The cart was instantly stopped. Carter raised the shafts of the cart. Edwards walked from under and to the south of the road a couple of rods, laid his body down on the level prairie, and in ten minutes he was a corpse. (Salt Lake Tribune, 4 January 1914; also cited in Turner, Emigrating Journals, pp. 109–10)
The tribulations of John Jaques and the Loader family are detailed by Patience Loader in a history she wrote some time after their arrival in the Valley (see Bell, Life History and Writings of John Jaques, pp. 128–33). As previously mentioned in the notes for chapter 8, in New York City, when Brother James Loader learned that he was being accused of being weak in the faith, he was so upset that he went right home and said to his wife: “I cannot stand to be accused of apostacy. I will show them better. Mother, I am going to Utah. I will pull the handcart if I die on the road” (in Bell, Life History and Writings of John Jaques, p. 93).
On 27 September 1856, James Loader offered the ultimate proof of his testimony and his faithfulness. It is typical of the pioneer journals that personal feelings are not often put into writing. One can only wonder what John Jaques must have felt when his father-in-law died, but he gives no indication. In his diary, an entry about emigrant deaths states: “James Loader from Aston Rowant Branch, Warwickshire Conference, September 27 about 11 p.m., west side of sandhill, 13 miles east of Ash Hollow, of diarrhoea. Buried 6 a.m., September 28. Age 57” (in Bell, Life History and Writings of John Jaques, p. 140).
However, after reaching the Valley, he who had rebuked his mother-in-law so sharply for her unwillingness to go by handcart paid quiet tribute to her in these words: “His [Brother Loader’s] chief solicitude was for his wife, who, he feared, would not be able to endure the journey. But she did endure it. She endured it bravely, although it made her a sorrowing widow. She has lived a life of usefulness to the present time, yet still a widow, for she could never believe there was a man left in the world equal to her husband” (in Bell, Life History and Writings of John Jaques, p. 140).
Chapter 17
Fort Laramie
I
Tuesday, 30 September 1856
It was half past eight o’clock in the morning. Eric Pederson and Maggie McKensie were both at the camp of Mary Bathgate and Isabella Park. Eric was chopping firewood. Maggie was cleaning up after breakfast. Normally they would have been out on the trail by now, but the company was stopped until further word.
After six weeks and more than five hundred miles since leaving Florence, the Willie Handcart Company had reached a major marker on the trail. They were now camped just four miles to the east of the famous Fort Laramie. Last night, as they made camp, everyone assumed that they would be to the fort the next day. But this morning, in council meeting, the captains had decided to let the camp stay put while a delegation was sent to the fort to ascertain if it was possible to purchase additional provisions.
For some reason that Captain Willie did not feel to share with the company, he clearly was nervous about having the company camp for the night right at the fort. Elder Ahmanson thought it was because the fort had a reputation for attracting unsavory characters. Eric thought it more likely that it was because there would be other emigrants stopped there, and there always seemed to be at least a few who delighted in heckling the Mormons. Or maybe it was because of the Indians. In spite of continual assurance from their leaders, the European emigrants had a natural anxiety around the natives, whether they were reported to be friendly or not.
Whatever the reason, Elder Willie declared that the camp would stay where they were while they waited for the delegation to return. Any stop was welcomed by the company. Instead of the usual cold breakfast, there would be time to cook. The morning would be spent in washing and mending clothes. Out of habit, Eric and Olaf were up early and shared breakfast with the Nielsons. Then Eric set off to check on his two walkers. And they were walkers again now. They had stayed in the wagons for only about two weeks until both of their injuries were healed, and then they were right back on the trail as before. No amount of reasoning or persuasion made a difference.
It came as no great surprise to Eric that Maggie was there ahead of him. She came as regularly as he did, often accompanied by Sarah James. If the two women loved Eric for what he did for them, they absolutely adored the two girls. This morning, though, Sarah was engaged in helping with her own large family, and so Maggie had come alone. The two of them set to work helping Sister Bathgate and Sister Park get a breakfast of their own. That was not a difficult task. With only flour and meat from the cattle, and limited amounts of those, meals were pretty monotonous.
This morning, a fire would be welcomed, Eric thought. It was a brisk morning, the chilliest so far. There had been a heavy frost during the night, and they could still see their breath. For the first time Maggie had her coat on, and also for the first time in quite a while Eric was wearing the sweater his mother had given him the day they left Balestrand.
Finished with getting the fire started and breakfast on, Eric and Maggie went to the two sisters to say farewell. As Eric went to Mary and gave her a hug, she reached out and touched his sweater. “This is beautiful,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve seen you wear that before.”
“My mother make it for me. One for me and one for Olaf. Before we leave Norway.”
“It is lovely.”
“Yes.”
“The nights are certainly cold enough now,” Isabella said. “We had to use another quilt last night.”
Maggie bent down and kissed Isabella on the cheek and then went to Mary and did the same. “Well,” she said as she did so, “we’ll probably see frost most nights from here on in.” She could have said much more. It was the last day of September. Over the last week they had watched the leaves in the hills turn to orange and red. Now the aspens, higher up in the mountains off to the west, were showing a brilliant yellow. Autumn was almost gone. Winter was approaching with sobering speed.
Eric and Maggie said good-bye to the two women again and then walked away. Fort Laramie was located near the confluence of the Laramie and North Platte Rivers. Being some distance east of the fort, the company was camped along the North Platte, spread out over a considerable distance so as to get the sites with plentiful firewood and easy access to the water. The sluggish, silty water of the Platte River had been left far behind them now. Here the North Platte was deep, swift, clear, and cold as an icehouse—a joy to the weary travelers. Eric’s tent was more than a hundred rods from where Mary and Isabella were camped. Maggie’s was another hundred beyond his. They walked slowly, savoring the morning air and the chance for a leisurely moment together.
“Did you know that Fort Laramie is considered the halfway point?” Maggie asked, after they had walked some distance in silence.
“Really?” And then he did some quick figuring in his head. Elder Ahmanson had reported last night that they had come about 550 miles from Florence. If Salt Lake was a little less than eleven hundred miles, then Fort Laramie was almost exactly at the midpoint of their journey.
In the last two weeks they had passed other markers that Eric had long heard and read about—Ash Hollow, a famous stopping place with plentiful wood and water; Chimney Rock, rising majestically some four hundred feet above the plains; Scott’s Bluff, which marked the end of the Great Plains and the beginning of the Rocky Mountains. But none of them was as important as Fort Laramie. After almost six hundred miles of emptiness, here was an island of humanity in a wilderness sea.
Eric stopped, his head lifting. High above, an eagle was circling lazily over the river. Maggie glanced up as well, but then lowered her eyes to study Eric’s face. She smiled. He hadn’t worn his hat this morning, and there was a line across his forehead. Below it, his skin was deeply browned. Above, it was still pale as a piece of parchment. His eyes dropped and caught her watching him.
“What you smile at?” he asked.
Flustered, she looked down. Then she noticed his sweater. “I wish I could knit like that. It real
ly is beautiful.”
He reached up with his hand and fingered the wool. “I did not know Mama was doing this,” he said, his voice suddenly soft. “She stayed up late nights. She give to me and Olaf the day we leave Balestrand.” He looked away, staring out across the river. “It was most special.”
Maggie nodded slowly. “You must miss your family terribly.”
“Yah, very much.”
“I think of how it hurts each time I think of Hannah and I can hardly imagine what it would be like to leave your parents and your brothers and sisters for a whole year.”
“It is not easy. But already five months have been done. Seven more only.”
Thinking of Hannah only hurt, so she decided to change the subject. “I hope we get a chance to at least stop at the fort for a little while. We still have a little money left. Brother Woodward said we might be able to buy some biscuits or salt, or stuff like that.”
“Or trade,” he suggested. “Some in our group want to trade their things for food or other things they need.”
“Do the Nielsons still have any money?” she asked. “You said they had quite a bit before they gave it to the brethren back in Iowa.”
Eric shook his head. “I do not know for sure. I do not think so. Jens did not keep much, I am thinking.”
“That is so wonderful. I don’t know if I would have that kind of faith.”
He gave her a sharp look.
“What?” she said, a little taken aback by the accusation she saw in his eyes.
“You are here, are you not?”
“Well, yes, but—”
He was peering at her now. “Your mother told me about how you are getting your answer about whether to come to America.”
Maggie was stunned. “She did? When?”
“Last night.”
“Last night? When did you see my mother last night?”
He smiled briefly. “When you and Sarah were with Sister Bathgate and Sister Park.”
So that was it. Maggie had wondered why he hadn’t been there. But her mother hadn’t said one word about Eric’s coming to their tent. “And she told you all about Edinburgh?” She was frowning.
“Only because of what I ask her.” Now he looked uncomfortable.
“I can’t believe—” She stopped, realizing what he had said. “What did you ask her?”
He looked down at his hands, which were twisting nervously. “I ask her if she will allow . . . allow? . . . permit me to court her daughter.”
Maggie was so dumbfounded, all she could think of to say was, “Me?”
He laughed. “Hannah is adorable, but I think Olaf would be angry if I court her.”
She felt her face burning. “I . . . I didn’t mean it that way.” She turned now to face him fully. “You really did that?”
“Yah, I did.” Now a mischievous grin stole across his face. “I decide that if I do not do it, then Sister Bathgate and Sister Park will do it for me.”
Maggie had to laugh and nod at that. “Yes, those two are real conspirators.”
He wasn’t sure what that word meant, but did not want to be deflected. “In truth, that is not exactly what I ask of your mother.”
“Really? What, then?”
For several long seconds he just looked at her; then, without taking his eyes off her, he answered. “I asked for permission to ask her older daughter for permission to court her.”
Maggie felt her breath catch. There it was, as direct and unmistakable as she could have hoped for. Her face softened. “And what if the older daughter were to say no?”
He hesitated for only a moment, seeing that she was teasing him now. “Then I shall not go on anymore. I shall wait here for Brother Martin’s company and then I shall have to court the younger daughter instead.”
That startled her, and then she slugged him on the arm. “Eric Pederson! You leave my sister out of this.”
He rubbed his arm, looking rueful. “It would only be if I am desperate.”
“How desperate?” she asked softly.
“It depends,” he mused. “Does older daughter say no?”
She tried to stay very serious, but she knew there was happiness in her eyes. “If I did say no, you would have to wait here several days. It could get very cold at night without a tent.”
He nodded. “Very cold.”
“I would hate to think I was responsible for you getting sick.”
He never changed his expression. “I would not like either.”
She sighed in mock resignation. “Then perhaps the older daughter had better say yes.” As his face brightened, she held up her hand. “But there is one condition.”
“What?”
“That we don’t tell Mary and Isabella about this. I am having far too much fun watching them try to bring us together.”
He laughed softly. “How do you say in English? That is deal?”
“Yes. That’s a deal.”
He stuck out his hand solemnly. “That is deal, Maggie McKensie. Thank you.”
She took it and shook it up and down, equally solemn. “Thank you, Eric Pederson.” Then she poked him with her elbow. “Does this mean no more Sister Maggie?”
He looked offended. “I call you Sister Maggie because from the time I first see you so angry at that sailor man, this foolish Norwegian boy wanted to show how much he is honoring the beautiful Scottish girl, Sister Maggie McKensie.”
Suddenly she realized she was still holding his hand. She squeezed it lightly, then let it go. She looked away as she realized her face was burning. “If that is so, this foolish Norwegian boy can call me Sister Maggie anytime he wishes.”
•••
At one o’clock that afternoon, word went up and down the camp that they were not going to wait any longer for the men who had been sent to the fort. The camp would move forward in one hour, marching past Fort Laramie to a campsite three miles beyond. That news was met with great disappointment, for there were many in the company who had looked forward to an opportunity to make purchases and just to see the place about which they had heard so much.
Half an hour later another message was circulated. The company would stop near the fort for one hour and a half before moving on to their new camp. Any who wished to trade should avail themselves of that opportunity, for tomorrow the company would continue westward first thing in the morning.
•••
It surprised Eric as he drew closer to the actual fort to see that it was not a stockade made of logs, as he had expected. Rather the walls were made of sunbaked bricks. He had heard that this was in the style of Mexico and was popular in many places here. Shortly after the 1846–48 war with Mexico, the fur-trading post was taken over by the military and became an army fort. Perhaps they were responsible for the sun-dried brick construction. Whatever its source, it was an imposing structure, and certainly the fort itself was the most imposing structure in the complex of barracks and buildings that surrounded it. The bricks had been whitewashed, and they gleamed like marble in the sun from this distance. Near the center of the long and high walls, a tower housed the main gate. Atop the tower was a flagpole from which flew the Stars and Stripes of the United States of America. Defensive towers of lower height could be seen on each corner. Smoke was billowing upward from somewhere inside the fort, perhaps from one of the blacksmith’s forges that were said to be there.
Eric was alone at the moment. The company had reached the fort about quarter past three, and Elder Willie called a halt on the fields just to the west of the cluster of buildings. Olaf and Jens Nielson left immediately along with a rush of others. Eric had gone to find Sister Bathgate and Sister Park and see if they needed him to get anything for them. He should have known better. They had already gone in with the others.
The fort was a bustle of activity as he approached. There were several tepees set up near the Laramie River, a few rods from the eastern end of the fort. He could see quite a few Indians there, including numerous children playing some kind of g
ame with half a dozen dogs racing around after them, barking wildly. Closer to the fort, several military-type tents were pitched. On the west, closer to where they had stopped, there were half a dozen wagons and teams, other late emigrants on the Oregon Trail. People were going in or coming out of the fort in a steady stream. Some carried saddlebags, others sacks and boxes, and one man was lugging a heavy bale of skins of some kind.
As Eric reached the huge wooden gate and passed into the fort itself, he stopped in surprise. It was swarming with people, most of them Latter-day Saints. But what completely astounded him was the complex of buildings lining the inside of the massive walls. He turned slowly. Only in the corners were the walls left bare, and here steps led up to the towers. But in every other place he looked, buildings had been constructed in such a way that their back walls were formed by the walls of the stockade. There were stores, workshops, a barber, stables, storage sheds, and even a saloon. Many of the buildings were two stories high, with apartments built over the commercial buildings. He had never imagined such a thing, and for several minutes he just walked around, taking it all in.
He heard someone call his name and turned to see Emma James. She had a wrapped package under one arm as she ran up to him. “Hi, Eric. Are you just getting here?”
“Yah. I went to see Sister Bathgate.”
“Oh, she and Sister Park are in the sutler’s store.”
“Sutler?”
“Yes. It’s like a general store but inside a military fort.” She indicated a long, low building with her head. Then she turned and pointed in a different direction. Here there was a sign with a word he did not recognize. “There is also the military commissary, but they sell mostly food. The prices are much higher in the sutler’s store.” She turned back to him. “Do you want me to help you find Sister Bathgate?”
“Thank you, no. I just wondered if they needed help.”