“I can hardly wait,” Hannah said dreamily. “It feels like it’s been forever since we left Edinburgh.”
“Only because it has,” Maggie said with a faint smile. “Forever and a couple of days beyond that, actually.”
Sarah straightened and looked at Hannah and Emma. “Well, girls, Mama said to tell you it’s your turn to go down and clean.”
They groaned in perfect unison.
Sarah just smiled. “Maggie and I are going to sit here and enjoy the fresh air while you two do your part to help clean up America.”
IV
Tuesday, 24 June 1856
Maggie straightened painfully, bracing herself against the violent, spasmodic jerking from side to side. The noise was constant and loud. She grimaced, doing something she never thought she would ever do again. She actually longed for the quiet of the ship and to have her berth back, crowded as it was with both her and Sarah sleeping in it. Compared to the narrow benches of the railway car, the racket of the engine, the clouds of soot and cinders that blew in through the open windows, the ship had been heaven.
The pain in her neck came because she had fallen asleep, her head at a crazy angle. It was a wonder she had. It was a wonder that anyone could sleep on a train. Yet across from her in the semi-darkness she saw Hannah and Emma, heads against each other as they slept. Robbie was across from her, also asleep with Reuben and George James. She turned. Her mother and Jane James were behind her. William James and two more of his children were opposite. They were all asleep.
With a deep sigh she looked around. The car was dark except for the oil lamps at each end, which were turned down low. Just to her left, outside the narrow window, there was a sensation of motion in the darkness, deeper shades of black gliding by. Inside the car, everywhere she looked she could see the dark shapes of sleeping bodies and squarer forms of baggage filling every free space. A heavy weight on her own lap reminded her that John James, who was four, was using her as his pillow.
She reached up behind her head and retrieved the lumpy pillow. Carefully now she lifted John’s head, slipped the pillow beneath it, then slid out from under him. He stirred slightly as she laid the pillow down on the bench, but that was all. His breathing deepened again. After a moment she stood, then carefully stepped over Hannah’s legs into the narrow aisle.
Seeing two dark figures at the back end of the car, Maggie moved toward them. The one had a cap on. Peering carefully to make sure she didn’t trip over anyone, she moved slowly down the aisle. It was a jumble of legs and feet and an occasional head poking out beyond the limits of the benches.
The man straightened as she approached. She saw him flip something away and there was a momentary streak of orange in the darkness. Almost immediately the smell of tobacco mingled with the more pungent smoke from the engine. Then to her surprise, she recognized the silhouette of the other man. It was Eric Pederson. What was he doing way up here? Someone had said the Scandinavian group had taken the last two cars on the train.
At that same moment he recognized her. He too was startled, then smiled. “Hah-loh, Sister Maggie.”
She smiled. “Hello, Eric. Did you know when you call me Sister Maggie it makes me feel like my mother?”
He laughed easily. “What I call you?”
“Just Maggie.”
“Yes, Sister Maggie,” he said. “I can do.”
She shook her head, a little taken aback with the realization that he was teasing her. “Can’t sleep?” she asked.
He grinned and put his hands over his ears. “Too much quiet,” he said.
She laughed. “And too much sitting still.” She jerked back and forth in imitation of the train’s movements.
“Yah, yah,” he said. “Not like ship.”
“Not at all.” She turned to the other man. She saw now that he was one of the three young railway attendants that had joined them at Chicago. “Good evening.”
“Evening, miss,” he said, tipping his hat.
She brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes, feeling the grittiness, longing for the time when she could wash it again. “Do you know what time it is?”
“Almost eleven o’clock.”
“How long before we get to Rock Island?”
“Quarter of an hour. Maybe a little more.”
“Rock Island?” Eric broke in. “Is where we go?”
Maggie turned. “Yes. Rock Island, Illinois. It’s where we reach the Mississippi River. It’s our next stop.”
He looked puzzled, but she wasn’t sure how to make it any simpler than that. She turned back to the attendant. “Really?” She felt her spirits lift. “We’re that close?”
“Yes’m.” He was young, she could tell now. No more than a year or two older than she was. His face was pockmarked and the skin looked like sandpaper, but his eyes seemed pleasant enough.
“Wonderful.” She started to turn. If he was right, it was time to wake the family and start putting their things together.
“Are you from England?” the attendant asked, bringing her back around.
She managed a smile. Only in America could they mistake the Scottish brogue for an English accent. “From Scotland, actually.”
“Oh.”
She couldn’t tell from his face if he knew the difference or not. She also wondered if he knew they were Mormons. If so, it didn’t seem to bother him. In Chicago they had been very badly treated by the railroad conductor, who had insisted on putting them off in the street, baggage and all, then refused to direct them to any shelter, even though a heavy thunderstorm was threatening. Brother Willie finally found the railroad superintendent and prevailed on him to let them take shelter in an empty warehouse for the night. The whole incident had been very depressing for Maggie. Her mother kept saying that they were going to America to escape being persecuted as Mormons. And yet here was the same blind ugliness that had made life for Robbie and Hannah such a nightmare at their school.
“What about him?” The attendant looked at Eric.
“He is from Norway,” she answered, forgetting for the moment that Eric and Olaf and Ingrid had been studying English for over a month now and understood much of what was said to them.
“Yah, Norway,” Eric confirmed.
“How long have you people been traveling?”
She didn’t have to think about it. She had marked every day off with tick marks in her notebook. “Forty-two days at sea. Another nine or ten from New York.”
“Wow!” He actually seemed envious. “All by train from New York?”
She shook her head. “No. We took passage on a steamboat across the Great Lakes.”
“You’ll have to ferry across the Mississippi,” the attendant said. “The new bridge collapsed.”
“We heard that.” She looked at Eric. “They had a new bridge across the river but it collapsed.”
He nodded and she wasn’t sure if he understood or not.
“But the ferry runs all the time,” the attendant went on. “Then you can catch the train again on the other side. It goes all the way into Iowa City. That’s where the line ends.”
“And how much farther is Iowa City once we cross the river?”
“Fifty, maybe sixty miles is all. You should be there ’fore noon, assuming you get the morning ferry.”
She sighed. The original plan had been that they would cross the great river sometime tonight and be to Iowa City by daybreak. She was oh so ready to be off the trains.
“Well,” the attendant said, touching the bill of his cap again. “I’d better start waking people up.” He moved away and the two of them watched him go.
Maggie suddenly felt awkward. She and Eric Pederson had spent many hours together in class, but this was the first time she had ever been alone with him. “Did you understand that?” she asked. “We’ll be stopping soon, Eric.”
“Yah. I go and wake Olaf.”
“Is he sleeping?” She had pulled a face.
“Oh, yah. He has no ear
s.”
She laughed. This droll humor was a side she had not seen in him before. “My family too. It’s disgusting.”
“Dis-gust-ing?”
She shook her head, not sure how to explain that. Then she noticed that he had put on his sweater in the night’s chill. She reached out on impulse and touched it. “This is beautiful.”
“Tank you.” He shook his head, instantly correcting himself. “Thank you.”
“Where did you get it?”
To her surprise, she saw his face fill with sorrow. “My mother makes special for Olaf and me.”
“I see.” She made a guess. “As a going-away present?”
He looked at her blankly.
“As a gift? for when you left?”
“Yah,” he said. “Is very special to me.”
“I understand.” Then, to her surprise, she wanted to share something with him. “I have a music box.”
“Yah?” he said, seeming to understand but not sure why she said it.
“It was a gift from my father before he died. It is very special to me too.”
“Ah,” he said softly. “Yes.”
She straightened, a little embarrassed now. “Well, I’d better go and wake the family.”
“Good-bye, Sister Maggie.”
She gave him a stern look. His head tipped back and he laughed easily. Then he turned and started down the line of cars toward the back of the train.
V
Thursday, 26 June 1856
By the time they ferried across the Mississippi—a sight which staggered Eric’s mind—and carried their baggage to the train, it had been nine o’clock in the morning. Now it was half past one. The ride to Iowa City had taken four and a half hours.
Eric turned in time to see Sister Elsie Nielson struggling to carry a large suitcase down the steps of the railroad car in one hand. With the other she held little Jens’s hand, trying to keep him from pulling away from her and getting lost in the crush of people. The case seemed almost as large as her tiny figure. Eric thrust his own bag at his brother. “Olaf, take this.”
He turned and moved swiftly to her, taking the case from her hand.
“Takk.” She smiled gratefully at him, then took a firmer hold on her son’s hand. “Jens, you stay right here beside Mama.”
Eric was struck again with the difference between this woman and her husband who had befriended them as they were leaving Denmark. Elsie Nielson was four foot eleven. She weighed less than a hundred pounds. Jens was a tall and muscular farmer. At six feet two inches, it was always easy to pick him out from the group. Together they were like a towering tree beside a new sapling. When they stood together, people who didn’t know them turned to look and then would smile. Eric had learned something, though. They might differ greatly in physical stature, but here was a couple who were one in spirit. Their love for each other was immediately evident, and they were totally united in their love of the gospel as well. Eric felt a deep rush of affection and gratitude for them. Their offer of friendship there on the steamer at Copenhagen had not been an empty one. The Nielsons had taken Eric and Olaf in as though they were their own. It had been wonderful for Olaf. His homesickness had become bearable, and having the two children to help care for had helped keep his mind occupied.
Eric smiled to himself. It wasn’t just Olaf who had benefitted from Elsie’s mothering and Jens’s friendship. It had been good for him as well.
“Thank you, Eric,” Jens said as he appeared with another case and Bodil Mortensen.
Eric set the case down and looked around. Beyond the cars of the train he could see rows of buildings on either side of the track. Beyond the buildings was the vastness of the great American prairie. It was a flat, featureless landscape, such a shock to the eyes after the mountains of Sognefjorden. The grass was already starting to turn brown in the June heat. So this was Iowa City. He felt a momentary panic. What if Utah was like this?
And the heat! It was as if they had been dropped into a bathhouse. The air was hot, heavy, almost like a weight pressing against one’s body. He could already feel the first prickling of sweat beneath his shirt.
“Let’s go, brothers and sisters. The rest are moving.”
Eric turned. It was Brother Ahmanson. The Scandinavian group once again had taken the last two cars, so they were at the end of the long line of people who had gotten off the train.
“Brother Willie says the Church agents are waiting for us at the end of Main Street.”
•••
Olaf’s eyes were wide as the group left the station and started up the main street of Iowa City. The buildings were mostly new. Some were made of logs. Most had tin roofs, but he saw two with grass growing on the top and tugged at Eric’s sleeve to show him.
They moved right up the center of the street, a long line of weary emigrants shuffling along in the thick dust. For a moment Olaf wondered why, but then he saw the townspeople. They lined the boardwalks on both sides of the street, leaving nowhere but in the street for the new arrivals. They gaped at the emigrants as they slowly passed. There were men, women, and children. Some of the children pointed, giggling behind cupped hands. “Hey, Mormons!” a young man about Olaf’s age shouted. “Go back home where ya come from.” But an older man standing next to him cuffed him sharply and he said nothing more.
“This isn’t a zoo,” Olaf muttered to Eric. “What are they gaping at?”
“Maybe the way we’re dressed,” Eric responded.
“They’re the ones who are dressed funny,” Olaf retorted.
“To them, we are the ones who are dressed oddly. We are the ones who are different.”
Olaf grunted and lowered his head, not wanting to look at these Americans anymore. In about five minutes they began to leave the buildings behind. As they came to a large field, Eric pointed. Up ahead the crowd was stopping, spreading out like water behind a dam.
“What is it?” Bodil Mortensen asked Elsie.
She shrugged. Jens, who was tall enough to see over most of the crowd, answered for her. “There are some men in a wagon waiting there for us.”
Olaf went up on tiptoes. Jens was right. The people were forming into a large circle around four men who stood together in the back of a wagon so that they were above the crowd.
“I think we have arrived,” Eric said.
Just then Elder Ahmanson came up. “Eric? Olaf? I know your English is not good yet, but see what you can do to help our people understand what is being said. I will be speaking too, but not all may be able to hear.”
Surprised and yet pleased, they both nodded. “Let’s go over there,” Olaf suggested. “We can be heard better there.”
•••
All around, people were sitting on the grass or on their luggage. Women adjusted their bonnets and began fanning themselves with whatever was at hand. Men removed their hats and mopped at their brows. Even that much of a walk in the heat had set them to sweating heavily. Dark spots beneath their arms and on the backs of their shirts were visible on many.
The McKensies and the Jameses found a place near the wagon and gathered in together. Then Hannah saw Ingrid among the last of those coming in and waved. She smiled back and came over to join them. Maggie saw Eric and Olaf move off to one side and remain standing.
At the wagon, President Willie along with Millen Atwood and Moses Cluff, his counselors, were in conference with the four men who had been waiting for the group of Saints. They were far enough away that Maggie could not hear, but she was interested to note that there was clearly agitation among them. Then finally President Willie climbed up beside the other four and raised his hands. “Brothers and sisters, may I have your attention please?”
He didn’t have to ask. The crowd had already instantly quieted. Maggie saw that he too looked tired. He was a kind and gentle man in his mid-forties. He had left his family four years before to return to England, his native land, as a missionary. He must be very anxious to return to them. And yet, in the two month
s of their journey, their leader’s first concern had always seemed to be for his people. It was no wonder he was so widely respected.
“After almost two full months,” Willie began, “we have finally reached the end—and the beginning—of our journey. We are grateful to the Lord for bringing us safely this far. We pray that His over-watching care may continue.”
He half turned. “I would like to introduce you to four men that many of you who are from England already know. These are the Church agents here in Iowa City,” he said. “All have been missionaries in the British Isles for the last three or four years. They left England earlier this year at the direction of President Brigham Young. They came here to Iowa City to get things ready for the companies who would be crossing the plains this season. They arrived in March and have been here ever since.
“We are now under their jurisdiction. In charge is Brother Daniel Spencer.” One of the men stepped forward, raising a hand in welcome. “With him,” President Willie continued, “are Elders George D. Grant, Chauncey Webb, and William H. Kimball, son of President Heber C. Kimball.”
As each stepped forward, there were nods and murmurs from those who recognized them. But at the mention of the Kimball name, surprise and admiration rippled through the crowd. Heber C. Kimball was in the First Presidency and was known by name to almost everyone because of his being the first missionary to bring the gospel to Europe.
President Willie stepped back, and the one he had introduced as Brother Spencer moved to the edge of the wagon box, waiting for the group to quiet again.
“Good afternoon, brothers and sisters. Welcome to Iowa City. We are glad to see you here.” He smiled broadly. “But I’ll wager we’re not half as glad as you are to see us.”
Suddenly, Sarah was poking Maggie as laughter and applause broke out. “Look, Maggie. Eric and Olaf are helping translate.”
Maggie turned and saw that along with Johan Ahmanson the two brothers were helping the people know what Elder Spencer was saying. “Wonderful,” she whispered. “There’s nothing that will help them more.”