingrid’s company, which had shrunk to less than half the original number during the long, fateful journey, was among the first to cross the Laramie River to enter the fort. The ford, about 108 yards wide, was a swirling, muddy torrent boiling against the sides of the rough-hewn logs of the ferry.
They crossed a little plain, descended a hollow, and clamored up a steep bank before entering the gateway to the fort. Surrounded by 15-foot high adobe brick reinforced with wooden beams, block houses sat on two corners, and the entrance was guarded by two brass cannon over the gate. Numerous gaily bedizened Indian women sat near the gate, smiling readily at the new arrivals.
Worn and weary from their ordeals, the travelers renewed their strength at the sight of the fort. An air of excitement and expectation seemed to hurry their feet along as they rushed toward the sutler’s store to make their trades and deals.
Ingrid couldn’t share the excitement the others felt upon entering Fort Laramie. True, it would be good to finally have something to eat; the three ounces of flour baked into a scanty cake for each day’s ration had reduced most of the travelers to little more than skeletons. She would gladly sell Ma’s wedding ring for something substantial to eat.
Fort Laramie, however, was unimpressive. The stone guardhouse, a crude hospital up on the hill, and “Old Bedlam,” the huge white officers’ quarters in the center of town, were the first buildings Ingrid had seen in many weeks, but they failed to lift her sagging spirits. She surveyed the fort, wondering absently where she could hide to get away from the Mormons. Her gaze took in the traders’ cemetery up on the hill. It was entirely possible she might end up there, she thought ruefully.
With a great deal of reluctance, she finally made her way to the sutler’s store, an adobe structure with a large stone addition on the back. Well stocked with everything from staples and whiskey to heavy tools and weapons, the store seemed strangely out of place here in the wilderness. Ingrid looked with longing at the
beautiful porcelain dolls, fine china, and crocks. Who out here could possibly have a need of such fine things?
Her question was quickly answered as several officers’ wives entered the store. “Anything new from the hapless emigrants?” one of them asked, a laughing lilt in her voice. Elegantly dressed, the women would have been at home in Copenhagen’s wealthiest district, Ingrid thought ruefully. Pulling her shabby skirt closer around her, she sidestepped the refined women, trying to avoid their disdainful looks. How could she spend an entire winter here among such snobbery?
She fingered a stack of buffalo robes and furs draped across one end of the counter, ignoring the women. Signs above the counter advertised “Arbuckles Coffee,” “Harris Holmes Bakery,” and other apparently famous brands. She gasped at the exorbitant prices – sugar at $2 a cup, calico was $1 a yard, and flour was 25 cents a pound. She fingered the gold wedding band, hungrily looking over the meager groceries. At these prices, the ring wouldn’t buy much!
Ingrid flinched when Andy and Anne Marie walked into the store. Since making her decision to escape, she had distanced herself from her friends, avoiding them all morning. Was it just her guilty conscience, or did Andy look angry?
“Here,” he said gruffly, holding out his hand. “You’ll also want to be selling this.”
Ingrid drew back in shock, assailed by a terrible sense of bitterness. “That’s my locket! Where did you get it?”
Andy had the decency to be embarrassed. “Captain Martin ordered us to check out everybody’s duffle, to make sure no one was holding out anything,” he murmured.
“My duffle! You went through my duffle?” Ingrid fairly screamed at him. “How could you? I trusted you.”
Regaining his composure, Andy stiffened righteously. “And we trusted you. But it seems you weren’t completely worthy of that trust. You would let your fellow travelers suffer needlessly for the sake of a trinket?”