“From there, things kind of settled into a standoff. Which was interesting, because as the afternoon wore on, a lot of the Bluff men came out of their houses to watch.”
“Even though the Indians were shooting at them?” Rowland cried incredulously.
“That’s what I meant about Nebeker saving us. By stopping outside of town, the Indians could see that we Mormons were not involved. We were standing out in the street near the west end of town watching the Indians running back and forth along the tops of the bluff, firing down at Nebeker and his men. But though they could see us clearly, they never once shot at us.”
“This is good stuff,” Frank cried. “Give me a minute.”
After a full minute, Mitch began again. “That night, our men arrived from the north. Forty or fifty of them. And then we had another lucky break. The Indians had guards posted along the road to Blanding up on the bluff. They heard our men coming, but they thought it was a company of United States Cavalry. And just like that, they were gone. They slipped off to the west, headed into that desolate wilderness area out around Douglas Mesa. And that was it. The battle was over.”
“So they never caught Tse-ne-gat?” Frank asked again.
“Yes and no.” Mitch shook his head in disgust. “We all returned to our homes while Nebeker started to make plans to go after them. By this time, news of an Indian uprising in the west had made the front page of newspapers all over America. It was sensational stuff, and the president decided to intervene. A short time later, Nebeker got a telegram telling him that they were sending out an army general with several hundred soldiers and that Nebeker was no longer involved.”
Mitch’s countenance was dark with disgust. “The general came out a few weeks later and rode out to pow-wow with Poke and Posey. To everyone’s astonishment, without firing a shot, he persuaded them to surrender with the promise that he personally would guarantee they would get a fair trial. And they surrendered. He took Poke, Posey, and Tse-ne-gat into custody. They took them to Salt Lake by train and sent the rest of the tribe home. By this time there were newspaper people from all over the west waiting for them. The three Indians were welcomed like they were the heroes. They had their pictures taken, were put up in fancy hotels, met the governor.”
“After all they had done?” June cried.
“Yes,” Mitch said, “after all they had done. The court in Salt Lake City decided they would send Tse-ne-gat to Denver for trial at a federal court, but because the others were ‘only defending themselves and their people’”—this was said with heavy irony—“they were allowed to return to the reservation with no punishment whatsoever.”
“Even though they had killed several posse members,” Edie said, equally disgusted.
“In war, if you kill an enemy, it’s not considered murder. And that was the ruling. These were war deaths, and therefore there was no guilt, according to the judge.”
“But that wasn’t true of Tse-ne-gat’s murder of Juan Chacón,” Rowland said. “But he got off too, right?”
“Yes,” Mitch muttered. “But it wasn’t right. In Denver, Tse-ne-gat became an overnight sensation. Here was a real-live American Indian of western legend, the ‘noble savage’ being persecuted by the evil white man. Reporters swarmed around him and wrote glowing reports of his exploits. His picture was plastered on the front pages of newspapers all across America. He was wined and dined in the finest hotels. Large banquets were held in his honor. Crowds mobbed him wherever he went.” Mitch snorted in utter contempt. “Women fawned over him. Some even offered to marry him.”
“No!” Gwen cried. “A murderer?”
“Yes, we know that’s what he was, but the court said that there was insufficient evidence to convict him, and so all charges were dropped. He was acquitted and allowed to return home.”
A depressed silence fell on the group as Frank finished writing and then sat back and pushed his papers aside. Edie then broke the silence. “Tse-ne-gat returned to his people as a vindicated hero, while whites all across the Four Corners area hunkered down, waiting to see what his next crimes would be. But it turned out that there was some ironic justice in how things turned out. All of the wining and dining he’d experienced was too much for him. The lavish food, the fancy banquets, all the liquor he had consumed—it ruined his health. In a matter of months, he was a shell of the man who had bullied so many and caused so much heartache. And before a year had passed, Tse-ne-gat was dead.”
As they digested that, Edie got to her feet. “All right, enough of this depressing stuff. We’ve still got apple pie and ice cream left over from last night. Will you men move the table back into the kitchen? And someone go tell the kids that dessert’s on.”
9:30 p.m.
After they finished dessert, the parents told their children that it soon would be bedtime. To everyone’s surprise, there was no protest. The six younger children moved back into the living room and sat cross-legged on the floor. Tina sat down between Frank and Grandma Westland. The adults took the seats where they had sat before. As they all got settled, no one said much. Then finally Rowland spoke up. “The pie was delicious, Mama Westland.”
“Thank you. But Grandma Westland and June helped too.”
Rowland turned to his father-in-law. “And thank you for sharing that history. I’d heard some of it from my great-grandpa and my grandpa, but not with this kind of detail.”
Rowland’s wife was quietly drawing small circles on the table with her finger. When her husband finished speaking, she turned to her father. “I’ve always known that you and Mom and Grandma and Grandpa Westland and Oma Zimmer had a hard life, but somehow hearing this tonight has really opened my eyes to just how hard things were for you.”
Edie turned in surprise. “Yes, Rena, but they were good times, too.”
“I know, but I was thinking about how different my growing up was compared to yours. And now I think of Charles and Young Lem, and whatever other kids we have, and I realize that they’re not going to have those kind of challenges. No renegade Indians. No driving miles in a wagon to haul back your drinking water. No drunken cowboys. To be honest, I’m a little sad that I’ll never know if my children and I would have that kind of courage.”
“I’m not,” Edie said. “From a distance, those experiences may sound romantic, like a Hollywood movie, but in real life they weren’t much fun.”
“I know, Mom. But look what they did for you. The call goes out for a posse to help hunt down a vicious killer, and you hand Dad his hat and his rifle and kiss him good-bye. I would have locked Rowland in the cellar and not let him out until it was over.”
“No,” Mitch said, “I don’t think you would have. I know you, Rena, and I think you would have handed him his rifle, told him to be careful, and kissed him good-bye.”
Rowland leaned forward in his chair. “The thing that I keep asking myself is, when you saw the man next to you shot through the head, and then the man on the other side of you shot through his entire body, why didn’t you just get up and run? Why did you stay?”
MJ answered softly before Mitch could speak. “Because that was what you did.”
Mitch looked up and nodded. “Yes, that’s it. It’s just what you did.”
Now June came in. “But that’s the point Rena’s making. I can name a lot of people that would not do it. They would run. Or surrender. Or hide. So how do we raise our children to have courage and to be brave?”
“I can tell you where I got my courage from,” Frank said gravely.
Everyone turned in surprise. “Where?” Edie asked.
“From going to the outhouse in the dead of winter.”
Everyone roared.
As the gales of laughter gradually died down, Edna June got up and came over to Mitch. He held out his arms and she climbed up onto his lap. Then she took his face in both of her hands and pulled him in close. “Gwampa?”
“Yes
, dear?”
She glanced around the room. She cupped one hand to her mouth, and then in a loud whisper she asked, “Why is everyone being so silly?”
And that did it. Any semblance of control was totally lost.
When the laughter subsided to the point that the room was nearly quiet again, Edie looked around. “Now that we’ve all had a good laugh, I would like to try to answer Rena’s question. I think it is a good one.” Her eyes were misty as she looked around the room. The smiles were gone, and everyone’s eyes were on her. She folded her hands in her lap and began.
“I was thinking of a lesson that I was taught by a wise woman many years ago. I think it applies here. It happened before Grandpa and I were even married, and I consider it one of the great lessons of my life.”
She got out her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. No one spoke. “This happened in the summer of 1888, the summer we came up to the Blue Mountains to stay. Things were tough. Life was hard. And yet it was good, too. This was when there was a lot of unrest with the Indians. It was a time of grave danger. At this same time we were battling with the Carlisle Ranch over water rights. Things got so bad that one time Old Man Carlisle rode into our camp and said that if we didn’t stop damming up the creek, he’d kill every man, woman, and child in the settlement. And he meant it.
“Between the Indians and the cowboys, things finally got so bad that Bishop Jones wrote to President Hammond, who was our stake president at the time, and asked what we should do. His response was straightforward. ‘The threat is real,’ he wrote back. ‘So you should try to keep ten to twelve men in town at all times so as not to leave the women and children unprotected.’”
Mitch slid closer to Edie and put his arm around her shoulder, but he said nothing.
“At that time, there weren’t many more men than that in the whole settlement. And they were always away somewhere—rounding up cattle, hauling freight in from Colorado, up in the canyons cutting logs, things like that. And those things had to be done or we would not survive. It was a desperate time, and fear gripped our little group.”
Edie’s voice grew very soft. “And then something very unusual happened. President Jones called us all together and read President Hammond’s letter to us. We were all pretty upset, to be honest. Ten or twelve? On some days—no, on many days!—we were lucky if we had one man in town. I was sick to my stomach with worry and fear. What were we to do? And then, Sister Mary Jones raised a hand. When her husband indicated that she should speak, she got to her feet. None of us moved. There wasn’t a sound in the room. And then she gave us the answer in one simple sentence. She said, ‘It is not possible for us to have enough men here to protect us at all times; therefore, sisters, we will just have to have greater faith.’”
The tears started to flow freely now as Edie looked around at her posterity. “That’s your answer, mothers and fathers. Not to make sure life is tough enough to teach your children, but to teach them how to have greater faith in the Lord when life is tough and when life is good, for sometimes, the latter is the greater test.”
August 17, 1920, 11:40 a.m.—431 East 7th Ave. North, Salt Lake City, Utah
Oogah! Oogah!
Mitch looked up in his rearview mirror. “Keep your pants on, buddy,” he growled. But he pulled over to the curb and came to a stop as the Model T coupe shot past him and the driver favored him with a withering glare.
“What’s the matter with people up here?” he muttered. “You don’t have people riding your tail like that at home.”
“No, dear,” Edie said sweetly, “but then, Salt Lake has over a hundred thousand people, and we have barely a thousand. No wonder they are so stressed.”
Mitch chuckled. “Right.” He leaned over, squinting. “Ah, there it is. Four-thirty-one.”
He moved forward until they were in front of the house and shut off the engine. “Ready?”
Edie opened the door. “I am. I’m excited to see them again.”
As they reached the front walk, Edie slowed her step. “This is nice.” The house was not as big as she had expected, what with Jacob being a senior officer at a bank and all. It was a well-cared-for but modest bungalow—two or three bedrooms, she guessed—with a porch that covered about half of the front of the house. Made of wood siding, it was painted white with sky-blue shutters at each window. It was set back about thirty feet from the street. A lush green lawn filled the front yard, and in front of the porch on both sides of the sidewalk, flower gardens were filled with a riot of brilliant color. It perfectly fit Adelia Reissner’s grace, elegance, and charm.
As they started up the walk, the screen door was flung open and a young girl burst out. She ran down the steps and then pulled up short, lifting one hand to shade her eyes from the sun. Edie stopped and smiled. “Good morning, Liesel. Guten Tag. And how are you?”
The girl did a little curtsy. “Sehr gut, Sister Westland. How are you?”
“I am fine too.” Edie crouched down and opened her arms, and Liesel ran joyously to them and threw her arms around Edie’s neck. Then Edie held the girl at arm’s length. “My goodness. Look how you have grown since we saw you last.”
Mitch joined them. “Guten Tag, Liesel. You have grown. You’re five now, right?”
She nodded her head. A noise behind her turned her around. A little boy had appeared at the screen door. Liesel motioned for the boy to come out and join them. He did so, but hesitantly.
“And this must be Jacob Jr.,” Edie said.
Liesel ran up on the porch and dragged her brother down to join them. “Mutti and Vati call him Little Jake, or Young Jacob,” Liesel said, sounding like a ten-year-old, “but I call him Jakie.” She turned to him. “Jakie, give Sister Westland a hug.” His answer to that was to pull free from his sister’s grip and back off three or four steps.
“Hold on,” Mitch said. He turned and walked swiftly to the car, reached through the open window, and retrieved two child-sized straw cowboy hats. He came back, holding one of them out to Jacob. “We brought you a present from southern Utah, Jakie. We’ve got lots of cows down there and lots of cowboys. So we thought you ought to have your own cowboy hat.”
Clearly torn, Jacob Jr. hesitated, but then with a tiny smile he shyly stepped forward and took the hat from Mitch. A moment later it was on his head and he was grinning at Liesel as though he’d made it himself.
“And here’s one for you too, Liesel. We have lots of cowgirls down there, too.”
Another little curtsy, and then she took it and placed it on her head. “Danke, Bruder Westland.” She nudged her brother. “Tell them thank you, Jakie.”
He mumbled something unintelligible, but his smile was genuine.
Edie chuckled. “And how old are you, Jakie?”
He stuck up his hand, holding up three fingers, but Liesel quickly pushed one down again. “He won’t be three till Halloween.”
“You were born on Halloween?” Mitch exclaimed. “Wow, that’s pretty neat.”
Same answer. A bigger smile.
Edie went down on one knee before Jacob. “We are going to talk to your mother and father and see if we can’t get them to bring you down to visit us on our ranch. Then you could ride horses and help us with the cows and be real cowboys and cowgirls. Would you like to ride a real horse, Jakie?”
The door to the house opened just then, and Adelia stepped out. “That’s like asking him if he’d like a dish of ice cream.”
Jakie ran to her. “Look, Mama. I a cowboy.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, and then she came forward to greet her guests. “It is so good to see you two again. Thank you for coming.” She glanced at her children. “You surely know how to make a good impression on my children. Come. Jacob will be home from the bank in about half an hour.”
Liesel looked around. “But where are Abby and Benji?” she asked.
“They??
?re out in Bountiful with their cousins.”
“And what about your mother, Mitch? I thought she was coming up with you.”
“She did, but she’s in Bountiful too, with my sister Martha and her family. But we are going up in the mountains tomorrow to have a picnic and a hike.”
Edie added, “We’re assuming Jacob is working tomorrow, but why don’t you and the kids come up with us? Benji and Abby begged us to ask you to so they can see your kids again.”
Liesel spun around. “Can we, Mama? Can we? Can we?”
Jacob, suddenly all wiggles, was pulling on his mother’s hand. “I wanna go,” he wailed.
Adelia didn’t hesitate. “We would like that very much.”
“Then it’s settled,” Mitch said as the kids started a little dance. “We’ll come pick you up.”
“But. . . .” Adelia glanced at the car. “With your four and my two, and the three of us adults, I’m not sure we’ll all fit. But I can drive too.”
“Oh, no,” Mitch replied. “Martha is coming too, so we’ll have two cars.”
Edie looked at her curiously. “You drive?”
Adelia blushed a little. “Yes, I started learning how shortly after Mitch and Jacob returned from Germany last fall. He’s so busy now, he doesn’t have time to run my errands for me.”
Edie shot Mitch a look.
“What?” he said. “You know how to drive.”
“Around the ranch,” she retorted.
“And whose fault is that?” Mitch shot right back at her. Then to Adelia, he explained, “She hasn’t worked up the courage to even drive down into town yet. And that’s only a quarter of a mile.”
“Just do it,” Adelia exclaimed. “I was so nervous at first. But it’s so . . . so liberating to not be dependent on Jacob for everything I need. I love it.”
“I know,” Edie replied. “I’ve made up my mind to do it.” She laughed. “Just now.”
12:35 p.m.
Jacob Reissner pushed his soup bowl away. “Thank you, dear. That was wonderful.”