The Undaunted

by Gerald N. Lund

  Thursday, March 4, 1880

  David Draper nearly wept as he watched Emily Davis lick the bacon grease off her fingertips. Her eyes were half closed as she daintily searched for any lingering flavor with her tongue. Beside her, Jimmie and Eddie were each on their third piece of hot corn bread. There was no butter or honey for it, but from the look on their faces, David knew he wouldn’t be hearing any complaints about that. Young John was sitting on his mother’s lap. He was gnawing happily on a slice of dried apple in one hand while he eyed four more slices in his other fist. He was clearly trying to figure out how he might enjoy the other pieces at the same time he was working his way through this one.

  He turned to Mary and was not surprised to see her cheeks stained with tears. “They’re so thin,” David whispered.

  Nodding, Jim leaned forward and lowered his voice. “About two weeks ago, Hank Harriman and I took stock of what wheat we had left. Not knowing when we might see you, we decided we had to cut back to half rations. The last few days, it’s been less than that.” His voice caught. “We didn’t know what we were going to do.”

  David had to look away. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry?” Mary cried, startling the children. “We owe our lives to you and George. How can we ever repay you?” She laughed huskily. “And that bag of salt. It’s like gold dust.”

  David laughed too, then looked around and became very sober. “This is payment enough.”

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, Emmy?”

  “Can I have some more bacon, please?”

  Wiping at the tears, Mary slowly shook her head. “Not yet, sweetheart. Your little tummy will start hurting if you eat too much of this rich food.”

  Her face fell, but Mary reached out and laid a hand on her cheek. “We have plenty of food now, children. You go out and play for a couple of hours, and then we’ll have supper with David.”

  “Will you tell me a story when I go to bed tonight?” Emmy asked David.

  “I would love to.”

  “Come on, Emmy,” Eddie said, getting to his feet. “David will still be here when we get back.” His eyes came around to David’s. “Won’t you?”

  “Absolutely, Eddie. I’m going to stay for a couple of days.”

  As soon as they were gone, Mary moved over beside her husband. “All right, David, tell us everything. Where is the company by now? When can we expect to see you again? How many are there coming? And how is everything with you and Abby?”

  “You mean me and Molly,” he said automatically.

  She gave him one of her looks that said, “Oh, please!”

  David began with a brief summary of the return of the five scouts to the main company at Hole in the Rock. He told them about the road through the Hole, the ferry across the river, and the steady movement eastward. Jim frequently interrupted him with questions. They were so eager for news of any kind that David didn’t feel to rush it.

  “So,” he concluded, “I’m hoping by now they’re somewhere near Slickrock Hill or the lake. Which means they still have some pretty rough landscape to cross, a lot of road to build.”

  “So how much longer?” she demanded.

  “Hard to say. There are some pretty easy stretches between here and Lake Pagahrit, but once we hit those cedar forests on Elk Ridge, we’re going to have to cut our way through.” His eyes crinkled a little as he calculated. “I still think the first of April is a pretty good estimate.”

  She sighed. “Another whole month. Do you know how good it will be for Lizzie Harriman and me to have other women to talk to?”

  David gave Jim a hurt look. “What does that say about me and you?”

  “Quite a bit,” she retorted. “That’s exactly the problem. So tell me, how is the family?”

  So David gave a quick report on Sarah and Patrick and their children, and on his own father.

  There was a faraway look in her eyes when he finished. “We have so many friends coming. I’m so excited to see them again.” She planted her elbows on the table. “Okay, so now are you ready to talk about Abby?”

  “You may as well surrender,” Jim laughed. “She’s been stewing about you and Molly and Abby ever since you left.”

  “I never talked about Abby when I was here.”

  Again she gave him that look, only this time she said it. “Oh, please, David. If you’ll remember, when you left I was surprised you didn’t seem to know. Surely you know by now.”

  “Know what?”

  “Just tell me about you and Abby, and don’t be so . . . male.”

  He wanted to pretend he didn’t understand, but he knew exactly what she meant. He took a quick breath, then, blushing a little, quietly told them about kissing her there by Uncle Ben’s Dugway after they had come down the slot together.

  “Well, donuts and pumpkin pie!” she cried. “You mean you finally saw the light?”

  “Yeah,” he said glumly. “And care to guess where it got me?” And so he told them about Abby’s confrontation with him at Cottonwood Creek. “She wasn’t just angry, Mary. She was livid. I thought she was going to slap my face there at one point.”

  “Of course she was angry.”

  “I said it was a mistake. I told her I was sorry.”

  She just shook her head. “I’ll bet that helped a lot.”

  David peered at her. “Why do you say of course she was angry?”

  “Because you gave her hope, when she knew there was no hope.”

  David just stared at her, then turned to Jim for help. He chuckled softly. “Hon, I’m afraid you’re going to have to translate that for us boys.”

  “All right, here it is, as straight as I can say it. I think Abby has loved you for a long time, David. Or, perhaps a better way to say it is, she has wanted to love you for a long time. But Molly’s been there between you. Sweet, lovely Molly, who has every boy within a hundred miles mooning over her, drowning in the depths of those big eyes of hers. Molly, who is delightful and beautiful and a master at flirting with boys and making them look her way instead of Abby’s.”

  He was dumbfounded. “But . . . ?”

  “Hear me out,” she said quickly. “Then you and Molly start talking about marriage. Molly, of course, shares everything with Abby. They’re sisters, and they’re very close. And so Abby sees that once again, she’s lost out. And she accepts that. She’s used to it, after all. And she does love Molly, and wants her to be happy. But any hope she has for you and her now dies.”

  His head was down, but his face showed that he was understanding now.

  “Then, out of the blue, you take her in your arms and kiss her. She’s stunned. Where did that come from? And when she tries to get you to help her understand, all you do is say that it was wrong and that you are sorry. You’re lucky she didn’t take a stick to you.” The last was said with a sad smile.

  “But how could I, Mary? She was furious that I kissed her because she thinks I’m still interested in Molly. If I had said I had feelings for her now, before it was over with Molly, that would only make it worse.”

  “Oh, David. What she was hoping for was that you would tell her it wasn’t going to work out between you and Molly. That you didn’t want it to work out between you and Molly. Don’t you see, David? That kiss gave her hope, and then you took it away again.”

  Jim leaned over and laid a hand on his wife’s arm. “I think you’re being a little hard on him, dear.”

  But David burst out before she could answer. “I couldn’t, Mary. Not until this thing with Molly is solved. Abby’s sense of fairness runs too deep. And she knows how deeply Molly will be hurt. I couldn’t do it.”

  Laughing softly, even as she shook her head, she said, “You’ve got your plow stuck in some thick clay here, boy. So what are you going to do about it now?”

  David considered that, then brightened. When he spoke, it was to Jim. “Would you mind if I stayed here with you and the kids, and sent Mary back to work this out for me?”

  That
delighted her and she chortled aloud.

  “Well,” he said ruefully, “all I seem to be able to do is make things worse.”

  “You’re going to be fine,” she soothed. “In fact, what you have to do is very simple. Not easy, but simple.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “You have to go back and tell Molly that you know now that it isn’t going to work out between you. And you need to do that as soon as possible after your return.”

  “What about our agreement to wait until we’re off the trail?”

  “Forget the agreement. You can’t be making things any easier on Molly by making her wait. The sooner you tell her, the easier it’s going to be.”

  “It will hurt her terribly.”

  “Probably. But it will hurt her far more if she ever finds out that you loved her sister and never told her that.”

  “So I just waltz in and say, ‘Hi, Molly. Just wanted you to know that it’s over between us. And oh, by the way, I’m in love with Abby.’”

  Jim chuckled. “I’d try something a little softer than that.”

  “That will only infuriate Abby all the more,” David went on. “She’s warned me again and again not to hurt Molly, not to break her heart.”

  “Of course she has. Abby loves Molly and is her protective big sister. But down deep, Abby is also saying, ‘Don’t you hurt me either.’”

  That struck him like a blow. “Which I did.”

  “Yes, you did,” she said. Then her eyes began to twinkle. “You have a real gift when it comes to women, you know.”

  David just groaned and put his head in his hands.

  Mary laughed again. “Oh, cheer up, David. Jim’s right. You have to wait for the right moment to tell Molly, but don’t delay too long. And once you do, give it some time before you say anything to Abby. She’ll start figuring things out.” Then she had a thought. “Since tearing into you there at the creek, has Abby even talked to you?”

  He lifted his head. “Oh, yeah. We have all these warm conversations like ‘Good morning,’ or ‘Thank you,’ or ‘Pass the salt, please.’”

  “And that’s all?”

  He reached in his shirt pocket and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “Except for this. She put this in my pack the morning I left. I didn’t find it until that night.” He handed it to her.

  She moved closer so Jim could read it too, then read softly: “‘David. I am sorry for the breach that now lies between us. You have been a good friend and helped me in many ways. I and my family owe you so much. I hope we can be friends again. As you leave to take food and hope to Jim and Mary Davis, know that my prayers for your safety and theirs will be continual. I was disappointed when others did not see the urgency of your mission. I am not surprised at all that you did. May God speed you on your journey and hold you in the hollow of His hand until you return again to our family. Abby.’”

  She read it again silently, then folded it and handed it back. She sat back, deep in thought.

  “Well?” David finally said.

  “It’s going to be all right.”

  “How can you be sure of that?” Jim asked.

  She answered him by answering David. “I was wrong. In spite of her hurt, in spite of her anger, she hasn’t lost hope. So you go back there and get this fixed, David.” She poked him. “Don’t you be messing it up again.”

  “You sure you won’t go for me?” he asked in a small voice.

  She laughed. “They say if a skunk’s ever going to make any friends, he’s got to get rid of his own stink. Only you can fix this one, my friend.”

  “Thank you so much,” he muttered.

  She reached out and put both hands over his. “Cheer up, David. If things go really bad, you can always come back here and wait for Emily to grow up. That would make her ecstatically happy.” She squeezed his hands gently. “And Jim and me too.”8

  Notes

  ^1. In a letter written from Grey Mesa on February 22, Elizabeth (Lizzie) Decker, wife of Cornelius J. Decker, wrote a letter back to her parents in Parowan. She mentions the fact that two of the children had received valentines two days early and were very proud of them (in Miller, Hole, 197). The cheese auction is mentioned by several sources (see ibid., 126; Reay, Incredible Passage, 61; Redd, “Short Cut,” 19).

  ^2. In that same letter, Lizzie Decker mentioned the singing of the popular hymn “Come Let Us Anew” (now #217 in the LDS hymnal), and said it was used to signal the time for evening prayers. In light of the challenges these pioneers faced, the third verse of that hymn must have taken on special significance for them and may explain its popularity:

  Oh, that each in the day of His coming may say,

  “I have fought my way thru;

  I have finished the work thou didst give me to do.”

  Oh, that each from his Lord may receive the glad word:

  “Well and faithfully done;

  Enter into my joy and sit down on my throne.”

  ^3. The information on Tom Box and the conflict over grazing priorities comes from accounts by George W. Decker and George Hobbs (see Miller, Hole, 201–2, 210). Decker says that he was driving a herd of 800 cows, but Redd, whose father was on the trek, says it was 75 horses that caused the trouble (Redd, “Short Cut,” 19, 21). The latter figure seems more realistic.

  ^4. This description of the “impassable” terrain between Cheese Camp and Grey Mesa includes wonderful details furnished by Lizzie Decker and David Miller’s gifted writing (see Miller, Hole, 128–29, 197; Reay, Incredible Passage, 63–64). Having personally driven up and down The Chute four times now, I am truly astonished to realize that those pioneers covered that unique rock formation with wagons and teams. Even more amazing is that after the Hole in the Rock and Cottonwood Canyon, building a road through here and the actual ascent of The Chute is barely mentioned in the journals (see Miller, Hole, 166; see also Reay, Incredible Passage, 63–64; Redd, “Short Cut,” 21–22).

  ^5. Mons Larson was in the process of moving his family to Snowflake, Arizona, when he learned from his good friend Silas S. Smith that a company was taking a shortcut to the San Juan. He decided to accompany them to Montezuma Creek, then continue south on his own from there. The long delay of the company meant Sister Larson had to deliver her baby in the wilderness. A daughter of the Larsons later wrote an account of the birth, portions of which are included here:

  “It was February 21, 1880, when the Larsons reached the top of the plateau. A blizzard was raging and it was in this terrible snowstorm, exposed to the desert winds, that Olivia gave birth to a boy. The boy was born while the mother was lying on a spring seat and her husband was trying to pitch a tent so the mother could be made more comfortable. With the help of Seraphine Smith Decker and brother Jim Decker, she was placed in the tent and made as comfortable as circumstances would permit. . . . Because of Olivia’s unusual vitality, she was able to be up on the fourth day, packed her belongings and climbed into the wagon, travelling all day over rocky roads. She said the baby never had colic. If it wasn’t snowing she could bathe him, otherwise, this wise young mother of twenty-three, who now had three babies, rubbed him well with flannel instead of bathing him” (as cited in Miller, Hole, 131–32; see also Reay, Incredible Passage, 65).

  ^6. A road down Slickrock Hill was completed in about a week’s time, another amazing feat by these pioneer builders. Though the site is very difficult to get into, the dugways cut into the hills and the chiseled striations in the stone are still clearly visible (see Miller, Hole, 132; and Reay, Incredible Passage, 66). Redd’s description is particularly good (see Redd, “Short Cut,” 21).

  ^7. Lake Pagahrit (also known as Hermit Lake) was a remarkable find for the pioneers. It no longer exists, as a very wet year in 1915 sent water over the top of the dam and it quickly washed away, sending the entire reservoir roaring down Lake Canyon (see Miller, Hole, 133). In the fall of 2008, another series of storms sent a flash flood down Lake Canyon, washing out the very narrow road that provided its
only access.

  ^8. These conversations between the fictional David Draper and the real Mary Davis are clearly the creation of the author. Mary Davis is yet another example to me of the remarkable heroism of so many of those pioneer women. She has been an inspiration to me, and I tried to use her in the novel in a way that is in harmony with the incredible woman that she must have been.

  Chapter 67

  Friday, March 12, 1880

  Sarah McKenna was bent over a cutting board set up on the back of one of their wagons. She was sawing away at a small piece of beef, cutting it into small squares.

  “How is it?”

  Sarah turned to Abby, brushing back a strand of hair from her face. “Lean. Tough as leather. But I’m not complaining. It’s meat.”

  “Yes. And it sounds wonderful.”

  “The stew’s ready whenever you are,” Molly called. She was standing over the campfire, stirring the last of their potatoes and carrots in a mixture of flour and water.

  “Coming,” Sarah said. Then to Abby, “I know that poor old beef cow of Brother Lyman’s was on its last leg, but it will give at least some flavor to the stew.”

  “It was nice of Brother Lyman to share it with all the camp.” Abby turned and glanced up at the sky. “About another hour before the work crews stop. That should be about right.”

  “Yes,” her mother agreed. “Will you get some cracked corn started boiling, Abby?”

  It was about five minutes later that a shout brought the heads of all three women up. They turned and looked to the east. Just over a low ridge was where the road down Clay Hill Pass began. Here was yet another very treacherous piece of road being tamed by the intrepid road builders of the company. The women searched the ridge top, but saw no one. Then the shout came again. “It’s John,” Abby cried.

  And that moment, David’s father appeared on the ridge. He was waving his arms wildly. “Bring the binoculars!”