Ephraim’s son added this poignant passage: “The next morning everyone in camp was talking about Brother Hanks, about his prayers for the sick, but even more the operations he had performed with his hunting knife. Many of the Saints were carrying frozen limbs which were endangering their lives. Brother Hanks amputated toes and feet and sometimes even legs. . . . First [he] anointed these folks and prayed that the amputation could be done without pain. Then when he took out his great hunting knife, held it in the fire to cleanse it, and took off the dying limb with its keen blade; many with tears in their eyes said they hadn’t ‘felt a thing’ ” (Sidney Alvarus Hanks, The Tempered Wind, p. 40).
From the journal entries, it is evident that even under the difficult conditions of the journey from Europe to Utah, normal life did not completely stop. There were births and deaths, romance and even marriage. The journals record several marriages on board ship as the emigrants crossed the Atlantic and some between company members once they arrived at the Valley (see Turner, Emigrating Journals, pp. 2, 5, 82, 83; Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 57). However, some readers may think that having romance blossom in the midst of the terrible crisis that struck the handcart companies is unrealistic. Note the following account:
Another interesting bit of history gives us the story of a beautiful courtship between one of the rescue party, William M. Cowley, and a lovely English girl, who was a member of Martin’s Company. This young girl, Emily Wall, . . . had been promised that [she] would reach Salt Lake City. . . . When she reached Devil’s Gate where the company of rescuers met the party, one of the boys, William M. Cowley, who was a very young printer, came to her aid. In conversation with her he asked if some day she would marry him. Emily said she didn’t know and told him he would have to write to England and get permission from her mother. Time went on and the youth was not seen again for three years, as he had been called to San Bernardino to set up a printing press. Upon his return he found the young lady at the home of President Young and asked her if she remembered his proposal. She had, but wanted to know if he had written to her mother. After being informed that a letter had been written to her mother and that an answer had come saying it was all right for them to be married provided he was a good man, Emily consented and the young couple were married. Twelve children were born to them and she remained his only sweetheart. (In Glazier and Clark, comps. and eds., Journal of the Trail, pp. 94–95)
And this one:
James Barnet Cole went with them [the rescue party]. One night he dreamed he would meet his future wife with the stranded Saints. He even was shown what she looked like. She had a fur cap and a green veil tied over her cap to keep the wind off, and she was very beautiful. He told his dream to Brother [William] Kimball and he remarked, “We will see no beautiful girl with a fur cap and a green veil in these frozen Saints.”
Reminiscing, James Barnet Cole said that they saw the encampment [at Sixth Crossing] just as the sun was sinking in the west. . . .
When the people caught sight of the train coming, they shouted, they cried, they threw off all restraint and freely embraced their deliverers. Just then, William Kimball caught sight of Lucy Ward in the green veil. He drove up to her and said, “Brother Jim, there is your dream girl.” James asked her to get in the wagon and her reply was, “No, I don’t know you.” She got used to the idea of having him around, because on the way to Salt Lake, on November 2, 1856 [they met at Sixth Crossing on October 21], they were married at Fort Bridger by William Kimball. (In Remember, p. 138)
That story is verified by the entry for that day in the Willie Company journal: “James Coll ? of Fort Supply married Lucy Ward of the 4th handcart company at Fort Bridger in the evening” (in Turner, Emigrating Journals, p. 51).
Book 6
The Valley
November – December 1856
And if they die they shall die unto me, and if they live they shall live unto me.
Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die, and more especially for those that have not hope of a glorious resurrection.
And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them.
Doctrine and Covenants 42:44–46
Chapter 32
Great Salt Lake City
I
Sunday, 30 November 1856
“Folks?”
Hannah lifted her head and turned forward. Through the opening in the canvas, beyond the driver, she could see a snow-covered hillside rising steeply on one side of them. It was covered with scrub oak, now totally bare of any leaves. Directly ahead of them the trail was moving through a thick stand of trees, also devoid of any leaves.
Hannah was seated on a pile of empty flour sacks, her back braced against the side of the wagon. Sitting beside her in a similar position, Ingrid Christensen had her head down on her knees. She didn’t look up. Neither did the other occupants in the wagon. Elizabeth Jackson was beneath a heavy quilt on the straw mattress that took up the back half of the wagon. She had her three children with her. Hannah could see that Sister Jackson’s eyes were open, but the children seemed to be asleep. The other two occupants of the wagon, a man in his sixties and a woman who had lost her husband and two children at Martin’s Ravine, also lay with their eyes open, staring up at the canvas above them. The two of them didn’t even turn their heads.
“This is something you may want to see,” the driver said, speaking softly so as not to wake the children.
Ingrid’s head came up. Sister Jackson rolled over on her side and came up on one elbow. “What is it?” she asked.
“See up there through the trees?”
Ingrid leaned forward enough to see around Hannah. Sister Jackson came up to a full sitting position, readjusting the quilt so as to keep the children covered. Hannah was peering forward too. All she could see was blue sky. “I don’t see anything,” Hannah said, a little puzzled.
“Exactly,” the man said with a smile.
For a moment Hannah wasn’t sure why he seemed so pleased. He had always seemed a little gruff and distant to her. She didn’t mind that. When he had first come up on the struggling emigrants, Hannah had seen the shock and dismay in his eyes. He was not much more than four or five years older than Hannah and Ingrid, and was clearly unprepared for the sight of the emaciated survivors. Hannah had watched his eyes as he took in their ragged, worn-out clothing, their tattered shoes and boots wrapped in burlap sacks, and their gaunt, haggard, frost-nipped faces. She realized that his outer manner was his way of dealing with it. He had been, in fact, very tender and solicitous in seeing to their needs for the last ten days.
So Hannah decided that if there was something important enough for him to disturb them, she would at least give him the courtesy of responding. She got up and crawled forward to the front of the wagon. “What do you mean, exactly?” she started to say, but suddenly she gasped. “Ingrid! Come look!”
Ingrid came forward too, as did Sister Jackson. The driver, smiling broadly at them, pulled back the canvas cover a little more as the three of them knelt behind him.
Ingrid drew in her breath sharply too. “Is that—?” She stopped, gaping.
Hannah reached out and found her hand, gripping it so tightly that Ingrid winced a little. Their eyes were wide, taking in the vast panorama that was opening before them. The hillsides on either side of the wagon were dropping off sharply. Since being rescued by Reddick Allred and the other wagons from the Valley, the Martin Company had abandoned their handcarts and all were riding in the wagons now. Their train had more than a hundred wagons in it and once on the road could snake out for as much as a mile. The wagon that Hannah and Ingrid were in was about halfway back in that column. Ahead of them, wagons were moving slowly down a long and gradual slope. A quarter of a mile ahead of them, the lead wagons were turning to the right, angling northwestward.
The man laughed softly, pleased at their reaction. “Yes,” he said
in answer to Ingrid’s unfinished question, “this is the Valley. Welcome to Salt Lake.”
“It’s so big!” Sister Jackson said in awe.
Hannah was thinking the same thing. Everything was covered in snow, and in the bright sunlight of a clear, wintry day, the sight was dazzling. A wall of mountains directly in front of them, a good fifteen or twenty miles away, framed the western edge. A little to the left of that, blue as a robin’s egg, was a huge body of water, with mountains rising from that as well.
“Is that the Great Salt Lake?” Ingrid cried, pointing now.
“Yes. The big island in the middle of it is Antelope Island. The Church runs its herds there in the summer.”
“Then where is Salt Lake City—?” She got that far, and then Hannah stopped. Her eyes had been drawn to a dark cluster about five miles away. She could make out buildings and columns of smoke rising in the still air.
“That’s it,” the driver said. “Folks, you are almost home.”
•••
Hannah was amazed at what she saw around her. She and Ingrid were in the wagon seat beside the driver now. Sister Jackson was kneeling on a flour sack behind them, peering out from between their shoulders. Martha Ann Jackson, Elizabeth’s seven-year-old, was beside her mother, talking excitedly, pointing out this or that as her eyes fell on it. Mary Elizabeth and little Aaron were still sleeping. Behind Sister Jackson, the old man and the widowed woman still lay on their beds, listening to those who were up front talking, but too weak to get up and see for themselves.
Hannah had heard the missionaries talk so much about how empty and barren the Valley was when they arrived there, she somehow still had that picture in her mind. She expected a tiny cluster of mud huts and outbuildings and, other than that, nothing but sagebrush and coyotes, like what they had seen for most of the last four or five hundred miles. But while the Valley still was largely empty, there were signs of habitation everywhere. Beneath the snow she could see the outlines of plowed fields. Several were filled with the dried cornstalks or stubble from the wheat harvest. Numerous pastures were enclosed with rail fencing, and hundreds of cattle and sheep watched them curiously as they passed by. They passed a large orchard of peach trees as they made the right turn and started angling directly for the city. Peach trees? She had certainly not expected that.
“Where is everyone?” Sister Jackson asked the driver.
As they moved slowly northward, the signs of habitation were increasing markedly. And here again, Hannah was surprised at what they were seeing. There were a few small huts made of adobe bricks, as they called them, but there were solid log cabins and even a few nicely constructed frame homes as well. Barns and other outbuildings were everywhere evident. But so far they had seen only a few people here and there. At the sound of the passing wagons, they came out to watch the new arrivals pass. They waved and called out a welcome, but there were no more than half a dozen.
The driver shook his head. He seemed a little surprised himself. “It’s Sunday. On Sunday everyone goes down to Temple Block for worship services.” He said it lamely and it sounded like he didn’t believe it himself.
“Oh,” Hannah said, trying to hide her disappointment. She had hoped that her family would be waiting for them as they came out of Emigration Canyon. Captain Martin had told them it was tradition for the Saints to meet all incoming emigrant trains, usually down at a staging area near the city. But in light of the great effort to rescue them, he fully expected they would have their welcome near the mouth of the canyon.
It wasn’t as if the people of the Valley didn’t know they were coming. William H. Kimball, one of the leaders of the rescue company who had returned with the Willie group into the Valley, had ridden back out and found the Martin Company near South Pass. With additional wagons meeting them every day now and all of the emigrants finally riding in wagons, Captain Grant decided he could safely leave his charges with Major Robert Burton. Leaving the company near the Big Sandy River, he and Brother Kimball rode on ahead to the Valley to give President Young a report of their progress. And just yesterday, as they crossed over Big Mountain, they found a whole group of men tramping down the snow and keeping the trail open for them. They had been expecting them.
The teamster who was driving their wagon suddenly leaned forward. “Here comes Major Burton,” he said.
Hannah leaned forward. There was a rider on horseback coming down the line slowly toward them and she too recognized the man who was leading them home. He was speaking to the occupants of each wagon as he came by. As he reached Hannah’s group, their driver tipped his hat back. “Where’s our welcoming party?” he called.
Robert Burton slowed his horse. “I think we caught them by surprise,” he said. “If you remember, we thought we’d be camping on the other side of Little Mountain last night. They’re not expecting us until tomorrow.”
“That’s right,” the teamster said. He looked at Hannah. “Having those men break trail for us really saved us some time.”
“We’ve sent a rider on ahead,” Brother Burton said as he moved on again. “By the time we reach the city, they’ll know we’re here. They’ll be waiting in the streets to meet you.”
Hannah’s heart soared, the disappointment of a moment before vanished now. It wouldn’t be long now and she would see her family again. She had gotten to speak to Brother William Kimball for only a moment there at the Big Sandy before he and Captain Grant left again, but it had been enough. Her family had survived, and she would see them now in just a few more minutes.
She turned to Ingrid. Ingrid’s uncle and aunt would be waiting too. As she started to say that, she stopped. From the side, she could see that Ingrid was crying. Hannah reached out, her heart filled with affection for this sweet and wonderful friend the Lord had brought into her life.
“We’re almost there,” Ingrid cried softly.
To her surprise, when Ingrid looked at her, Hannah saw that these were not tears of joy. She was weeping in sorrow. “Ingrid? What’s wrong?”
Her friend shook her head and swiped quickly at her cheeks.
“Tell me!”
Ingrid looked down, then lifted her feet, raising her skirts enough to show the boots she wore. When the supply wagons from South Pass had finally reached the Martin Company, most of the emigrants were given new shoes and boots. Ingrid’s feet were so tiny that she had received a worn but serviceable pair of boy’s boots. For the next several days, until sufficient wagons came, she and Hannah had been required to walk. The snow was deep, and day after day the boots would become soaked and have to be dried out at night before the fires. They showed that punishment now. The leather was cracked and split in several places. The laces were tied in makeshift knots where they had broken. Any color was long since gone.
And then, as Ingrid let her skirts drop and lowered her feet again, her lip began to tremble.
Now Hannah understood, and tears came to her eyes as well. She reached out and took Ingrid’s hand. “It’s all right, Ingrid.”
“No,” she cried in anguish. Then her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m going to meet the prophet today, and all I have to wear are these ugly old boots.”
•••
Maggie McKensie sat beside Eric, feeling the hardness of the bench against her back and legs. Others grumbled about how uncomfortable these hand-hewn seats in the Tabernacle were, but she liked it. There was no slouching down here, no relaxing the body and letting the mind go wandering off. You sat with your back straight and your face turned naturally to the podium that marked the front of the cavernous building with its adobe walls and high triangular roof.
She thought back, trying to remember if she had ever been in a building with twenty-five hundred people. No, she corrected herself, not twenty-five hundred people. Twenty-five hundred Latter-day Saints. And the answer to that was a clear no. It still almost overwhelmed her. Here she sat in the midst of Temple Block. Just a stone’s throw to the east of them, the foundations for the great tem
ple were in place. Behind them was the Bowery, a bough-covered shelter used in the summer for larger congregations. Just beyond that was the newly completed Endowment House, where soon she and Eric would kneel before an altar and be married for time and all eternity. Up on the stand were the men whose names she had known and revered before, but now they were more than names. There in person sat their prophet, Brigham Young. On either side of him were his counselors, Heber C. Kimball and Jedediah M. Grant. Behind them were several of the Twelve. And all around her were other Latter-day Saints, hundreds upon hundreds of them.
Suddenly she remembered that day in Edinburgh almost ten months before. It was after her mother had announced they would be going to America, and Maggie, highly upset, had shared that news with James MacAllister. At that point she hadn’t known that Eric Pederson even existed, and James MacAllister had been the most important thing in Maggie’s life. She remembered now how she had tried to explain to him why the Mormons felt so strongly about going to America. No wonder she hadn’t been able to convince him. How little she had known then!
It still filled Maggie with a sense of wonder, being here in the Valley. It was three weeks ago this very day that the Willie Company had come out of Emigration Canyon to the tumultuous welcome that awaited them. In the three short weeks since, her entire perspective had changed. With a rush of gratitude, she reached out and took Eric’s hand. He turned and smiled. She smiled back and squeezed his hand.
She had heard the missionaries talk about “the Valley,” always seeming to capitalize it with their voices. Now she understood why. It wasn’t just a place. It wasn’t even just “the right place,” as Brother Brigham had said when he first saw it. It was what it meant, what it stood for, what it represented. It was safety and peace from marauding mobs. It was a place of refuge, a haven where one could live without fear. It was finding fellowship with the Saints instead of contempt and mockery and ostracism. It was Robbie walking home from school with newfound friends instead of fleeing from boys pelting him with rotten apples. It was a place where the children could be taught the values and standards and principles that would bring them the greatest joy and then could practice living those values and standards and principles in a setting that supported them. It was sitting in this tabernacle and listening to the words of Brigham Young as they came from his mouth instead of reading his talks months later in the Millennial Star. It was walking down the street and hearing people greeting one another as Brother This or Sister That. That was what the Valley was—and how grateful she was that God had not given her the desire of her heart, which was to stay in Edinburgh and marry James MacAllister.