Only the Brave: The Continuing Saga of the San Juan Pioneers Page 10

  That evening, sensing that something was different, Arthur kept looking at her, questioning her with his eyes. She pretended not to notice. Mitch kept giving her questioning looks too. She ignored them.

  They were nearly through with supper when a shadow suddenly appeared in the doorway. Martha yelled out. The rest of them whirled in surprise. It was Old Toby. Arthur shot to his feet, but Gwendolyn grabbed his hand and pulled him down again. “Good evening, Toby,” she said, managing a thin smile. “Did you come back for your biscuits?”

  “No, Toby want pie.” He removed his hat. “Squaw, me not mad now.”

  “Good, Toby. Squaw not mad now either.”

  “I chop wood?”

  “That would be nice. When Toby is done, Toby will have apple pie.”

  He grunted and disappeared.

  Knowing that her whole family was gaping at her in utter astonishment, she picked up her fork and started eating again. When none of them moved, she turned to them, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. “What?” she demanded

  “What in the world was that all about?” Arthur asked.

  “What is Old Toby doing here?” Mitch exclaimed.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. He’s going to have dessert with us. What is all the fuss about?”

  Notes

  The Ellsworth Handcart Company did have an encounter with hostile Indians somewhere along the North Platte River, but they were able to defuse the situation without incident (see Handcarts to Zion, 71).

  Thales Haskell, who had served for years as a missionary among the Indians, was considered by the Saints in the San Juan Mission to be the resident Indian expert. His rules for dealing with Indians were well known to the settlers, and one of the prime ones was to show no fear. Others included always being plain, frank, and straight-talking with them; speaking slowly and clearly and using simple language; not accusing them of wrongdoing unless you were sure they really did it; never lying to them; and letting them do most of the talking (Saga, 219).

  Gwen’s experience with Old Toby is based on two actual incidents. One is credited to Jane M. Walton and the other to Mary Jones, wife of Kumen Jones. Both involved a Ute Indian named Posey. In Jane Walton’s case, she was out hoeing in the garden when Posey rode up demanding biscuits. She told him she would get him some as soon as she finished hoeing the row. Angry that she didn’t respond, Posey drew his gun on her. She went on hoeing. He got off his horse and followed after her, swearing at her and threatening her. She whirled around and hit him over the head with her hoe. He dropped like a rock. She was afraid she had killed him, but still turned her back on him. A minute or two later, he got up, gave a bloodcurdling yell, and ran for his horse. The dog went after him and took a piece of his trousers before he jumped on his horse and tore away. In this case, he didn’t come back for several years. When he did, he cautiously opened the door and told her he wasn’t mad anymore. She said she wasn’t either and told him she would get his biscuits as soon as she finished what she was doing. He accepted that and went out and chopped her some wood while he waited (see ibid., 225–26).

  In the case of Mary Jones, Posey came to the house while she was fixing her husband’s lunch and asked for bread. She told him that if he would chop some wood, she would fix him some breakfast. Instead he started poking around looking for bread. Mary had a short, iron stove lifter in her hand. When she saw him looking beneath a cloth where she kept the bread, she told him that if he tried to take the bread, she would hit him with the lifter. That made him so angry he took out his horse whip and started whipping her across the shoulders. She screamed, and her husband ran in, knocked Posey down, and drove him out of the house. In this case, when Posey returned some time later, he went right to the woodpile and chopped some wood. Then he rode away without asking for food (see Lariats, 54–56).

  There are enough similarities in the two stories that some have wondered if they are not two different accounts of the same incident. But there are enough significant differences that it’s possible both occurred with the same Indian.

  Chapter 7

  _____________________

  September 17, 1884—Bluff City, Utah Territory

  The word elixir comes from a Greek word meaning a “medical powder,” or a “powder for drying wounds.” But in common use, it refers to a sweet-flavored liquid that you drink to cure whatever ills have befallen you.

  Joseph F. Smith, Erastus Snow, and others from Salt Lake City arrived unexpectedly a week early. Their coming was met with great excitement and anticipation. For Gwendolyn Westland, that excitement and anticipation quickly turned to pure joy. In their initial meeting with Bishop Nielson and his counselors, these Brethren confirmed that they had come with the permission of President John Taylor to do one of two things if conditions warranted it: They could either disband the mission completely and allow the people to return to their homes, or they could start new settlements somewhere else. Either way, the San Juan pioneers would no longer face the triple threat of lawless cowboys, hostile Indians, and a relentless, untamable river.

  To Gwen, that news was like a restorative elixir to both body and spirit. The effect on her was amazing. It was as though she shed ten years overnight. She was reenergized, rejuvenated, reborn. She went about humming softly as she worked, often swaying back and forth to the music in her head. When Mitch’s father reminded her that they no longer had a home to return to and that they would have to start over in Beaver or elsewhere, she cried, “I know, I know. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Mitch received the news as if he were hit by a runaway hay wagon. The thought of going back to Beaver left him sick to his stomach. But when he saw how his mother took the news, he clamped his mouth shut and put on the best face he could muster.

  That night, as the family was preparing for bed, Mitch finally became so frustrated with his mother’s euphoria that he dared to suggest that no final decision had yet been made. Gwen was tucking Johnny into bed. She stopped, turned, and gave Mitch an incredulous look. “President Taylor sent Joseph F. Smith down here, Mitch. Joseph F. Smith! Son of Hyrum Smith, nephew of the Prophet Joseph Smith.”

  Mitch saw that as a tremendous leap in logic. “Mother,” he exclaimed in exasperation, “I know all that. And while it’s a wonderful thing to get to meet him in person, his lineage has nothing to do with him coming here.”

  “Maybe not,” she admitted. “But he is President Joseph F. Smith, Mitch. Don’t you see that? President Taylor didn’t just send Elder Snow or another member of the Twelve to handle this. He sent his counselor in the First Presidency. That means President Smith speaks for the First Presidency.”

  Mitch gave his father an imploring look at that point, but Arthur sided with his wife. “Your mother’s right about that, Mitch. President Smith comes on assignment from the First Presidency. Whatever he decides will be final.” He gave Mitch a very hard look. “And we will accept it. We all will accept it.”

  “But he hasn’t decided for sure,” Mitch retorted.

  “That’s enough, Mitch. Let it be.” The tone of his father’s voice told Mitch it was time to stop. So he did. But if the conversation turned in any way to the possibility of them leaving, he would leave the room.

  September 19, 1884

  For the next couple of days, President Smith and Elder Snow toured the ravaged valley and the surrounding area with Bishop Nielson and his counselors. They saw what few remnants were left of the Big Ditch. They were shown the ruined cribs and the smashed remains of the great water wheel. They walked the mud flats, now dried into something akin to cement. They stepped inside cabins with inside walls stained with mud. They drove the fifteen miles to Montezuma Creek to survey the ruins of what had once been a small community. They rode out to Cottonwood Wash and Butler Wash and saw how limited the feed was for their cattle, even after a wet spring.

  But that was not all. In the evenings, the Brethren visited with individual families. They asked some questions, but mostly they just listened as the memb
ers described what life in Bluff was like. Mitch was quite irritated when they spoke with his mother and father and never once asked him how he felt about it. Yet through all the frustration, he held his tongue. Incurring the wrath of his father would only make things worse.

  When all of the touring and interviewing was done, President Smith and Elder Snow retired to the home of Bishop Nielson and spent several hours conferring together in private. They came out at about four o’clock in the afternoon and asked Bishop Nielson to convene a meeting for all settlers at seven o’clock that evening in the log schoolhouse.

  Hope filled the air like a breath of spring as the Westlands left their cabin and joined the throngs making their way toward the schoolhouse. People spoke in hushed but excited whispers. The pall of discouragement that had hung over the settlement for so long was gone. Adults laughed like children as they greeted one another. It would have been an exaggeration to say that Gwendolyn skipped along as she walked, but there was a lightness to her step that Mitch had not seen for months. Even his father seemed to have had a heavy load lifted from his shoulders.

  Not Mitch. He walked behind the others, staring at the ground, his mind working furiously. When his friends called to him in greeting, he barely heard them. He fully expected the visiting General Authorities to close the mission. But now, he had the tiniest glimmer of hope. Just as his family was leaving the cabin for the schoolhouse, an idea had come to him. Now his mind was analyzing it and exploring what it would take to make it work.

  The hall was already filled to capacity when they entered. They stopped at the doorway, looking for a place to sit. Two rows down, one bench was filled with the Perkins family. Mary Ann saw them and leaned over to say something to Ben. He nodded and got up, waving for the Westlands to come over. Mary Ann started squeezing her kids together to make room for them.

  As Arthur and Gwen walked over, Ben shook their hands. “I’ll stand in the back,” he said. “Make a little more room here. I think we’re going to have a crowd tonight.”

  Arthur motioned for Gwen to move in. “I’ll be in back with Ben,” he said. Gwen nodded. Men were already standing along the back wall to leave more room for the women and children in the seats.

  “Thank you, Brother Perkins,” Gwen said, touching his arm.

  “I’ll go back there too,” Mitch said. But his father shook his head. “No, you sit here with your mother.”

  “An exciting day,” Mary Ann Perkins said as Gwen got settled beside her.

  “Indeed,” Gwendolyn replied.

  Mitch looked around. The room was buzzing with conversation. Everyone was sitting as families except for the men in the back. All of the windows were open, and Mitch was glad to note that the room wasn’t unbearably hot and stuffy, as it had been all summer.

  The small stage up front was filled with chairs, and all of them were occupied. Mitch was impressed as he let his eyes move from face to face. What a collection of faith was represented here. It filled him with awe and gratitude. Someday, he thought, I’ll tell my grandchildren that I knew these people.

  Precisely at seven o’clock, Platte D. Lyman, president of the stake, stood up and opened the meeting. He warmly welcomed the visitors from Salt Lake City and expressed the gratitude of all those present for their willingness to come so far in their behalf. There were several chuckles when he then announced that the opening hymn would be “Let Us All Press On.” Bishop Nielson offered the opening prayer. Then, after a few brief remarks, President Lyman turned the podium over to President Joseph F. Smith.

  President Smith had a few sheets of paper in his hand, which he set on the podium before taking his spectacles from his pocket and slipping them on. Mitch watched him, feeling a sense of awe. His mother was right. There was something about who he was, in addition to what he was, that was pretty impressive. His countenance was pleasant. He had a full head of hair and a full beard, which was jet black. Some of the old-timers who had lived while the Prophet Joseph was still alive said that he bore a strong resemblance to both Joseph and Hyrum, his father.

  Finally President Smith looked up. “Brothers and sisters, welcome. Thank you for coming. Thank you for the warm hospitality you have shown us since our arrival. There is much to do, so I shall be brief.

  “My brethren and I have been shocked and saddened as we have seen the evidence of what you have endured and the conditions under which you have lived. The story of the San Juan pioneers is known now throughout the Church and serves as an example of faith, courage, and endurance. We commend you for who you are and what you have done. We do not condemn those who have chosen to leave. They answered the call and served faithfully, and we wish them well. But we especially commend you for your willingness to obey counsel and stay on under the most trying of circumstances until you could receive counsel from your priesthood leaders.”

  He stopped and looked around. Absentmindedly he removed his eyeglasses and took out a handkerchief to polish them. When he finished, he replaced the glasses, put away his handkerchief, and picked up the papers before him. He studied the first page for a moment, his thoughts clearly far away. Every eye was locked on him. Not a whisper of sound came from the congregation.

  At last he laid the papers down again and looked up. “My dear brothers and sisters, as you know, Elder Snow and I came down with authorization from President Taylor to release you honorably from your calls to the San Juan Mission. Our expectation when we came was that we would do so. And after seeing your circumstances these past two days, those feelings were confirmed again and again. The challenges here are too extensive, too difficult. Your sacrifice is inspiring.”

  Mitch’s head dropped. This was it. Everyone else sensed it too. This was the moment they had all been waiting for. Well, most of them. He frowned. Maybe all of them but one.

  “But . . .” President Smith stopped and stared out over their heads for several moments.

  Mitch’s head snapped up. But? But what?

  Beside him, his mother had obviously sensed the significance of that word too. All around them people were leaning forward, hardly daring to breathe. That single word hung in the air like an aerial bomb about to explode.

  “But, as Elder Snow and I have counseled together and prayed earnestly for the Spirit’s guidance in this matter, our feelings have changed.”

  “No!” came a soft whisper from somewhere behind Mitch.

  Yes! Mitch instantly responded. He didn’t say it aloud, but in that short moment, his heart leaped with exultation.

  “We believe that the Lord feels that the mission you have undertaken here is of such great importance and has so many implications for the whole territory that we should not—indeed, we cannot—disband it at this time.”

  It was clear that he had anticipated the reaction this would bring, for he stopped and let the noise explode all around him. And explode it did, and not just in whispers. There were cries of dismay. Cries of disappointment. Cries of bewilderment. Some of the women were weeping. The younger children looked at one another in confusion, not sure what had just happened.

  After a moment, Bishop Nielson leaned over to Elder Snow and said something. He nodded, and the bishop got to his feet and stood beside President Smith. The sound died away quickly. “Brodders and sisters, please. Let us hear President Smith out. Then there vill be time for qvestions.”

  “Of course there will,” President Smith said. “Thank you, Bishop.”

  He let things settle down for a moment before he went on. His expression was sorrowful but resolute. “We fully understand what we are asking of you. And we want it to be clearly understood that anyone who chooses not to stay will be released without question, without criticism, and without condemnation. And you will go with our warmest expressions of gratitude for your service and your faith.”

  He stopped, letting his eyes sweep across the room. The whispers had broken out again, and this time a sense the relief could be felt in the room. There was an out—an honorable out. Mitch’s eupho
ria evaporated instantly. He knew exactly what his mother was going to say. “He’s President Joseph F. Smith, Mitch. He speaks for the First Presidency.”

  “But!” President Smith raised one finger, pointing it in the air.

  There was that word again. Mitch had never realized how powerful a single word could be.

  “But, if you choose to stay, as we are asking you to do, then I feel impressed to promise you, in the name of the Lord, that you shall be doubly blessed as you face the difficult situation that lies before you.”

  Then, as if another thought had just come to him, he turned and looked at Bishop Nielson. “Bishop?”

  Jens Nielson got to his feet. “Ya?”

  “I’m guessing that you are one of the oldest members of the mission, if not the oldest. Is that correct?”

  His eyes began to twinkle. “Vell, President, it sure feels like it vhen I get up in the morning.”

  That won him a warm burst of laughter.

  President Smith smiled, but it faded quickly. “We also understand that in your efforts to establish this settlement, you have incurred considerable personal debt.”

  The bishop’s head fell but he nodded. “Ya, that is true.”

  “Well, I say to you, Bishop Nielson, that if you choose to stay, I promise that you will see the day when you will prosper to the point that all of those debts will be removed.”

  The old Dane was startled for a moment, and then tears sprang to his eyes. “Thank you, President. As many here know, I pray that my creditors do not call in my debts, because I haf no way to pay them. But I trust in the blessings of the Lord.”

  He sat down, wiping at the corners of his eyes.

  “As should we all,” President Smith said, his own voice touched with emotion. Then he cleared his throat. “To all of you, I say again: if you choose to go, you will be blessed for your faithfulness in staying here for these very difficult four years. But know this: as of this day, we are revoking the counsel that you establish no other settlements than Bluff and Montezuma Creek. You may now feel free to search out other favorable locations and start new settlements, as long as Bluff is not abandoned. And I make this promise to you also: in addition to being doubly blessed, you too will prosper.”