The Fugitive Son

by Adell Harvey

  Andy tried to explain that he had been living the life of a mountain man for several months, but Pa interrupted. “And the girls? Where are the brides you promised to escort out here for me? When I saw they weren’t with that pathetic bunch that were rescued last year, I naturally assumed you’d bring them along later.”

  Andy paused. Could he lie to his father and the prophet? That was the only way he could keep his promise to Anne Marie that he’d help Ingrid escape with baby Ammie. His Adam’s apple protruded hugely as he swallowed hard. Now was not the time for a confession.

  “Well?” Pa gazed intently on his son as he continued his rant. “I trusted you to bring both my young brides safely into Great Salt Lake City. Where are they?”

  Andy raised his chin ever so slightly, returning Pa’s intense gaze with determination. “Sir, they didn’t make it past the Devil’s Gate ordeal.”

  The elder Rasmussen seemed momentarily stunned, and then shrugged resignedly, “I reckon it was a hard trip. I'm sure you did the best you could for them. What's done is done.”

  The prophet reached out and patted Charles’ shoulder as if to comfort the man. “One of the blessings of the Lord is that Deseret is full of pretty young girls. We’ll find you a couple more in good time.”

  Andy’s anger flared at that moment as he remembered the soldiers’ taunts, “Brigham Young ain’t no prophet! He’s just an old geezer with a harem of brood mares. He treats his women like cows!”

  And I defended him, Andy thought as he wondered about his father’s lack of reaction. How can he not be heartbroken over the news that his brides are dead? Why is he not at least curious about how they died?

  His emotions in turmoil, doubts assailing him on every side, Andy completely lost control. Never before had he felt such anger, such absolute rage. He yelled at Pa, “How can you be so callous? Didn’t you feel anything for Anne Marie? And my own mother? How could you leave her dying alone with the black canker back in Winter Quarters to go gallivanting off with the prophet?” He stifled a sob. “I never got to see her again, even to tell her goodbye!”

  Turning his rage toward the prophet, Andy continued his tirade. “And you! Demanding that the Willy and Martin parties leave so late in the season. You had to know they would never make it before winter set in! Those handcarts were the worst piece of junk, breaking up, leaving starving people stranded. And why didn’t you at least send the relief parties earlier before Anne Marie suffered and died?” At the thought of Anne Marie, Andy finally got control of his anger. He sat down on one of the office benches, his head in his hands.

  Instead of the tongue lashing Andy expected in answer to his accusations and rage, the prophet hugged him tightly. “There, there, my boy. You’ve endured far more than a chap your age should ever experience in a lifetime.”

  Patting Andy’s back with loving, comforting strokes, he continued, “God has revealed to me exactly what you need. Let’s give you some time to rest and relax, and then I’ll have an important job for you to do. Working to build up Zion is a good cure for disappointment.”

  Turning to Charles, the prophet gave him a look loaded with meaning. “I understand it’s been a long time since you last visited Homely Hettie. Doesn’t she live down there somewhere between Panquitch and Parowan? Isn’t it about time you took the boy there and spent some time with your sixth wife and children?”

  Andy had been sure the prophet or Pa would order a blood atonement to save his wayward soul. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, letting out a quiet sigh of relief. With his throat intact, Andy thought visiting Auntie Hettie seemed like a reprieve.

  Missouri River

  To Elsie’s relief, traveling up the Missouri was quite enjoyable. Wild flowers abounded along the banks, and several times when the Polar Star stopped to refuel, she had gone ashore to climb the banks and pick bouquets for her stateroom.

  She had to admit, even to herself, that her new “banty” friend was an entertaining companion. Often, when he wasn’t needed in the wheelhouse, Sam joined her on the Texas deck just to chat. And could he chat! He kept her amused with his silly stories and just as often entertained large crowds in his self-appointed role as tour guide. It seemed he already had absorbed much of the river’s history, knew everyone from Minnesota to New Orleans, plus a few in New York City, and had an amazing grasp on the nation’s politics.

  Whenever he could draw an appreciative audience, Sam waxed eloquent about the Missouri River. “Yes, sir, navigating the Missouri’s sinuous curves and capricious currents is a mighty challenge, even for the most skillful pilots,” he said.

  Then, with more braggadocio than humility, he added, “And I’m not afeared to tell ya, this is only my second time up the river, and you’ll notice, we haven’t run aground yet! Last time I navigated this stream, the boat could have almost made it to St. Joe by land, for she was walking most of the time – climbing over reefs and clambering over snags all day long.”

  Elsie giggled, realizing she actually trusted this funny little man, despite his exaggerations. Sam stroked his mustache in the charming manner he had and added, “This river is so muddy, my friend Steamboat Bill Hickman said the Missouri was too thick to navigate and not thick enough to cultivate. Ah yes, the romance of the river!”

  On rare occasions, Sam could even be serious. “Are you certain you want to head out toward Utah and New Mexico Territory?” he asked her one evening as the boat lay moored for the night. “President Buchanan has declared war on the Mormons, and the Army is on the march across Kansas, ready to make the Saints behave and obey the government’s regulations.”

  “Is it that bad?” she questioned him. “The Montgomerys warned me a little about how Brigham Young ruled Utah Territory and was defying the president, but I thought it was simply a small misunderstanding.” Elsie gazed across the river to where other steamships lay at anchor. She breathed in the rich, fresh air that had taken over as soon as the belching smokestacks had quit polluting the skies for a night of rest.

  “Small misunderstanding? I think not,” Sam said with a dry chuckle. “You’re headed into a veritable war zone. Why, the papers back East are full of news of the situation. Even Stephen Douglas, who used to side with the Mormons, is now opposing them. He lambasted them in several speeches lately. Most of the country is certain that the Mormons are trying to set up their own kingdom, ruled by Ol’ Brigham.”

  Sam looked at Elsie intently. “How close is your trip going to come to Utah? A pretty young thing like you wouldn’t stand a chance among those female-hungry polygamists.”

  A blush crept up Elsie’s cheeks. “I declare, I’d never marry a Mormon!” she protested. “Besides, I’ll be taking the Santa Fe Trail, so I can stay clear of Utah.”

  “You’ll still have to be careful,” Sam admonished. “I don’t want to scare you, but make sure you have plenty of menfolk to help get you across Kansas. There’ll be soldiers, thousands of them. But a lot of bandits, ruffians, and gangsters are out there, too – roaming the woods looking for stray slaves they can sell or pretty girls they can kidnap to do their cookin’.”

  Elsie shivered. “I’m hoping we can get passage with a freighter or mail coach.”

  “We? So you won’t be alone? That’s good to hear.” Sam wiped his forehead in an exaggerated gesture.

  Elsie giggled. “Isaac, one of the men from our plantation, will be with me.”

  “A slave?” Sam frowned. “That could make things a whole lot more troublesome for you in Kansas. He will have a lot of opportunities to escape – and plenty of abolitionists would be only too happy to help him.” Sam took a step back and looked her over thoughtfully. “On the other hand, there could be some unscrupulous slavers who might see some profit in depriving you of his services so they can sell him to someone else.”

  As she prepared for bed, Elsie was filled with a growing unease as Sam’s warning echoed in her thoughts. She shook her head as if trying to chase the fears away. Worrying isn’t trusting,
she thought, reciting her mother’s answer to every trouble. God, please grant both Isaac and me your protection. And teach me to trust you no matter my circumstances.

  When they finally pulled into the dock at Kansas City, Elsie sought out Isaac from among the deckhands who were unloading whiskey, sugar, tobacco, and the personal cargo of the passengers. At a penny a pound freight charge, she was thankful she had decided to only bring a few family treasures she couldn’t trust to anyone else. She would purchase here in Kansas City the items to sell at her mercantile.

  Spotting Isaac across the dock, she “yahooed” to him, meeting him at the gangplank. “Miss Elsie!” He grinned widely. “Where do we go from here?”

  “We have a lot of business to conduct,” she replied. “Best we find a lodging where we can store our things, then get to a livery to pick up our wagon and mules, and hire some reliable drovers.”

  As Isaac turned to lead the way, Elsie tugged on his sleeve and looked furtively at the people crowding around them. “Best keep your wits about you,” she whispered, relaying Sam’s warning from the night before.

  It seemed everyone in Kansas City was preparing to go out West. Elsie tapped her dainty shoes while standing in line at place after place. Her plans to hook up with a mail company were dashed when they refused to sell her a ticket. “No, ma’am,” the agent told her. “We don’t take wagons with us on the mail run. Slows us down too much. You’ll have the same trouble trying to get a stage. Your best hope is to find a wagon train going out to California via the Santa Fe Trail.”

  After what seemed like hours, she had hired a freight company to haul the huge shipment of goods her brothers had ordered for the mercantile. She purchased provisions, a horse, a mule team, and a wagon that she and Isaac loaded with the few family heirlooms she had brought from River Bend.

  After booking passage with a wagon train of miners headed to the gold fields in California, she congratulated herself on her good sense to find a train of men who were taking their families with them. She figured they’d be much safer than most of the gold-seeking ruffians and probably given to much less partying and drinking. And with so many men, the wagon train should also be safer from Indian or outlaw attack. Or so she hoped.

  Such thoughts comforted her as she climbed into her wagon. “Goodnight,” she called to Isaac who was fluffing up his bedroll under the wagon. With no lodging to be found anywhere, they had no choice but to sleep in their own wagon, all loaded and ready for an early start the next morning.

  Chapter 8

  Parowan, Utah Territory

  PA CERTAINLY is a man of few words, Andy thought as they rode along in silence. His eloquent speech has won hundreds of converts to the church, but he doesn’t have much to say to me, his eldest son. It’s almost as if he’s ashamed of me. Does he suspect I let Ingrid escape? Or is it possible he’s embarrassed because I didn’t do my duty?

  Trying to break the silence, Andy turned to Pa and asked, “How many children does Aunt Hettie have now? I haven’t seen her in years – since I was just a little shaver. I think she just had a couple of young’uns then.”

  Pa took his time answering. “Haven’t seen her myself for a year or two. I think we’ve got five or six running around up there in the mountains.”

  Andy drew in his breath, aghast at his father’s attitude. “You don’t know how many children you have?” the question escapes his lips of it’s own accord. “What kind of father is that?”

  Pa cleared his throat. “Now, look here, boy, you’ve no right to judge me. I’ve spent the past few years preaching around the world, winning souls for the kingdom. I think that qualifies me to produce as many offspring as I want. Look at you – I think I did a pretty good job of fathering you.”

  Andy considered that for a moment, then admitted, “Yes, I guess you did. You gave me great opportunities to travel and to grow up strong and steady.” He paused, then bravely opened up a touchy subject. “I’ve often wondered, though, about my mother and baby sister. I mean, did you love them? And why you left them to die alone in Winter Quarters while you and I went off on the exploratory wagons has always perplexed me. Sure, I was thrilled to make the trip, but I always felt guilty about leaving them.”

  “Son, you should know by now that when the prophet calls, it’s our duty to answer that call – whatever the personal cost or sacrifice. The Prophet Joseph Smith said repeatedly, ‘When the leaders speak, the thinking has already been done.’ It’s not our privilege to question. It’s our duty to obey.”

  Charles paused for a minute before adding, “Besides, I truly believe if God needed me to serve somewhere, it was up to him to take care of those I had to leave behind.”

  Realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer to his questions, Andy mused silently. Did Pa love my mother and sister? Does he love me? he wondered. Is Pa capable of loving anyone but the Church? Disturbed by his thoughts, Andy rode on, trying to enjoy the ever-changing scenery as they ventured further south.

  The duo occasionally stopped along a shaded stream to rest the horses and reload their canteens with fresh drinking water, but their conversation was mostly basic comments about their surroundings.

  “How much farther is it to Parowan?” Andy finally asked, thinking he sounded like a little kid asking, “Are we there yet?”

  “It’s 250 miles from Great Salt Lake City, so I expect we’ll be there in another day or so. The red rocks off in the distance are a good sign we’re coming closer.”

  Andy looked toward the colorful cliffs to the east, rising some 10,000 feet in elevation. The mountains were covered with lush forests, striking black lava flows and impressive cliffs and rock formations, dominated by the majestic red spires that rose another thousand feet above them all. He vaguely remembered as a boy climbing among what the locals called “The Castles” the one time he’d come with Pa to visit Aunt Hettie.

  The huge jagged spires that pierced the sky, the large open caves the Anasazi had lived in hundreds of years earlier, and the troves of arrowheads and pottery chards all made for great boyhood adventures. For most of the week or so Pa had visited at Aunt Hettie’s, Andy spent all the time he could playing in the Castles.

  Spurred by the happy memories, Andy said, “I remember playing on those spires. I was fascinated by the petroglyphs the ancient Indians inscribed on the boulders. There were pictures of snakes, lizards, mousemen, bear claws, and mountain sheep – everything I loved back then!”

  “Yes, I remember you used to enjoy playing along the Old Spanish Trail, too, bringing me things you picked up while pretending you were a conquistador,” Pa added. “I never could figure out why Hettie wanted to live so far away from the colony, but she wanted her farm right at the base of the cliffs, ten or twelve miles away from Parowan. Said she needed elbow room. Guess she was right – it was a good place to raise a passel of children.”

  The spires and mountains appeared to grow larger each day as the father and son drew nearer. Andy was surprised that he remembered so much about Parowan, considering the short time he had spent there and how many years ago that had been.

  The sight of the old iron pits and the town with 400 or 500 inhabitants, situated right at the mouth of Parowan Canyon and surrounded by sagebrush and grasslands, spurred memories from long ago. “About the only thing that’s different,” he said, “are all the trees. They’ve grown a lot since I was here last.”

  They stopped at a tiny cabin emblazoned with a sign “Parowan Mercantile” and went in to buy something to drink. “Reckon I oughta pick up a little something for the kiddies,” Pa said, grabbing a handful of candies.

  Again, they rode along in silence for the last twelve miles of their journey. They passed a cabin or two along the way, more like hovels than living spaces. When they finally came to Hettie’s place, Andy noted it looked very much like the other settlers’ dilapidated shelters, only it seemed to be much neater and cleaner.

  Several poorly dressed boys were clearing weeds from a large garde
n spot, and a little girl in a sunbonnet stood nearby, feeding a goat. Taking a break from her arduous weeding, a buxom woman stood and brushed a lock of stray hair away from her sweat-stained face. Seeing she had visitors, she dropped the hoe in surprise.

  “Charles, what on earth are you doing here?” she asked. In the same breath, she turned to the children, ordering them to clean up a bit in honor of their father’s visit.

  “Andy here just returned from a terrible ordeal and the prophet needs a place for him to rest,” Charles informed her. “Brother Brigham suggested I bring him here.”

  A bright smile burst across Hettie’s broad, round face, making her look almost pretty. “Of course! Andy, it’s so good to see you!” She gave him a welcoming, motherly hug and invited both men into the cabin for a cold drink. “You must have been on the trail for a long time. Didja come from Salt Lake?”

  Charles nodded and stretched. “We’ve been in the saddle so long, I don’t care to see another one for a long while.”

  Hettie looked at the man who was considered her husband, the man who came to see her about once a year to “plant another seed.” “So you plan on staying then?”

  “We’ll see. Brother Brigham wants Andy to rest up, but I may have to get back to help out in Salt Lake. With all this war talk going on, who knows what might happen.”

  Four boys came in, their hair slicked back and their hands freshly washed. Following close behind was the chubby little girl, shyly standing behind the oldest boy, who looked to be about ten years old. Seeing that his father didn’t have a clue to the names or ages of any of them, Andy asked Hettie to introduce him to his brothers and sister. He could only hope his Pa would have enough good sense to catch their names.

  “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John,” she introduced the boys from the tallest to the shortest. “And this little sweetie is Mary.” She pulled Mary from her hiding place behind Matthew and thrust her at Pa. “This is your father, children, and this handsome young man is your big brother Andy.”