“Oh,” she snapped, “so it was just adrenaline?”
“Abby, I . . . what I’m trying to say is . . .” He just shook his head. “I am very sorry.”
There was a soft sound of disgust. “So is that what you do whenever you’re excited and relieved? Grab the nearest girl and give her a kiss?”
“That question is not worthy of you,” he said quietly.
Her mouth opened, then shut again. He waited, no longer looking at her. “Do you think Molly would agree with you on that?” she asked with soft bitterness.
When he still neither spoke nor looked up, she threw up her hands. “Don’t you even see the irony of it, David? One minute you’re saying, ‘I would never do anything to hurt your family. Especially you.’ Then an hour later you grab me and kiss me? What am I supposed to think? You did hurt me, David. And if Molly ever finds out, she’ll be absolutely shattered.”
“I was wrong, Abby. I shouldn’t have done it. Under the circumstances, it was not an honorable thing to do.”
“Under the circumstances?” she shot back. “Would those happen to include the fact that you are courting my sister?”
Finally he straightened. “I’m not courting your sister, Abby. Not anymore.”
“Well, she thinks you are. Or at least she expects that you will once we reach San Juan.”
“I know. And that’s why it was not an honorable thing to do. I was just . . .” Then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. It was wrong, and I planned to apologize to you.”
That only frustrated her more. “I’m trying to understand what happened up there, David. Why would you do such a thing?” Her eyes held his, challenging. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to answer her, she stepped forward and slugged him hard on the arm. “Oh! You make me so furious. How can you do something as wonderful as this—” she waved a hand to take in the pool and the scene she had just witnessed—“and then you do something so . . . so . . .” She couldn’t finish it. “If I did have any feelings for you, how am I supposed to feel now?”
That brought his head up with a snap. “Say that again.”
She realized what she had just said and her face flamed scarlet. She turned away quickly.
He stepped up behind her, his hands lifting to take her shoulders and turn her around, but, hearing him, she went absolutely rigid. He fell back, moving over to a fallen tree and sitting down heavily. He was remembering that night he had sat across the table from Mary Davis. She had told him that women like her weren’t looking for handsome and charming and irresistible, but rather for steady, strong, and dependable. His teasing response had been to ask where one found a woman like that. She had given him a strange look, then had begun to laugh. “Oh, David,” she had exclaimed. “You really don’t know, do you?”
He had thought much on that. He was pretty sure he understood what Mary had meant, but he had scoffed at it at first. He and Abby? There was no way. They were good friends, but were more prone to battle than to bliss. He was her thorn in the side. She was his humility monitor. She understood his doubts and skepticism and inner struggles with his faith better than Molly did, and saw far more clearly the implications of that for a marriage. From the beginning, she had tried to warn Molly that David was nothing but trouble disguised as charm.
And then had come that wild plunge down the gorge. When they reached the dugway and stopped, he came to the full realization of what she had done. And he knew that she had done it because he had asked her to, in spite of her terrible fear of heights. At that moment, he had realized that she was the most remarkable woman he had ever known. And that included his mother.
That was why he had kissed her. But how could he tell her that? Even now, it was like Molly stood between them. Sweet, wonderful, lovely, courageous, delightful Molly. Molly, who knew full well that David’s lack of faith was no longer a barrier between them. Molly, who was patiently waiting for their arrival in San Juan so the courtship could resume and they could marry. Until that was settled, how could he say anything to Abby? If she saw a single kiss as a betrayal, how would she respond if he tried now to express his love for her?
He heard the sound of her footsteps and looked up.
“David.” He saw that she had been crying, and that tore at him. There weren’t many who were capable of making Abby McKenna cry. But he was one of them. “Don’t walk away,” she pleaded. “Help me understand.”
He stood. “I can’t. Not now.” He wanted to weep as he saw first hurt, then anger, then coldness sweep across her face. “I am so sorry, Abby.” He turned and walked slowly away.
“David!” It came out sharp and hard. He stopped, but didn’t turn.
Her voice was like the edge of cold steel. “A woman would be a fool to ever trust you.”
Notes
^1. The description of Cottonwood Canyon and the campsite the pioneers made there comes from Miller, as does the information on how they used that time to regroup and prepare for the next difficult stretch of their journey (Hole, 123–25).
^2. Anna Maria Decker, wife of James Bean Decker, while camped at Fifty Mile Spring, gave birth to a baby girl on January 3, 1880. They named her Lena Deseret Decker.
Chapter 65
Friday, February 13, 2008
John Draper walked along the line of wagons until he reached the McKennas’ lead wagon, which was about a third of the way back from the front. Standing between the first and second wagons, Patrick and Sarah McKenna were conferring with Kumen Jones and Joe Nielson. Molly and Abby were standing off to one side listening.
“Hello, John,” Kumen said as he came up. “Do you know where David is?”
“Said ’e was goin’ up ta check that sand hill one more time before we ’ave ta cross it.”
“Does he plan to come back and drive?”
John nodded. “Fur sure.”
Joe Nielson looked at Patrick. “Well, John and David know that road as well as we do, so we’ll let them brief you on what to expect. If you need help, let us know.”
“Thank you,” Patrick said.
“Yes, thank you,” Sarah called after them.
“David’s not going to leave us alone again, is he?” Abby said to her father.
John pretended not to hear and her father didn’t answer. John turned and began searching the road ahead of them, trying to pick out his son from amongst the bustle of activity along the road. And then he spotted him. He and Billy Joe were striding toward them about five or six wagons up the line. John smiled. Billy was only half the size, and he was trotting to keep up with David, but other than that, he looked every bit as much the man as David.
“Thare they be,” John said. He hadn’t directly looked at Abby, but she seemed to think he had. She came over and touched his arm. “I’m sorry, John. That was uncalled for.”
He half closed one eye and squinted at her in the morning sunshine. “Ya awl reet, Abby?”
There was a quick shake of her head. “It’s like the Hole all over again. My stomach’s twisted so tight that I feel like I can’t breathe.”
“Ah unnerstand,” he said gently. “Thare be a couple of rough places up thare, but they be nothin’ like comin’ doon the ’Ole.” He laughed shortly. “Cahrn’t be anythin’ in the ’ole world quite like that.”
Molly came over. “You’re just saying that so we don’t turn around and go back home right now.”
“Thare be two big differences b’tween Cottonwood Hill an’ the ’Ole. First, the grade be only aboot ’alf as steep. Second, we’ll be going up the hill, naw doon. That be a big difference.”
“Kumen was saying that we’ll have to double- or triple-team the wagons to get them up the last pull.”
“Aye, maybe even more. Ah predict we’ll be puttin’ on six or seven span of animals on the ’eavier wagons fur a couple of stretches.” He turned. “But ’ere’s David.”
Billy Joe ran up and put an arm through his mother’s. “Hey, Mom, it’s really neat up there. You can see all th
e way back to the Hole in the Rock across the river. And there’s a place near the top that they call the ‘Little Hole in the Rock.’”
“Oh, great,” Abby said, rolling her eyes.
“Only because it’s a narrow v-shaped slot between two side cliffs,” David said as he joined them. “It’s a pull, but not as steep as the Hole, and it’s only a hundred or so yards long.”
“Ah was joost tellin’ ’em a little aboot the road an’ what ta expect. Ya be the better teamster, David. Ah’ll let you tek it frum ’ere.”
David nodded. He was quite sober and businesslike. “The thing about Cottonwood Hill is that it can be quite deceiving. There will be a couple of places where you think you’ve reached the top, only to crest out and see the next ridge in front of you. ”
“Wouldn’t you say it’s no more than a mile to the top?” Patrick said.
“If you mean clear to the top,” David answered, “no, it’s about double that. But just beyond the Little Hole that Billy Joe was telling you about, there’s some tableland. That’s really the end of Cottonwood Hill and the worst of the climb.”
“And what lies between here and there?” Sarah asked.
“Well, I won’t sugarcoat it for you. This is going to be another challenging day.”
Molly looked at him and gave him a bright smile. “It’s all right, David. Sugarcoat it for us.”
He gave a little grunt and a half smile, then continued in that same matter-of-fact tone of voice. “There are four main features of Cottonwood Hill,” he said. “The first, which is just out of sight around the bend there, is a dugway cut into a side hill. That isn’t a bad pull, and the first part shouldn’t give either the animals or the drivers any serious trouble.”
“I think I hear a ‘but’ coming,” Abby said dryly to no one in particular.
“But,” David said, ignoring her comment, “the dugway has a very steep pitch that goes through a stretch of fine sand. The sand is deep and constantly drifting across the roadway.”
John came in. “We be spendin’ a lot of time tryin’ ta dig oot a road base thare, but the sand fills it reet in agin.”
“If we’re going to tip over any wagons, that will be the place.”
“Is that on the agenda?” Abby asked innocently.
That finally won her a fleeting smile. “Not on mine, but you never know. Anyway, once we’re past that, there is a fairly level stretch of roadway that goes along the top of a ridge. That will give the teams a breather and allow us to stop and regroup a little.”
“Do you want us to walk again?” Sarah asked.
“For some parts you’ll be fine riding. Others you’ll definitely want to walk, so that’s up to you—if you don’t mind climbing in and out of the wagons on the way up.”
“I’m going to walk with Nate,” Billy Joe said.
Sarah looked at David to see if he was all right with that. He nodded. “Even walking that strip where the sand is will be tricky, but if you do happen to fall there, it’s like falling into a pile of feathers, only grittier.”
“So is this where we end up getting sandy claws?” Molly asked, straight-faced.
David actually laughed. “And toes, and hair, and nostrils.” He stopped, turned, and lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the sun as he looked up to where they could see the tops of some red rock bluffs. “It’s the stretch after the sand hill that will be the most challenging. As you come up along the ridge, the road runs straight into those bluffs you can see up there. That’s where that thousand pounds of blasting powder Amasa Lyman brought in from Panguitch came in handy.1 Ben, Hy, and Dad had to blast a road right out of the side of the hill.”
“Hill?” Patrick said. “Not cliff?”
“That’s right. It slopes off pretty steeply, but no, it’s not a sheer cliff.” He paused, and finally looked at each of them. “Once you’re past that, it’s the Little Hole in the Rock, and then we’re on top. Any questions?”
“Are you planning that Daddy and I will drive?” That was Abby. Any lightness was gone from her face now.
“That’s up to you. After what you and Patrick did at the Hole, I’d say you’re about ready for anything. The challenge will be that Platte’s asking every wagon to have seven or eight span. That means we can only take up two of our wagons at a time. We’ll unhitch on top and bring them back down to hitch up again. So it’s not like we have to have you drive.”
“I’m fine with you taking them,” Patrick said softly. “Kumen was saying that we’re going to put a couple of men on the back with ropes as we cross the sand hill to stop the back ends from sliding off. I can do that.”
Abby went to speak, but Molly grabbed her arm. “Walk with Mama and me, Abby. Please? I don’t think I can stand another day like that day at the Hole.”
“I’m not sure I’m up to another day like that last one either,” she said without expression. “I’ll walk.” She glanced at David to see his reaction to that, but he just nodded.
“Gud,” John said. Then to David, “Want me ta go up first?”
“Yeah. Patrick and I will hold the back end for you.”
Sarah took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “Well, here we go again.” She squinted at David. “About how many more of these do we have between here and the San Juan?”
“Enough to keep us humble,” came the soft reply.
As they started to turn away, David cleared his throat. “One more thing.” He waited until they were looking at him. “Day after tomorrow, George Hobbs and I and a couple of other men will be leaving.”
Molly’s head came up sharply. “Not again!”
“Just listen,” Patrick said. He seemed not at all surprised by this announcement. Neither was David’s father.
“We left Jim and Mary Davis and started back for the Hole on New Year’s Eve,” David said. “At that time, they had no more than sixty days’ worth of wheat left and no way to get any more. It’s now been six weeks.” He let that sink in for a moment. “We’re going to load a few packhorses with what we can spare and strike out ahead while the company builds a road down Slickrock Hill.”
His eyes met Abby’s for a moment. “It’s the only honorable thing to do.”
Sarah, Abby, and Molly decided not to go all the way to the top. Once they had crossed the sand hill—slipping and sliding precariously in the shin-deep sand—they found a place at the top of the ridge where they had a clear view of the road below. They sat down to wait for their men to appear. They had plenty of company, as many others had stopped to watch as well.
Platte Lyman, Bishop Jens Nielson, Kumen Jones, and Joe Nielson were nowhere in sight when they arrived, but when Sarah asked, she was told they had been the first to go up. They were expected back to help the others any time. It was a frightening thing to watch the wagons cross that final stretch of deep sand. Not a single wagon had tipped over coming down through the Hole in the Rock, though some barrels had been smashed, and several animals had been dragged and hurt. But by the time the McKennas sat down to watch, the wagons that had gone before had left the roadway completely buried in soft sand again. Each wagon had two ropes tied to the rear axle, and two men walked along behind, pulling back with all their strength to keep the back end of the wagon on the road rather than having it slide off down the hill.
And that was a good thing. There was no way the drivers could be worrying about that. They had their hands full keeping fourteen animals moving up the hill. If the teams ever stopped crossing that stretch, the wagons would be lost. Only the forward momentum of the teams and the men hauling on the back end to keep it on the road prevented a wagon from rolling off.
Men moved up and down along the dugway, checking the harnessing, shouting encouragement, occasionally running up behind to give the wagon a final push up and onto the ridge. John Draper came across without incident. This was where mules proved their value. They were surefooted and less intimidated by heights. With David and Patrick shouting and yelling, they plowed across the s
and. The mules snorted and grunted as the wheels bogged down, but they kept moving, and in a moment John was clear. He waved to the girls as he went by, but kept the mules moving.
“Look,” Abby cried a moment later. “Is that Seraphine driving?”
Sarah and Molly stared down in horror. The next wagon up belonged to Zechariah Decker. The Deckers had a large extended family and several wagons. Zechariah’s wife, Seraphine Decker, was the mother of five children, including Billy Joe’s best friend, Nate Decker. Because of the need for drivers, she had driven one of the wagons most of the way. But to see her now, coming up the dugway, seven sets of reins in her hands, was shocking to all of them. Her husband was behind, holding one of the ropes. Her brother-in-law, Jim Decker, held the other.
As the teams approached the sand hill, her husband shouted up at her, “Don’t let them stop, Sera. Keep ’em moving.”
Even from this distance, Abby could see that her face was white and her lips were pulled back in a frightful grimace. She whipped the reins and shouted something at the teams. Suddenly, Sarah gasped. “Look. Isn’t that the baby right behind the wagon seat?”
“It can’t be,” Molly cried, one hand flying to her mouth.
But it was. They could see the splash of color tucked in right behind Seraphine. At that moment, the back end of the wagon started to slide sideways in the soft sand. Zechariah and Jim Decker yelled and hauled back on the ropes. It was too late. The wagon dragged them with it, their boots gouging deep furrows in the sand. Other men were shouting now too, and some started running to help. But it was too late. The wagon was now at a sharp angle to the roadway, wheels half buried in the sand. And then, as graceful as a dancer doing a pirouette, the wagon rolled over on its side, dragging the horses to a halt.
A scream pierced the air as Seraphine leaped clear, hit the soft sand, and rolled several times before sliding to a stop. The women on the ridge were up. Everyone was yelling and shouting and crying. Zechariah came running toward the wagon in great leaps. When he reached the wagon, he disappeared for a moment behind the wagon cover, then reappeared again. He shouted as he held a bundle up high in the air with both hands. “I have the baby,” he called. “He’s all right. He’s all right.”
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