He exhaled wearily. “What a tragedy.”
“Twenty acres of cultivated land, fruit trees, a garden, a brick home, an excellent well—all of that for a wagon, two horses, a few bolts of cloth, and four and a half dollars in cash.”
“He was lucky to get a wagon,” Carl said, thinking of his own unsuccessful attempts to trade his brick wagon for something else.
Melissa only nodded. Mary had confided in her that after considerable wrangling in the probate court, she had finally gotten a settlement of seven hundred dollars on Hyrum Smith’s extensive properties. She had used all of that to purchase her own wagons and teams. In addition to her own family, she had Mercy Thompson and her child, and was caring for the children of Samuel Smith, whose widow, Levira, was seriously ill.
Carl came out of his thoughts and looked at his wife. She looked very tired and seemed quite discouraged. Then, as he looked more closely, he thought he detected a flush in her face. He stood up and reached out to touch her forehead. It was quite warm to the touch.
“You’re not starting in with this too, are you?” he asked in sudden alarm.
She shook her head. “No, it’s just hot in here.”
He felt his own forehead. The flesh was cool. He felt her again, then took the clothes from her lap. Fever was often one of the first signs of a coming onslaught of ague. “Come on, Melissa. You’re going to bed.”
“I’m all right.”
“I know. But it’s late. Let’s go to bed.”
She got to her feet, taking his hand and holding it. “Bed does sound good.”
Then, as they started toward the stairs, she stopped. “Carl?”
He stopped too and turned to look at her. “What?”
“You haven’t forgotten your promise, have you? about putting the safety of the children first?”
He wasn’t sure if he winced or not. “No, Melissa. I haven’t forgotten my promise.”
Chapter Notes
On 29 August, Lieutenant Andrew Jackson Smith, a career military officer, joined the Mormon Battalion and proposed that he take command. For the reasons listed here, the majority of the Mormon officers finally voted to accept him. Five days later, the men learned what kind of officer had taken over when Lieutenant Smith became furious at the refusal of the sick to report to the doctor and be put on the sick list. (See
MB,
pp. 48–49;
CHMB,
pp. 143–46.)
Though it seems incredible to modern readers that men could be so harshly treated, the details of the lieutenant’s threats and Doctor Sanderson’s treatment of the sick, even down to the rusty spoon, come from the accounts of those who had to suffer these things (see
MB,
pp. 50–51;
CHMB,
pp. 147–51). One needs to remember that in the army, discipline and the use of authority were often harsh and unjust. Also, battalion members were hundreds of miles from any higher authority to which they might appeal. It is a testimony to the faithful nature of the Saints that they submitted to such treatment without open mutiny.
As summer ended and fall approached, the patience of the anti- Mormons in Illinois was wearing thin. Brigham Young had promised that the Saints would leave Nauvoo in the spring of 1846. The great majority of the Saints had complied with that agreement, but there were still several hundred of the poor and the sick left behind, and things began to fester again. On 21 August 1846, Governor Thomas Ford ordered Major James R. Parker, a member of the Illinois militia, and ten other men to go to Nauvoo and maintain the peace. But the antis far outnumbered this token show of force. Parker sent a proclamation asking all the citizens of Hancock County to return to their homes. When his men took the proclamation to Carthage, they were violently assaulted, then sent back with a message that the constable’s posse that was assembling near Carthage did not recognize Parker’s authority and would not disperse. Clearly intimidated, Parker finally signed an agreement with the posse’s commander on 3 September setting forth the conditions outlined in this chapter. The citizens of Nauvoo flatly rejected the proposal, and this set up the events that followed. (See
SW,
pp. 114–42.)
Chapter 24
Sunday, Sept. 6, 1846 — Pilot Peak
We have been through hell and have lived to tell about it.
I shall be brief, as I am thoroughly exhausted and must sleep. We began our journey across the Salt Desert one week ago. What was originally promised to be 40 miles turned out to be 80. The crossing was unbelievably harsh. Great wastelands of salt beds constitute this desert. It is as flat as a tabletop and as white as if it were new-fallen snow. There is not a single blade of grass or any living thing to be seen. The late summer sun beats down with merciless fury and reflects back into our faces as if we were traversing on the face of a mirror. For long stretches, the salt-soil is so compacted that even oxen and loaded wagons barely leave a mark upon it. In other places, a shallow depression has collected water beneath the crust and turned the hardpan into mush. The wagons broke through and mud as thick as bookbinders’ glue clung to wheels, feet, hooves, and everything else it touched. Should outer darkness ever become too crowded, God could banish Satan and his minions here and it would be sufficient punishment for them.
>As soon as we entered the desert, our company broke into segments as every family sought to fend for themselves. William Eddy forged ahead. We (the Reeds) and the Donners brought up the rear. We have the heavier wagons and our animals quickly fell behind. After plodding on for a day and a night and into part of the next day, our water gave out. Pilot Peak, green and shimmering in the distance, seemed no closer after thirty hours than when we started. The company prevailed upon Mr. Reed to ride ahead and bring back water. He left us reluctantly, instructing us to unhitch the cattle and drive them on when they could pull the wagons no farther. After a time, even the Donners pulled ahead, and we were left seemingly alone in the bleakness that was everywhere around us.
By the morning of the fourth day, when Mr. Reed still had not returned, there was nothing to do but to unyoke the oxen and drive them forward. Milt Elliott and the other teamsters took them all. I stayed back with the wagons and the family. Mr. Reed returned just at sunup on the fifth day, telling us that he had passed Milt and instructed him to return for us quickly once the oxen were watered. We waited all that day and finally determined that we could stay stationary no longer. We left the wagons and began to walk. That night we caught up with the Donners and slept for a time with them. Mr. Reed and I went ahead to find the teams, leaving the family with the Donners.
When we finally reached the base of Pilot Peak and the springs that are there, we learned that disaster had struck. When Mr. Reed passed Milt and the teamsters bringing the cattle in, he warned them to keep them on the road, for once they smelled water they would bolt for it. But while they were going along, one of their horses gave out and they stopped to try and get it going again. They weren’t paying attention to the cattle. The cattle caught smell of the water, which was some distance away, and started for it. Milt, who certainly knows better, was not concerned, for he supposed they would stay on the road which led to the springs and to the camp. When they finally started again, the oxen were nowhere to be seen. They continued on to camp, assuming the cattle would be there. They were not.
Thirty-eight cattle were lost, including nine yoke of Mr. Reed’s oxen. Nine yoke! We have spent two days looking for them, but to no avail. This is disastrous beyond belief. In one stroke of bad luck—or better, of pure carelessness—Mr. Reed has gone from being the richest man in our party to being nearly destitute. He now has only two oxen left. Mr. Graves, Mr. Pike, and Mr. Breen have kindly consented to loan oxen to Mr. Reed, but even then he had to divide his food supplies up among the rest of the company and abandon two of the wagons. We cached much valuable material in the desert. Mr. Reed says we will come back for it next season. I have no such hope.
My feelings of impending tragedy only deepen with each day. Oh, my beloved Kathryn, shall I ever see you again?
The wagons were lined up along the fence in front of the house. Children were playing around them and waved happily, but Melissa could see no adults. She stopped, not wanting to intrude, looking toward the house, feeling the warmth of the loaf of bread beneath her arm. After a moment, the door opened and Joseph Fielding came out carrying a pile of bedding.
As he came down the steps, he caught sight of her and smiled. “Hello, Melissa.”
“Good afternoon, Brother Joseph.”
“Mary and Mercy are inside. Go on in.”
“Thank you.” As she opened the gate for him and then stepped through herself, she looked toward the wagons. “Are you nearly loaded?”
He nodded, lifting the bedding up and tossing it inside the nearest one. “When you are leaving almost everything behind, it doesn’t take too long to pack.”
“Yes,” Melissa said sadly, then turned and went up the walk. The door was still half-opened, so she pushed it a little farther open and called inside. “Hello.”
Almost immediately Mary Fielding Smith appeared. She had a dust rag in her hand and a scarf around her forehead. “Oh, Melissa. What a pleasant surprise!”
Melissa held out the loaf of bread wrapped in a dish towel. “Here’s something for the children.”
Mary took it and pressed it to her face, breathing deeply. “Mmm, it smells wonderful. Thank you. Come in and sit for a minute.”
“I know you’re about ready to leave.”
“It doesn’t take long,” she said wistfully. “Not when you’re leaving almost everything behind.”
“That’s what Joseph said too.”
Mary turned and looked around. “Look at this. It’s a completely furnished house. There are dishes in the cupboards and blankets on the beds. There are even some clothes left in the wardrobes. The trees in back are loaded with peaches that will be ripe in a few more days. All of that, and we’re going to simply close the door and drive away.”
Melissa watched the sorrow in Mary’s eyes. This was a graceful, cultured, educated woman. Even after these many years, she still spoke with a noticeable English accent. Melissa could still remember when she had first seen Mary Fielding. Mary and her sister Mercy had come to Kirtland from Toronto, in Upper Canada, in company with Joseph Fielding and John and Leonora Taylor. Rebecca and the tall, graceful English girl struck up an immediate and deep friendship, though Mary was some years Rebecca’s senior. It was a friendship that had endured for over nine years, and through it all the family had grown close to Mary. Melissa felt a great loss to know that it was over now.
“I suppose Emma hasn’t changed her mind about not going with you.”
There was a quick shake of her head. “Emma’s leaving but not with us. She’s going upriver to Fulton, Illinois, to stay with the Marks family.”
“Oh,” Melissa said. That wasn’t a surprise. From the time of Joseph’s death, Emma had made it clear that she was not going to follow Brigham Young anywhere.
The door opened and Joseph Fielding came back inside. He glanced at the two of them, then quietly went into the next room and began to gather up more things.
“What about Mother Smith?” Melissa asked.
There were instant tears in Mary’s eyes. “I took the children and we went and said good-bye to her this afternoon.” She stopped, brushing at her eyes. “It was very difficult. She’s so old and feeble now. We both knew that we’ll never see each other again.”
Tears welled up in Melissa’s eyes too, and her throat constricted so tightly that she could barely speak. “I don’t think the two of us shall ever see each other again either,” she whispered.
Mary set the bread down on a chair and opened her arms. Melissa stepped into them, weeping openly. “Nonsense,” Mary said. “Someday you’re going to be reunited with your family.” She smiled brightly. “And where they are, that’s where we will be.”
“I don’t think so,” Melissa sniffed. “I don’t think I’ll ever see them again either.” Her shoulders began to shake as the utter loneliness took over.
To her surprise, Joseph Fielding was suddenly standing at the entrance to the room. “Melissa?”
She wiped at her eyes with her handkerchief, then turned. “Yes?”
“You must leave Nauvoo. Time is running out.”
“I feel that too,” she exclaimed, “but I can’t convince Carl.”
“I will talk to him.”
She shook her head. “It won’t do any good.”
He glanced at his sister, then went on. “Have you heard the news today?”
Melissa’s chin lifted. “What?”
“Major Parker has withdrawn. He says he can’t do anything.”
Both women were surprised at that declaration.
“Governor Ford appointed another man to take his place—Major Flood, the commander of the militia in Adams County. But Flood is afraid of angering the non-Mormons and refuses to intervene.”
Melissa’s hand came to her mouth. “What are we going to do?”
“Oh, the governor finally appointed a Major Clifford to take charge of things here.” The very tone of his voice indicated how effective he thought that would be. He took a quick breath, not sure how much to say, and yet knowing this was far too serious to leave Melissa unprepared. “There’s now a mob of about seven hundred armed men camped a few miles out of town on the Nauvoo-Carthage Road. Reportedly they have three or four cannons. Major Clifford is calling for men to take positions along the high ground just east of the temple.”
Melissa fell back a step, her eyes wide with shock. “Does Carl know this?”
“I don’t know. If he’s been in the meetings, yes. I just heard it from Daniel Wells, who was on his way to join our defense group.”
Mercy Thompson, Mary’s sister, came running lightly down the stairs with a box in her arms. “I’m ready, Joseph,” she called. Then she stopped when she saw Melissa with Mary. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Then, seeing their faces, she came forward anxiously. “What’s wrong?”