by Adell Harvey
Night after night, Ingrid sat up with the fussy little girl, trying to calm her, bathing her frequently in the mustard water to keep her fever down. In the afternoons, Mrs. Wallace or Mary came over to help, offering her relief. “Don’t look like you’re going to get to church tomorrow,” Mary announced. “Not unless that fever breaks quick.”
A wave of despair swept over Ingrid. For days she had looked forward to the Christmas program, meeting the new preacher and his family, and the party that was to follow. Now she would have to stay home and tend a sick child. She hugged Ammie closer. “There’ll be more Christmas parties, Little One,” she whispered. “But you must get well! I promised your Ma I’d take good care of you.”
She spent Christmas Sunday tending Ammie and looking absently through the Godey’s and Harper’s magazines Mary had brought over to help her pass the time. With everyone at church, it wasn’t likely she would have any visitors today.
Late in the afternoon, the door swung open as Mary burst in, brimming with excitement. “You’ve got to meet our new preacher!” she exclaimed. “He’s handsome as anything, doesn’t have a wife, and preaches like a huckleberry above a persimmon!”
Ingrid tried to calm her down, asking about the Christmas program. “Never mind about that now,” Mary insisted. “Get dressed in your red merino. You’re going to a Christmas party!”
“But, Ammie, I can’t leave her … ”
“Henry said he’s tired of all the church doins’. He wants to stay home tonight to practice on his infernal horn, so he’ll look after Ammie and the Little Toad. We can both go and enjoy the party without having to worry about the little ones. Now come on and get ready.”
Ingrid glanced at the tiny featherbed. Ammie was sleeping soundly and peacefully, her fever having finally broken. “Well,” she hesitated, “maybe it will be all right to leave her with Henry for a bit.”
Mary helped her dress, fussing over her hair. “Got to get you lookin’ good to meet the new preacher,” she teased.
Ingrid stopped buttoning the dress. “I am going to enjoy the party, not to set my sights on a man. If you try any matchmaking, I’ll turn around and come right back home,” she threatened.
Mary shrugged. “Wouldn’t think of matching you up with the new preacher. He’s so good lookin’, he won’t last as long as water in a hot skillet afore some single woman snatches him. But if he decides to take a likin’ to ya, what could it hurt?”
“He’s not going to take a likin’ to me,” Ingrid insisted. “And I’m sure I won’t take a likin’ to him. My life is perfectly happy just the way it is. I don’t need a man to mess things up.”
Instantly her mind went to Brother Rasmussen, the first man she had trusted, a man who had truly messed up her life. But another face appeared in her memory, a face which completely banished any thought of Brother Rasmussen. The smiling, compassionate eyes of Major Crawford brought a flush to her cheeks. No, she didn’t want a man in her life. Not just any man, that is.
Misreading the telltale blush, Mary continued teasing. “You’re blushing. I think you’re excited about meetin’ the new preacher.”
Ingrid turned sharply. “No, I’m not. Not for those reasons, anyway. And don’t you dare embarrass me tonight by suggesting any such thing!”
The party was well under way when the women arrived at the church. Tables heavily laden with chicken, oyster stew, cornbread, pies, and cakes lined the walls, while people dressed in their Sunday best stood in small circles eating and talking. Ingrid was glad she had worn her lace collar and sleeves with the red merino to dress it up a bit – this was clearly a dressy event.
“There he is,” Mary said. “The tall good-looking man over by the punch bowl.”
Ingrid’s eyes followed the direction Mary had indicated. Intense astonishment touched her flushed face as she stood rooted to the spot, blank, amazed, completely shaken.
“What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
The preacher chose that moment to come across to where they were standing. Upon seeing Ingrid, he, too, was momentarily speechless. As their eyes met, she felt a shock run through her, warming her all over. Finding his voice, he uttered one word. “Ingrid?”
The tenderness in his voice overwhelmed her. “Major Crawford.” She barely whispered the words, her voice husky and unbelieving.
“You two know each other?” Mary’s question broke the spell, but Ingrid continued to stare at the Major in astonishment.
He reached down and took her hand, his touch sending further shock waves coursing through her veins. “Yes, we know each other,” he said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Ingrid and I have a great deal to discuss. Please make my excuses to the others, won’t you?”
He turned back to Ingrid, his voice tender, almost a murmur. “Let’s go outside where we can talk.” He steered her through the crowd, thoughtfully stopping to get her cloak. They walked out into the starlit night before he spoke again.
“I can’t believe I’ve found you,” he whispered. “I looked for you for more than a year.”
Ingrid could still barely lift her voice above a whisper. “But how? Why? And what are you doing here in California? I thought you went to Oregon.” She paused for breath. “And what are you doing in preacher’s clothes? You’re a soldier.”
They found themselves on the bridge over the small stream just outside of town. Leaning against the rail, he chuckled. “You always did ask a lot of questions. That’s one of the things I love about you.”
Ingrid drew in her breath. “Love?”
He drew her close. “Of course. I think I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you helping Anne Marie pull that heavy cart. I told myself I couldn’t love you when you belonged to the Mormons, but when you left them, there were no more obstacles.”
“But how did you find me down here?”
He exhaled a long sigh. “It was all of God’s grace. Actually, I thought you were in Oregon, and I longed to go there to look for you. But the presbytery wanted me to come to Gold Flat.”
He paused, a flicker of wonderment in his eyes. “You have no idea the battle my soul waged before I finally surrendered to God’s will. And this is my reward!”
He searched her face momentarily, then brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead. “Oh, Ingrid,” he murmured. “How I’ve longed for this moment!”
She was shocked at her own eager response to his kiss. Standing on tiptoe, she raised her lips to his, eagerly welcoming the velvet warmth of his mouth against hers. It was a kiss for her tired soul to melt into, home at last.
Leaving her mouth burning with fire, he pulled slowly away. “I’m so glad I’ve found you.” His voice was pensive. “I should have learned a long time ago to trust God’s way, but I’m always bullheaded enough to try it my way first.”
Her eyes shining, Ingrid teased, “You still haven’t answered all my questions. Are you really a preacher?”
He kicked at a loose board with the toe of his boot. “Yes, I’m really a preacher. God called me to preach when I was quite young, so I went away to the university to study theology. But then Amelia married the Mormon doctor and went to Utah. I thought the only way to rescue her was to join the Army and fight the Mormons.” His voice took on a tone of exasperation.
“You loved her very much, didn’t you?”
“Love? I’m not sure. We were friends since we were kids. I think it was more of an accepted idea that we would one day marry. In all honesty, I think it hurt my pride more than anything to think she would marry a Mormon. Lieutenant Horne and his family were so concerned when they heard all the stories coming out of Utah… well, I wanted to be the knight in shining armor who would rescue her.”
“Did you find her?”
“Yes, I found her.” His voice was hollow. “But not everyone wants to be rescued. She was perfectly content with her newfound lot as a polygamist wife. Said it was God’s way.”
Ingrid gasped. “She really said that?”
“That’s when I realized God’s plan for me was best. Fighting false prophets with guns and wars isn’t the answer. The only way to help people like that is to teach them God’s truth in the beginning. Then they won’t be deceived by false prophets. So I mustered out of the Army and did what I should have been doing all along, preaching the Gospel.”
His lips momentarily sought hers again. “Then a lady from Copenhagen wouldn’t leave me alone in my dreams, and I almost missed God’s plan again.” He pulled back playfully. “Shame on you!”
“A certain Cavalry Major insisted on entering my dreams every night, too,” she whispered. “When Hanabi told me you were going to Oregon to look for me, I thought it was the end of all my dreams.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny box. “I’ve been keeping this until I found you. Turn around and close your eyes.”
Wonderingly, Ingrid did as she was told. She felt something cold touch her neck. Opening her eyes, she exclaimed, “The locket! It’s the locket!”
He grinned. “I knew you would be pleased. I’ve never seen anyone so unhappy as you were that day in the sutler’s store at Fort Laramie. I determined then I’d buy it back and deliver it to you if it took me the rest of my life.”
Lovingly, Ingrid fingered the locket she so cherished. Her fingers traced lightly over the inscription, and she murmured, “It’s so true.”
“What does it say?” he asked gently. “It’s inscribed in Danish, and I never could find anyone who could read it.”
She leaned lightly into him, tilting her face toward his. A twinkle of moonlight bathed her face, revealing a look of total peace and serenity in her eyes. “It says ‘May God be with you always.’”
Just before his lips pressed against hers once more, he murmured, “He has been, and he will be for the rest of our lives!”
The End
Get a sneak peek at
Adell Harvey & Mari Serebrov’s
anticipated sequel…
Andy Rasmussen, a devout Mormon trail guide leading immigrants to the “Promised Land,” is overwhelmed with guilt and doubt after allowing his father’s bride to escape Deseret. His faith is shaken to its core when he refuses to participate in what would be remembered as the Mountain Meadows Massacre. Will blood atonement be the price for his disobedience?
Elsie Condit, a beautiful Southern belle who must travel across the country alone, faces her own doubts and fears. As threats of war swirl against the Saints in Utah, and the winds of an even bigger war spread across the nation, travel with these two intrepid souls on their exciting journey in search of truth, love, and God’s will for their lives.
Order your copy now!
Prologue
Winter 1856
Devil’s Gate, Oregon Territory
ANDY WATCHED as the relief wagons lumbered beyond the horizon, heading toward South Pass and Fort Bridger. His shoulders slumped in grief. “Go with them, God, and please take care of little Ammie.”
He had been so excited to find his teen-age sweetheart Anne Marie among the handcart companies waiting to make their journey to the Promised Land. Sent back to Iowa City to escort Pa’s young bride, Ingrid, to her new home in Deseret, he had discovered Anne Marie also was assigned to him. Andy’s hopes had soared, thinking Pa had seen their love for each other and would allow them to marry when they reached their destination.
Those hopes had turned to despair when Anne Marie confessed she had been forced to marry his father and was now carrying Pa’s child. Dutifully, Andy had escorted both of Pa’s brides on the long, torturous trek, determined to do his duty no matter what the personal cost.
He wiped away the chips from the rough stone marker he had carved for the grave. Had the prophet’s promises really come to this? A trench filled with the frozen bodies of Anne Marie and dozens of other travelers who hadn’t survive the horrors of Devil’s Gate in midwinter, with another forced march through the wind and snow for those who had survived. At least Ingrid and Anne Marie’s baby, Ammie, had been given a place in the relief wagons. They were too weak to walk.
A moment of doubt crept into Andy’s bitter thoughts. If Brigham Young truly were a prophet of God, wouldn’t he have known the handcart treks were a foolish idea this time of year? Wouldn’t he have known that ordering the Martin Party to leave Iowa City so late in the year would make the trek through the mountains impossible? Was the prophet doing the will of God or simply building up his own kingdom on earth?
A shudder coursed through Andy’s body at the thought. Did God even care? Would God listen to the prayers of a man who had just promised a dying girl he would lie to his own father to protect her newborn daughter? Who had vowed to help one of his father’s brides and baby daughter escape from Deseret? He had even sinned against his sacred undergarments, breaking his oath to wear them as a shield and protection against the Evil One. Surely God would understand that he had to wrap Ammie in them for protection against the harsh winter winds.
As Andy bent down to place another rock on Anne Marie’s grave, great sobs wracked his body. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder.
“It’s a hard thing to do, Brother Rasmussen, losing a young wife like that.”
Andy rose unsteadily from his knees, recognizing Brother Ricks from a brief encounter in Salt Lake City. Wiping his eyes on his sleeve, he murmured, “She was so young – so full of life. It doesn’t seem fair.”
“Nothing’s fair in this world. But Salt Lake has lots of pretty girls. You’ll soon find another bride.”
Andy stood back, startled. “Anne Marie wasn’t my wife. She was my father’s.”
The older man nodded in sympathy. “Don’t suppose you’re the first young buck to fall in love with his father’s wife. Happens all the time.”
His sympathetic manner prompted Andy to share more. “I fell in love with Anne Marie long before she married Pa. I didn’t even know they were married until a couple of months ago. I went back East to escort Pa’s new bride from Copenhagen and wound up escorting two new brides.” His voice was acrid with bitterness.
“Well, as they say, ain’t no use crying over spilt milk.” Ricks placed yet another stone on the mass grave. “Must have buried fifty people here,” he said. He looked up at the gray sky. “Looks like we’re in for a long, hard winter here, so we’d best get on up to the mail cabin and stake out a place to sleep or they’ll be piling our bodies in here, too.”
June 1857
River Bend Plantation, Kentucky
Elsie Condit placed a single rose on her father’s grave. “Oh, Papa,” she cried. “Am I doing the right thing?” The ornately carved headstones in the family cemetery seemed to mock her. “Peter Condit, born 1756, died 1799.” “Peter Condit, Jr., born 1780, died 1837.” And finally, Papa’s tombstone – “Peter Condit, III, born 1805, died 1857.” Ever since Great-grandfather Condit settled these beautiful hills, the plantation had belonged in the family. And now she had sold it to a stranger.
She fingered the letter that had come a fortnight ago from her brothers, who were soldiers with the cavalry in New Mexico Territory. “There’s a fortune to be made here in general merchandising,” Matthew had written. “With Papa giving the slaves their freedom, you can’t run the plantation alone.”
Peter had added an ominous note: “The winds of war are raging, and I fear Kentucky will soon be fighting family against family. With our family’s strong abolitionist views, your very life could be in danger if you stay at River Bend. Sell everything and come to safety here in New Mexico.”
A tall black man entered through the rose-covered trellis gate, breaking her reverie. “Miss Elsie, it’s time. If we’re to catch that riverboat to St. Louis, we’d best be on our way.”
Elsie smiled through her tears. Dear Isaac. Dear faithful Isaac. From the time they were toddlers, she and Isaac had shared everything, and he had always been her protector. And now, even with his freedman papers in his pocket, he wanted to go with her on the long trail to
New Mexico.
“Can’t have nothing happening to the prettiest Condit in the crowd,” he had joked when he volunteered to come along. “Besides, maybe I’ll find me a pert young black lady out there in the wilds and settle down.”
Elsie smiled, remembering their conversation when she had tried to dissuade him from traveling with her. “And maybe a pretty Spanish senorita will set her sights on you!” she had teased him.
“From what I hear about those Spanish senoritas, that wouldn’t be such a bad bargain either!” Isaac had laughed, the deep throaty chuckle that was almost his trademark.
Isaac broke into Elsie’s reverie, reaching down to lend her a hand. “We really should be going, Miss Elsie,” he repeated.
“It’s just Elsie,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. “You’re officially a free man now. We don’t need to play at the pretense any longer.”
He smiled down at her. “We need to go back to the house to pick up your things, Elsie. There’s not much time.”
Elsie gave one last, long look around the cemetery, then bent low to kiss her parents’ graves. “Goodbye, Mama and Papa,” she whispered.
Chapter 1
June 1857
Devil’s Gate
“A IN’T IT ‘bout time them relief wagons was gettin’ here? We’ve been holed up in this God-awful place for more than six months!”
Andy turned wearily toward Brother Walters. “It wouldn’t seem near so long if you’d quit your bellyaching and complaining. The prophet promised to send somebody back for us as soon as it was spring.”
Walters snorted. “The prophet, hah! It’s been spring in Salt Lake for a couple of months already, and I still don’t see no relief wagons.”
Much as he hated to admit it, Andy was afraid Walters was right. The winter in the mail cabin at Devil’s Gate had seemed endless – twenty cold, hungry men trying to survive with nothing to pass the time but bickering and an occasional forage onto the treeless plain in search of nonexistent wild game. He looked around the dingy cabin at the men leaning listlessly against the rough log walls. Once strong and full of life, they were now gaunt skeletons, with their eyes protruding from hollow sockets. Why hadn’t the relief wagons come as promised?