True Sisters (21 page)

“It is just the snow falling, my love,” Catherine told him. “Don’t ye feel it?”

“Angel wings.” His speech became slurred, then he stopped speaking and made a mighty effort to get up, but instead, he fell backward onto the ground and was still.

John put his ear to the old man’s chest, then rose slowly, shaking his head. Crying softly, Catherine took her husband’s wrist and felt for life, but there was none. She held his hand for a long time, then gently placed it on his breast and smoothed the blanket she had wrapped around him. “He rests in peace with the Lord,” she said as she put her head against Anne’s shoulder.

“We are sorrowfully disappointed,” Anne told her.

“As the Lord lives, I know that he is in heaven with all the angels. His good works have taken him there. And he waits for your coming,” John said. Anne frowned at that, because she thought such words were little comfort to a woman who had lost her life’s companion. Catherine did not appear to hear them, however. John left to join men who were already digging a grave, a large grave, because others would die before morning, and when the men were finished, they carried off Peter’s body, which they had wrapped in a damp blanket. There would be a service for all the dead before the company left on the morrow.

Catherine did not follow. She had not moved from the fire since Peter sat down beside her, and now she stared into the coals, every now and then reaching for a stick to keep the fire going.

“Are you cold?” Anne asked.

Catherine shook her head.

“I am so sorry. He died because he saved my son.”

“He died because he did God’s work.”

“He was chilled going under the water.”

“It was the Lord’s way,” Catherine said.

“How can you be so calm?” Anne was perplexed, because if her own husband had died, she would have cried out in anguish, would have found someone to blame.

“We are taught the Lord is all-wise, although I am hard-pressed to see the wisdom in taking Peter from me. We have not been apart a single night in fifty years, and now, I don’t know what I shall do. But I must trust in the Lord and hope He shows better judgment next time.”

“You’ll go on with us,” Anne told her. She had not consulted John about that. Adding an old woman to their family would be a hardship. Catherine’s belongings would increase the weight on the cart and there would be times when the old woman would be too tired to walk and would have to ride on top. But John would agree with his wife’s decision. How could he not? Peter Dunford had saved Samuel from the river, and Catherine had given comfort to Anne on the ship when Emma Lee died.

Remembering that, Anne rose suddenly and went to where John had stacked their belongings. Rummaging through the things, she found a slim volume that had been slipped into the pocket of her good dress. She had forgotten about it, and in fact, if she had remembered it, she would have discarded it long since in one of the demands to lighten the loads. She knelt beside Catherine and gave her the book. “This is yours. I picked it up after you discarded it in Iowa City.”

Catherine took the book and opened it, showing Anne the inscription written in a cramped hand: “To my wife, Catherine Dunford, replacing the book that well served for fifty year. Peter Dunford.” Catherine closed the book and clasped it in her hands. “He gave me the first volume on our wedding day, and over the years, it was worn to pieces. This came on the day we’d been married fifty years. No possession in the world means more to me. I have been pained every day since I left it behind. She opened the volume and began to read slowly:

John Anderson my jo, John,

When we were first acquent,

Your locks were like the raven,

Your bonnie brow was brent …

She closed the book and finished the poem by memory.

Later that evening, John did indeed agree that Catherine would join them. She sorted through the possessions the old couple had brought from Scotland, giving Peter’s warm gloves and coat to John and setting aside her husband’s boots and extra clothing to be distributed among the Saints. Anne found it painful to watch the woman examine each item, recalling what had been a gift, what purchased, agonizing over which to discard. Catherine removed one item and furtively put it into her pocket, and Anne wondered if the woman would carry some memento rather than add it to the cart.

The night was bitterly cold. Snow replaced the sleet, and the Saints huddled together in the tents to keep warm. Anne slept fitfully, waking often to check on Samuel, then moving close to the two older children, who slept between her and John. Not until nearly morning did she fall into a deep sleep. When she awoke, she saw that Catherine was gone, and Anne wondered if the woman had slept at all. Then she turned to Samuel and found him still asleep, wrapped in her shawl, a small bundle beside him. Anne frowned and rose on her elbow to look. There beside the baby’s tiny hands, which were red and chapped from the river water, was Emma Lee’s doll, the one Anne had discarded in Iowa City. Catherine had carried it all this way. Anne picked up the wooden figure, which was still dressed in its silk gown and wrapped in the miniature quilt that she herself had made, and clasped it in her hand, just as Catherine had done with the volume of poetry the evening before. And she wondered at the remarkable way they had kept each other’s precious possessions and returned them in time of need.

*   *   *

Louisa and her family were among the last to cross, because her husband had put the safety of the others in his hundred before them. Thales had worked with a vengeance to get the members of his hundred across the North Platte. She could not fault him, for she saw how he helped the emigrants repack their carts to keep blankets and foodstuffs dry, pushed their vehicles into the river, and raced through the water when a cart seemed ready to tip over. He ferried an old woman across on his back, then returned to the east side of the river and took young children from a poorly loaded cart and carried them through the water. And he did not limit his aid to those of his hundred. He helped any Saint who needed him.

Louisa did not mind the wait, for she was proud of her husband’s kindness. But she was glad when, at last, Thales ordered his family—Louisa, her sister, Huldah, and their mother, with the nephews, Dick, walking, and Jimmy, on top of the cart—into the water, where they moved swiftly to the far bank, passing others as they pushed their way across the river. Even after reaching the far bank, Thales’s work was not done. Scarcely was the Tanner cart pulled from the water than Thales turned again to the river, taking Jimmy and Dick with him.

Their mother, Huldah, protested. “The water’s deep and much too cold for little children. They’re already chilled. Besides, Jimmy can’t swim, Brother Thales.”

“Neither can I,” he replied. “They’ll stay in the shallows. Others younger are wading the river.”

“They feel the cold very bad. After all, they are only eight and eleven.”

“Old enough by our reckoning to be responsible. They aren’t children anymore. You have been too liberal with them.”

Louisa, too, protested Thales’s taking the boys with him. “Do not be grumbling-angry. They have already sacrificed much in coming here.”

“I have said they are to come with me. Obedience is better than sacrifice,” Thales told her. “Surely you understand that.” Knowing her husband was speaking of her, too, Louisa looked away meekly. But she did not leave the river. Instead, she told her mother and sister to take the cart to the camp, where she would join them later with the boys. Thales might change his mind if he saw his wife waiting for the children and let them go with her.

“Please, just this one time, can’t they run around? Jimmy’s afraid of water. They are just boys,” Louisa pleaded once more.

She rarely spoke after being rebuked, and Thales seemed surprised as well as displeased. “I believe I am head of this family and have stated my decision,” he told her. “Besides, it is nothing compared to what I put up with when I camped with the Saints at Winter Quarters. I was a boy, too.”

“You were twenty. That is what you have said.”

He ignored the retort and started to march the boys off, but Dick stood in front of his brother and said, “Sir, I will go, but Jimmy’s too little. He won’t be of much help. I’ll do the work for both of us.”

Thales was unmoved. “There, you can help that man, both of you,” he ordered, pointing to a Saint who was struggling with a cart near the bank.

“But the water’s too cold,” the younger boy, Jimmy, protested, looking to his brother for help.

“I cannot but wonder if you prefer the fires of hell,” Thales replied.

“Thales—” Louisa said, but her husband put up his hand to silence her.

“I’ll have no more interference. You, too, must learn obedience, Louisa.”

“Oh, don’t preach me to death,” she retorted.

She should not have spoken so, because Thales seemed angered by her defiance and demanded of Dick and Jimmy, “Are you for God?” When the two nodded, Thales said, “Then you will gladly do His work. Have faith in God, and you will not get cold.”

The boys trudged off beside Thales, Dick taking his brother’s hand, and went into the river, shivering and frightened, wading through the chill water to the cart that Thales had pointed out to them. There wasn’t much two little boys could do, Louisa knew. They were slight, barely strong enough to help push the Tanner cart when it was on dry ground. Thales must want them to learn that helping others is a part of their religion, Louisa thought. And she knew that he was concerned about appearances. After all, what would others think if the two children in Thales Tanner’s own family did not do their part? It would reflect on Thales himself. The boys’ hard work would be one more proof that Thales lived his religion.

With the snow falling heavily now, the water was frigid, and the Saints dodged cakes of ice that floated in the river. The emigrants were numb with the cold, careless, and many could not feel the rocks of the river with their frosted feet. Thales seemed to ignore the cold, however, as he rushed back and forth to keep the carts from toppling over. He plucked two children from an overloaded cart so that the parents could pull it more easily, carrying the children the rest of the way across the river. He helped a couple push their cart out of the rocks of the river bottom, where a wheel was caught. Whenever someone needed his aid, Thales was there. Once, he looked over at Louisa and pointed to her nephews, who were unloading a cart so that an old man could get it out of the river. His look of satisfaction told her that he knew he had been right in insisting the boys help.

Thales was intent in examining a broken spoke, his back to Jimmy, and did not see the boy go under the water. But Louisa did, and she cried out, “Catch him!” Someone else called, “That boy’s been hit by the ice!” Men abandoned their carts in midstream in an effort to save the child, who was being swept away in the current. Horrified, Louisa rushed to the river as she watched a red scarf flash through the water downstream. In a rare bit of extravagance before the journey, Thales had bought the scarves for the boys, red for Jimmy, green for Dick, confiding to his wife that the colors would stand out in the crowd, making it easier for him to keep an eye on the two.

Clutching her skirts, Louisa rushed into the river and grabbed Thales’s arm. “Jimmy! It’s Jimmy!” She pointed at the tip of the scarf, which moved through the water like a snake, carried swiftly, far too fast for anyone to catch the boy. Thales thrust her aside, but Louisa would not be stopped, and she followed her husband as he thrashed through the water, then up onto the bank. They would never reach Jimmy, but perhaps he would grab hold of a tree or right himself in the shallows and they would find him. In a few seconds, the scarf disappeared, and there was no sign of anyone in the churning water. The boy was gone, had sunk below the current that was the color of soot.

The two turned back and caught sight of Dick, paralyzed, staring at the spot where his brother had disappeared. Thales, Louisa behind him, made his way to the bank and tried to hold the boy, but Dick stood stiffly, resisting the embrace. “Was it Jimmy?” Thales asked, thinking, perhaps, some other boy had worn a red scarf. When Dick didn’t answer, Thales told him, “It was the Lord’s will.”

“No it wasn’t,” Dick snapped. “It was yours.” He started to snivel, then took a deep breath and turned on Thales. “You knew Jimmy couldn’t swim. He was only a little boy. I don’t care if you knew Joseph Smith. You aren’t God. You don’t rule everything. You had no right to make him go in the water. You killed him.” The boy turned and fled up the trail to the camp.

Louisa was stunned, for no one had ever spoken to her husband that way; no Saint had ever questioned his authority. She watched as Dick flung his own green scarf onto the ground and disappeared among the carts. “Go to him,” Thales told her.

“No, we must search for Jimmy. Huldah will need a body to bury.”

“I’ll do it, then.”

“I’ll go with you. I cannot face my sister without Jimmy.”

Wet and cold, Thales, with Louisa behind him, trudged through the dusk, searching among the rocks and the roots of trees lining the bank. From time to time, Louisa raised her eyes to the far bank, thinking the current might have carried the boy to the other side. “I’ll cross and search there,” she said.

Thales put his hand on her arm. “I will do it. The sin is mine,” and he went into the icy water.

The two searched the opposite sides of the river, calling out to each other from time to time, for it was growing dark and it was hard to see a small boy, let alone a person, on the other side. As she searched, Louisa pondered her husband’s “sin.” Thales had never doubted that he was inspired, that he did God’s work, that he had been chosen to lead not only her family but the other Saints. From the day he was baptized, he had told her, he had believed he was destined for great things among the Mormons. That was why he was such an inspired missionary, why he worked tirelessly to take his people to Zion. But perhaps he was not perfect.

They had searched for nearly a mile when Louisa spotted the red scarf, caught in a branch of a tree hanging over the river. Her heart leapt at the sight of it, and she prayed that Jimmy had survived the water, had climbed out onto the bank, catching his scarf on the limb. He could be resting there, under that tree. Perhaps God was only testing her—or Thales. She called to Thales, who crossed the river, only to find that Jimmy wasn’t under the tree. The scarf hung there like a banner to taunt them.