True Sisters (11 page)

A few, however, yet wanted a say in the decision. After all, their lives depended on it. A woman from Louisa’s village suggested a secret vote, with each man putting down his choice. That would be the fairest way. But she was scorned. “We have no secrets,” a man told her.

Then slowly, one of the church leaders at Florence went to the front of the gathering. Louisa looked at him with awe and not a little fear, because it was said that he was a member of the Danites, Brigham Young’s avenging angels, the band of zealots who were rumored to kill men who opposed the Mormons. “How many of ye joined the Mormon Church for an easy life?” He glared at the Saints, many of whom would not meet his eye. “I tell ye, God don’t want no sissies in His church, no fallbacks, and Brigham Young don’t, neither. I know Brother Brigham, and I can say he spits on anybody that don’t listen to the leaders. If ye won’t mind them, then I say go on back to your coal mines and your tea shops. You’re grumblers, pilferers, liars, and so forth, good for nothing but hanging. The Destroyer is among ye. You ain’t worth the name of Mormon.”

One or two Saints yelled their agreement, while those who were offended muttered softly, and Huldah whispered to Louisa, “I would not expose myself to that man’s chastisement for all the horses in the land of God.” But no one defied him openly.

“The wicked will die off. They’ll go to hell across lots,” the Danite prophesied, and went to stand by himself, scowling at the Saints. “Those of ye that think ye ought to stay, I say think on it again. Ye likely be destroyed! Long live the devil!”

“Are you for God or against Him?” one of the leaders asked the people after the old man was finished.

“I left home to go to Zion, and I intend to get there this year,” called one young man, whose deep cough and ragged clothes identified him as a victim of the factories. “I joined up to go to Zion. I say we go on, and anybody that don’t like it can stay behind.”

“I’d rather go to hell than be left behind,” a convert yelled.

When no one else spoke out, the people looked around, anxious, whispering. Then when it seemed that the leaders were about to call for a vote, Thales Tanner stood, and the Saints quieted. Louisa knew that some of the Saints revered her husband, a few found him pompous, but all agreed he was a man of God and that he spoke for Brigham Young. Although he was of less than average height, he appeared big because his body was square, his beard cut square on a rectangular face. He seemed taller than he was, too, since he loomed above the Saints who were sitting on the ground. The missionary looked out over the congregation for a moment, nodding at one or two whom he recognized. Then his eyes flickered as they lit on Louisa, and she felt a thrill of excitement, and she was no longer tired. This was the man she had fallen in love with, this passionate missionary who seemed to speak for God. At times like this, she forgave him his overbearing ways toward her and her family, for he truly could be inspired, and he was now, she knew. She glanced at her mother, who stared at her son-in-law with rapture, and Louisa knew that Margaret, too, felt his presence as a man of God.

Thales held out his right arm full length to still the crowd and waited until the gathering was silent, until the people were poised to hear what he had to say, and then he began in a voice as soothing as if he were talking to a baby. “My dear friends, we have embarked on a remarkable journey, a journey that has taxed even the strongest amongst us,” he said, then stopped, and Louisa was taken by his choice of words. He did not berate the Saints. He did not even chide them as befuddled children, but instead, he made himself one with them.

“We are chosen of the Lord. We have seen the true Gospel and have pledged ourselves to it. God has singled us out and put His mark on us.”

He paused as an undercurrent of voices gave thanks and praised God.

“Is there anyone here who does not feel blessed?”

“No, brother!” a man called, and the people voiced their agreement.

“Anyone who does not thank the Lord?”

This time, there were cries of thanks.

“Anyone who would not do what little the Lord asks of us in return for His great blessings?”

“No! No!” the Saints called.

Thales looked around for a moment, until his eyes lit on Louisa again, and she knew that later, when everyone was asleep, he would reach for her. He always wanted her after the spirit was on him, when he was taken up with preaching like this. A thrill went over her as she thought of his gentle hands caressing her. He was caring in bed, not demanding as he was in the daylight. She had not expected that.

Thales’s eyes glistened, and he made fists with his hands, raising them in the air. “Then is there anyone here who would not go to Zion if the Lord and Brigham Young asked him to? Is there anyone so weak in faith that he would defy the prophet?”

There was a crescendo of response this time, women clapping, men jumping up and pounding their fists into the air.

“Then I say we go on.” Thales’s voice had a hard edge now. “I say let the cowards and the apostates stay. They will find a curse come upon them. But we will go Zionward, just as Brigham Young wills us. We will do as the Lord commands. We will go up into the high mountain. We will go to Zion!”

“Ho! For Zion!” a man called.

“The Lord will look after His people. He parted the Red Sea for Moses and the Israelites and led them into the Promised Land.” Thales could not stop now, and his voice was like thunder. “The Lord our God will lead us into the land of Zion. We are His people, and He will turn away the storms while we pass by. It may storm on our right and on our left, but the Lord will keep open our way before us. I will eat every flake of snow that falls upon the Saints.”

Louisa was so moved by Thales that tears ran down her face. He was indeed God’s saint among the Saints. She could not be more sure of that if the heavens had opened and a voice from on high had anointed him. She glanced around the crowd, the people standing now, their faces beaming. But not all, she thought, her eyes resting on knots of emigrants who stood silently, not daring to catch the eyes of the joyful. Old Absalom stood off by himself, his head bowed, his arms folded, as if he were praying.

One of the Saints joshed the old man, demanding, “Ye stay behind with the other apostates, will ye, Brother Absalom?”

Louisa watched the people who were near the old man quiet to hear his reply, to see whether he would form a group of staybacks whose refusal to continue on with the handcarts might mean excommunication. She knew there were some who did indeed hope he would be their leader. After all, he was a man who had known Joseph, a man equal to any in the church. If Old Absalom stood with them, then surely Brother Brigham would not turn his back on them.

“Will you stay?” a woman asked him.

Old Absalom looked at her for a long time, then with his arm, he pushed her away a little. “I will go,” he said. “If it’s the will of the Saints to go on to the valley, then I’ll be with you. And I’ll help you through. But if the heavens open and the snows come, then Old Absalom can do nothing. You will be in the hands of the Lord.”

*   *   *

Jessie and her brothers were among the Saints who were anxious to proceed. They were young and strong and used to the elements, and they might have gone on even if the rest of the party had voted to remain, for they were eager to claim their stewardship. They had not crossed the ocean and half of the American continent just to spend the winter in a tent on the Missouri River. So when the Saints were polled, the Coopers raised their hands and voted with those who wanted to continue the trip.

But what about Maud, the old widow woman whose care had fallen to them? Maud was tough, and she asked no sympathy from the three young people. Still, she was elderly, and Jessie had seen her stumble on the trail, had seen her sit down in the dirt beside the road and gulp air as if her lungs had collapsed. What would become of her if she chose to stay behind? Jessie sought out the woman and asked, “Will you be going along with us?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t have to. There are others wintering here. There is no shame in it, to my way of thinking. I don’t believe Brigham Young will chastise you, despite the threats from Brother Tanner and that old zealot.”

Maud frowned. “I have no desire to stay behind, Jessie. Me and Robert signed up to go all the way to Zion, and now I’m going for the both of us.” Her eyes gleamed with conviction, and she straightened up. “Of course, when you think on it, he’s beat me there. I just got to catch up.” Then she paused as a thought occurred to her. “Is it that you believe I will be a burden on you? I can go on by myself if you don’t want me. You can speak plainness.”

“Of course, we want you. We never ate so well, even at home. Why, to keep you with us, my brothers would push you on the cart.”

“They won’t have to do that. I’ll do my part. I’ll make it on these old legs or perish in the trying of it.” Then she stared at the young woman, who was watching her intently. “Are you wishing to stay yourselves?”

Jessie shook her head. “No, that’s not what I’m thinking. We’re game to go. A bull couldn’t hold back the Coopers. I’m just wondering why you’d risk the cold and the snow when you could just as well go in the spring, when it would be easier on you. It’s only a few months.”

Maud wrapped her hands in her apron and stared across the prairie. “I might not have a few months. You young folks have a plenty of time. A winter spent here wouldn’t mean a thing to you. But me, I’m so old, I might not live through the winter. So I have to go on.”

*   *   *

Ella Buck beamed at her husband as they walked to their tent. “Andrew, I never knew ye to be so thoughtful of me,” she told him. “But ye musn’t worry. I can hae the baby fine. There’s already others born on this trip, and that old widow woman, Sister Maud, is a midwife. Nannie will be with me, too.” Ella smiled at her sister, who was walking beside her.

Andrew touched his wife’s cheek. “Do ye want to stay behind? Some are going to. It’s nice enough beside the river, and there’s not a drop of dye in it.” The river that flowed beside the factory where he had worked as a weaver had been dark with dye and stank from the chemicals.

“No, we’ll go on with the others. Isn’t that what ye want?”

“To be sure,” he said.

Ella turned to her sister. “Do I not have the best husband in the world?”

“Aye,” Nannie replied. But she could not help wondering if Ella’s pregnancy wasn’t the real reason Andrew had spoken in favor of staying. Andrew was slight, and even after the weeks pushing the cart across the prairie, he was weak from the years he had spent with the loom. His lungs still suffered from the foul air and the lint that he had breathed in the factory, and Nannie knew he was worried that he had contracted weaver’s consumption. Although he would never admit it, Andrew might not be strong enough to pull the cart the rest of the way to Utah Territory and was using his wife as an excuse to rest through the winter. Nannie pondered that, hoping she was wrong, because if she was right and Andrew indeed had inflammation of the lungs, she and Ella would have the responsibility of getting the three of them to the valley.

*   *   *

Anne Sully knew that no matter how many others stayed behind, she and John and the children would go on, and that once they left Florence, there was no turning back. She had not even bothered to attend the meeting with her husband. Instead, she had stayed near the campfire to do the baking for the journey—the bread and corn bread, the tart and cake that she would not have time to prepare on the trail.

They had argued over whether to stay, Anne pleading her difficulty with childbirth, but John was against it, pointing out that it wouldn’t be any harder for her to give birth on the trail than to do so in a squalid tent near the river, where the chill rose up out of the ground and sickened children. The little one would be healthier because it would be born in the high mountains instead of in the miasma of the river. So because she knew that John would never change his mind, Anne had ceased her complaints and given in. And strangely enough, she had felt the better for it. She told herself that she was not the only woman who would give birth on the trail. There were others with child, among them Ella Buck, the young woman she had talked with the day before who was so excited that her baby would be born in Zion—or on the way, for the vigorous exercise of walking across the prairie seemed to bring on labor. Others had delivered before their time. Ella had told her that God would take care of them because they were marching to His kingdom. Anne envied Ella her faith, even while she scoffed at its foolishness.

In fact, after her weeks among them, Anne had begun to envy all of the Saints their faith, their heartfelt, sometimes childlike belief that God had chosen them. The Mormon worship, with its uplifting songs and cries of praise, was so different from the solemn rituals she had practiced in the Church of England, just as the promise of a happy afterlife the Mormons believed in as God’s chosen people contrasted with the gloomy threats of the Lord’s wrath toward the sinful of her own faith, the threats of burning forever in hell.

But still, Anne could not embrace the strange doctrine of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, nor the commandment that the faithful gather in the Salt Lake Valley. Many believed that they must hurry to Zion before the Lord unleashed a pox upon the earth, but if that were the case, why were the emigrants planning to start farms and open businesses? Why were the Mormons the only ones God told about the “last days”? Another missionary had said that the British Saints were like trees in a nursery. They were being transplanted to Zion, where there was room for them to grow and flourish. She had not been pleased to be compared with a sapling.

Anne questioned why the Saints couldn’t forget that foolishness and just stay home and practice their religion there. If she had remained in England, perhaps she would have come round to John’s faith. But she could not condone a religion that required such sacrifice—the sacrifice of her own daughter—just to gather in the mountains of America beside a dead sea. She wondered if Brigham Young were calling the people to the valley to build up his own kingdom, not God’s.