Emma came back to the bank. She went to her neighbor and took his hand. “I understand, Brother Holman. Thank you for all you’ve done to help. We shall never forget it.”
“Please, Emma—,” Sister Holman started to say. But Emma quickly turned and smiled at her. “We are very much lighter than you. We shall be all right.” She reached out and touched Sister Holman’s shoulder briefly. “We’ll see you when you come over.”
Stephen Markham gave Holman a beseeching look. What would Joseph say if something should happen? But then he finally shrugged his shoulders. Emma was unbendable. Emma was emotionally and physically drained. She was going on pure willpower now. At this point no reasoning with her was going to make a difference.
“All right,” he sighed, “give me a moment to get the horses ready.” He gave her a stern look. “But if we hear one creak, one tiny cracking sound, we turn back. Agreed?”
Emma turned and looked east. This was the narrowest part along this stretch of the river, but it was still a good hundred yards or so of sheet ice they had to cross. Finally she nodded. “Agreed.”
Markham worked swiftly now, determined to be done with it as quickly as possible. He unhitched the one horse and tied it to the back of the wagon with a fifteen-foot length of rope, then redid the harnessing so that the other one would pull the wagon. Finally, he led them down to where Emma stood waiting. “All right, I’m ready.”
She took a quick breath. Julia was holding the baby and watching her mother anxiously. Emma reached down to her waist. Gripping through the skirts, she adjusted the apron with the manuscripts, making sure it was riding comfortably. She looked at Markham, who wouldn’t meet her gaze, then let out her breath. Her heart was pounding and she felt a little dizzy.
“Mama?”
“It’s all right, Julia. Give me the baby.” She took Alexander from Julia and tucked him firmly in her left arm. Going down into a crouch, she reached for little Frederick. “Put your arms around Mama’s neck, Frederick,” she said in a trembling voice.
He nodded gravely, his eyes seeming more like those of a man than those of a boy not yet three, but he did as he was told. Emma straightened with an effort. Frederick clamped his legs around her body as she put her other arm beneath him to help hold him up. “Hold on tight,” she commanded. “No matter what, don’t let go of Mama.”
“I won’t, Mama.” He shut his eyes and squeezed against her all the more tightly.
Joseph Smith the Third was Emma’s fourth born, but the first of her children to survive for more than a few hours after birth. At six, he was already taking on a strong resemblance to his father. Emma looked down at him. “Joseph, you’re to take ahold of my skirts here.” She bobbed her head downward to her left side. “You stay right with me. You must not let go either. No matter what.”
“Yes, Mama,” he said. He reached out, grabbed a handful of material, and clenched his fist tightly.
“Julia, you do the same, here on the other side.”
Julia had already moved into position and did as she was told. Finally, Emma looked at Brother Markham. “All right. Let’s go.” She smiled briefly, and wanly, at the Holmans, then turned and stepped out onto the ice. There was no hesitation now. She planted her feet carefully on the slippery surface so as not to fall, but moved steadily out and away from the bank. Little Frederick gave a slight whimper, and Emma saw that Julia’s eyes were tightly closed. She could feel the girl’s hands trembling through her skirts.
“It’s all right,” Emma said soothingly. “The ice is strong.” She forced a light laugh. “It’s like having our own great big ice-skating pond.”
Brother Markham gave her about a twenty-yard head start, then tugged on the reins of the lead horse. “Giddyap, horse,” he clucked. “Let’s go.”
“Go with God,” Brother Holman called softly, standing rigid, holding his breath as he watched them move out into the full expanse of the river. From where he was, the hundred yards across looked like two miles.
* * *
“Don’t look down, Joseph!” Emma cried in alarm. She was watching carefully where she placed each foot. Suddenly there was a patch where the ice was not clouded. She could see the muddy water moving slowly beneath it. A dizzying wave of vertigo swept over her, leaving her reeling.
“Mama, I’m scared.”
Emma realized her mistake. “It’s all right, Joseph.” She smiled down at him, wanting to reach out and touch his hair, or lay a hand on his shoulder to steady him, but she had no hand free. She forced her mind away from what lay beneath her, what swirled beneath a thin sheet of flooring that could give way any moment. Her arms were starting to ache, and Frederick was clutching to her neck with such desperation, she could feel him pinching a nerve.
“Look,” she said, as much for herself as for the children. “Look across the river. See where we’re going? We’re getting closer now. It won’t be—oh!” Her foot had slipped on the ice and she jerked forward. Frederick squealed and Julia gasped. Emma caught her balance quickly. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” she cried.
“Steady,” Markham called from behind her. “Don’t rush it.”
They were halfway across now, right in the middle of the river where the water would be the deepest and the current the swiftest. The thought made her stomach turn over with a lurch.
Stop it, Emma! Stop it this instant!
She gripped Alexander more tightly and fixed her gaze on the houses on the opposite shore. “Look, Julia,” she said in a forced voice. “Which of those houses do you think we’ll stay in? Joseph, look at them! If you could choose any one as your house, which would it be?”
It worked. It worked for them and it worked for her. Even Frederick opened his eyes and began to look for the houses that Julia and Joseph were calling out. Emma turned her head to glance back.
“I’m coming,” Markham said. “It’s going to be all right, Emma. We’re going to make it.”
But Emma wasn’t sure. The weight of the manuscripts dragged at her waist. The arm with which she held little Alexander was on fire and starting to cramp. Frederick’s arms around her neck felt like a blacksmith’s vice squeezing tighter and tighter. Her knees felt like they were turning to water, and she was terrified now that she would collapse. Then the wagon and the horses and Markham would catch up with her, bringing all the weight together in one place. In her mind, she could hear the ice begin to crack beneath them, then give way with a sickening drop into the icy black chillness below.
She closed her eyes, staggering on blindly.
Oh please, dear God. Give me strength. Let me get my children to safety.
Her eyes jerked open and she realized Joseph was tugging on her skirts. “Mama! Mama! We’re almost there. Can I go ahead?”
She looked up. They were no more than ten or fifteen yards from shore. They had made it! She nodded weakly. “Yes, Joseph, you may go.”
Julia released her grip too. Taking each other’s hands, squealing and shouting with delight, the two children darted across the last stretch of ice and onto the land. They began doing a little jig, hopping and waving their arms.
With a great sob of joy and release, Emma set foot upon the shore. She went no more than two or three feet, then sank down to the frozen ground. Frederick released his grip, jumped off her lap, and ran to join his brother and sister, yelling lustily.
Now Markham was off the ice. He ran up the shallow bank, clucking at the horse, not letting the wagon wheels catch on the little rise where the ground met the water. Then in a moment he was at Emma’s side. He too sank down to sit beside her. His face was pale, and he was breathing deeply. “We made it,” he whispered.
Emma turned and looked down, pulling the blanket back from the face of her baby. Alexander had slept through the whole thing. Tears sprang to her eyes as she lifted her head and looked back across the river. Two small figures, the Holmans, stood there, waving their arms back and forth. A faint shout floated over to them. And then Emma looked up into the sky. “Yes,” she said, half laughing, half crying, “we did, didn’t we?”
* * *
On Sunday evening, February seventeenth, the Steeds gathered to Benjamin and Mary Ann’s cabin, as was their custom. Of late there had been no large dinners, no apple pie and cold milk, but the tradition of gathering together carried on, and the warmth around the family circle had dimmed not at all. The babies were in bed now, but all the others were gathered for a family council. Even the smallest children were sitting on their parents’ laps or at their feet. There was not much mirth on this night. Conditions were growing increasingly grim in Far West. Food was in short supply. There was no midday meal any longer, only a meager breakfast and a slightly more substantial dinner. Firewood was so scarce that they had started to use the logs from the walls of the toolshed. The smokehouse would be next. Their enemies, not satisfied with the hundreds of families that had already left, were becoming more and more brazen. It was time to make some decisions.
Rebecca sat beside Derek, listening but not saying much. From time to time she would look at Jessica, and something would pass between them. Finally, in a moment when the conversation lulled a little, Rebecca cleared her throat. One hand rose tentatively in the air to get their attention. “I have something I would like to say.”
They all turned. Derek looked a little surprised.
“Yes?” Benjamin said.
“Mary Smith is leaving tomorrow.”
Jessica nodded, but the others were a little shocked.
“Already?” Mary Ann blurted. “But she hasn’t recovered from her trip to Liberty to see Hyrum. I thought you said she was still in bed.”
“She is,” said Rebecca. “But she is the last of the First Presidency’s families. The brethren feel strongly that she needs to leave immediately, just as Emma and Sister Rigdon did. She and Mercy have found two lumber wagons. They have made a bed for Mary and the baby in the back of one.”
Sister McIntire leaned over closer to Mary Ann. “Who is Mercy?”
“Mercy is Mary’s sister. Her husband was at the Battle of Crooked River back in October and had to flee for his life. So both women are without their men. Mercy has been wonderful to Mary. Mercy had a baby about five months old when little Joseph was born, so she has been nursing both babies all this time.”
“Whew!” Derek exclaimed. “Between Mary’s family and Mercy’s baby— that’s what, nine people? That’s a lot. And with no man.”
Now Jessica jumped in. “Amanda Smith is leaving in a few days.”
Lydia and Derek spun around together. “But how can she?”
Jessica shrugged. “She has her own wagon. There’s nothing here to keep her. She’s decided to go now, maybe travel with Mercy and Mary.”
Now Matthew was calculating. “So you add another woman and four children? How can they do that alone?”
Mary Ann was watching Jessica closely, her eyes wide with understanding. “No, you add two women and eight children.”
Jessica jerked up.
“Am I right?” Mary Ann asked. “You want to go too, don’t you?”
Jessica’s head bobbed, and she colored deeply. She should have known Mary Ann would see it first. “Yes, I would like to go with Amanda.”
“But—,” Benjamin started, then he stopped. “I see,” was all he said.
Jessica plunged in. She and Rebecca had rehearsed the whole thing, trying out their arguments on each other. “We’ve got to do something. We have too many people to feed here. The food is running out even more quickly than time is running out. We have too many people to move all at once. We can’t keep waiting.”
Rebecca jumped in to support her. “Matthew’s right. They can’t do it alone. Especially . . .” Her voice betrayed her and she faltered suddenly. She sniffed and raised her chin even higher. “Especially if Amanda and Jessica travel with them. So I have a proposal.”
Now Derek finally understood. “You want me to go with them?” he asked in wonder.
Rebecca turned slowly and looked down at him. “Yes, you and Matthew.” As there was the sharp intake of breath behind her, she raised her hands. “Now, listen. Hear me out.” She didn’t have to ask. There wasn’t a sound in the room now. “Papa is too sick to go right now. But some of us need to go. Now, before it’s too late for us. So Matthew and Derek could go with this group, then come back. By then Papa could be better. Then we’ll still have our men with us to help when we go.”
Nathan stood up. He had no knowledge of this, but the logic was compelling. “Rebecca’s right. Our hopes now lie in getting to Illinois, where there is more food and shelter and where our enemies are not breathing down our necks.”
Jessica thought she knew what he was going to say next, so she cut him off. “Nathan’s been gone from his family enough already. He should stay and help with the preparations here. We’ll send Amanda’s wagon back, and that will give you a better chance of getting out of here.”
Benjamin held up his hand, cutting off any further discussion. He turned to Derek. There was no need to speak; the question was in his eyes. Derek looked up at Rebecca and immediately nodded. “Of course I’ll go. It makes sense. That way, when Matthew and I get back, we’ll only have Nathan and Lydia’s children. The rest of us will be older. It will—”
Again Benjamin’s hand had come up, signalling that not everything had to be said in full. Now he turned to Matthew. Matthew was nodding vigorously before Benjamin could even ask the question. “Yes, I’ll go.”
In the corner, Jenny shot to her feet. “So will I,” she blurted.
Everyone spun around in surprise, no one more shocked than her mother. Jenny blushed deeply, which set the freckles off like rocks on a hillside. But she didn’t back down. “How many children?” she demanded.
Lydia was half smiling, liking the spunk in this young Irish girl who was fast becoming a woman, liking the way she looked at Matthew with those sky-blue eyes and the way Matthew turned inside out when she did so. “I count four each for Jessica and Amanda,” Lydia said, “six of Mary Smith’s, counting the baby, and one baby for Mercy. That’s . . .” She added quickly, but Jenny was quicker.
“That’s fifteen children,” Jenny said firmly, “two of whom are babies. And Sister Mary Smith isn’t going to be able to help at all, not as sick as she is, and Mercy will be nursing and caring for two babies, and—”