“Come. It’s open.”
He pushed the door open but stepped in only partially. His father was at the small desk studying a newspaper. He looked up. “Ah wondered if’n ya were ever gonna mek it home.”
“I stopped and had supper.” He moved inside and shut the door, then went over to stand behind his father. He grunted when he saw what John was reading. The large, bold headline read: Mail Rider Stops Cattle Thieves Near Orderville. This was the newspaper Molly had sent to his father right after that incident had happened. “What are you doing, Dad?”
“Joost lookin’ at it. Tryin’ ta r’member all that it says. Ah can mek oot quite a few of the words noow, but naw awl.”
“It may be good reading practice, but you surely could find better content than that.” He moved over and sat down on the other chair. “Would you like me to read it to you?”
“Naw. Molly tole me ya were mooch peeved when she sent it ta me.”
“They made a big deal out of nothing, that was all.” He sobered as he remembered that night. “Could have gone either way, actually,” he finished, somewhat lamely.
“But it dinna go the other way. Sumone was watchin’ o’er ya that night.”
David laid a hand on John’s shoulder. “Just wanted to say good night. Haven’t seen you all day.”
“Ah be glad ya did. Thare be sumthin’ Ah’ve been meanin’ ta talk ta ya aboot.”
“What’s that?”
He folded the newspaper and pushed it aside, then fiddled with it, making sure it was straight. David looked at him more closely. He was suddenly nervous, and he wasn’t sure why.
“What is it, Dad?”
John finally looked up. “Never mind. Ya look tired. Ah’ll tell ya in the mornin’.”
“I’m not that tired. What?”
He turned around in his chair, then got up to face David. David studied him, noting that his father was starting to age somewhat. Not a lot yet, but there were wrinkles around his eyes and lines across his forehead.
“Thare be sumthin’ ya need ta know, so ya naw be thinkin’ Ah be sneakin’ b’hind yur back.”
That came as a surprise. “Sneaking behind my back? You haven’t been flirting with one of the widowed sisters in the ward, have you?”
There was not even a flicker of a smile. David apologized. “Sorry. Go on.”
“Ah naw be feelin’ reet aboot goin’ on a mission witout bein’ called.”
David just gaped. “Say that again?”
“Ya ’eard me,” he growled. “So Ah sent me name in to Silas Smith as a volunteer. Patrick says thare be an invitation ta do that. Ah ask ’im if it be possible ta get an official call at stake conf’rence this weekend.”
David threw up his hands. “Aw, come on, Dad. What difference does it make if you’re called or not? You’ll be doing exactly the same thing either way.”
“It mek a diff’rence ta me.” His jaw was set. His eyes dared David to disagree. “An’ if’n thare be no diff’rence in yur eyes, then why wud ya care either way?”
David started for the door. “You know what? You’re right. It doesn’t mean anything one way or the other to me. Good night.”
“Thare be one more thin’ ya need ta know.”
David stopped, not turning.
“If’n it does turn oot to be a mission call, Ah dunna feel reet aboot tekin’ a salary fur doin’ what the Lord ’as called me ta do.”
David stood there, feeling his temper rise. That did make a difference. His father had just put half of his first month’s salary into their ranch fund. Then he just sighed. It was his money, and his life. “Still trying to get over the guilt, are you, Dad?”
David had turned his head as he spoke and saw his father flinch as though David had struck him. Then John’s eyes went cold. “If’n Ah be an embarrassment ta ya, boy, ya joost let me know an’ Ah’ll be ’eadin’ back up ta Coalville ta see if I can get me ole job back.”
David blew out his breath, highly frustrated. “You were right, Dad. I am tired. Let’s talk about this at breakfast.”
“Ya sure ya won’t be too embarrassed ta be seen in pooblic wit me?”
“Good night, Dad,” he said, fighting to hold his temper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The door was almost shut when suddenly his father was there and yanked it open again. “Yur muther went through a terrible tragedy, David, an’ it soured ’er on religion, an’ even on God. But she ’ad gud cause, an’ ya dunna. Ya ’ave a gud life. The Lord ’as blessed ya and watched over ya agin and agin. So dunna be blamin’ yur muther fur bein’ so sour about other people’s beliefs.”
“Good night, Dad.” He tried to pull the door shut, but now his father’s eyes were spitting fire. His hand shot out and gripped David’s arm, the fingers dug into the flesh. “Ah be yur fahther, David. Ya ’ave no cause ta be turnin’ yur back on me.”
That shot went home. He turned back slowly. “You’re right, Dad. I’m sorry. Say what you have to say.”
For a long moment John stood there, looking up at his son. In that moment, the anger drained away, to be replaced by a deep weariness. “David, ya refuse ta see what is obvious ta ev’ryone else. Ya refuse ta see that the Lord be tekin’ a ’and in yur life, tryin’ ta touch yur ’eart.”
“Right,” he said, no fight left in him.
“But since ya refuse ta listen, then the Lord gonna be knockin’ ya alongside the ’ead until ’E gits yur attention. Life be gonna start comin’ at ya like rocks frum a catapult, until ya learn ta bend the knee an’ bow the ’ead. It gives me great sorrow ta say it, becuz it be a ’ard way ta learn, Son, a very ’ard way.” His eyes bored into David’s now. “But Ah know, as sure as Ah know Ah luved yur mother, that it be cumin’.”
“And how is that, Dad?” he flared. “Are you reading the future now?”
The sadness in John’s eyes made David fall back a step.
“Becuz I pray fur it ev’ry night an’ mornin’, Son. Ev’ry night an’ ev’ry mornin’. That’s ’ow Ah know it be cumin’.”
^r.A simple meal made by pouring flour into boiling water, then adding a dash of sugar or molasses to it.
Chapter 34
Sunday, March 23, 1879
As usual when they went to stake conference in Parowan, the McKennas took rooms in the Parowan Hotel—Patrick, Sarah, and Billy Joe took one; Abby and Molly took another; David and his father were in a third; and Carl Bradford was alone in a fourth.
By unspoken mutual agreement, David and his father had not reopened their conversation from that night. It really wasn’t any of David’s business if that was what his father wanted. And when John had told Patrick of his decision the next morning, Patrick had insisted on continuing to pay him until they actually left Cedar City. When David’s father protested, to David’s surprise, Patrick dug in his heels. “If you were working in the coal mines and got a call,” he pointed out, “you would continue to work there until you left.” And that settled that.
David kept telling himself that none of this really mattered, but it still grated on him, and that had put a strain on their relationship. The thing that irked David the most was the nagging guilt. It was never said, but it was there, just underneath the surface: Why don’t you volunteer? Why not make it a mission call for David Draper as well as John Draper? He gave a soft snort of derision. Wouldn’t that please Molly? It might even convince her he was softening up a little.
A soft knock on the door brought his head up. “I’ll get it, Dad.”
His father stuck his head out of the small washroom. He had lathered up and was trimming his beard with a straight razor. He nodded and disappeared again.
To his surprise, Silas Smith was standing at the door when David opened it.
“Good morning, Brother Draper. Sorry to disturb you. I know you’re getting ready for conference, but I wondered if I could have a word with you.”
“Sure. Let me get my boots.”
When David returned, Silas steered him to
a corner of the hotel lobby where there was a cluster of chairs. There were a few people about, but this gave them at least some privacy. They sat down across from each other, and David, quite curious, turned to face the mission leader.
“David, let me get right to it. I was hoping to get a chance to visit with you yesterday, but—” He shrugged. “Too many meetings, I guess.”
“It must be a busy time for you, what with you leaving in just a week or two now.”
“Extremely,” he said with a smile. “It seems like every day brings some new crisis.”
“Only one?” David was still trying to figure out what this was about.
Silas laughed. “Did I say every day? I meant to say every hour.”
At about fifty years of age, Silas Sanford Smith was probably one of the oldest men to have received a call to the San Juan. His very demeanor and bearing bespoke wisdom, experience, and good judgment. He was not particularly tall, only an inch or two taller than David’s five-foot-nine, but he was lean and fit, and strong as a blacksmith. His full, neatly cared for beard and mustache were just starting to gray. He had a high, broad forehead with a sharply receding hairline. Heavy brows shaded piercing, dark eyes that were quick to smile.
Silas was from Paragonah, just six miles north of Parowan. That little village was very proud that one of their own had been chosen as president of the mission. At a dance held on Friday night, the Paragonians had been eager to tell everyone what they knew about him. And it was impressive.
He had come to the Salt Lake Valley in 1847 at age seventeen. He wasn’t in the first company led by Brigham Young, but his family was in one of those that followed shortly thereafter. His roots in the Church went back much further than that. His family had joined and had come to Kirtland, Ohio, while the Church was in its infancy. They fled to Missouri when the persecutions in Ohio boiled over. There they were caught up in the conflagration caused by the infamous Mormon extermination order issued by Missouri’s governor. They fled as exiles to Nauvoo, Illinois, then had to leave again in 1846 when they were driven out for a third time by government militias. Silas and his wife had been among the first settlers in Parowan and then later moved to Paragonah. He had fought as a major in the militia in the Walker Indian War, been called to serve a mission in the Sandwich Islands at the age of twenty-four, and returned to become a bishop in Paragonah. He had also been a member of the Utah Territorial Legislature for nearly twenty years, a deputy U.S. marshal, a probate judge, and a prosecuting attorney. He was widely known, deeply respected, and greatly loved by the people of southern Utah.1 All of that only added to the positive impressions David had received about Silas when he and Patrick and Carl had met with him a few weeks before.
He cleared his throat. “Brother Draper, I should like—”
“Just David,” he said quickly. “Please.”
There was a fleeting smile. “Okay. David, I should like to put a proposition to you. Before doing so, however, you should know that I have discussed this with President Lunt and Elder Erastus Snow and have their full concurrence in the matter.”
“All right,” David said slowly, feeling a sudden uneasiness.
“I should like to put your name forward in conference this morning to be officially called as a missionary to the San Juan.” He held up one hand quickly as David jerked forward. “The specific intent in doing so would be to ask you to accompany the exploring party.”
David’s heart dropped. He felt like he had just been hit with a brick.
“I know this is rather sudden,” Silas went on when he didn’t respond, “and that it gives you very little notice, but we need a man with your experience, David. In fact, there are few who are better qualified than you for the task we have before us.”
“I . . .” He blew out his breath. “I’m not sure what to say, Brother Smith.”
He laughed softly. “Silas is fine for me, too.”
“Silas, I . . . whew! You really know how to sandbag a man, don’t you?”
There was a soft chuckle. “Sandbag. Waylay. Ambush. They probably all describe what I’m doing to you right now, actually.” He leaned forward in much earnest. “Look, I know what you’re doing for the McKennas, and that is a tremendous thing. I also took the liberty yesterday of discussing this with Patrick. He turned a little grey around the gills when I told him what we were thinking. But,” he rushed on as David made as though to speak, “he was also quick to give his permission. In fact, he said you have done so much already that he thinks they can continue on in your absence. And your experience with us would be of great value to them.”
David’s mind was whirling. “Is it true that you’re thinking it will take six months?”
He nodded gravely. “Roughly. Two months to get there. Two to three months to get the two families who are going with us well established, then a month to six weeks to return.”
“Silas, I am greatly honored . . .” He rubbed his eyes. “It’s not just helping the McKennas. There are some personal matters that make leaving for six months very difficult right now.”
“Patrick told me about you and Molly. Is that part of it?”
That surprised him a little. “Yes. And also my father. As you may know, my father just came down here to live with me a few weeks ago. And that was only because I pressured him to do so. We’ve not been together for over six years. To turn around and leave him for six months, would . . .” He sighed deeply. “It would not be good.”
“I understand.”
David felt awful. “I would be truly honored to serve with you, Silas. I have the greatest respect for you, but this simply is not a good time. In fact, it is really a very bad time.”
“I understand. I’ll ask the clerk to strike your name from the call list.” He stood, and David rose as well. Silas stuck out his hand. “Will you let me know if you change your mind?”
David nodded, shook hands, and headed back to his own room. When he got there, his father was waiting for him. “Who was that?”
“Silas Smith.”
One eyebrow came up. “An’ what did ’e want?”
David just shook his head. “Nothing. He just had a couple of questions.”
The same clerk who had read the names at the December stake conference came forward, this time without any introduction from Elder Snow or the stake president.
“Brothers and sisters,” he began, looking out on the congregation over his spectacles, “we would propose that the following names be added to those previously called to fill missions to Arizona and the San Juan areas, specific sites yet to be determined.”
He peered sternly at them for a moment as the soft noises of anticipation spread across the room. Then he raised his spectacles, lowered his head, and began to read. “Jesse N. Smith. Silas S. Smith, Jr.”
Patrick leaned over to David and whispered, “Silas’s son. Married, with two children.”
The clerk continued, pronouncing each name slowly and distinctly. “Joseph Fish, Smith D. Rogers, Amos Rogers, John R. Hulet, John H. Rollins, Cornelius Decker.”
Once again, as the names were read, reactions rippled through the crowd.
“Lehi West, Sister West, John A. West, Zechariah B. Decker, Jr., John Dickinson Draper.”
On the other side of Patrick, David saw Sarah’s head come up in surprise. Abby, who sat between Carl and David’s father, reached out and touched his arm, smiling broadly. Molly was sitting beside David and was likewise surprised. She looked up at him, but he pretended not to see her. And he deliberately did not look at his father.
The clerk was droning on. “N. P. Warden, Lars Christiansen, Jens Nielson—”
At that, there was an audible ripple of surprise. David turned to Patrick. “Our Jens Nielson?” he whispered. “The one who’s crippled?”
Patrick nodded. “Only one I know of.”
“Samuel Cox, Jane Perkins, Sarah J. Perkins, David Dickinson Draper.”
As his head snapped up, Molly’s hand shot out and grabbed his
arm. “Really, David? You’ve been called?”
David just stared at her. Down the row he saw that Abby was stunned. His father’s jaw was slack. Sarah leaned forward, smiling at him in astonishment. Only Patrick seemed not surprised.
David spun around, looking for Silas Smith. When he spotted him about three rows back, Silas looked baffled. He shrugged his shoulders and mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Silas came up to David the moment the meeting ended. “I am so sorry, David,” he said. “I sent word forward to the clerk to strike your name, but he must not have gotten it.”
Molly, who had almost been floating for the last hour, spun around.
“I truly apologize for any embarrassment this may cause you,” Silas said again, and then he turned and was gone.
“You withdrew your name?” Molly faltered.
The others had heard it too, and David felt like a little boy in school who had just been caught putting a bug in the teacher’s water glass. “It was a mistake,” he said. “My name wasn’t supposed to be on there.”
“A mistake?” Abby exclaimed. “You mean they didn’t intend to call you?”
David ignored that, still focusing on Molly. “They wanted me to go with the exploring party,” he said quietly, hoping the others wouldn’t hear. “I would be gone for six months.”
Her mouth opened in a big O, and she fell back a step. Then David turned and walked away.
At dinner in the hotel dining room, the family studiously avoided speaking of David’s “call” or lack of it. There were a lot of congratulations for David’s father, which didn’t help David’s mood much, and several discussions about names of those who had been called.
Abby looked at her father. “Was Bishop Nielson’s call a surprise, Dad?”
“It was to me,” Sarah said.
Patrick shook his head. “I had heard that he had put his name forward, just as John did. Not a surprise, really. As you know, their oldest son, Joe, is going. So is their daughter, Mary, and her husband, Kumen Jones. Joe and his father are very close. I think Jens wants to go with his family and help them get established.”
The Undaunted Page 37