by Diane Noble
The following day, the Indians attacked only once, early in the morning, and hopes were raised that they were indeed giving up. There was still worry about the diminishing water supply, but if indeed the siege was nearly over, they would soon have access to the creek.
There was not really a spirit of rejoicing in camp, but the children were allowed to come above ground for a while and play. The women fixed a noon meal, and afterward, Reverend Brown called the children together for a story. Alexander stood off to one side, watching for any sign of movement in the hills.
“One day long ago,” Reverend Brown said when the children were seated around his chair, “Jesus asked for all the children to be brought to him.”
“Suffer the little children to come unto me,” recited Meg proudly. “Ah, yes,” he said with a smile. “You’ve heard the story.” The children nodded.
“Well, this time, it’s going to be a bit different,” he said, and he proceeded to explain. “I want you to close your eyes and pretend that you are a little child on the day Jesus blessed the children.”
There were several murmurs of assent, and each little head was bowed and all eyes were squeezed shut.
“Now, think about how Jesus was sitting by the seaside, or maybe in a meadow just as we are. Some children wanted to come up to him, but some big men stood in their way. They said he was too busy. They said to go away.”
“Ooooh,” Sarah said sadly.
“But then Jesus reached out for each little child, each little baby, and he drew that child to himself. He put his arms around all of them and held them close—so close they could hear his heartbeat.”
“I can hear my mommy’s heart thud when she’s holding me,” Meg volunteered.
The reverend smiled. “That’s right. Now think about Jesus holding you the same way.
“Keep your eyes closed, now. No peeking, Louisa. You either, Becky. Now, all of you, think about someone loving you more than even your mommy or papa.”
“That’s a lot,” said Prudence Angeline.
“It is,” agreed the reverend. “And there’s something I want you to remember about this story. No matter what happens around you—no matter how bad and scary the world can be—Jesus is holding you, just as he held the children that day. And he’ll never let go. Ever.”
That night Alexanders son Hampton returned, alone. He was badly injured, and he stumbled into camp long after the families had retired to bed. Only the guards and Alexander had stayed on watch.
Alexander knelt at his son’s side. Hampton’s breathing was shallow, and he was bleeding from where he’d been shot in the chest and leg.
“Son—?”
Hampton looked up at his father, trying to focus. “I’m sorry. I didn’t … I couldn’t …”
“Don’t worry about that now. All that’s important is that you are alive. What happened to the others?”
“We were ambushed. They … they didn’t make it. We got as far as a spring on the other side of the summit. We were so thirsty … we shouldn’t have stopped. Should’ve been more careful …” His eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
“Rest, son. Get your strength back.”
“Pa,” he said, then grimaced in pain. He closed his eyes again and swallowed hard. “Pa,” he whispered, “this isn’t what it appears, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are Indians out there, all right. But the men who ambushed us were Mormons. They said now that we’d seen them, they’d have to finish off what the Indians started. They plan to kill us, Pa,” he said, letting out a ragged breath. “Kill us all. It’s the Mormons. Can you imagine that?”
Alexander sent for Sadie, who crept across the compound to kneel by her husband’s side. Her face wet with tears, she gently laid her cheek on Hampton’s uninjured shoulder. He moved his arm to cradle her gently.
Alexander, Billy, and Bess stood watch with Sadie, knowing by the sounds of Hampton’s breathing that the end was near.
“Pa?” Hampton whispered suddenly, just past midnight.
Alexander knelt beside him. “I’m here, son.” Sadie was still on the opposite side, holding Hampton’s hand, with Billy and Bess beside her.
“Pa, I keep thinking about something Amanda Roseanne said once. It was a long time ago.”
“What was it, son?”
“Something about lambs.” He smiled. “Do you remember?”
Alexander thought of his own prayer and Ellie’s oft-mentioned verse, but what had lambs to do with Amanda Roseanne? “No, son,” he said. “I don’t remember.”
Hampton shook his head. “No matter,” he whispered, his face peaceful. “Tell Amanda …,” he began, a swift light crossing his face, visible even in the darkness. He tried to speak again, only to have his words come out a gurgling cough. Finally he fell silent.
Alexander took his son’s callous hand in his and held it, unable to bear the impact of his loss. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength.
When Hampton breathed his final breath, Billy put his arm around his father’s shoulders. “The lambs,” he said. “I remember.”
Alexander looked up at him quizzically.
“It was what Amanda Roseanne told us on the day you and Miss Ellie were betrothed. The day we found out Miss Ellie was to become our new ma—that Jesus holds us like he holds his little lambs.”
Alexander remembered. He bowed his head and wept.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ellie opened her eyes, blinking against the harsh morning sun that blazed through the bedroom window. As if she’d been awaiting the moment, Hannah Steele was instantly at her side, laying a cool hand against her forehead. She frowned in worry. Ellie swallowed hard. “What happened?”
“You’ve been sick,” Hannah said, settling onto the side of the bed.
Suddenly Ellie remembered the baby, and her eyes opened wide as she glanced about the room. Spotting the small cradle by her bed, she reached her hand down and gently rocked it with her fingertips.
“The baby’s sleeping. And it’s a good thing. She had us up most of the night, taking turns rocking her,” Hannah smiled. “Your daughter doesn’t like goat’s milk.”
“My … daughter?”
Hannah smiled. “You had a beautiful little girl. You named her Faith.”
Ellie settled deep into her pillows, closing her eyes for a moment. She felt weary, so weary. “Faith,” she whispered, “yes, I remember.” Then she looked up at Hannah again. “How long have I been here?”
“This is the morning of the fourth day.”
“I—I don’t remember …”
“You lost too much blood, Ellie. And you’ve had a high fever—and chills. You had us worried.”
Hannah poured a cup of water from a pitcher on the small pine table near the bed and placed it in her hands. Ellie sipped the refreshing liquid, and as she did, her mind began to clear. She frowned, glancing about the room in worry. “Four days?”
“Yes.”
“Where’s Alexander?” Worry settled on her like a shroud. “Did he come?”
Hannah drew in a sharp breath. “No,” she said. “They haven’t been here at all. No one’s been able to leave the meadows.”
“Why not?’
Hannah frowned, and for a moment she didn’t answer. “Something’s happened there,” she said finally. “What do you mean?”
“The Indians … the Utes … have attacked the train. That’s all we know right now.”
“No!” Ellie threw back the blankets and attempted to swing her legs to the floor. She swayed, grabbing for the headboard to steady herself. “That can’t be,” she murmured, leaning her head back against the pillows once more. “You said I’ve been out for four days. Since no one came, the company’s been under siege all this time?”
Hannah nodded, reaching for her hand again. “From the last we heard, it’s a standoff. Your company’s well fortified.”
Ellie drew in a shuddering breath as if still trying to take it all in. �
��Alexander … my daughters …” she said with a sob. “I must go to them!” She tried to get out of bed again.
“It would be too dangerous, Ellie,” Hannah said, her expressive face full of sorrow. “You must stay here and keep little Faith safe.” She lifted the infant from the cradle, placing her gently in Ellie’s arms.
Ellie gazed down at her tiny daughter, who had now opened her still-unfocusing eyes. “Faith,” she whispered, “Precious Faith.” She touched the baby’s dark, silky hair and cuddled her close.
“Oh, Father,” she prayed when Hannah had left the room. “Protect my children. Put your arms around my family.”
The following morning Ellie woke feeling stronger. “I’d like to try to walk now,” she told Hannah. “I need to regain my strength.”
The young woman wrapped her arm around Ellie for support and helped her take a few steps around the bedroom. They repeated the effort several times during the day, and by evening, Ellie felt strong enough to walk into the kitchen and sit by the fire, rocking Faith and visiting with Sophronia and Hannah for a few hours.
They spoke about the Indian siege and the latest news from the neighbors about the standoff. Ellie wondered if it was her imagination that Hannah and Sophronia seemed to exchange worried glances when they spoke of the attack. Their discomfort was especially evident when Ellie asked why the Mormon men in the region hadn’t called out their forces to help the wagon company. They seemed to hem and haw, never quite answering her directly.
On the fifth day, Ellie was strong enough to walk slowly through the yard and around the pond.
“I need to go to Mountain Meadows,” she said. “I know the lay of the land. I could hide behind one of the high ridges. I wouldn’t be seen, but I would be able to see what’s happening to my family.”
“The danger would be too great, Ellie. Besides, you are still weak. The danger of losing more blood isn’t past,” Hannah said firmly. “Please don’t think about going. It might only cause greater heartache …”
“My love for Alexander, Meg, and Sarah is stronger than any fear I feel for myself.”
“Don’t attempt it, Ellie,” Hannah said. “It’s better to wait until we hear that the siege is over.”
That night Ellie couldn’t sleep. Long after the house was quiet and tiny Faith had been fed, diapered, and was sleeping peacefully in her cradle, Ellie rose from her bed and went to stand at the lace-curtained window. The pond was barely visible across the grassy yard, and beyond it she could see the barn, standing squat and deep crimson red in the moonlight.
Ellie was far too restless to sleep, and now that she was feeling stronger, the urge was even greater to go to her family and friends at Mountain Meadows. She had prayed until she felt depleted of words. She knew God held them all in his hand, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever happened, she should be there.
Hannah was right about the risks, but still, Ellie considered it. She thought of Meg and Sarah, their sweet heart-shaped faces, the way their braids shone after a bath in the creek, the way they smelled of puppy dogs after they’d played in the sun. She closed her eyes, her arms aching for the feel of their little bodies pressed up against hers.
And Alexander. Oh, how she had prayed for her husband. He needed God’s grace and strength to carry him through. She had loved him all of her life. And he had cherished her. No matter how misshapen she’d become bearing children, he’d made her feel she was the most beautiful woman God ever created.
God had given them greater gifts in their marriage than either had thought possible. She thought back to that long-ago day back at Drake’s Creek when Alexander asked her to marry him. She’d been so young, it seemed now. Not much more than a child.
Yet God had brought them together—planned their union from time’s beginning, she’d always thought. And their journey west that they’d plotted from the first day after their wedding, even that seemed part and parcel of their life’s journey together.
God had led them this far. He’d taught them lessons along the way, the greatest of which was to wait on him for their needs. She’d always thought that life’s journey was God’s way of readying a person for heaven.
And really, this world was only a likeness of what heaven would be like. A sunflower-and-lupine-covered meadow, a waterfall tumbling and spraying in white-silver thundering power, or horses gleaming in the sunlight as they stood in a grassy field … all were but images of the real thing in heaven.
It was the same with people. All that was good in a child of God was but a likeness of the Father himself. And if God was perfecting that person through her life’s journey, Ellie wondered how that person would appear in heaven reflecting all God’s perfect glory.
Then another thought occurred to her. Perhaps if God’s children were to see God’s real beauty—either of heaven or a person’s perfected soul—they might be blinded by its brilliance and purity.
As she held the lace curtains aside to look at the moon-silvered pond in the distance, she wondered if maybe all life’s journey was but a veil between God’s children and himself.
She smiled at the thought, wondering why it should strike her now, especially in the midst of all her worry and troubles. Nonetheless, the thought comforted her, and she hugged it close.
Ellie was about to return to bed when she noticed a glow coming from within the barn, the glow of lantern light.
She watched for several minutes as dark figures arrived silently. She could see some horses tethered a distance away. Hannah had confided in her about John Steele, the man she’d been forced to marry, and Ellie’s first thought was that he’d returned.
A surge of hope rose in her. Hannah had said that John Steele was Brigham Young’s agent to the Indians. If that were the case, then he might be able to convince the Utes to stop their attack at Mountain Meadows.
She reached for a wrap, tucked it around the long, white gown Hannah had given her, and hurried from the house. The night was cool, and a slight breeze lifted strands of her hair as she stepped toward the barn.
She had almost reached the door when the sounds of voices carried toward her.
Ellie stopped and, sensing danger, stepped into the shadows. She heard the words “wagon company” and held her breath, listening intently. The voices were muffled. She needed to get closer.
She crept around the barn’s front corner to an open window and crouched beneath it. Now she could plainly hear the voices.
“It’s gotta be completed,” said one. “Especially now that they know.”
“You should’ve never shot any of ‘em—or at least not let any get away,” said a deep, older voice. “If the attack should end today, they’d head to California, telling everyone they met that the Saints attacked them at Mountain Meadows.”
Ellie frowned. Surely they weren’t talking about the Farrington train. She couldn’t comprehend that anyone other than the Utes might be involved. She stepped closer, thinking she’d misunderstood.
“Well, they’d not be too wrong, now, would they?” the first speaker said.
“My point is that there’s no other solution. They cannot leave that place,” the older voice said. “We have no choice.”
“You didn’t think there was a choice when you brought it up Sunday, John. Even then you said it was a matter of honor, considering what all they did coming through the territory. What they’ve been callin’ our women, words worse than the devil himself would say. How they been whippin’ their mules and callin’ them Joseph and Brigham.”
There were grunts of anger, and Ellie caught her hand to her mouth. Nothing remotely close to these accusations had happened in their company, not even with the ruffians from Missouri. Again, she decided they must be referring to another wagon train.
“You said yourself,” the voice continued, “that we were bound by the holy priesthood to avenge the deaths of the Prophet and his brother. That God had sent us this wagon train from Arkansas for us to save their immortal souls through the ato
nement of their blood spilt on the soil at Mountain Meadows.”
There were low murmurs that Ellie couldn’t understand. But she knew now they were talking about the Farrington train. Her heart was thudding beneath her ribs in anger, dismay, and betrayal. How could any reasonable human beings plan such devastation on a group of families—God-fearing, God-loving families?
She bit her lip to keep from crying out and continued listening.
The deeper and older, more resonant voice was speaking again. “We wanted the Indians to finish the job, but it appears the company is too well fortified. I’d wanted us not to have any innocent blood on our hands.”
A younger voice that Ellie hadn’t heard before now spoke up. “Innocent? You never said there was any innocent blood in the train.”
“Children’s blood is innocent. And the women. But vengeance is vengeance, and I suppose the loss of the innocents is part of the price God requires.”
Ellie thought she was going to be sick, and she wrapped her arms around her stomach, fighting the waves of nausea that swept over her. The blood of innocents? What were they talking about? Oh, God, she breathed, what is this? What have we gotten into?
“I have a plan,” said a deep voice. The speaker was the man someone had called John. “It will keep us from soiling our hands with innocent blood. But it will require the cooperation of every able-bodied man in the territory. And of every tribe of Indians we have dealings with. I want you each to ride out and let the word be known. Every Danite brother is to meet at the meadow tomorrow to help. Every Indian who’s not already here is to be told that the Big Mormon Chief has called upon them to help in this holy war.
“Tell them that these Americans—these hated ‘Mericats’ in the meadow—have promised to return with soldiers from California to kill every last Indian they see. Tell them my words.” He chuckled. “I expect all of them at Mountain Meadows by high noon tomorrow. I think they’ll be there.” He went on to describe, in cold military terms, the details of how his plan would be carried out.