by Adell Harvey
In her anger, she wondered how she could ever have thought him her friend. She felt ice spreading through her veins, bringing an acute sense of despair. What did it matter? She fingered the locket, looking at its inscription one last time. “May God be with you always.” Ha! In a pig’s eye! God had abandoned her, Brother Rasmussen had lied to her, and now Andy and Anne Marie had turned on her.
Overcome with a raw and primitive grief, she yanked the gold band from her finger and flung both it and the locket toward Andy. “Take them, sell them, do whatever you want!” She turned away with a choking cry, fleeing blindly from the store.
She was abruptly caught by the elbow and escorted firmly to a nearby bench. Looking up through her tears, she glanced into the blue compassionate eyes of Major Crawford. Embarrassed that he had seen her outburst, she looked away.
“We’ve got to go somewhere private and talk,” he told her, pulling her to her feet. “We’ll go to my barracks.”
Ingrid stiffened. “Andy warned me not to talk to you…”
Major Crawford looked around. “I think we can get there without being seen. Come this way.”
He led her around behind the store, in back of the powder magazine, behind another building, managing to keep out of sight of the handcart parties. Checking to make certain Andy and Anne Marie were not following them, he motioned toward the back door of a huge building. “Quick. In here.” His voice was a low whisper.
Ingrid followed him into the large white building. “Welcome to Old Bedlam,” he joked. “This is the bachelor officers’ quarters, the center of social life at the post. Some of the more raucous parties are responsible for its name.”
Entering what appeared to be the officers’ dining lounge, he directed her to a comfortable chair bottomed with buffalo skin and invited her to sit down. A large brick fireplace warmed the room, which was simply furnished with a desk, small dining table, and several chairs.
Ingrid looked about in wonderment. “Do you realize this is the first real chair I’ve sat in since leaving Copenhagen?” she asked, snuggling down into its comfort.
The major frowned. “You’ve done without a lot of things on account of those Mormons. I’d like to come down on them with all wrath!”
She shuddered at the vehemence in his voice, but no longer felt compelled to rise to the Saints’ defense. She was still so angry at Andy, she felt they probably deserved all the acrimony people could heap on them.
Lowering his voice, he confided, “We’ve got to get you away from them. The Army has just learned some very disturbing news. Remember the Babbitt carriage we passed back near Fort Kearney?”
Ingrid nodded. She would never be able to erase the burned-out carriage and charred corpses from her memory.
“They weren’t the victims of Indians. We’ve learned that group of murdering Mormons called the Danites have been responsible for a lot of the massacres.”
She gasped. “Are you sure?”
“Positively. The Danites dress up like Indians, then go out to kill people who are trying to get away from Deseret. We know for sure they’re responsible for the massacres of the Babbitts, the Margetts, and the Almons. And we suspect them in a lot of other killings.”
Ingrid drew in her breath. How could she ever have thought these people were chosen of God? Why had she been foolish enough to believe in them so completely?
Major Crawford’s voice was bitter. “The worst of it is, the Indians get blamed, and that makes things even harder for them, turning everybody against the redskins, who are just trying to protect their way of life.”
“Anyway,” he continued, “since we know it’s not the Indians doing the killings, the Army has refused to let me and Lieutenant Horne accompany your party any further. They figure the Mormons won’t harm the handcart companies, because you’re coming to Deseret, not running away.”
“But I am running away,” Ingrid insisted. “I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I will not go to Salt Lake. I’ll take my chances in the wilderness first.”
Major Crawford smiled at her determination. “A young lady alone in this wild place? I don’t think so.”
“But what else is there?”
He took her hand in his, trying not to be shocked at its lack of flesh, the veins and bones protruding like a skeleton. “I think we can arrange for you to stay here at the fort until spring, then get you on a stage back east. With winter coming on so fast, there won’t be any more Mormons coming through till spring.”
“And where do I go when I get back east? I don’t know a soul in America, except those who have already gone on to Salt Lake.”
His eyes studied her with a curious intensity. “We’ll think of something when the time comes,” he promised. “Now, let’s get you back to your party. Try not to look suspicious, so they won’t suspect our plans to get you out. In the meantime, I’ll make some of the necessary arrangements here.”
A wave of apprehension swept through her as he continued, his voice full of compassion and something else she couldn’t quite categorize. “Please be careful,” he begged. “I don’t trust these cussed scalawags. They might even kill you if they think you’re planning to leave them.”
“Kill me?” Ingrid’s eyes flew open, wide. “Not these people!” Images of her traveling acquaintances paraded across her mind. Gentle people. Hopeful people. People who had left homeland and family to find a better life in the Promised Land. People who had shared unimaginable heartbreak and hardship during the past six months. Who among them could be a killer?
She shook her head. “Anne Marie told me evil men from Salt Lake might do things like that,” she protested. “But not these people. They’re my friends.”
The Major gave her a heart-wrenching gaze, as though reluctant to be a bearer of more bad news. “It’s because of the fact they are your friends that they might kill you. Brigham Young preaches that it’s better to kill your friends and loved ones, to take their life on this earth, in order to make certain they make it to his heaven.”
“Anne Marie told me that, too. But I don’t think she or Andy actually believe it.” Her voice broke, dying out in a whisper.
He turned her face so he could look directly into her eyes, aching as he beheld the panic and heartbreak in them. Speaking with all the earnestness and sincerity he could muster past the lump in his throat, he pleaded with her, “Please, you’ve got to believe me. These folks are so deceived they’ll do anything the prophet tells them to, all the while thinking they’re doing God a favor. The truth is that Deseret is a blood-stained land, full of the basest brutality, all committed under the cloak of religion.”
Lowering his voice, he confided, “That’s the main reason the Army is here. It won’t be more than a year or so before we are going to have to attack Salt Lake to free those who want to get away.”
Ingrid gasped. “War in the Promised Land?”
“Not war, exactly. More like justice, I’d say. The news coming out of Salt Lake sickens me,” he said. “Brutal murders, emasculations of young men, shootings in broad daylight, hundreds of murders in cold blood.” He paused. “I’m sorry. These aren’t pretty things for me to even speak of to a young lady. But they’ve gummed so many innocent people with their false promises and unholy acts, I feel they need to be reckoned with.”
Ingrid managed a half smile at his apology. “I’m not as delicate as you might think. I’ve already seen more suffering these past six months than most people will experience in a lifetime. And all because I was silly enough to believe there really was a Promised Land.” She sighed. “Might as well believe in Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales.”
The cynicism in her voice disturbed him. “Don’t give up on life just because someone lied to you. Lieutenant Horne told me once you were a huckleberry above a persimmon, a cut above the ordinary. I tend to agree with him. You’ve got what it takes to pick up the pieces and move on,” he encouraged.
Then, in a voice so low she barely heard it, he mur
mured, “And I’ll always be there for you. You can count on that.”
Chapter 9
SUPPER THAT NIGHT, while still rationed, had a few amenities added to the usual scanty cake. Ingrid ate slowly, savoring every morsel, dreading the time she would have to face Anne Marie at their campsite. She hoped she would be able to act natural and normal around her friend without giving away her plans. Not one to be anything but open and honest, Ingrid worried how she could act the hypocrite with her friend; it went against everything within her.
A pang of desolation swept over her. Anne Marie was her only true friend, the best friend she had ever had. How could she leave her, knowing the fate she would face in Salt Lake? But then, she had to reckon, would a true friend help Andy search through her duffle and distrust her like that? Her emotions continually wavered between uncertainty, anger, and frustration.
Listening to the prayers and songs around the campfires, coming from weary pilgrims who had nearly lost their desire to sing, Ingrid almost wished she could share their belief in the prophet and the holy priesthood. Life would be much simpler.
“So there you are,” Anne Marie’s voice broke into her contemplation. “I’ve been looking for you all day. It’s almost like you’ve been avoiding me.” Her voice was only slightly accusatory.
Ingrid started. “Ah, uh, I mean, I rather wanted to spend some time alone.”
Anne Marie gave her a meaningful look. “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”
“Should I be?”
“You’ve got to believe me,” Anne Marie’s voice was all earnestness, begging for forgiveness. “Me and Andy didn’t want to look through your things, but Captain Martin insisted. Andy argued with him at first, but you know how it is.” Her voice trailed off. “We’ve got to obey the elders.”
When Ingrid still didn’t respond, Anne Marie tried again. “‘Twas a beautiful locket. I don’t blame you for not wanting to give it up. I probably wouldn’t have either.”
Ingrid shrugged. “It wasn’t mine. I was delivering it to Salt Lake for a friend. Somehow, it seemed more important to keep my promise than to trade it for a few grains of sugar.”
Anne Marie glanced uneasily over her shoulder. “Let’s take a walk in the moonlight. I think we need to talk.”
Well out of earshot of the others, Anne Marie began talking in earnest. “Look, I know you don’t believe, and I wouldn’t blame you if you try to get away. But please think about it. We could be happy together in Salt Lake, being good friends. From what I hear, the misters are seldom home anyway, so we wouldn’t have to tolerate Brother Rasmussen all that much.”
Ingrid swallowed hard. How much had Anne Marie figured out? And if she knew so much, what did Andy know about her plans? Who could she trust? Anne Marie stopped suddenly, turning Ingrid to look her full in the face. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
Ingrid dropped her eyes. “I want to trust you. I need to trust somebody, but I’m so frightened.”
“Never for a minute would I betray you. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. And I’m not even sure you’re not right about the Saints. I’ve been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ lately, and some of what you tell me is the same as what my brothers’ folks told me when I lived with them in Iowa. I don’t rightly know what to believe anymore, either.”
Ingrid grasped the opportunity. “Then come with me! We can both stay in Laramie for the winter and take a stage back east in the spring!”
Anne Marie shook her head. “Won’t work. Even if we managed to get away, do you have any idea what life is like for an ex-Mormon wife back there? They think we’re bad women, trollops. No decent man would marry us, and no decent family would have us.”
Ingrid considered this bit of shocking news. “But why? We haven’t done anything wrong, except believe a false prophet.”
“You wouldn’t believe the stories they put in the papers back east about us Mormons. They call us ‘immoral concubines’ and ‘harem hangers.’”
She hung her head, as if embarrassed to even talk about it. “Even the people I lived with in Iowa treated me with suspicion, and they had been among the Saints themselves for a while before they decided Joseph Smith was no good. My brothers’ adopted mother told me that Apostle Heber Kimball called his wives his ‘cows!’ They were so mad when I decided to rejoin the Saints – they said if I wanted to be one of Brother Rasmussen’s brood mares, it proved I didn’t have a brain in my noggin.”
Anne Marie patted her hugely swollen stomach. “And my baby,” she caught her breath. “Back there, he would be a bastard. At least in Deseret, he’ll be somebody, the son of a church leader.” She sighed in resignation. “No, there’s no other way for me but to go on with the Saints. I don’t have to believe it, just practice it and keep everybody happy.”
Attempting to lighten her friend’s dark mood, Ingrid grinned and patted the baby’s temporary home. “You talk mighty sure that it’s a boy you’re carrying around in there. How do you know it’s not a little girl?”
Biting her lip, Anne Marie looked away. “It has to be a boy. There’s no way I want to bring a little girl into this… this…” she struggled for the proper word, finally completing the sentence, “this evil.”
“Evil is a good word for it,” Ingrid muttered. “Major Crawford told me some things about Brigham Young and the way things are in Salt Lake that would make your hair stand on end!”
“I know. I’ve heard lots myself. But if you keep your nose clean and do what they tell you, it shouldn’t be too bad.”
Ingrid studied her friend intently. Gaunt, colorless, her belly swollen, she bore little resemblance to the bubbly young teen who had started on the trek what seemed an eternity ago. Both of us have grown up on this trip, she mused.
Suddenly, she giggled. “You know what? You look like a skinny stick with a bubble in the middle!”
Anne Marie laughed. “Andy told me the same thing.”
At the mention of Andy, they both sobered again. “How are you going to see Andy all the time in Deseret, loving him so much, yet being married to his Pa?” Ingrid asked.
“We’ve talked about it some. Andy says he’s going to move to one of the colonies far away from Salt Lake so we won’t see each other.” Her voice broke. “I don’t think I could stand seeing him married to somebody else.”
“I would think he’d hate his Pa for doing this to you.”
Anne Marie shook her head. “Andy? No. He truly believes in the Principle. He says it’s the command of Heavenly Father, and we must obey it, no matter how much it hurts.”
Ingrid was thoughtful, trying to remember a verse she had just read in Ma’s Bible. “For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments; and his commandments are not grievous.” The words tumbled out, surprising her. “I didn’t realize I had memorized that verse,” she said, half in apology for preaching at Anne Marie.
“You do read your Ma’s Bible an awful lot. But maybe that ain’t such a bad thing.”
Encouraged, Ingrid plunged on. “And the Bible’s just full of verses like that, verses that say to love one another is God’s commandment, and that Jesus is the only way to Heaven. I learned them in my catechism classes, but sort of let go of those promises when I met up with Brother Rasmussen.”
The mention of their common husband gave them both pause. Anne Marie finally broke the silence, “I never would have married him if the ganger hadn’t told me it was the right thing to do. I keep thinking, if it wasn’t really Pa Christiansen, then who could it have been?”
Ingrid frowned, drawing her brows together thoughtfully. “I think the Bible says demons can do things like that. And I know it says we shouldn’t have anything to do with dead spirits.” She shuddered. “You don’t suppose a demon actually appeared to you, do you?”
“Mercy! I hope not! But from what we’ve been through on this trip, it almost seems there’s a hoodoo over us.”
“Hoodoo, voodoo! What are you two talking about?” Andy’s resonant voi
ce startled them both.
Panic welled up in Ingrid’s throat. How much had he heard?
“You’d better get back to camp and get some shut-eye,” Andy warned. “Captain Martin says we’re pulling out tomorrow. He wants to make good time while we can.”
Anne Marie groaned. “I thought we were going to rest here a couple of days. I’m not sure I can make it much farther.”
Andy’s voice was tender as he took her by the hand and led her back toward the campfire. “You’ll make it. I promise.”
Following slightly behind the couple, Ingrid’s mind was in turmoil. If they were leaving tomorrow, she wouldn’t have time to get a message to Major Crawford, no time to plot her escape. Maybe she really was just a “cow,” a “brood mare.” Maybe that was to be her lot in life. But if it was, she wasn’t going to accept it willingly! Anyone who tried to make her a concubine or a part of a harem was going to have a fight on his hands!
The morning dawned windy and cold, in sharp contrast to the heat they had endured for so long. Ingrid woke, shivering, her toes numb with cold. Hoar frost blanketed the sagebrush and tumbleweed, transforming the bleak landscape into a winter wonderland.
The sudden cold caused yet another split in the camp. Captain Martin insisted it proved the urgency of moving out; Andy and some of the other men vehemently argued they should plan on wintering in Fort Laramie. Ingrid secretly hoped they would stay in Fort Laramie, feeling it might give her more time to plan her future. As was becoming customary, Captain Martin won the argument, however, insisting on forced marches.
Apparently, he had already mapped out a plan. First, the children, the few remaining old people, and the sick who could still move about marched off under the leadership of a man Ingrid knew slightly from Copenhagen. Next came the two-wheeled carts, drawn by exhausted men and women. The supply wagons brought up the rear for the miserable procession. Andy was assigned to drive a wagon, giving Ingrid hope she would be able to slip away before leaving Fort Laramie.
Taking her place hefting the cart handle, she glanced over at Anne Marie, who seemed to be in great distress. “I can’t do it,” she moaned. Whispering confidentially, she added, “I’m bleeding and in awful pain.”