He stopped. What an odd story. Carl had ridden forty miles round-trip to share this? And then he frowned. “Oh, please!” he muttered. “Don’t tell me that the man converted to Christianity and lived happily ever after.” But her next line took him totally aback.
He broke the microscope!
Before I say more, I want to make something very clear. This is not about Jens Nielson. This is not about your father. And believe it or not, it’s not about you and Molly. This is about you. And it needs to be said.
His lips pressed into a line. He could almost hear her voice, daring him to disagree.
The reason you are in such pain is that you are a microscope breaker, but down deep you are much too honest with yourself to be comfortable with that. Let me explain. That day after conference, when we were at the dinner table, we were all shocked by the vehemence of your feelings about Jens Nielson. As you talked, I kept asking myself, “Why did Jens Nielson’s call make David so angry?” You said yourself that it was none of your business, especially since he asked to go. Then I decided it was really driven by what happened with Silas Smith earlier. You were angry with him for putting you in such an awkward position. A Church leader had extended a call without knowing all of the individual circumstances. And then to have it not cancelled.
I can just hear you now, David. “It wasn’t a call, it was an invitation.” BAM! Don’t like the idea of it being a call? Well, then, just smash the microscope and say it was only an invitation.
Then comes the real blow. Just when you’re getting things back to normal, along comes a letter from Box B. Talk about the ultimate “mistake”! How dare they call your father? He just came to Cedar City. He already has a mission call. And then, to add insult to injury, while you’re still seething about that, Molly announces that it’s over for her.
Oh, David, what irony. When you finally agree to pray with Molly about your situation, the whole mountain caves in on you. So much for a Heavenly Father who blesses His children and answers their prayers, right?
Please don’t think I am making light of this. I weep for your pain even as I write this. (Well, that’s metaphorically speaking. As you know, the Lord shorted Abigail McKenna on tear ducts when she was born. I think he gave them all to Molly.)
You are especially not going to like this next part, so please take a deep breath before you continue. Or you may want to bang your head against the wall a couple of times.
“Oh, Abby,” he laughed. “And you think I have a gift of getting under your skin?”
Here is a question for you. Did you ever consider that Molly is right, that what has now happened was your answer? Not HER answer, YOUR answer. I’m not talking about you and Molly now. I don’t wish to speak about that. Think about it. Silas Smith calls you to go with him on the exploring party. You tell him no, flatly refusing to even consider it. But what if the Lord wants you to go? What if He needs you there? Or, more likely, what if YOU need to be there? But you kick back. You won’t even give it a second thought. So the Lord says, “Does he think he can simply ignore Me?” Oh, David, for a man who believes that God is off somewhere in the universe doing other things, it must be terribly difficult for you when it appears not only that He is there, but that He has chosen not to bless you but to thwart you, to block you at every turn. That has got to be particularly unsettling.
Jesus once said of some people that “seeing, they see not, and hearing, they hear not.” In another place in the scriptures, the Lord said, “wo unto the blind who will not see.” Am I being too harsh on you, David? Perhaps. Particularly at this time when you are in so much pain. But I use the following examples to make my point:
Example 1. You are completely alone out in the wilds when four men attack you—five, if you count the one watching the horses. They catch you totally by surprise, disarm you, hold you under the barrel of a rifle, and what happens? By this quite remarkable and marvelous coincidence, Tillie reacts violently when one of the Indians tries to mount her. That distracts the others and—my, how fortunate for David Draper.
Example 2. When the McKennas are called to leave, David Draper is sick at heart because that means he and Molly are going to be separated right when things are finally going well. Molly announces to David that she has started to pray about it. Then, by this quite remarkable and marvelous coincidence, the very next morning Molly’s father offers David a job that will not only keep them from being separated but will actually draw them together like never before.
“Right,” he muttered darkly. “And now look what He’s done to us.”
Final example. You and your father are living in Yorkshire, England, where you have never so much as even heard of a people called the Mormons or a place called Utah. But through a tragic series of events, you have to flee your home. You make your way to Liverpool, and by this remarkable and marvelous coincidence, someone just happens to mention to you that there is another shipping agent called the Mormons. You and your father go there and learn that the only possible way for you to get the cheaper passage is to—
“No!” he said angrily, dropping the letter on his lap. “If God wanted us to come to America, why not just let my mother live? Why allow Rhodes to steal our money? Now who’s not facing reality?” But after a moment, he picked the letter up again and continued to read.
—the only possible way for you to get the cheaper passage is to convert to Mormonism. Thus you come to Utah, end up in Cedar City, where you meet this incredibly difficult person named Abigail McKenna who keeps insisting that you take another look through the microscope.
So I say only this, David, and then I’ll close. Did it never occur to you that when you have to use the words “remarkable and marvelous coincidence” again and again to describe what has happened, perhaps “coincidence” is no longer the right word?
I know that you discount our feelings of faith and belief as being the product of our own emotional makeup, or perhaps because we were born and raised (some would say indoctrinated) in Mormonism, but I would say this. After Molly told me what happened between you and her, and then we learned that you were gone, I had the strongest feeling that you were finally where the Lord wanted you to be. That you were finally doing what the Lord wanted you to do.
Sorry, but I do feel that way. If that is too completely uncomfortable for you, then just grab a hammer and swing away. You shall be in all of our prayers.
Your friend always (I hope),
Abby
Book V
Book V
Exploration 1879
Chapter 37
Monday, April 14, 1879
David had never participated in a full wagon train before, but he had seen a few over the years, and they were a sight to behold. With the coming of the transcontinental railroad, the great wagon trains that had gone west across the Oregon/Mormon Trail had become a thing of the past. But David had read of one that had over two hundred wagons strung out along the trail for nearly five miles. As he looked on their little company, here to the north of Paragonah in the first light of morning, it seemed somewhat of an understatement compared with that. There were only a dozen wagons, a couple of hundred head of stock, about twenty-five men, and two families. Each of the families had four children aged thirteen and younger.
Though the scale of their trek was smaller, there was still much confusion. Cows bawled, horses snorted, mules brayed, dogs barked. Men shouted back and forth to each other as the two mothers tried to keep their children out of the way. The children, of course, thought it all a grand adventure, and they darted in and out, screeching and yelling.
David sat back in the saddle, enjoying it all. For the moment, he had nothing to do. Eventually, Silas planned to use him as a scout, but for the first few days, they would be on established roads, and the greater need was to keep their stock from bolting back home.
He stood up in the stirrups and looked over the herd milling around him. All the action on the road was starting to make the animals restless. He turned to
Nielson—or Niels—Dalley, head wrangler for the company, who sat astride his horse on the far side of the herd. Niels, like David and most of the other men, was about David’s age and not married yet. “They’re getting anxious to be on the move,” David called.
“Yeah,” Niels called back. “I’m with them. What’s the holdup?”
“Silas is getting the wagons into line now,” David said. “Hopefully then we can move.”
David hooked one leg up and over his saddle horn and turned again to watch the company. All twelve wagons were here, and Silas Smith and his two lead scouts, Kumen Jones and George Hobbs, were riding up and down trying to get them lined up in some kind of order.
This was not as simple as it seemed. The recommendation given in the letter of call from Salt Lake City had been that each wagon be drawn by four horses or mules. That was wise, considering the country they were going to be crossing, but handling four animals was always more challenging than handling two. And this was the first day. The teams had not had a chance yet to settle into the routine of the trail.
The wagon directly east of David was trying to pull into its place between two other wagons, but the driver was having trouble. David saw at once that he was not experienced. He was hauling back on the reins at the same time he was calling out to the horses to move. “Ease up a little,” David murmured. “Give ’em some room.”
He nudged Tillie forward, watching more closely now. The animals were confused and started to balk, tossing their heads and snorting. The lead span began backing up even as the rear two were pushing forward. “Whoa there!”
David jerked forward. It was a woman’s voice. He dug his heels into Tillie’s flanks, and she leaped forward. There was the sharp crack and rattle of chains as one of the horses kicked back against the whiffletrees. In another minute they were going to get tangled in the traces, and that meant serious trouble.
“Pull ’em out of the line,” he shouted, waving his hand. “Come around and make another try.”
If the driver heard, she gave no sign. From the rapid, spasmodic movements of her hands, he could tell she was near panic. “Whoa! Whoa!” she screamed. This only spooked the horses all the more. Out of the corner of his eye, David saw Silas or one of the other horsemen wheel around and start for her too, but he was too far away.
David swung down from the saddle and hit the ground running. “Move over, ma’am,” he shouted as he reached the wagon and vaulted up into the seat. “I’ll take ’em.”
She shoved the reins at him, and as he took them, he caught a glimpse of a very white and frightened face. The off-horse in the front team half reared, neighing wildly. Now, all around, men were racing in to help.
David pulled the left set of reins hard to the left, snapped all the reins hard across the horses’ backs, and yelled, “Hee yaw! Gee-up, boys! Gee-up!”
Startled by the sudden authority in both hands and voice, the four horses lunged forward, hitting the tugs, turning sharply to the left as they did so. David saw the wagon ahead of them rock a little as the nearest horse pushed against it, barely clearing it. Then they were free. David pulled them out into the road, well clear of the other wagons.
He heard the woman make some sound beside him, but he couldn’t tell what she said and didn’t have time to find out. “Easy, boys,” he soothed. “Easy, now.”
Pulling together at last, the four animals quickly settled into their normal rhythm, and the potential crisis was past. David made a wide circle in the adjoining field, brought them back onto the road, and pulled them into their place in line without incident. “Whoa!” he called. As they came to a stop, he reached down and set the wheel brakes. Only then did he turn to look at the woman. “There you go,” he said, giving her a warm smile.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice trembling.
David lifted a finger to the brim of his hat. “No problem, ma’am. They’re just a little skittish this morning. Once they get on the road, they’ll settle down.”
She nodded, her eyes filled with gratitude. She was older than David, perhaps in her mid-thirties. She had dark brown hair, light blue eyes, a thin face with pale skin. There was a scattering of freckles on her cheekbones, but these were nearly obscured by the dark shadows around her eyes. She looked as if she had not slept for some time. Her accent was pure British, and . . .
David heard a whimpering sound behind him. He turned to look back into the wagon. Four children were sitting on a quilt, eyes wide and frightened. Two older boys, maybe ten and twelve or thirteen, sat behind a girl about Billy Joe’s age. She had a little boy sitting in her lap. She was holding onto him around the neck as if he were about to fall off a cliff. He was the one whimpering; David wasn’t sure if he had been frightened by the horses or if he was on the verge of being strangled by his sister.
“Are we gonna die, mister?” the girl cried.
David gravely shook his head. “No, sweetheart,” he said in the same soothing tone he had used with the animals. “We just turned the horses around to get back in line.”
“Promise?”
He shifted the reins to one hand and quickly drew his finger across his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die, poke a stick in my eye, if I ever tell a lie,” he said solemnly.
The woman beside him laughed softly. “It’s all right, Emmy. No one’s going to die. So let go of John’s neck before he turns blue.”
Only then did the girl realize what she had been doing. Embarrassed, she let her little brother go and laughed nervously. The boy scrambled away, ducking behind one of his older brothers for safety.
David turned back around to face the woman and handed the reins across to her. “Be sure you release the brake when you’re ready to move,” he said.
“Thank you so much,” the woman said. “My husband has been teaching me to drive a team, but . . .” Her head dropped. “But I guess we didn’t get to backing up yet.”
He let it pass, knowing that talking about it would only embarrass her more. “You’re from England. Down around London town, I would guess.”
Her eyes lifted in surprise. “Middlesex, actually. How did you know that?”
“Cuz Ah be born in South Yorkshire meself, o’er near Barnsley, if’n the truth be known.”
She cocked her head. “So which is the real you? Yorkshire drawl or southern Utah twang?”
He laughed, finding himself liking her immediately. “Combination of both, I guess.”
She stuck out her hand. “My name is Mary Elizabeth Davis.” When he didn’t respond to that, she added, “James Davis is my husband.” That still didn’t register with him. “We’re one of the two families who are going with you and staying there once we find out where ‘there’ is.”
“Oh,” he said. And then it clicked, and he fought back a startled look. James Davis was the man who had stood up in the priesthood meeting held in Cedar City after the stake conference. He was the one who said that he had been shown in a dream that they were to answer their mission call in spite of the fact that his wife’s health was not good and she was carrying a child. Without thinking, his eyes dropped to where the roundness of her stomach showed beneath her dress. “You’re the one who’s—” He caught himself just in time.
She was blushing, but held his eye. “Yes, I’m the one having a baby.”
Now it was David who felt his face go hot, for he was remembering the irritation he had felt that a husband would put the Church over the needs of his wife. And now here he was sitting beside her. He didn’t know what to say.
“And you’re Brother Draper.” It wasn’t a question.
“You know me?”
“I know of you. I’ve seen you in Church with the McKennas.” Another smile, only this one teasing him a little. “And who in Cedar City doesn’t know about you and Molly?”
A voice behind him blurted out, “You’re the one who captured those outlaws?”
David turned. It was the oldest boy, a lean and gangly kid in his early teens with hair tha
t hadn’t seen a comb in a while. He was leaning forward, his expression one of awe.
“Eddie,” Sister Davis said, “don’t be impertinent.” Turning to David, she said, “Let me introduce my family to you. Our oldest son, the one with his mouth open and his eyes bugged out, is Edward. He just turned thirteen ten days ago. Next to him is James Henry—we call him Young James, or Jimmie—he’ll be nine in October. And this is our only daughter, Emily Ellen. We all call her Emmy. She’ll be six in June. And our baby is John Orson, who will soon be three.”
David swept off his hat and nodded. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” Then to her, he said, “That’s one passel of mighty fine-looking children.” He winked at Emmy and leaned in closer. She had long, carrot-colored hair that fell down her back in soft curls. Her eyes were a bright green and looked out over a pug nose and a mouth that, at the moment, was pulled down as she gazed at him. A generous dose of her mother’s freckles added to the effect and made her absolutely adorable.
“Where did you get those beautiful eyes? From your mother?”
She snorted in disgust. “No, silly. Mama’s eyes are blue. Mine are green.”
He reared back, pretending shock, and turned to her mother. “Well, would you look at that. I think you are right, Miss Emily.”
“I got my eyes from Heavenly Father,” she said, quite indignant now.
“Ah. And what about those freckles? I didn’t think Heavenly Father gave those away.”
“Those are angel kisses,” she shot right back at him. “That’s what Mama says.”
He straightened, completely charmed by this little pixie. “I see. There must have been a lot of angels come to say good-bye when you left heaven.”