“Do you want me to teach you how to whistle?”
The chant stopped instantly. “Yes!”
David bent down. “Do you know what you have to do, if I do that?”
He tried to wink, but it was more of a grimace. “I can’t tell anyone?”
“That’s right. Do you know what’ll happen if you ever do tell anyone I was kissing Molly?”
“Yep. You’ll give me a fat lip, right?”
David fought hard not to smile. “Fat enough that you’ll never whistle again.”
Billy Joe came out and ran to Molly. He gave her a quick hug around her legs, then pulled her face down to his. “I’m glad you kissed him, Molly,” he said in a loud whisper. “I really like David.”
Laughing, she caught him up and planted a kiss on his forehead. “And I like him too.”
He howled and squirmed free. “Don’t kiss me! Ugh!”
She bent over and looked him squarely in the eye. “If you tell Mama or Abby about this, I’m going to kiss you every day for at least a year.”
That did it. Away he went. But as he went up the ladder to the loft again, that irrepressible giggle erupted once more. This was one grand and delightful secret. “Molly’s kissing David,” he sang softly, laughing happily to himself.
Wednesday, February 26, 1879
David pulled the buckboard to a halt in front of the McKenna residence. “Well, we did it,” he said as Patrick climbed stiffly down. “To Salt Lake and back in seven days.”
“Yes, we did,” Patrick said. “A very productive trip. We now have ourselves four wagons.”
Carl Bradford stood and jumped down as well. “I’m just a block over, David. I can walk from here. You just head for the livery stable. It’s been a long day.” He grabbed his valise and walked swiftly away.
“Let’s get together in the morning, Carl,” David called after him. “We’re going to have decide what to do for teams before we go up to Milford and take delivery on those wagons.”
He got a wave in response.
“Go take a hot bath,” Patrick said to David, “and forget about all this for at least tonight.”
“Sounds good to me.” But just then, the front door of the house burst open and Molly came running “David! David! Come quick.”
Startled, he jumped down. “What is it, Molly?”
“Hurry!” She was urgently beckoning to him.
He glanced at Patrick. Gone for a week and not even a hello? And why just David? If something was wrong with the family . . . he started toward her, Patrick following.
As they reached the porch, Molly did something even more strange. She blocked her father’s way. “No, Daddy, let David go first.” She stepped back and opened the door wide for him.
He went through the vestibule in three strides and burst into the living room. Then he stopped dead, his jaw going slack. David’s father stood in the center of the living room. He was dressed in a white shirt with a string tie and Sunday suit. His hair, even more grey than when David had last seen him, was short cropped, in the fashion of coal miners, and he was sporting a short beard that ran from ear to ear and covered his chin. That was an addition since Christmas, which, surprisingly, made him seem younger rather than older. Pasted on his face was a grin so big he looked like a kid who had just won a sackful of all-day suckers.
“Well, wud ya lookee thare,” he drawled. “Ah do b’lieve that boy might be related ta me.”
They sat at the table, sipping the cocoa that Sister McKenna had prepared. David was beside his father. Patrick sat holding hands with his wife. Billy Joe sat between Molly and Abby. None of them spoke. This was a time for father and son, and they didn’t want to take away from that in any way. David kept turning his head to stare at his father.
“Your telegram said you wouldn’t be arriving until the fifteenth of next month,” David said. “Patrick and I were just in Salt Lake. If we had known, we could have come back together.”
“Naw,” John said. “Ah be ’ere two days noow. If’n Ah’d waited fur ya, Ah wud naw ’ave got ta know these lovely ladies ’ere. An’ this strappin’ laddee name of Billy Joe.”
“But your telegram said . . .”
He waved that away. “When Ah got yur letter, Ah put in me notice. Reet noow, they’ve got plenty of ’elp, so they let me go early.”
“And we’re so glad he did, David. We think he is the cutest thing we’ve ever seen,” Molly said, smiling brightly at him.
“He is a delight,” Abby agreed. “He keeps us all in stitches.”
“See what Ah mean, Davee boy. ’Tis e’nuff ta warm the cockles of me ’eart.”
David rolled his eyes as everyone laughed. He looked at Molly. “You once accused me of having kissed the Blarney stone. Well, now you know where I got it. He’s a rascal,” David said with great affection. “But I’m stuck with him now.”
“If he hadn’t come early,” Molly said, “we would never have learned all those very interesting things about you, David.”
David groaned. “Aw, Dad, you didn’t.”
John looked hurt. “A father’s got a reet ta brag aboot ’is son, no? But dunna worry. I dinna tell ’em any of the real gud stuff. Dunna want ’em thinkin’ any the less of ya.”
Molly turned to Abby. “Don’t you just love the way he talks?”
“Don’t, Molly,” David said. “Dunna be spoilin’ this ole Tyke, or ya be mekin’ ’im nigh on impossible ta live wit.”
Molly clapped her hands in delight. “You should talk like that all the time, David.”
“That’s not worthy of an answer,” he growled.
Patrick stepped forward, extending his hand. “It is a great pleasure to meet you, Brother Draper, and we—”
One hand shot up, cutting him off. “Beggin’ yur pardon, Bruther McKenna, but who be this Bruther Draper fella ya keep referrin’ ta? Dunna know any Drapers ’ere but a man named John an’ ’is cheeky son, David.”
Patrick nodded. “Fair enough, John. But only if I’m Patrick to you.”
“Aye, an’ begorrah,” he said in a near-perfect Irish brogue, “thare be a fair Irish name if’n ever Ah hurd one.”
“Cheeky,” Abby was saying to her mother. “Now, there’s a word to describe David for you.”
Billy Joe had been watching this interchange with great interest. Now he turned to David’s father. “You talk funny,” he said.
“What ya be sayin’, Billy boy? A Yorkshur Tyke dunna talk funny. Only ya bloomin’ Yanks. Ah can ’ardly unnerstand a wurd, what with yur flat ‘A’s’ and yur mushy consonants. ’Tis the queen’s English Ah be spekin’, son. Nuthin’ but.”
“Don’t you believe it, Billy Joe,” David said. “If Queen Victoria were here today, she would no more understand him than you do.”
“Ha!” John said, speaking to the girls. “What did Ah tell ya? Cheeky as a pup.” Then he looked at Billy and in a near-perfect American accent said, “Tell you what, Billy Joe. I can teach you how to speak real proper like, if you want.”
“Would you?” Billy Joe cried. “That would be neat.”
David watched in amazement. His father was charming the socks off them, and evidently had been doing so for two days now. He reached out and laid a hand on his father’s knee.
“What is it, Davee boy? Be ya tryin’ ta say Ah be runnin’ off at the mooth too mooch?”
David shook his head. “No. It is so good to hear your voice.” His voice cracked a little. “Welcome to Cedar City, Dad.”
Chapter 33
Thursday, March 20, 1879
The next month proved to be the happiest time of David’s life. It also proved to be the busiest and most stressful.
The first item of business was to move his father out of the hotel where the McKennas had put him up into a room next to David’s at the boardinghouse. Since everything he had owned in Coalville had been either sold with the cabin or packed into one steamer trunk, that didn’t take long. But it proved to be a wonderful choice. Eve
ry morning and night, father and son took their meals together. And in the evening, they would spend the rest of the night just talking.
Patrick immediately put John on the payroll and put him to work. However, John refused David’s offer to have him work directly with him. He wasn’t going to “stand ’roond lookin’ stupid whilst David did awl the work.” Instead, he offered to help Patrick prepare to either sell or leave his properties. He did minor repairs on the house and in the hotel. He painted the entire barn with Billy Joe’s help—all the while teaching him how to speak with a Yorkshire accent that was even more atrocious than John’s. Though the McKennas would be limited in what they could take with them, one advantage for these “pioneers” was that once they arrived at their destination, they could eventually send wagons back and bring more of their belongings. So a major part of John’s work was helping Sarah and the girls prepare things for storage.
In spite of the fact that preparations for an exploring party were well under way, David had this nagging worry that Silas Smith might ask the McKennas to accompany the group. With four grown men and no small children, they could be a boon to the other two families. Patrick kept assuring him that this wasn’t going to happen, but David felt compelled to do as much preparing as possible just in case.
For David, first priority was procuring the wagons and teams with the required harnessing and hardware. Since Patrick and Carl were too busy to accompany them, David and his father, with two hired teamsters, took a string of rented mules north to Milford and brought back the four Conestogas they had purchased in Salt Lake.
One afternoon was spent at the tinsmith’s shop with Sarah, Abby, and Molly. Just walking through the door almost instantly doubled the number of things on their “essential” list. Though Sarah already had many items, Patrick insisted she leave those and take everything new. When they finished, they had boxes filled with hurricane lanterns, candleholders, candle-making molds, milk pails, cake and pie pans, cookie cutters, pewter mugs and plates, and flat pans with sliding covers to protect their food from mice, cockroaches, and other pests.
At the cooper’s shop, David and Carl purchased about thirty barrels of various sizes. There were large, watertight ones that could hold more than thirty gallons of water each. The medium-sized ones were for assorted dry goods—beans, dried peas, rice, and the like. Specially lined barrels would carry molasses, honey, pickled cod, salted ham, slabs of smoked beef, sides of bacon. Some were specifically designed for wagon grease, an absolute necessity in the desert landscape and climate. Smaller barrels would hold a wide variety of “necessaries,” such as powdered soap, liniment for the animals, and ointments and other medicines.
And so it went. They spent two different half days at the dry-goods store purchasing tools, blankets, cooking pots, Dutch ovens, frying pans, soup kettles, extra rifles, boxes of ammunition, and a dozen other things they would need. In addition, they put in an order for bags of flour, sugar, salt, potatoes, carrots, turnips, dried fruit, and other staples. If they left in April, they would have the order filled. If they left in September, it would be on consignment until then.
David stoutly resisted Sister McKenna’s repeated invitation to him to accompany the women to the dress, millinery, and notions shops. It took him until the third invitation to realize that she—ever with a completely straight face—was simply pulling his leg.
He abruptly changed tactics, much to their dismay, and accompanied them shopping to the local ZCMI. When he innocently made as if to follow them into the “foundations” area of the store, he was ushered out by three very red-faced women. And that ended that.
At David’s insistence, their personal preparation went forward apace with all the rest. When the weather was acceptable—and it was proving to be an early spring—they “ate out.” David’s father built a fire pit out back of the livery stable, and two or three times a week they cooked their meals over the fire and ate sitting on the ground around it. Twice, when it began to rain, David wouldn’t let them go into the barn. They sat out there, wet, bedraggled, and miserable, silently smoldering at this man who was proving to be a draconian tyrant.
David and Carl set up a shooting range just outside of town, using the mountain as a backdrop. That proved to be wise. Many were the wild shots that kicked up puffs of dust on the hillsides high above their targets. Patrick and Carl quickly proved themselves adequate marksmen and no longer joined them. Surprisingly, Billy Joe was nearly as good as his father, but with his love of guns, he insisted on being to every practice and regaling the others with facts on muzzle velocity, caliber of bullets, and the makes and models of rifles, pistols, and shotguns.
Sarah turned out to be another surprise. She had a good eye and a steady hand. Molly was able to get over closing her eyes with every shot, but seemed content when she was able to hit the side of the mountain. Abby proved to be confident and comfortable with the weapons, though not as accurate as either her mother or Billy Joe—a fact that peeved her enormously.
They took long walks when the weather was good. When a late, slushy snowstorm hit, David gathered everyone up and made them walk for nearly four miles through it. They also took the horses out regularly and started toughening up their backsides by riding for hours at a time.
It was hard. It was intense. It was exhausting. But out of that experience, an interesting thing began to happen. The McKennas were already a close family, but the bonding taking place between them now was gratifying to watch. They laughed together, they moaned and groaned to each other, they proudly displayed every new blister. And they all did a little Scottish jig when Molly actually put a bullet within ten feet of one of the targets.
As David watched all of this, he decided that this unforeseen consequence of their efforts might prove to be the single most important thing they were doing. His only regret was that Patrick and Carl were missing out on much of it. As the days passed, more and more the two of them were consumed with getting Patrick’s affairs in order. From a comment or two that David overheard between them, it was clear that Patrick had other business interests that he hadn’t known about. He was a minority partner in the local bank. He owned some property out west of town. Also, he had decided to keep the hotel. This, in a way, created more complications for him than if he had simply sold it.
To balance that out, however, was Molly. There were no more long, painful talks about his faith or her inadequacies. In terms of their preparation, she did it all and never complained. She was almost always cheerful and enthusiastic. When she failed, she would frown, mutter a few words to herself, then dig in and try again. When they started cooking in the Dutch ovens, her biscuits burned black. Her “lumpy dick”r was lumpy enough to eat with their fingers. She had stared at it balefully, then shrugged. “I thought we were making wallpaper paste.”
But she had her strengths, too, and David was quick to point these out to her. Her ability to organize things was prodigious, and she kept David’s lists of purchases updated and current. She worked with Carl to keep the books on all expenditures. She calculated what it would take to feed eight people for a day, then multiplied that by two months, three months, and six months. Her father was so impressed that he put her in charge of purchasing all the food.
Gregarious by nature, she began talking with any and all who had any kind of pioneering experience. From them she gleaned dozens of practical ideas that would be useful in their own experience: recipes, tips for starting a fire with wet wood, suggestions for doing laundry in a stream or river, ideas for coping with dirt when there was no stream or river. She had David buy her a compass and learned how to read it. She ordered a star map from a mail-order catalog and quickly taught the others how to use various constellations to find their way.
The intensity of their preparations threw David and Molly together almost every day, and gradually the romantic awkwardness of their relationship softened. They were rarely together alone, so they had little opportunity for physical affection, and this helped. They bec
ame more friends than sweethearts, more partners than suitors.
And what a wonderful thing having his father there turned out to be. David had never seen John like this. In those early years in Coalville, it had been just the two of them. They had had little time to play, and even less to laugh. Or at least, that was how David remembered it. But in this last month John Draper had absolutely blossomed. David had hired the schoolteacher to tutor him. He was amazingly quick and could now read most of the newspapers and quite a bit in the Bible. The McKennas adored him and had him and David for supper two or three times a week. People of all ages called out to him and stopped to talk anytime he was out on the streets. And lately, several widows went out of their way to talk to him at church and community activities. And he was thriving on all of it.
All of this was on David’s mind as he walked slowly back toward the boardinghouse. He was bone-deep tired and ready for a break from the mental as well as the physical exhaustion. He actually welcomed the thought of putting it all aside and going with the family to Parowan for stake conference. They were leaving a day early—tomorrow—which would give them all a chance to lay aside the pressures they had undergone these last weeks.
As David started up the walk to the boardinghouse, he checked his watch. It was not quite eight o’clock, so he had missed supper. He wondered if his father had eaten without him.
As he went inside, Tamera Halliday, daughter of the owners, was at the desk. She was thirteen. “Hi, David,” she called cheerily.
“Hi, Tamie. Is Dad home?”
“Yes. Came in over an hour ago.”
“Did he have dinner?”
“Yes, but Mum left some in the oven for you.”
He turned, making a detour for the kitchen. “Bless that woman,” he said.
“There’s milk in the icebox,” she called as he disappeared.