“Will he live?” the old woman asked.
The doctor shrugged. “Maybe. He’s young and strong. The young ones think the Lord Hisself will reach down and cure them, the damn fools.” He went to a cupboard and removed a bottle, took a swallow, and then handed the bottle around. Sutter sampled it, and so did Jessie. Maud declined, but Emeline took a turn, handing the bottle back to the surgeon. “Whiskey helps more than anything. You got any?” the doctor asked.
Jessie shook her head. “I know there’s some among the brethren as have it, but I don’t know who.”
“You can accumulate it at the trading post.”
Others pushed into the building to consult the doctor then, and the woman in childbirth began to cry out, so Jessie and Sutter carried their brother outside and laid him down in the shade, telling Maud they would stay with him until he regained consciousness. Then they would walk him back to the cart.
“We’ll visit the store,” Maud announced. “Come along, Emeline. You’ve seen your first amputation. Now we’ll find out if there are herbs here to help in the recovery.” Emeline lingered, but Maud took her arm firmly and said in a low voice, “We’ll leave them be. It’s family tragedy.”
“My tragedy, too,” the girl said. She accompanied Maud to the building that served as a sutler’s store and waited with the Saints who were bartering for rice and bacon, biscuits and crackers, tea, saleratus, black and cayenne pepper, and candy. Maud had expected supplies to be waiting for them at Fort Laramie, but none were there, so she was not surprised that the Saints with a little money were buying provisions for themselves.
She looked at the boots hanging from the ceiling and over at the hardware—hammers and nails, iron that might be used to reinforce the wheels of their carts, spades and axes that could replace the ones they had discarded. She saw women send furtive glances at the coats and shoes, even bonnets that were for sale. But Maud knew that most did not have the money to buy anything, and even if they had, they would have had to discard other belongings, since the leaders kept strict about the amount of weight each emigrant was allowed. She and Emeline stood quietly for a moment, waiting for the Saints in front of them to finish.
Anne, the heathen, glanced down at her daughter Lucy, who was pointing at the peppermint sticks in a dusty glass jar, and whispered to her husband, “Couldn’t we buy just one piece for the two children? They love it so. And maybe a bit of tea to give me strength. It might help my milk.” There had been no rest for Anne after the birth of Samuel. She had not had even the luxury of riding on a cart, but had had to march with the other pioneers after the baby was born—and every day since. The handcarts did not tarry for childbirth any more than they did for death, and Anne had not fully recovered.
But her husband shook his head, saying they had no money for such, and the family left the store without purchasing anything.
Then Nannie, standing next to the counter, removed a silver brooch in the shape of a thistle from inside her dress and handed it to the sutler, who curled his lip and snarled, “What will I do with this? I’ve no call to stock a silver pin. It’s worthless to me.”
“But it’s all I hae. Widna you give me something for it? We’re in need.”
The man, who was thin and sallow and smelled like a stable, stared at the pin, jiggling it in his hand to feel its weight. “A piece of trash. Besides, I bought one similar from a woman in the last handcart company, the one before you, ‘the Willie Company,’ they called it, and it’s still a-sittin’ here,” he said. “But maybe I’ll give you two bits for it—charity on my part.”
“I paid a good fair price for it in Edinburgh.”
“Take it back there, then.”
Maud peered over the girl’s shoulder at the brooch, a fine bit of workmanship. “It’s worth more than a quarter.”
Emeline spoke up. “It’s worth a dollar. There’s a Scottish soldier outside. I wager he’d pay you twice that. Offer it to him, Sister. And if he won’t buy it, why, one of the soldiers’ wives will want it. There’s little enough of pretty things they have.” She looked around the shop and added scornfully, “And nothing here worth the price.”
The sutler narrowed his eyes at Emeline. “Aye, my fine lady. Would you cheat this child, then?” he asked, referring to himself as a “child,” as the old trappers did. He hefted the heavy brooch. “All right, I’ll give you a dollar, but you’ll take it in trade.”
Nannie flashed a look of triumph at Emeline, then quickly picked out the items she wanted in exchange—butter, dried beef, a little coffee and sugar. As she turned, she asked Emeline, “Which one is the Scottish soldier? P’haps he is from my village.”
“Oh, he’s outside,” Emeline said vaguely. “He looked like a Scot to me, but then, I never asked.”
The sutler cast a cold eye at Emeline and said, “You’ll not cheat me twice.”
“I didn’t cheat you once. You’ll get a fair price for the silver pin.”
The sutler ignored the girl and turned to Maud, asking what she wanted. When she told him she was after herbs, he said he didn’t deal in them. “There’s no call for ’em at the fort. If the surgeon can’t cure a soldier, he dies. No cause to drag it out.”
The crowd in the store had thinned out, and only a few Saints were left, not buying but only looking at the goods, longing in their eyes.
“You Mormons are a poor lot,” the sutler observed sourly. He squinted at Emeline, who was waiting beside the counter, and asked, “You be wanting something?”
“A bottle of whiskey.”
The sutler guffawed. “A tippler, are you? I guess you people ain’t so high-and-mighty after all. And you just a chunk of a girl!”
Emeline did not smile, just stared at the man so long that he turned away. He shrugged and took out a bottle and set it on the counter. “That there’s my best whiskey.”
Emeline removed the cork, tasted it, and made a face. “I would not care to taste your worst.”
He put the bottle back under the counter and removed another. “You’re a particular one, ain’t you?”
Not answering, Emeline took a swallow from the second bottle, then said, “For sure, it’s taken from the same barrel. I’ve tasted better from the horse trough.”
“Well, it’s the last taste you’ll get for free. I know your kind—taste and taste until the bottle’s dry. Yah! Get on with you.” He slammed the cork into the bottle and picked it up by the neck.
“How much?” Emeline asked.
“You insult me like that, I’m of a mind not to sell to you.”
“You’ll sell. How much?”
He shrugged. “Two dollars.”
“Ha!” Emeline said. “For two dollars, I could buy a gallon of Holland gin.”
“He charges the soldiers only a dollar,” said a man who was watching the bartering.
The sutler narrowed his eyes at the man, who only laughed and left the store.
Emeline reached into her pocket and drew out Sophia Gray’s little purse, which she had guarded carefully. But when she opened it, Emeline found it empty. The coins that the Grays had brought with them were gone. “Brother Prime’s took my money,” she told Maud. “He must have stole it when he tried to take my mother’s ring. I never checked.”
“I haven’t that much,” Maud replied.
“It’s for a brother whose arm was just took off,” Emeline said.
“Not likely. Eight bits,” the sutler said, unmoved.
“Then I’ll have to give this up.” Emeline reached into her pocket and removed a gold ring.
“It’s your mama’s wedding ring,” Maud said.
“Brother Ephraim needs the whiskey,” Emeline told her.
The sutler reached for the ring, but Emeline held it a minute longer, gazing at it before the man twisted it from her fingers. He examined it and said, “Another gold band. I have enough for all my fingers.”
“Not like this,” Emeline told him. “Pure gold, the finest there is, smooth as your cheek.” She studied the sutler. “Smooth as
my
cheek. And garnets and pearls set in it.” She almost purred.
“Still, not worth much,” he said. “But being as how your brother’s in need, I’ll trade it for a bottle.”
“Oh, no,” Emeline said, snatching back the ring. “I wouldn’t trade a pure gold ring for whiskey not worth three skips of a louse. I wouldn’t take less than three dollars for it.”
The sutler snorted.
“One dollar for the whiskey, two dollars in trade.”
“Not likely.”
Emeline returned the ring to her pocket, then smiled at the sutler, smiled in a way no Mormon girl had ever smiled at him. “Come along, Sister Maud. I know a brother who’ll have this ring for his wife, and he’ll give me a bottle and a blanket for it.” The two women started for the door.
“Hold on,” the sutler called, and Maud stopped, although Emeline did not. “I said hold on.”
Emeline turned and raised her chin a little but did not go back to the counter.
“All right. This child’s an old fool. I’ll give you the two dollars in trade. I’ll lose money on it.”
“Not so’s you’d notice. Why, your goods cost four times those in Iowa City.”
“You think they walk here like a parcel of Mormons?”
At that, Emeline laughed. “I don’t believe you’d push a handcart, old man.”
“Not too old for you.” The sutler laughed, too, showing rotted teeth above his gray beard.
“I’ll have a little of the sugar, and a bit of cinnamon, yarn to make stockings.” Emeline rattled off what she wanted, and the merchant took down the items with his gnarled fingers. The purchases totaled more than two dollars.
When the things were lined up, the sutler put his arm around them, glaring so fiercely at Maud that she stepped back. He leaned over the counter then, grinning, and said to Emeline, “Winter between here and the Salt Lake is fierce. The snow in the mountains is as deep as a horse. There’s many won’t survive the crossing. It’s clear as gin a little girl like you…” He shrugged.
Emeline looked at him wide-eyed, and the old man added a stick of candy to the pile of purchases. “I shouldn’t like to be cold like that,” she said.
“This child wouldn’t like to see a pretty thing like you get her feet froze off. The Mormons don’t tell you that, do they?”
“I thank
you
for telling me, sir.” Emeline looked up shyly through her lashes, and the old man took down a cone of sugar.
“The Mormons don’t have nothing in the way of provisions. You’d get so hungry, you’d gnaw a file.”
“I wouldn’t like that.” She paused and smiled. “Do
you
have enough provisions?”
“You’d have fresh meat every day—and I got me some good hooch, too, seeing as you like it. So there’s no need to go in the winter. You could stay till spring. You’d have a full belly.” He leered at her, and Emeline gave him as beguiling a smile as Maud had ever seen.
“I am tired to death of the trail,” Emeline admitted. “But I don’t know you. You might be mean and stingy.”
The sutler played with the gold ring, rubbed the garnets on his shirt, then set it beside the other goods. “To show you what kind of child I be, I’ll give you back your ring.” He pushed it toward Emeline. “I’d fancy a young girl like you to help in the store, somebody sharp as a pin. I’d make a lady of you.”
“She is a lady,” Maud interjected, but the old man ignored her.
Thinking over the words, Emeline cast down her eyes and slowly picked up the purchases, handing them to Maud. Then she put the gold ring on her finger. “I would like to sleep in a bed. Have you a bed?”
“Aye, and you could sleep till noon and only work a little. I would dote on a pretty thing like you. I’d be right glad for your company.”
Maud spoke up. “She’s rather young for that, is she not?”
“I didn’t ask you, old lady. It’s ’tween me and her,” the sutler snapped. He leaned over the counter and whispered, “I take in one hundred and seventy dollars a day here, and I could be generous.”
“I’m beholden to those that brought me. I owe them for the food,” Emeline said, glancing up at a cured ham that was hanging behind the counter. The sutler gauged her for a moment, then took it down. Emeline picked it up with one hand and the bottle with the other. “Come along, Sister Maud. My things are on your cart.” She raised an eyebrow at the man, and the two women quickly left the store.
“You come on back,” the sutler called.
Outside, Maud said, “You wouldn’t, would you, Sister? He is a foul man.”
“I’ve known worse,” Emeline said. “I would not mind a warm bed and plenty to eat, but not with the likes of him. He’s the mouse in the meal.”
“He thought he could buy you up like a mule. The man was a bad lot altogether.” She looked at the girl.
“I’ve been bought like a mule, and for a lot less.”
Maud did not respond but said instead, “You gave him old Harry.”
“I played him pretty good, didn’t I? I wonder if he really thinks I am fool enough to go back.” Emeline added, “I enjoyed myself pretty well, and we got the whiskey for Ephraim.”
“It was enough to make an owl laugh.”
Emeline frowned and turned to Maud. “Was it a sin? I thought not.”
“No, Sister, it was no sin. More likely the Lord worked through you to give the Gentile his comeuppance.” She thought that over and nodded at the wisdom of what she’d said. “Such opportunities, like the angels’ visits, are few and far between. You acted rightly. And look at what the Lord made him give you!”
* * *
Like others the Sullys had encountered along the trail, the men in Fort Laramie warned them about the weather that lay ahead in the mountains. The animals’ coats were heavy that fall, which meant a harsh winter. The storms that swept down the mountainsides would be too much for the Mormons in their weakened condition. “Leave the women and children, the sick,” they urged. “You can go on in the spring.” They should not be such fools as the Willie handcart company, which had set out days ahead of them.
Anne would have stayed, for in her weakened condition, she dreaded the endless walking and the threat of cold weather. But she knew John would not consider it, so she didn’t bother to ask him. Others, whose health was weak—or perhaps it was their faith that was—succumbed to the pleadings. A few wanted to remain at the fort. “It will rain pitchforks on them, tines down, if they do,” thundered a Saint. “But there will be no storm for God’s chosen.” Anne did not believe that, and she noted that the church had purchased one hundred buffalo robes at Fort Laramie for the hundreds of members of the company who trudged steadily Zionward.