It was a lesson to be learned, she told herself. As it said in the Doctrine and Covenants, “You cannot see with your natural eyes what the Lord thy God has in store for thee.” And elsewhere in that book it said, “Be still and know that I am God.” In the future, when the storms blew and she became deathly sick, she would remind herself of that: “Be still and know that I am God.”
“I don’t suppose there’s time for one more bath in the stream,” she said dreamily.
He laughed. “I don’t think so.”
On the day following their landing, after they had buried Laura Goodwin, the whole company had trekked the short distance to the stream gushing down from the mountains. The men and boys formed a line in the thick trees to stand guard and the women and girls went on another hundred yards where there was a deep pool. There they washed off the filth and grime and sweat and seasickness with which they had lived for three months. There had been the water basins on the ship, the washing of the body as best one could with rags, but no chance for a real bath. Alice could not remember anything in her life that was comparable to feeling clean again. They bathed and swam and washed their clothes and frolicked like children. Once they were done, the women returned to the beach and the men had their turn. By nightfall, when they gathered around a large bonfire on the beach, it was as if the whole company had been reborn. They sang and danced and offered prayers of rejoicing.
“Well,” Will said, reaching for her elbow, “this is the last boat. I think we’d better get on board.”
They turned and walked onto the dock where the boat was waiting. Samuel Brannan, who was supervising the loading, had seen them stand aside. He smiled as he took Alice’s hand and helped her down into the boat. “If you didn’t know the Lord was calling us on, it would be right down tempting to stay, wouldn’t it?”
She nodded vigorously. “I could have stayed here fifty days instead of five.”
“At least,” Will agreed.
Alice grimaced. “I think I’ve never faced such supreme temptation in my life, Elder Brannan. I sure hope where Brigham Young is taking us is half as pretty.”
Garden Grove, May 10, 1846 (Sunday)
Still no rain. Spring is here! It’s wonderful!!!! Two Sabbath meetings were held today—worship services in the morning, sacrament meeting in the afternoon. Pres. Young says it is the first Sabbath since we left Nauvoo that wasn’t interrupted by rain. He also said that the camp here will soon break up. Some will go west looking for a new settlement site. Some are being sent back with teams to Nauvoo to get their families and bring them here. Garden Grove will be home for others, since some will have to stay and tend the crops and help the others when they get here. Don’t know what we will be doing. Uncle Matthew thinks he may be asked to go ahead with the others.
Peter Ingalls undid the last yoke, waved to the boy who was herding the rest of the oxen so he would see they were coming, then slapped the animals on the rump and sent them on their way. He picked up the yoke and started for the wagon, checking it as he walked to see if there were any cracks in the heavy carved wood.
As he came around the lead wagon of the Reeds, he saw that Kathryn was down on the ground, bracing herself against the fold-down steps, looking back up into the wagon. As he came closer, Peter looked into the wagon and could see that Margret Reed was struggling a bit to help her mother sit up. He laid the yoke against the wagon wheel and hurried up to Kathryn’s side. “Can I help you, Mrs. Reed?” he said.
She looked down at him and nodded. “Yes, thank you, Peter. I’d like to get Mother so she can sit up.”
He went up the stairs lightly, squeezing past Mrs. Reed to the old woman’s side. “Here, Mrs. Keyes, let me help you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said in a quavering voice. “Just give me a minute.”
“Mother, let Peter help you. He’s strong.”
There was a sudden, coy smile. “I know he is,” she said impishly. “And if I was about fifty years younger, I’d give Kathryn a run for her money.”
They all laughed at that. “Why, Mrs. Keyes,” Kathryn said in mock horror, “I had no idea you had intentions for my husband.”
Peter slipped an arm behind the elderly woman’s back. “Actually, I’ve been a little smitten with you as well, Mrs. Keyes, but we ought not to talk about that in front of my wife.”
“Oh, you!” she said, delighted that he would play back with her.
“Come on,” he said, taking most of her weight against his body as he got her into a sitting position. “I’ll bet you’re glad that we’re stopping over for a while, aren’t you?”
“I certainly am.”
They were all concerned about Mrs. Keyes. She had been in frail health when they began, and these first weeks on the trail had weakened her noticeably. And they were only now to Independence, Missouri. They still had over fifteen hundred miles to go! No one said it, but there was great fear that she would not last much longer. Peter wondered if she knew, and suspected the answer was yes. But she was a plucky woman, and he supposed that if death came it would be no more tragic out here than sitting in a rocking chair back home in Illinois.
Surprisingly, Mrs. Reed was strengthening with each passing week. When Peter and Kathryn had first heard about the Reeds, they were told that Mrs. Reed was an invalid with an invalid mother. That had proven only half right as far as Margret Reed was concerned. She was in poor health, often suffering from headaches, and seemed ever fighting a cold or some other ailment. That was one of the reasons Mr. Reed decided to take her to California. Both of them—wife and mother-in-law—were also the reason he had ordered a special wagon built. He would see that their journey was as comfortable as possible. No one was surprised that the trail was weakening a woman in her seventies. But everyone, including Mr. Reed, was amazed that it seemed to be putting strength into Mrs. Reed. Her color was much better now. She sometimes walked alongside the wagon or would take Virginia’s pony and ride out ahead with her husband.
“There,” Peter said as he propped two pillows behind Mrs. Keyes. “You just sit there and rest, and we’ll get some supper going.”
“Thank you.”
At that moment Margret’s daughters, eight-year-old Patty and twelve-year-old Virginia, came up to the wagon’s entrance. They’d been out walking, inspecting their new campsite. Looking up at her mother now, Patty said, “Mama, if you and Peter and Kathryn want to come outside, I’ll stay here with Grandma.”
Kathryn smiled at Patty’s thoughtfulness. Ever since they had left Springfield, young Patty had taken it upon herself to look after her grandmother.
“That would be nice, Patty,” said Margret. She turned to Mrs. Keyes. “Will you be all right, Mother?”
“Of course I will—especially if I have my Patty here with me.”
Patty stepped up into the wagon to join her grandmother, and Peter and Margret came down out of the wagon to stand by Kathryn and Virginia.
Margret Reed looked across the campground that was filled with wagons and horses, oxen and mules, and carts and men. They could see the buildings of Independence about a half mile away. “Do you know how long we shall stay here, Peter?”
It was said with longing. She was looking forward to a break from the trail. And she knew that her aged mother would appreciate having two or three days respite from traveling in the wagon, which, in spite of its elaborate springs, still provided a jolting ride.
“I don’t, Mrs. Reed. I know Mr. Reed is over conferring with the two Mr. Donners right now. I suppose part of that will depend on when the larger train leaves. That’s their hope, to join the larger party.” He frowned. “Unfortunately I don’t see another train. Right now we’re the largest group here. Perhaps they haven’t arrived yet.”
She nodded. “So we might have to wait for them?” she asked hopefully.
“That’s a good possibility.”
“That would be wonderful. And don’t we need to get more supplies? Isn’t this the last real outfitting place for a while?”
“A long while,” Peter affirmed. “Independence is the end of civilization in this part of the world. From now on it’s strictly wilderness.”
“What about Fort Laramie?” Kathryn said.
“Oh, there’re trading posts along the trail,” he said, “but no more towns like this one. We need to get the essentials here. And that too could take some time.”
Virginia spoke up. “Papa already sent Baylis Williams and Mr. Herron into town to see what they could buy.”
“Good.”
Kathryn reached inside the wagon and got a three-legged stool; then, using only one crutch, she brought it over to Mrs. Reed, who turned in surprise. “Kathryn, for heaven’s sake, I should be getting you a stool.”
“I’m not paying you to help me, Mrs. Reed. It’s the other way around.”
“Well, thank you. You come sit down too for a time. We’ll let the men get a fire started before we start worrying about supper.”
It was nearly sundown. Walt Herron and Baylis Williams had still not returned from town, and the other two men were off somewhere helping Mr. Reed, so Peter had gotten the fire going, even though as a teamster, that was not part of his job. He didn’t mind, and often pitched in to help the others.
Now he had a good bed of hot coals and was assisting Eliza Williams—sister to Baylis and the Reeds’ hired woman—in getting a kettle full of a rich, savory stew hung over them. Virginia Reed was also helping out.
“Did you know we got others who want to join us?” Virginia said suddenly.
Peter looked up in surprise. “For supper you mean?”
“No. On the trail.”
Mrs. Reed and Kathryn stopped and turned their heads. Peter sat back on his heels.
“Where’d you hear that, Virginia?” Kathryn asked.
“While I was getting water from the creek. I met some of the ladies.”
Peter smiled. Virginia was a young woman who was full of life and energy. She always knew more about whatever was going on anywhere in the camp than anyone else. If she heard it, it was probably true. “How many?”
“Don’t know for sure. There are at least two family groups. An Irishman—he’s got a passel of young’uns—and then there are some Dutchmen.” She lowered her voice at that, as though she were speaking of something dangerous.
“Anyone else?” Mrs. Reed asked, amused at her daughter’s store of information.
Virginia shrugged.
“That’s interesting,” Peter said. Her information wasn’t really news, it was just interesting. There was safety in numbers out on the plains. And the more healthy working men in a train, the better the chances of moving forward at a good pace. The plan had always been to join up with a larger train. The fact that others wanted to do the same was not too surprising.
He heard someone call his name and stood up to look in the direction of the sound. It was James Reed, standing near the back of one of the Donner wagons. He was waving his arm. “Peter, can you come over here?”
“Yes, Mr. Reed,” he shouted back. He turned to Margret Reed. “I’ll be back and help with supper as soon as we’re through.”
She waved a hand. “See if you can talk Mr. Reed into coming back with you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He trotted away, circling a little so as not to spook the animals that were grazing nearby. In a few moments he joined Mr. Reed, who waited for him.
“We’ve got some news,” he said, laying an arm on Peter’s shoulder as they turned and started for the wagon. “I’d like you there to hear this. It will make a difference as to what we do.”
“Yes, sir. What is it?”
“Come on over here and sit down.”
In the circle made by the Donner wagons several men were already seated. In addition to George and Jacob Donner, Peter saw that most of the teamsters and hired men were there as well. Two more men were just coming from the herd, led by George Donner’s lead driver. There were also several men whom Peter did not recognize.
Once everyone had found a place to sit down, George Donner stood up. As was his manner, he jumped right into what was on his mind with no preamble or introduction. “Let me start right out by saying that we’ve got some people here who would like to travel with our party until we can join with a more substantial train. We’ll make introductions in a minute, assuming you’re of a mind to accept them. If not . . . well, then, there isn’t much point in introducing them.”
Peter tried not to smile. George Donner was not rude, at least not intentionally. He was just direct, not given much to small talk. Some found that disconcerting, though personally Peter liked it. The strangers didn’t seem offended but were nodding at his words. And out here on the trail a simple but effective democracy prevailed. All would have a say in who traveled with them.
“My brother and me,” George went on, “along with Mr. Reed, feel inclined to recommend that we accept them. Can’t ever have too many people in a train once you leave civilization. Besides that, these people are well equipped. They have plenty of supplies, good teams, serviceable wagons. We’d like to put it to a vote.”
Reed leaned forward slightly. “Tell us what that would mean for wagons and teams,” he suggested.
Donner grunted. “Seven or eight more wagons and seven more working men.”
The man who sat on the end of the group of newcomers raised his hand. “My son is fourteen and full grown. Make that eight working men.” There was a definite lilt to the man’s speech, and Peter guessed this was Virginia’s Irishman.
Uncle George, as everyone called him, looked around the circle. “All in our party who are in favor of accepting these additions to our train raise your hand.”
Every hand came up. He nodded in satisfaction. “Welcome, then,” he said to the newcomers. “You are now free to travel with us. Each family head will have one vote, same as the rest of us. Why don’t you introduce yourselves to those who haven’t met you yet.”
The man on the end started out. Peter had been right. His name was Patrick Breen and he had come from Ireland some years before. He was traveling with a wife and seven children and a single man, Patrick Dolan, who was a friend and had his own wagon.
Virginia had been wrong about the so-called “Dutchmen,” however. They were actually Germans. To Peter’s surprise, the one called Keseberg, a tall, virile-looking man, looked very well-to-do. So did another man named Wolfinger, who was traveling with the Kesebergs.