They explored the ruins for nearly a quarter of an hour, calling out to one another to see this feature or that. Once again it was Abby’s sharp eye that spotted something the others hadn’t seen. Her head was tipped way back and she was looking almost straight up. “Look up there.”
There above them, painted in simple white lines onto the pink stone, were some drawings. David instantly recognized three animals from their stick-figure legs and curled horns. “Mountain sheep,” he said. Then he laughed. “Maybe they helped the Anasazi find their way through these mountains, just like they did us.”
“Anasazi?” Abby asked, turning to look at him.
“That’s what the Navajo call them. I’m told it means ‘ancient enemies.’ Most people just call them the cliff dwellers or the Pueblos.”
“That’s got to be the San Juan River,” Patrick said, pointing. He was right. A long squiggly line, twice the thickness of the other paintings and about three feet long, ran above the other figures. It was clearly meant to represent a river.
“What strange little men,” Sarah said. There were two figures in the rock painting. One was behind the sheep, as if it were driving them. The other was in front. They had round heads, stick arms and legs, but fat little torsos that had been painted in with solid white.
“The one on the left has some kind of horns,” Patrick observed.
“Probably a shaman,” David replied. “Maybe they’re bringing the sheep to him for sacrifice.” Both of the men figures had their arms raised in the air, as if supplicating heaven.
“There’s more,” Abby said, moving away. She was pointing to the rock face, walking slowly as she studied them.
As David started to follow, his father touched his arm. “Ah be reddy ta go back noow,” he said softly.
To David’s surprise, Sarah nodded. “Yes, I think we are too.” Before David could speak, she added, “But there’s no need for you two to head down yet.” She looked to where Abby was just disappearing around the face of the cliff, still searching the overhang above them. “We’ll see you back in camp.”
Taking the hands of Patrick and Billy Joe—who looked quite as surprised as David—she turned them around and started back for the stairs. Two minutes later they were down and gone. Sarah looked up and waved just before they disappeared into the cottonwood trees below.
“Where did everybody go?” Abby stopped dead when she came around the cliff face and saw only David standing there alone.
“Your mother said she wanted to get back.”
Her eyes narrowed, and David threw up both hands in his defense. “It wasn’t my idea.”
She moved slowly toward him, still suspicious. But then the paintings drew her eye again. “These are just wonderful, David. Think how many hundreds of years ago they were painted, and yet they are as fresh as if they were done yesterday.”
“It really is amazing.”
She moved past him, clambering over one of the low masonry walls. “Well, perhaps we should go too. It will be dark soon.”
He didn’t move. “Abby?”
She turned back. “Yes?”
“I would like to talk to you for a minute, if we can.”
Now she was openly suspicious. “Are you sure you didn’t ask them to leave?”
“I am, but I’m not sure but what there may be a little conspiracy going on between your mother and my father.”
“About what?”
He hesitated. “About us.” She visibly stiffened, and he rushed on. “Please, Abby. Will you sit down? Just give me five minutes, then I’ll not say anything more.”
For a moment, he thought she was going to bolt. Her eyes were wide, and she was staring at him with a strange expression. But after a moment, she came back and sat on a low wall.
“Okay, I’m listening.” But his heart fell as he saw the set of her jaw and the coldness in her eyes.
He dusted off a flat area of rock and sat down facing her, his mind in a tumble as he realized the moment had come and he had not had any time to prepare himself. “Abby, I . . . look, there’s something I would like to explain.”
Her eyes flashed. “If this is about the day you grabbed me and kissed me, then—”
“I didn’t grab you, Abby.” He looked down at his hands. “Nor did you fight me.”
When he looked up, she was nodding. “All right, I’m sorry that I used that term. But I didn’t fight you because I was shocked.” Her voice softened, and she was almost speaking to herself. “It happened so fast. That was the last thing I was expecting.”
“That day in Cottonwood Canyon, when you and I were talking and you were so angry with me, you said that if you had ever had feelings for me, that ruined it.” He took a quick breath. “Have you had feelings for me? Ever, Abby?”
That startled her, and for a moment she was completely flustered. Then her face hardened. “You have no right to ask me that question.”
“Probably not, but I’m asking anyway.”
She turned her body so she faced away from him.
After almost a full minute, when it was clear she wasn’t going to answer, he began talking. “Do you remember the story I told you about Bertie Beames?”
“Yes, what of it?”
“I never even told my mother about that,” he said in a near whisper. “Dad was there after it happened, but to this day he doesn’t know that I was responsible, that we were playing games.”
She half turned. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“You are the only person I have ever told.”
She searched his face for several moments, then gave a little toss of her head. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”
“Now who’s breaking the microscope?” he shot back. “You know exactly what it means. Though I was too dense, too big of a fool to see it then, I know now that I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, Abby.”
She leaped to her feet. “Stop it, David!” she cried. “Stop it right now.”
He rocked back, stunned by the fury in her. “Abby, I—”
“Are you so colossally stupid that you thought Molly wouldn’t tell me everything about last night? I held her in my arms for over an hour last night as she sobbed and sobbed. Do you think I don’t know that you brought Molly here last night to propose to her?”
“Propose? What are you—” He stopped as the enormity of what she had just said hit him. Molly had been so anxious to tell David of her decision that he had never had a chance to tell her about his. In actuality, he had been so relieved that he wouldn’t now have to hurt her, he had gone back to camp rejoicing.
He dropped his head in his hands and moaned softly. “Oh, Abby. Is that what you think?”
If she had heard him, she gave no sign. She was somewhere between rage and tears. “How dare you?” she whispered. “Molly turns your proposal down, and one night later you bring the old maid sister to the same romantic spot to see if the same line will work with her?” She started to whirl away, but swung back on him. “You know what hurts the most, David? That you think I am so gaga over you that I would throw myself into your arms.”
He got slowly to his feet, numbed now as the full realization of what was happening swept over him. “No, Abby. You’re right. How presumptuous of me. I’m sorry.”
She was trembling, her lips white. “Maybe it’s best if you return to Cedar City with her. Maybe eventually your first choice will work out, and you won’t have to take second best.”
He stepped forward, anger exploding inside of him. He took her by the shoulders, wanting to shake her. “You have never been second best in my mind. That’s what I finally realized. I came back from Montezuma Creek this last time knowing that I had to break it off with Molly. Knowing that it was you I loved. That was what I planned to tell Molly last night.”
Her eyes widened for just a moment, then instantly went hard again. “If that’s true, let me ask you one question, and a simple yes or no will
do. Did you kiss her good-bye?”
At that moment, he knew he had lost. “Yes,” he said softly. “I did.”
She jerked free from his grasp and spun away. Then she whirled back and slapped his face hard. “Don’t you dare cheapen what you had with Molly, David.” She shook her finger in his face. “Don’t you dare.”
Stumbling, sobbing now, she ran to the stairway and went down it in three leaps. He watched her dart away, disappearing beneath the trees below him. He sat down again and closed his eyes.
“David?”
He leaped up again, hope flooding in. She was standing about thirty feet below him, looking up. “I have no right to ask this, David, but I will anyway. I would ask that you speak to no one about what happened here tonight. No one.”
“You didn’t have to ask,” he said quietly.
“Especially Molly. This will crush her, David. Promise me.”
“You didn’t have to ask,” he said again.
“Whare you been?” John asked as David pulled the wagon flap back and looked inside. “Abby’s been back fur over an ’our.”
“I went for a walk.”
John’s dark eyebrows raised. “Ah see,” he said slowly.
“Dad, did you leave your tool bag up on top?”
He sat up, really surprised by that. “Yes. Always do. Naw sense packin’ it up an’ doon the hill ev’ry day.” Then he leaned forward, peering more closely at David. “Is that yur bedroll?”
“I noticed one place in that last rocky stretch near the top. I think the groove for the wagon wheels isn’t deep enough. I’ll sleep up there tonight, then finish it at first light. I’ll be back down to help you hitch up the teams.”
“Son, are ya awl reet?”
David dropped the flap and walked away before his father could say anything more.
Note
^1.Though no mention is made of this in any of the historical sources, there is a wonderfully preserved Anasazi ruin on the north side of the river. It is about a mile east of the site where the company camped while they built the road up and over San Juan Hill. Whoever went east to confirm that no road could be built along the river would likely have seen the ruins. Perhaps, by that point, the company was so exhausted that another set of ruins was not that significant.
Chapter 70
Saturday, April 3, 1880
It was somewhere around four-thirty in the morning, David guessed. Off in the far distance, the first tendrils of light were silhouetting a ridge of mountains far to the east. Below him, the desert was still a sea of blackness. He sat on a large boulder at the crest of the ridge, coat pulled tightly around him. Up here, there was none of the lingering heat of the day. His blankets and pack were a few yards down the hill. He had slept fitfully for a time, but finally around two gave it up, dressed again, and came up here to think.
It seemed strange to think that Mary and Jim Davis and the children were out there less than twenty miles away now. Would they be up this early? Not likely. And then he wondered if Abby was awake too, brooding and angry. That was much more likely.
He had tried hard to sustain his bitterness over what had happened at the ruins. One part of him even wanted to blame God for it. In a way, it was Cedar City all over again. Just when he decided to do something right, the roof collapsed on him. Back then, he had agreed to pray with Molly—an enormous concession for him—and within twenty-four hours his father had announced he was going to England and Molly had told him it was over.
But he couldn’t sustain his anger at Providence. As he sat on the ridge, watching the half moon pass slowly across the sky, he thought of his prayers that somehow he could tell Molly without it hurting her too terribly. He laughed softly in the darkness. What delicious irony. He hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her it was over before she had told him it was over. How was that for an answer? Once again, David Draper had been handed another one of those “remarkable coincidences.” There could be no blaming God for that. He closed his eyes and laid his head on his arms, which were folded across his knees. “O beloved Father, I thank thee for what thou hast wrought in my behalf. I thank thee that thou knew of thy sweet daughter’s tender heart and purity of spirit. Take her home safely and let her find a man who can truly bring her joy and lasting happiness.”
He paused, his thoughts turning to Abby. He closed his eyes again. “And wilt thou help heal the hurt in Abby’s heart. I would ask of thee . . .” He stopped, then shook his head. “No. I trust in thee and in thy great wisdom, Father. I have seen that merciful hand in my life again and again. Let thy will be done. And help me to become a worthy and faithful servant in thy work. I pray in the name of Jesus. Amen.”
As he got slowly to his feet, a thought popped into David’s mind. Speaking of that day in Cedar City, had the roof really caved in? If his father had not received a mission call, David wouldn’t have gotten angry and lashed out at God. If he hadn’t done that, Molly wouldn’t have broken it off with him. And if those two things hadn’t come within hours of each other, he would never have joined Silas Smith on that exploring expedition.
He sat down slowly again, his mind in a whirl. And what would have happened then? The answer hit him with tremendous force. Molly and I would now be man and wife.
With that stunning thought came another. His father had told him one night that if he didn’t change, the Lord was going to knock David about until he learned something. Was that what had happened last night at the Indian ruins? And was his response to skulk about up here, feeling sorry for himself and blaming God?
He laid his head back down on his arms, closed his eyes, and began another silent prayer.
When he awakened, the day had come. The sun was still half an hour from rising, but it was light enough that he could see one or two figures walking about down in camp. He could also see the vast emptiness that lay to the east, and he knew that somewhere down there lay his destiny.
With that, David went back to his little campsite and rolled up his bed. Then he gathered up his father’s tool sack and walked down to the place where the rock pan needed a little more work—his excuse for coming up here last night. He fished out his father’s hammer and chisel and went to work, finding joy in the simple task of making a better place for a wagon wheel.
Finished, he slipped his bedroll over his shoulder and picked up his father’s tool sack. He looked down on the camp once more, watching as more tiny figures moved about far below him. It was time to go. San Juan lay just over the hill.
He had gone down only about forty yards when something caught his eye. At this point, the road ran alongside the long, rounded spine of sandstone that went from the top of the ridge to the bottom of the hill. Where David was passing, it was a twenty-five- or thirty-foot-high wall of solid rock. He pulled up, staring at the face of it for several seconds. Then he removed his bedroll. Once again he fumbled inside the tool sack for the hammer and chisel. Then, at peace at last, he walked over to the wall, moving along it slowly, looking for just the right place.
“Good morning, David.”
“Mornin’, Abby.” While it could hardly be called warm and amiable, there was nothing in Abby’s voice or her expression to indicate anything was wrong. He gave her a genuine smile. “Are you ready for today?”
She nodded. “I am so ready.”
“My goodness, you must have gotten up early,” Molly said, coming around to join them. “Did you get your road fixed?”
“Enough,” he said. “It wasn’t a big thing, but it’s right at one of the steepest places, so I thought a little extra measure of safety wouldn’t hurt.”
“Did you get any sleep at all?” Sarah asked from beside the campfire.
David started a little. Had Abby said something to her after all? But no. Sarah and Patrick and his father knew something had happened—Abby had come back alone and David had spent the night on the mountain—but nothing more. He gave her a rueful smile. “Those flat rocks make a pretty good mattress, believe it or not.”<
br />
“I don’t believe it,” she laughed. But she didn’t pursue it further.
David turned to his father and Patrick. “We need to decide on drivers.”
“Platte and Bishop Nielson were by earlier,” Patrick said. “They want us lined up by eight o’clock. We’re going to have to hook multiple teams to the wagons again. Normally we could double or triple them for a hill like this, but they are exhausted. Platte says the heavier wagons will need six or seven span.”
David turned around and let his eye pick out the route that led to the top. Then he looked at Billy Joe. “I think you and I need to hitch up Paint and Tillie to help the mules. You all right with that?”
After a moment Billy Joe nodded, his eyes grave. “Can I walk alongside her to help her?”
David’s eyes softened. “As long as you don’t get too close. I think Tillie would appreciate that.”
He turned to Abby. “We’re going to be shuttling the extra teams down the hill, so we can only take two wagons up at a time. We don’t need you to drive, but if you feel up—”
“I’ll drive,” she said shortly.
“Okay.” David looked at his father. “Why don’t you and Patrick go first. Billy Joe and I will walk alongside, help keep the teams moving.” Then he spoke to Sarah. “I’m going down to the river to wash up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
As he went past Molly, she caught his arm. “Just one more,” she murmured. That startled him. Was she asking for just one more talk? But he saw that she too was staring up at the hill, and then he understood.
“That’s right. Just one more pull.”
Since the McKennas were back some distance in the line, John and David decided to go up and help Bishop Nielson and Joe take their two wagons up the hill. Kumen Jones, the bishop’s son-in-law, had his wagon in front, but he had one of the strongest teams in the company and would be fine on his own.
Just then, someone up above them shouted, waving the next outfit forward. Kumen yelled and slapped the reins, and his wagon started up the hill.