He had never said such a thing, and Anne realized he was speaking from despair. Still, it was a specious remark, because, as she replied, “And how would we do that? Don’t you remember that you gave all our money to the elders?” When John failed to reply, she asked, “Did you not?”
“I held out only a small sum.”
Anne stopped walking, letting John go ahead a few steps. When he realized she was not beside him, he turned and went back to her. “You had money we could have used, money that would have bought food for us, and you hid it from me?” She was incredulous.
“Where would we have spent it?”
“At Fort Laramie.”
“There was no need for it there. We thought there would be supply trains. And later … the money was no good. People would not part with food for any amount.”
“A peppermint stick. Lucy cried for it. You had no right, John, no right at all.”
“No.” He was too tired to argue.
“You did not trust me.”
“I was afraid you would leave me if you had the money to return to England, and you are all the world to me. But now, the money will take you home, if you want to go.”
“And what about you and the children? Is there enough for all of us?”
“Enough for you and Lucy. I would come later with Joe.”
“Would you, or would you send me away and keep Joe for yourself?” Anne remembered how he had threatened to take the children to America and leave her behind in England.
“You think that, after all we’ve been through?”
Anne began to tighten the ribbons of her once-fashionable bonnet, which was torn and faded, the clusters of silk violets that once had been pinned to the side long gone. She had bought the bonnet to wear when she entered the valley, but she had need of it when her sunbonnet was lost. Now, as she yanked at the ribbons, one of them tore off. There was no needle and thread with which to repair the ribbon, and she could not wear the hat without tying it under her chin. So Anne yanked it off her head and tossed it into the snow.
John watched her, dejected, his shoulders slumped. He had lost his gloves, and his hands, once smooth enough to handle the bolts of silk cloth in the tailor shop without snagging them, were now rough, corded, dark from the sun. He had been a fine, big man when they left England, but now he was as thin as the other emigrants, his face flat and eyes sunken. There was gray in his beard, once neatly trimmed but now unkempt. Anne wondered if she had changed as much, but how could she tell? It had been months since she’d seen herself in a mirror. Her hands and arms were bony, and if they were any indication, her face must be as thin and brown and wrinkled as wrapping paper.
“I would stay in the valley,” she said. “We have come this far. We must give it a chance. Besides, I am comfortable in my mind about living with these people, even if I am not ready to be baptized. Surely, John, it will be tolerable fair once we reach Zion. We’ll find work, and you will regain your faith. It’s natural to doubt after all that’s happened. As the elders say, you have been tested, and I think we have come through. Nothing could be so bad as what we have survived.”
John looked out at the mountains, white with snow shining in the sunlight, and the sight of them hurt his eyes. His pupils, when he turned back to Anne, were small and dark. “I’ll listen to you now, as I should have before we left England.”
Anne knew how difficult a thing it was for her husband to say that, and she only nodded. “I would ask one thing,” she told him.
John said nothing but waited for her to continue.
“That you give the money to me.”
“You don’t trust me? You think I’d yet give it to the elders?”
Now it was Anne’s turn to look away. She stared at the discarded bonnet. The wind had lifted it and blown it into a tree, where it had caught on a branch. It hung there like a dead thing. John stared at his wife a long time. Then he reached into his pocket and removed a pouch and handed it to her.
* * *
They would reach Zion the next day, Jessie expected—she and Ephraim, Emeline, and Maud. They had survived. But what would they find there? Jessie had kept their spirits up virtually all of the trip, but now that they were about to ride into the valley, she worried about what sort of life awaited them. She and Ephraim and Sutter had planned to farm, but Sutter was dead, and Ephraim had lost an arm. She was the only one of the three who could do the farmwork, and there was no way that even with Emeline’s help she could break the soil and plant and harvest. She should have let go of those dreams when Sutter passed, but like the seed sacks that were still tied beneath her skirt, she had not discarded them. Now, on the eve of their new life in Zion, she had to be realistic. She had to find their future. There must be other work in the valley that they could do, but what was it?
As she sat brooding beside the fire, a tin cup of coffee the color of black ink in her hand, she saw one of the rescuers, her cousin’s husband, stride past, and she called to him. “I would have a word with you, Brother Thomas.”
“Sister Jessie.”
“My brothers and I were farmers in England, and it was our desire to start a farm in Zion. I think we could have done that pretty nicely,” she told him. “But as you know, my one brother is gone, and Ephraim, it is clearer than crystal, is not fit for heavy work. I’m not knowing what we can do. What would you advise us?”
Thomas, who had taken off his hat when he addressed Jessie, put it back onto his head and squatted beside her. “You’re asking if there is work for a man with one arm, then? There is no doubt of your own future, for as a woman, you will marry.”
“In time, but not now. I ask about work for all of us.”
“You would indeed marry,” he insisted. “There are no single women in Zion after three months’ time; even the halt and the lame and the old are taken up. A farmer would be happy to have such a woman as you for a wife.”
“But I might not be pleased to take him.”
“Most women are not so particular.”
Jessie scoffed. “If I expect to spend all time and eternity with him, I’ll marry only a man of my choosing.”
Thomas grinned. “Perhaps a sister with such a temper is not so desirable after all. But then, I’ve learned that most women have tempers—most wives, at any rate.”
“And men, do they not have tempers? Perhaps you haven’t observed the ones pushing handcarts who blaze out with profanity.” She looked at the coffee, the worst she had ever tasted, and thought to throw it out, but she would not waste the drink, not in front of this man who must have sacrificed much to come to the aid of the emigrants.
“I concede you are right.”
Jessie laughed. Despite her worries about the future, she was relieved to be putting the hardships and vexations of the past months behind her. She felt lighthearted. “I ask you if there is work in Zion for Ephraim.”
“Can he read?”
“Right well, and write and cipher, too. He kept the books on the farm.”
“Then Brother Brigham might use him in the tithing office. I’ll ask him.”
“Oh, no need. I’ll tell him. Ephraim will be pleased.”
“I was referring to Brother Brigham.”
Jessie was startled. “You know him? The prophet?”
“Many in the valley know him. Thales Tanner is a particular favorite of his.”
“I didn’t know it.”
“No, Thales would rather mention his connection with Joseph Smith. Surely you have heard him tell that. He likes to play brag.” Thomas smiled at her as if they shared a joke.
“He hasn’t mentioned Joseph in a long time.”
“The trip has gone badly for Thales. He takes responsibility for the suffering of the emigrants.”
Jessie nodded. “As well he should. Brother Thales is sorely disliked amongst the Saints.”
Thomas studied her face. “You are not an easy woman.”
The remark annoyed Jessie, but she was too weary to be cross and said only, “My brothers might be well if he had not insisted we come on from Florence.”
“And the three of you, what did you want? Did you vote to winter there?”
Jessie looked down at her hands. “We did not. But we didn’t know what lay ahead.”
“Nonetheless, you chose to continue. Can you blame Thales for that?” He picked up a handful of snow and squeezed it, then tossed it aside.
“I’m not complaining, Brother Thomas. I’m merely saying Thales Tanner has good reason to be remorseful.”
“And he’s been punished. Look at the deaths in his own family.”
“His wife’s family. They might be alive if he had not forced them to leave New York.”
“His own wife doesn’t blame him. Why should you?”
“Because they were my friends. And because Louisa is a fool.” Jessie thought she had said too much. If Brother Thomas were offended, he might not speak to the prophet on Ephraim’s behalf. “I’ll say no more of it, lest you rebuke me and say it is not my affair.”
“You are a strong-willed woman, Sister. Zion has need of them.”
“Except as wives, I should judge.”
“Except as wives,” he agreed. Thomas stood and said he would not forget to recommend Ephraim to the prophet.
Jessie, too, got to her feet, but she could not stand. She swayed and spilled the coffee, then dropped the cup. Thomas grabbed her and helped her to sit again. “Are you all right?”
“A temporary spell.”
“I’ve seen it before. Some hold out against all hardship, then collapse when their strength is no longer needed. You must rest when you reach Zion. Rebecca will take you in and nurse you to health. She made me promise to bring you and your brothers home to her.”
“I thank you for your help, Brother Thomas.”
“I won’t forget to talk to the prophet.” He took a step away, then turned back. “And I shall keep an eye out for a deaf and blind old man who would not mind a wife with a temper.”
“Please to let me know.” She laughed.
* * *
At midday on November 30, four months after the Martin Company had left Iowa City, Andrew, Ella, and Nannie at last reached their destination. One hundred and four wagons filled with emigrants emerged from Emigration Canyon into the Salt Lake Valley. They cried with joy as they viewed the Promised Land, at the knowledge their dreadful journey was over and they had survived. Others around them praised God or prayed, and a few—those who still walked—knelt and kissed the ground. Ella Buck raised up her sister so that she could see the city and the mountains beyond. Nannie said nothing, simply stared, wondering if the austere settlement shielded by ponderous mountains was the reason she had made the long journey.
There was no brass band to greet them as the Saints had been promised at the outset, no songs, no flowers strewn in their path. The occasion was too solemn. Ella was surprised at the silent people who lined the streets as the emigrants rode past the temple block, where services in the tabernacle had just ended, to the tithing yard. The Saints who met them there were somber. Some had heard of the terrible suffering these people had endured. One woman told Ella that the members of the Willie Company, which had arrived three weeks earlier, had relayed tales that chilled the listeners’ hearts, and they knew from the scouts who had returned to Great Salt Lake City before the Martin Company’s arrival that the last group of handcart pioneers had fared even worse.
“Brigham Young was so distressed by the plight of his people that he was almost ill. He canceled afternoon worship because he says when baked potatoes and pudding and milk are needed, prayer will not supply their place. Are you needing a home?” she asked
“We will wait just a bit,” Ella said, because first they needed to know what Levi had decided.
Andrew lifted Nannie out of the wagon and set her gently on a wall near the tithing office, then went off. Ella and Nannie sat and watched as Mormons came up to strangers, asking if they could give rides in carriages and wagons, even wheelbarrows, offering food and clean clothes, medicine, homes. Nannie had not expected such generosity. Nor had others who had endured the long trip with little complaint, and they broke down and cried.
* * *
John and Anne Sully stood with their children in the midst of the emigrants, a little bewildered as they watched the sickest of them being carried off. “We must find Catherine’s son,” she told John, inquiring of a woman whether she knew a man named Dunford.
The woman searched the crowd, then pointed him out, and Anne hurried toward him, John and the children behind her. “Are you Catherine Dunford’s son?” she asked.
The man nodded. “Are they here, my parents?”
Anne shook her head, and for the first time she could remember, she began to cry. “They are in heaven.”
The man grasped Anne’s hands and looked into her face. “Both? Both are gone?”
“Your father died saving the life of my son, Catherine not so long ago. She was my dearest friend. I would not have made it without her.” Anne reached into the pocket of her dress and took out the book of poems. “This was her most cherished possession. I thought to bury it with her, but I have saved it for you instead.”
Catherine’s son slowly opened the book and read the inscription, then clasped it to his breast. “She wrote me of it. I remember the first book, as threadbare as an old shirt.” He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and started to turn away. But then he stopped. “Sister, are ye in need of a home? We had a room set aside for Mother and Father, but it will be empty.” He glanced at John and the children. “My son would be happy to hae a playmate, and a girl would be an added blessing.”
“We are grateful for your kindness,” Anne said. “We were told the Lord would provide.”
“The Lord and James Dunford,” he replied. “And you are Sister…”
“My name is Anne Sully, but I am not a sister. My husband is one of you, but I am not become a Mormon and may never become one. You may not want a Gentile living in your home.”
“You were my mother’s friend,” he said. “That makes you sister to me.”
* * *
Jessie was unable to walk and sat in the wagon, Ephraim and Emeline beside her. “Wait here,” Thomas told them, and he strode off to a wagon a short distance away.
In a moment, he returned with a tall woman dressed in Mormon homespun, followed by two children and a young woman clad in finery such as Jessie had not seen since she left England. “Here are your cousins Jessie and Ephraim and their friend Emeline,” Thomas told the tall woman, and Jessie recognized Rebecca. The woman reached up to clasp her cousin, and the two held each other. Then Rebecca turned to Ephraim and clasped his remaining hand. “Welcome, Ephraim.” She looked around. “And Sutter?”