True Sisters (10 page)

Shocked, as any Saint would be at such a thought, Ella caught her breath at the blasphemy, then wondered if it were blasphemy if the sister was not one of them? Thinking over Anne’s remark, Ella smiled, however, because she had to agree that the woman was right. “Then where would we get bairns?”

“Some better way. Maybe at the market, or we could pluck them out of a field. Perhaps we’d dig them up like potatoes.”

“A bushel at a time?” Ella asked

“We could throw out the bad ones.”

“Some there were on the trail that should hae been culled.” The two women chuckled. “I wish just once a man would hae a bairn—and hae it through his ear. They would have respect for us then.”

The two women burst out laughing, and Anne said, “I’ve missed women to talk to. I envy you having a sister.”

“But ye’ve a friend in Sister Catherine. I’ve seen ye together.”

“Yes, she is indeed an intimate, and I’m grateful for her. But she’s so much older. I would like a friend who is nearer my own age, too.”

“Then ye shall be friends with me and my sister, all of us together.”

Anne blushed. “Oh, I didn’t mean to intrude. I wasn’t suggesting that I impose on you.”

“Ye make me laugh, and sometimes I purely need to laugh. Besides, we are all one here.”

“Not me.” Anne ran her hands through her little girl’s fine hair, removing a burr. “Perhaps you don’t know that I’m not a Mormon.”

“Aye, I dae know,” Ella said, wondering if Andrew would approve of this woman. She knew Nannie would, because Nannie liked any woman who was outspoken, but Andrew believed women should keep their place. He would not have liked the comment about a man having a baby through his ear, and he would be angry at the remark about God being a woman. “Then why did ye come?”

“My husband is … one of you.”

“Ye’ve heard the Gospel and tried to believe?”

“Yes.”

Ella was perplexed. She could not understand why anyone who had heard the words come from the mouths of the missionaries was not converted. They made such perfect sense. Who could not be awed by the claim that Mormonism was the restoration of the church Jesus had founded for his saints in the first century, that today’s church was the one God had restored for the saints of later days? The Book of Mormon itself was evidence of that, and was a witness to the ministry of Christ. But if this woman had listened to preaching from the likes of Thales Tanner and not seen its truth, she would not be convinced by anything Ella said, and so she dropped the subject. “We share the hard trail and husbands who direct our lives for us. That’s enough in common for us to be friends.”

Anne relaxed a little and looked out across the busy camp, the children playing, the Saints going about their chores. There was a certain order and purpose to it. “At meeting, I am told, they will discuss whether to winter here or go on to the valley. Summer is sleeping already, and it won’t be long till winter. The air is nipping,” she said. “What are your thoughts on it?”

Ella did not speak for a moment, not sure whether to confide in this Gentile. “I’m swithered. I’m anxious to reach Zion,” she said.

“As are all.”

“But I’m tired, too. I donna like to think of walking a thousand miles with a bairn inside me.” She turned a little, because the baby she carried had made her uncomfortable.

“Nor do I. It’s harder than suits me,” Anne said. “We seem to travel backward and forward, and by the end of the day, I’m all in a swelter and wasted with heat. I’ve had trouble enough to get to camp, but instead of resting, I am charged with preparing supper over a campfire and attending to all the other chores that never seem to end. My husband does as much as he can. He is a good man and doesn’t shirk, but still, there are things that only I can do.”

“At least, ye do not hae to go to prayer meeting twice a day.”

Anne looked up quickly, surprised at Ella’s remark, and Ella grinned. “Being a Mormon doesn’t mean we don’t hae our complaints,” she admitted. She looked around, then whispered, “Of course, it isn’t wise to say them out loud. But ye being a Gentile, I guess I can tell ye. Not attending the prayer meetings, that’s an advantage ye hae over the rest of us.”

“You people do preach and sing.”

“Aye, and there is joy to it. I love our worship. It is the best part of our trek. But we donna need to do it so often. There are times I would rather have sleep than joy. And times that I dinna care for the subject of the meeting.”

“The woman last night?”

“Ye know about her, then?”

“Indeed.” Anne nodded. “As does everyone in the company. I suppose you had no choice but to excommunicate her, although I wondered when I heard of it what happened to the doctrine of turning the other cheek.”

“She was caught in adultery—twice—with a Gentile from Council Bluffs. She spent the entire night in the woods with him. Even her husband spoke against her.”

“And what if he had been the one caught in adultery? Would she have demanded he be excommunicated?” Ella looked at her dumbly and didn’t respond, and Anne added, “No, I suppose he would just take the other woman as an additional wife.”

“We aren’t all of us for celestial marriage. My husband’s promised he won’t hae any but me for a wife, even wrote it down in my Bible.”

Anne gave a short laugh, but instead of arguing, she said, “I am not surprised at what that woman did.” Anne set Lucy in the dirt, and the girl began to pick up leaves. “We camped near them one night. He is as cruel a man as ever existed and ill-used his wife. He threw their dinner on the ground because it was burnt and ordered her to make another. When she told him to do it himself, he struck her across the face and knocked her to the ground, saying she deserved it for stirring him to anger. And then he switched her and, when done, said she was lucky, for he could have given her more stick. I’ve seen bruises on her arms and face.”

“That is not our way. An elder should speak to him.”

“Some elders, I’ve noticed, do not interfere in what is between a man and his wife—unless it is the woman who is in the wrong.”

“Then she must learn not to provoke him. We are counseled to be obedient. Obedience is a woman’s lot.”

“Is it?”

Ella looked at Anne curiously, wondering if she had been wrong to make this heretic a friend. “Don’t ye believe it’s a husband’s right to discipline his wife?”

“With a stick and fists?” Anne took a deep breath and settled herself. “Her husband voted with the others to send her out of the camp, and he refused to let her take the children, one of them a babe at her breast. I think it is beastly.” She stopped, thinking of Emma Lee and how heartbreaking it was to deprive a mother of her child. “But I believe you do not agree, so I’ll say no more about it.” She moved so that she could rest against the wheel, and the two sat quietly for a moment, watching Lucy as she shredded a leaf.

Ella thought over what Anne had said. She, too, believed it wrong to take away the children of even a sinful woman, but she would not question the leaders in such a matter, especially to a Gentile. That would be apostasy. Nor would she say more about a man’s right to discipline his wife. She wondered what she would do if Andrew ever leathered her, but she could not believe he would do it. Instead, she said, “I’ve got two minds about wintering here. I want my bairn born in Zion, but what if the snow comes before we reach the valley? What do ye think about going on?”

Anne replied with a trace of bitterness, “I asked leave of my husband to let us stay here and go on in the spring. I told him I would voice no opposition if he would only wait until the baby is born. But he will not hear of it. My labor is so difficult. I dread giving birth by myself on the trail.”

“Ye won’t be alone. Ye will hae us—my sister and me—and Sister Catherine. And Sister Maud, who is a midwife—”

“And whose husband died a week hence. I daresay she won’t make it,” Anne interjected. “I lost my older girl on the ocean voyage. If I should lose this baby … Sometimes I think God has forsaken me.” Anne closed her eyes and could not continue.

Ella had heard the women gossip that the death of Emma Lee was God’s way of punishing Anne for not embracing the faith, but she did not believe it now. Nor had she then. She took her new friend’s hand and held it for a moment. “God does not forsake us. He only tests us. The God we believe in is wise, and He is kind. I believe He is with us in our suffering.”

“Perhaps you are right, but I’ve not seen it. Oh, I miss her so much!”

“Ye must give it more time.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Ye don’t like us much, do ye?” Ella asked.

Anne didn’t answer. Instead, she said, “I don’t know you.”

Ella grasped one of the spokes of the wheel to help herself rise and said she had rested long enough. “I’ve been lazy as a lord, and there’s work to do. I am making a cake. We bought a dozen eggs and butter the size of a cobblestone. I bought a bit of cinnamon, too. Will ye and your family share it with us before tonight’s meeting? I promise that Nannie and I will not try to convert you.” She thought that over. “But I can’t promise aboot Andrew.”

“I would like that,” Anne replied, turning over so that she rested on her knees, then used her hands to push herself up. “Don’t worry about the preaching. I have been preached at so much since I left England that if it stopped, I would think I had gotten carried away by a group of Gentiles.”

*   *   *

There were prayers and singing that night, the sacrament was administered, and then the Saints sat quietly while the leaders told them that questions had been raised about the wisdom of continuing on to the valley. Louisa knew that. In the villages they had passed through, the farmers and shopkeepers had warned her family that they were too late in the year to cross the mountains safely. And some of the members of the company who had been to Utah before said that they might encounter snow. Louisa knew the people had talked about it among themselves, so that during the first four weeks of the trip, there had been an undercurrent of disagreement about whether the Saints should stay the winter in Florence or go on. So many in a previous company had abandoned the trek in Florence that a woman remarked to Louisa that the Mormon apostates there were thicker than the lice of Egypt in the days of the Pharaoh. Thales had not liked the remark.

“Who will be first to speak in favor of staying here?” asked Brother Martin.

There was mumbling, but for a moment, no one stood, because, Louisa knew, it was the desire of those in charge to continue, and none wanted to be first to risk their ire. Margaret Chetwin moved a little and appeared ready to speak out, but she looked at her daughter, and Louisa willed her mother to be still. In fact, Louisa was horrified that Margaret might say something. Certainly, it was not a woman’s place, but more important, Margaret was Thales Tanner’s mother-in-law, and he would be furious, might even call her an apostate. Of course, Louisa sympathized with her mother and her sufferings. The poor woman had to force herself to rise each morning. Sometimes the journey was so tiring that she started off by herself before the carts were under way, so that she could rest at intervals, sitting on a rock with her knitting. She would join the Tanner cart when it reached her, but later on, she’d fall behind and Louisa or her sister would have to turn back to help their mother.

Louisa begged Thales to secure a place for Margaret in one of the wagons, but Thales insisted the wagons were for the truly sick, not those weak in faith. When Louisa argued that her mother’s faith was strong, Thales reminded her how Margaret had plotted to stay in New York. Besides, how would it look if he put his mother-in-law into a wagon when others far sicker had to walk?

Now Louisa put a restraining hand on her mother’s arm. Surely Margaret knew it would do no good and a great deal of harm if she spoke out. The leaders were of one mind about continuing the trek. Nothing a woman said would dissuade them. Margaret gave her daughter a sad smile and patted her hand. She would keep still.

Others would not, however, and after a few seconds, a man Louisa did not know stood and said he was for staying over. “If it was good enough for Brigham Young to winter at this place in 1846, I guess it’s good enough for me. The prophet himself knew enough not to go on.”

“The prophet wants us to winter in the valley,” a Saint admonished him.

“Bust me if going on’s not a poor idea! I’ve made this trip before. This time of year, too,” a man Louisa knew as Old Absalom said. Although elderly, Absalom Schmidt, an early convert, had been tireless in helping the emigrants. He had suffered much for his religion, had been tarred and feathered by an angry mob in Illinois, thrown into the Mississippi to drown by another, and was much admired by Louisa and the other Saints for his steadfast faith. “Most times, we get on just fine this time of year in the mountains, maybe a squall or two, but not heavy snow. Still, that don’t mean we won’t get it. The Indians tell about such storms. We got womens and childrens with us, old folks, sick ones. It ain’t easy for them to cross the mountains in good weather. How will they do if it snows? I say stay. We can go on to the valley next spring in time for planting.”

“My wife’s with child. I wouldn’t like to see her give birth in the snow,” Andrew Buck said, and Ella looked at her husband in surprise, because she knew he was anxious to reach the Great Salt Lake. Her heart warmed at his concern.

Some of the men snickered, and a woman muttered, “Humph!” Then a man said, “There’s always women giving birth. I don’t expect we can hold up the train just because some woman’s about to foal.”

A few of the Saints laughed at that, too, but Louisa’s sister, Huldah, said, “For shame,” and there was a murmur of agreement among the women. Louisa did not know if that was because the women wanted to stay or because they objected to the man’s language. There was a certain earthiness in the way the people talked.

Then Old Absalom said, “Birthing a baby in the snow ain’t a good thing, even for an Indian. For a white woman, it’s death. We’ve already lost some of our people. We’ll lose plenty more if we go on.”

No one spoke for a moment, even those Louisa thought agreed with the old man, for what good would it do? Louisa was tired and wanted sleep. She knew how the vote would go, and she wished the meeting would conclude. What reason to continue the talk when in the end the leaders would make the decision? She knew that no matter what the arguments were, the company would march on. Beside her, Saints stretched and yawned, while children whined and babies cried. They had spent the day washing and cooking and repairing the carts, and they were weary.