“This is fuller than usual,” he said. “We missed one circuit when our last rider left us. They’ll be anxious to see you.”
“Always nice to be welcomed,” David said.
“Had word last week of some Paiute trouble south of Panguitch,” McKenna was saying.
Billy Joe’s eyes grew big. “Indians?” But Molly shushed him.
David shouldered the bag. “How bad?”
“Not real serious. Four Paiutes stopped a couple of drovers, said they wanted to trade for some food. While they were talking, two more tried to steal a couple of the horses. Don’t think it’s anything to be concerned about, but keep your eyes open.”
“I always do that. Anything else?” When McKenna shook his head, he tipped his hat to Molly, then cocked his thumb and finger and “shot” Billy Joe dead in the heart. “You start collecting some cans, all right?”
“I will!” he exclaimed, puffing out his chest.
David moved to the door and opened it. “See you in a couple of weeks in St. George.” He waved one last time, exited, and shut the door behind him. A moment later he was mounted and on his way, heading north toward Parowan.
Molly and Billy Joe both moved to the window and watched him until he disappeared.
“All right, young man,” his father said. “I told your mother I’d get you breakfast if she let you come down here this early. So off you go. They’re expecting you in the dining room.”
For a moment he looked like he would protest, but then the idea of food changed his mind and he was gone.
“Father!”
McKenna turned in surprise. Abby was just coming in from the hotel lobby. “What is this about you seeing David in St. George?”
“Well,” Molly said, “aren’t you the early bird?”
“I am always the early bird. The miracle is that you’re up and dressed before breakfast.” Then she turned to her father again. “Well?”
“That’s right. He’s going to meet us there.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Oh?” he said, raising one eyebrow. “And why is that?”
She shot him one of her pitying looks, then bent down and kissed Billy Joe on the cheek as he started past her. He immediately rubbed it off, then hurried away before she could do it again. “Because he is insufferable,” she finally said.
“I think he’s sooo handsome,” Molly said, coming over to join them.
The look Abby gave her sister was withering. “You think every mail rider is sooo handsome. But that’s all right. I’m sure Mr. Draper totally agrees with you.”
“Well,” Molly said airily, “if he does, he would be right.”
Abby whirled back to face her father. “Why, Daddy? What’s so important that you need him in St. George? Of all the people, why him? Especially for our family trip. You barely know him. But he’s arrogant, conceited, and insufferable.”
“And cute,” Molly said, thoroughly enjoying this, and secretly delighted with the news. “Now that he’s shaved, I think he’s adorable.” She deliberately let her voice go soft and dreamy. “Those big brown eyes, the dark hair with just that touch of curl at the back of his neck, the cleft in his chin.”
“Oh, stop it,” Abby snapped, knowing her sister was just baiting her.
Their father held up a hand. “Okay, you two. Abby’s question is a fair one. Before I answer it, you need to understand something. I was going to keep this a surprise, but the more I’ve thought about it, the more I think there may be as much value in the anticipation of the gift as in the gift itself. So—” He looked at Abby. “I’ve been planning a surprise for your birthday.”
“My birthday?”
“Yes. Several weeks ago, I asked you what you wanted, remember? I said that since this would be your twenty-first birthday, we should do something really special.”
“Yes, and I told you I didn’t know what that would be.”
“But the next day Carl let me know that you told him something that you didn’t tell me. Something that you really, really wanted to do sometime in your life.”
Her head came up with a snap. “Zion Canyon?” she exclaimed.
He nodded, pleased with her reaction.
“We’re going to Zion Canyon, Daddy?”
“Yes. This last trip Carl made to St. George included a detour out to Springdale. He’s found us a guide who will take us in. We’ll spend about a week there.”
Abby threw her arms around him. “Oh, Daddy, I can’t believe it.”
He wagged his finger at the two of them. “From what this guide told Carl, this isn’t going to be a picnic in the park. This is rough country, a lot of it still unexplored.1 But from what little Carl saw around Springdale, he says it is spectacular. Enough to take your breath away.”
“Yes!”Abby cried. “That’s what I want for my birthday. To have my breath taken away.”
Molly was laughing excitedly. “Can I go too, Daddy? Please?”
“We’re all going. Well, not your mother or young Patrick, of course, but the rest of us. Carl, me, and the two of you.” He paused, then added, “And David Draper.”
Abby’s face instantly went from joy to dismay. “Why, Daddy? Oh, don’t spoil it.”
“Because this isn’t a trip where we stay in cabins or hotels. We’ll be camping out every night. It will be bedrolls and campfires, hardtack, jerky, and johnnycake. Hardly what the two of you are used to. Or me and Carl either, for that matter. David has spent much of his life on the trail. He’s exactly what we need.”
“What about the guide?”Abby asked. “Couldn’t he do that?”
He shook his head. “He’s our guide, not our cook and wrangler. And besides, with six of us, one man isn’t enough. So your personal differences are going to have to be set aside.”
“Please,” she begged. “Anyone but him.”
He was suddenly impatient. “If you feel that strongly about it, then we’ll just forget it and come straight home from St. George.”
“No, Daddy,” Molly cried in alarm. Then to her sister, “Abby, you have to go. Zion Canyon! Think of it. Everyone says it’s like being taken into heaven.”
For a long moment, Abby’s head turned back and forth between the two of them. Then she stamped her foot. “Ohhhh!” she cried in complete disgust, and stormed out of the room.
Note
^1. Today, Zion Canyon, which was made a national park in 1919, is visited by over two million visitors each year. However, considering how many important European or American exploring parties passed through this area, it is surprising that it didn’t become better known until the early years of the twentieth century. In 1858, a Southern Paiute guide led a young Mormon missionary and interpreter into Zion Canyon. His favorable report about its agricultural potential brought settlers into the area, eventually forming the towns of Virgin, Springdale, and Rockville.
Isaac Behunin settled in the canyon in 1863, farming near the present site of Zion’s Lodge. He grew cotton, tobacco, and fruit trees during the summer, then wintered in Springdale a few miles to the south. According to tradition, it was Behunin who gave the canyon the biblical name of Zion, meaning a place of transcendent beauty, peace, and rest.
Chapter 21
Saturday, September 14, 1878
David had pushed himself hard. In spite of Tillie’s throwing a shoe, which required him to walk her the last six miles into Kanab, he finished the mail circuit in two days less than he had allowed himself. He had arrived in St. George late Saturday evening a week ago. And it was a good thing he had, because it turned out that he had needed every day since then to get ready.
After attending church on Sunday—in case Patrick asked—David got a horse from the livery stable and started for Springdale. He left Tillie at the stable to get a much-needed rest.
He arrived at Springdale midmorning on Monday and met with Ben Mangleson, the guide Carl Bradford had secured. That afternoon, Ben took David into the canyon and they spent the rest of that day and
Tuesday morning picking out possible campsites along the river. Returning to Springdale on Tuesday, they spent the rest of the day making a long list of supplies and equipment they would need. David then returned to St. George on Wednesday. On his arrival, shortly after dark, he went straight to the telegraph office and sent a telegram to Patrick.
clothing for girls a problem stop canyon too rugged for wagons stop riding sidesaddle not ideal stop ben plans difficult hikes stop full skirts a problem stop recommend you discuss with mrs m stop david
Now it was Saturday night and all was finally in readiness. The wagon was in a shed, loaded with equipment and food. As he dragged himself back to the boardinghouse shortly after eight o’clock, David went over everything again in his mind, making sure he hadn’t overlooked anything.
He opened the door and went inside and there found Mrs. Cosgrove waiting for him, as usual. “There you are, David,” she said. “Did you get everything finished?”
He nodded. “Finally.” She was a grandmother of seven who had been a widow for nearly fifteen years and who, as near as he could tell, was not a member of the Church. She had taken David in that first day he arrived and mothered him like he was her own.
“Are you hungry? I have some supper still warm in the oven.”
He shook his head. “No, thanks, Mrs. Cosgrove. I ate just three days ago.”
She laughed. “You are such a tease, David. How about a hot bath instead? I can have the water ready in ten minutes.”
“Now, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”
“Your Mr. McKenna came in a couple of hours ago. Left a note. I put it on your dresser.”
He waved his thanks and trudged up the stairs. Tossing his saddlebags in one corner, he sat down and pulled off his boots. Then he went to the dresser and found the folded paper.
David—Was delayed in Cedar. Just arrived this afternoon. Carl reports you have been hard at work. Anxious to hear your report. Church is tomorrow at ten. Love to have you join us. Will stop by for you at 9:30. Might be interesting. Rumors abound about a possible mission to Four Corners area. Could provide some business opportunities.
Sarah’s sister insists you join us for Sunday dinner after church. Fried chicken with all the trimmings. That will give us time to hear your report. She won’t take no for an answer. Patrick
P.S. Young Patrick, otherwise known as Billy Joe McKenna, is very anxious to see you again. Says he collected 26 tin cans before we left Cedar. Plans to hold you to your promise.
P.P.S. Warmest wishes from Molly. Somewhat less enthusiastic greetings from Abby. However, both are greatly anticipating this coming week.
P.P.P.S. Sarah says thank you for your concern about the girls’ attire. Has worked out what she says will be an acceptable solution. Grateful that you and I don’t need to worry about it.
Sunday, September 15, 1878
Rachel Reynolds, Sarah’s sister, and her husband, Robert, lived in a pleasant two-story house just two blocks from the St. George Temple. With both families, there were fourteen people present for dinner, and tables were set up in both the kitchen and the parlor. The meal was excellent. After almost three solid weeks on the trail, eating cold beans and hardtack, David greatly relished it. During the dinner, however, he was mostly quiet, speaking only when directly addressed, satisfied to sit back and listen.
Patrick had stated right up front that there would be no discussion about the Zion Canyon expedition until afterwards, so most of the time the conversation focused on the speculations about a Four Corners mission, and David had nothing to contribute there. Billy Joe might have given him someone to talk to, but he was in the parlor with the younger children.
Molly, seated directly across from him, would draw him in from time to time, but she was seated by a cousin of her same age who was telling her about the social activities in St. George. That gave David a chance to study her. Once again he was struck with her loveliness. The lines of her face were so graceful. Her eyes sparkled with her sheer exuberance for life. Her laugh was like the ripple of a breeze on a warm day. It warmed him just to be in her presence.
Gratefully, Abby and Carl were at the end of the table on the same side as David, so he didn’t have to make polite conversation with her. Other than a curt nod at church, she had studiously avoided him. Which was fine. He was too jaded to get into another spitting contest with her.
Now, as they finished the dessert, an excellent green-apple pie, Billy Joe came in and stood beside David’s chair. Expecting a discussion on tin cans and shooting practice, David turned and gave him a smile. But, in true Billy Joe fashion, his first question took David by surprise.
“Did you get attacked by them Indians?”
For a moment, David didn’t understand. Then he remembered that morning at the post office and the report from McKenna about the Paiutes. He shook his head. “Nope. Saw some Navajos trading in Kanab, and some Paiutes further north, but they were friendly. Never even took my pistol out of the holster.”
“Oh.” He looked terribly disappointed. “Did you already deliver all the mail?”
“I did. Picked up a bunch more and brought it back with me, too. Why?”
Billy Joe’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Puffy died.” It was said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Puffy?”
“Our cat,” Molly supplied. “He was quite old.”
“Oh.” Then to Billy Joe, “That’s too bad.”
“We gave him a funeral.” Again, it was a statement of fact without emotion.
“I see. And did you cry?”
The boy’s head reared back and he looked disgusted. “No.”
“But you were sad, right?” Abby asked. She had leaned out to see the two of them.
He nodded, but his eyes never left David’s. “Do you think Puffy’s in heaven?”
Now it was David who reared back. He hadn’t seen that one coming. There were chuckles from up and down the table. “Yes,” Billy Joe’s father said. “That’s a good question, David. Do cats go to heaven?”
“I . . .” He was fumbling. “Well, I suppose they could. Don’t know why not.”
“But you’re not sure?” That was from Billy Joe, who still had him pinned with his eyes.
He laughed. This kid was so single-minded. “No, I’m not sure.”
“Do you have God’s address?”
David nearly knocked over his glass. “I’m sorry. Say that again?”
“Do you have God’s address?” He was clearly put out that he wasn’t being taken seriously.
“Ah . . . well, not actually. Why do you need His address?”
“I wanna write Him a letter and ask Him if Puffy’s in heaven.”
“Patrick Joseph,” his mother said. “When we have questions for Heavenly Father, we ask Him in our prayers.”
His head moved back and forth in quick movements. “I did, but He didn’t answer.” He turned his focus back to David. “You’re a mail rider. Why can’t you take a letter to God?”
Abby’s eyes were soft. She was looking at her brother, but she spoke to David. “That seems like a fair question.” She was obviously enjoying his discomfort. “I think we’d all like to know God’s address. That is, if you have it.”
“Well,” David began, ignoring her and looking only at Billy Joe. “I guess I’d have to say—”
He stopped. Billy Joe had reached in his back pocket and extracted a crumpled envelope. He held it out to David. David looked down and read “To God” in large, carefully printed block letters. “Will you take it to Him on your next trip?” the boy asked.
“Uh . . .” David was speechless. And then he remembered how he had petitioned heaven while his mother lay dying in the infirmary. He reached out, nodding. “I’ll do my very best, Billy Joe,” he said softly.
“Good.” And that was it. Billy Joe pocketed the letter and rejoined the other children without another word.
The table was quiet for a moment, then Patrick slid his chair back. “Let’s ge
t the dishes done. Then we need to hear what David has to say about tomorrow.”
Everyone stood now. As David started gathering up his plate and silverware, he saw that Sister McKenna was looking at him. He gave her a crooked smile and shrugged helplessly.
“Thank you,” she mouthed, her eyes moist.
To his greater surprise, when David started into the kitchen, Abby, who was just ahead of him, stepped back to let him pass. She didn’t speak, but her earlier cool disdain was gone. She nodded politely as he passed.
When the dishes were cleared, washed, dried, and put away, and the tables were removed, all of the children except for Molly and Abby went outside and the adults gathered in the living room. David suddenly felt like an outsider again. The McKennas sat on a divan, holding hands. Aunt Rachel and Uncle Robert were together on the couch. Abby and Carl Bradford sat on the floor with their backs against the wall, also holding hands. Molly took a chair next to her father, leaving David the chair in the corner. He was determined to give a quick report and excuse himself. He needed at least half a day to rest up and get himself ready.
“We have a birthday in four days,” Patrick McKenna began, “and we’re off to celebrate it in a most unusual way. Since David says we need to leave by five o’clock in the morning, we need to keep this short.” He turned to David. “You have the floor. Tell us what we need to do.”
And so he did. In short, clipped sentences, he told them of his trip to Springdale, meeting with Ben Mangleson, and the arrangements they had made together. He laid out the schedule as well as he could, going day by day, concluding with their return to St. George ten to twelve days later. He described the tents and their sleeping arrangements. He warned them about the simple nature of the meals, about the possibility of rain, rattlesnakes, and scorpions. “And,” he concluded, “even though I know you all ride horses quite a bit, be prepared for very stiff legs and a numb bottom, because we’ll be spending about six to eight hours in the saddle on average every day.”
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