Only the Brave: The Continuing Saga of the San Juan Pioneers Read online

  The bishopric shook hands with the Westlands and bade them good night. Mitch’s father watched them walk away, one hand around his wife’s shoulders. She had a handkerchief now and was wiping away the tears. Then Arthur Westland turned to his son. “Mitch, your mother and I would like some time alone to talk about this, if that’s all right.”

  “Yes, Papa. I understand,” he said softly. “I’m tired. I’ll get my bedroll. Good night.”

  His mother’s hand reached out and grabbed him by the arm. “No. Stay, Mitch.” She looked up at her husband. “I want him to stay. I’ve made my decision, if you agree, Arthur.”

  His father’s head came up. He was staring at her. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Here it comes. Mitch couldn’t bear to face her. They all sat back down again, his father and mother together in the chairs, holding hands. Gwen looked up at her husband. “This is your decision too, Arthur,” she said, “not just mine.”

  “I have told you, my love, that whatever you decide is fine with me.”

  “Do you want to go back?”

  Mitch held his breath. His father stared into her eyes for several seconds, and then his head bobbed firmly. “Yes.”

  “Not just for me? Be honest, Arthur. Is it just for me?”

  This time there was no hesitation. “No, Gwen. I am ready. I believe that life here is not tenable any longer.”

  “No!” Mitch cried. Then he clamped his mouth shut. If the Lord gave her that choice, who was he to try to change her mind? “I’m sorry, Mama. I’ll do whatever you and Papa think is right.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured. “I know how much you want to stay.” She hurried on before he could answer. “You’ll be seventeen in January, Mitch. If you still want to come back next summer, then your father and I will give you our blessing, but we want you to come with us now.”

  He looked at the ground, the disappointment cutting through him. “So Kumen told you.”

  “Told us what?” his father asked.

  “That I asked him if I could stay with him. I will go back with you, of course. But . . .” He stopped. His parents were exchanging shocked glances. He felt his heart sink. Kumen hadn’t told them.

  She nodded slowly, her eyes glistening in the lamplight. “I understand what is in your heart, son. And if you still feel that way next summer, then, though it will break my heart, I shall not stop you. But I can’t bear to lose you now. I can’t.”

  Knowing that he had lost, he numbly nodded. “Yes, Mama. I understand.” He stood up, went over to her, and bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “Good night, Mama.”

  Mitch still shared the wagon next to the cabin with Johnny, but on this night he needed to be alone. He got his bedroll, careful not to wake his brother, and walked back down to the river. He found a stretch of soft sand not far from the Swing Tree and rolled it out. It was well after midnight before he finally accepted what had happened and went to sleep.

  As he approached the cabin at about six the next morning, bedroll tucked under one arm, he was determined not to say another word that would make this harder for his mother. It would only be another year, and then he would come back. He was at peace with that.

  As their cabin came into sight, the door opened and his mother stepped out. Mitch stopped short. He raised a hand to wave, but she turned away without seeing him and went to the wagon. For a moment he assumed she was checking on Johnny, but then he saw the large trunk in front of the wagon. This was the trunk they kept in the wagon because there wasn’t room for it in the cabin. This was the large trunk she had gotten out when the Brethren had first come and started talking about closing the mission.

  He sighed. Barely six o’clock in the morning and she had already started packing. That said a lot about her eagerness. He continued to watch her without her seeing him.

  What he saw next puzzled him. As she bent over and opened the lid of the trunk, he realized that she had nothing with her. Then she reached down inside and came up with a folded quilt. He recognized it immediately. Just before they left Beaver to come here, the ward Relief Society sisters had made his mother a quilt as a farewell present. Was she looking for something, or just making room before she loaded the trunk up with other things?

  What he heard next was like a stab to the heart. She was humming! Pain turned instantly to guilt. How could he resent a choice that brought her so much joy?

  Determined to put on a brave face, he stepped out and started toward her. As he did so, the cabin door opened again and his father came out. He too turned toward the wagon without seeing Mitch. His parents spoke to each other, but he couldn’t make out what they said. And then they did something very strange. Mitch’s father held out his arms, palms up, and his mother laid the quilt over them. Then she bent down again and retrieved a blanket. That went on top of the quilt. Her lace tablecloth was next on the stack.

  Loaded now, his father turned around and started back for the door. And that’s when he saw Mitch. “Oh. Good morning.”

  His mother’s head was almost inside the trunk as she rummaged for something near the bottom. She straightened quickly. “Mitch. There you are.”

  “Good morning, Mama,” he said, starting toward them. “Mornin’, Pa.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  He shrugged. “I didn’t want to wake Johnny, so I slept down by the river.” He bent down and kissed her cheek, then peered into the trunk. Her Sunday dress and a petticoat were all that was left in it.

  “What are you doing, Mama?”

  “Unpacking.”

  “Can I help? Wait! Did you say unpacking?”

  She seemed surprised by the question. “Yes, I think that’s what I said.”

  “But—”

  She tipped her head back and laughed at his perplexed expression. “Come sit down, son.”

  Her laugh was filled with merriment, as were her eyes. He realized that it had been a long time since he had heard her laugh like that.

  “What’s going on?” None of this was making any sense whatsoever.

  She slipped an arm through his and pulled him over to the log. As they sat down together, his father reemerged from the cabin, his arms empty again. He sat down on a stool across from them.

  “I tried to find you last night to tell you this, but . . .” She shrugged. “Before my head ever hit the pillow last night, I knew something was wrong.”

  ‘What?”

  “Do you remember what Bishop Nielson said in his blessing? That when I made my decision, I would have peace?” He nodded as she continued. “Well, I realized what was wrong—I was not at peace in my heart.”

  “I’m sorry, Mama. I shouldn’t have—”

  One finger came up and pressed against his lips. “Hush.” Then came that smile again. “I thought to myself, ‘What if we just stayed through the winter? Just one more season? Then what?’” Tears sprang to her eyes. “And just like that, I was at peace.”

  He was dazed. He didn’t know what to say.

  She poked him gently. “I don’t like it. I wish I could blame you. But no, Mitch. This was the Lord’s doing.” She shrugged, “I went to sleep immediately after that and slept through the night. And when I woke up this morning, I was happier than I’ve been in a long time, so I decided I may as well get up and start unpacking.”

  To Mitch’s astonishment, he found himself crying too. Tears filled his eyes, spilled over, and started trickling down his cheeks. He turned away, wiping quickly at them with the back of his hand, but not quickly enough to escape her attention.

  She placed both hands on his shoulders and turned him back around. “Did it really mean that much to you to stay?” she asked.

  He sniffed back the tears. “That’s not why I’m crying, Mama.”

  “Then why? What is it, Mitch?”

  He tried to say it but couldn’t make it come out. He looked away, fighting for control.

  “What’s wrong, Mitch?”

  “Nothi
ng is wrong.”

  “Then what is it?”

  He sniffed again and took a deep breath. Finally, he reached up and took her hands from his shoulders and clasped them tightly. “Oh, Mama,” he exclaimed. “Don’t you see? I’m crying because I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you as my mother.”

  Chapter 9

  _____________________

  October 13, 1884—Bluff City, Utah Territory

  Gwendolyn watched from the doorway as her son folded his clothes and carefully put them in the bottom of the flour sack. “You do see the irony in all this, don’t you?” she asked.

  “Irony? How so?”

  “I finally decide we will stay in Bluff, and three weeks later you decide to go to Colorado to see if you can get a job with the railroad.”

  Mitch stopped what he was doing. “If you don’t want me to go, Mama, then I won’t go.”

  “Of course I don’t want you to go.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Are you really so determined to buy our herd from us?”

  Arthur spoke up. “I am the only one offering him half price. Of course he is.”

  “How much are they going to pay you?” Martha wanted to know.

  “Assuming they are still hiring, standard pay is two dollars a day.”

  Johnny’s eyes got big and round. Martha was equally impressed. “That’s a lot, right, Mitch?”

  “Not for twelve hours of backbreaking work, it’s not,” he grumbled.

  Johnny was still trying to work it out in his mind. Since he had never had a dollar of his own, he was struggling. “So how many nickels is that?”

  Chuckling, Mitch paused long enough to ruffle his brother’s hair. “That’s forty nickels.”

  Johnny’s eyes grew even larger and his mouth fell open. “Every day? Wow!”

  Mitch laughed. To a boy who received maybe one nickel in a month, it was a pretty staggering fortune. “Would you like me to buy you something and bring it home?” he asked Johnny.

  “Would you, Mitch? You’re not just funnin’ me, are you?”

  “No, I’m not. What would you like?”

  “A pop gun,” he answered without a second’s hesitation.

  His mother looked surprised. “Why a pop gun?”

  “Dan Perkins got one from his pa the last time they came back from Mancos. It’s soooo neat. It sounds like a real gun.”

  Martha snorted. “Real guns don’t go pop. They go bang!”

  Arthur spoke up. “Martha, it’s not necessary to correct your brother on everything he says.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny said, sticking his tongue out at her.

  “Nor is the tongue necessary,” Gwen chided.

  Putting the last of his woolen shirts in the sack, Mitch turned to his sister. “And what about you, Martha? What would you like me to bring back for you?”

  “A new dress,” she shot right back. “Pink with blue ribbons.”

  Mitch looked at his mother. “Do they make dresses like that?”

  “Probably, but I’m not sure you’ll find one where you’re going.” She looked at her daughter. “What if Mitch buys us a bolt of pink fabric and some blue ribbon and I make you a dress?”

  “Oh, Mama. Would you?”

  “Of course.”

  “And what would Martha’s mama like?” Mitch asked.

  “I think you’ve spent quite enough already,” Gwen answered. “You’ll be spending your whole salary if you’re not careful. I’m willing to let you go for six months so you can get a start in life, but not if you’re going to spend it all on us.”

  “Her color is lavender,” their father spoke up, smiling at his wife. “If you can find a bolt of lavender cloth, I think she’d be right pleased.”

  Mitch looked at her, thinking she might protest. But after a moment, she smiled, almost shyly. “And some dark purple ribbon would be nice too.”

  “I’ll do it.”

  “Never mind,” she corrected herself. “What I really want is for you to come home for Christmas.”

  Mitch picked up the sack, pulled the drawstrings tight, and put it beside his boots. Then he went over and sat down beside her. “I’ll try, Mama, but you saw the handbill. Twelve-hour days, six days a week, with Sundays off. It didn’t say anything about holidays.”

  “Surely they’ll give you the day off for Christmas.”

  Arthur shook his head. “Even if they did, it would be only one day. From here to Durango is a two- or three-day trip. There’s no way he could get home and back in less than a week, let alone a day.”

  “How can they work in the winter? Maybe if the snow gets too deep, they’ll have to quit for a time.”

  Mitch shrugged. “The handbill was dated in mid-September, so they must have some kind of plan for winter.”

  His mother nodded and looked down at her hands. “I’m going to miss you so much, Mitch,” she whispered.

  He had to look away. It was too painful to face the sorrow in her eyes. So he turned and stuck out his hand to his father instead. “Good-bye, Pa.”

  “Good-bye, son.” Arthur pulled him in for an embrace. While they were close, he said, “It’s not going to be a good environment, Mitch. You’ll be working with some pretty rough men.”

  “Don’t say that,” Gwen cried.

  “He will. I’m guessing they’ll be hard-drinking and hard-living men. But just remember who you are and what you stand for.”

  “There won’t be no partying for me, Pa. I’m bringing every dollar I make back to you and Mama, except for what I need to live.” He hesitated. “I was just funning with you about half price, Pa. If you and Mama are going to farm, you’ll need every dollar you can get. But I mean to get a herd, and then I’m going to look for a place to set up my own ranch.”

  “We’ll see,” his father said with a smile.

  “Is this all my fault?” his mother asked. “You getting it into your head to have your own spread by the time you’re twenty?”

  Coming over to her, Mitch took both of his mother’s hands. “You and Pa taught me to work hard, to be independent. Now that you’ve decided to stay here in Bluff—”

  “Only until spring. That’s all I committed to.”

  Mitch shook his head, laughing. “You ain’t going back in the spring, Mama. You know that as well as I do. You ain’t gonna leave here unless President Taylor says, ‘Sister Westland, it’s time for you to go back to Beaver.’ Admit it. You are too stubborn and you’ve got too much faith to just up and quit.”

  “You say ‘ain’t’ one more time and I’m going to pack up my belongings and leave this afternoon,” she retorted.

  “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “I’m not staying here just for you, you know,” she said softly.

  “I know that, Mama. You’re doing it because it’s the right thing to do. And it’s the right thing for me to make my own way now, so you and Pa don’t have to take care of me.”

  She put her arm around her son’s shoulders. “You’d better write me, son, or you ain’t never gonna hear the end of it. You understand me?”

  His eyes were suddenly burning even as he laughed. “Yes, ma’am,” he said meekly.

  December 1, 1884—Bluff City

  Martha came at a dead run, whooping and hollering. Gwen looked up from her needlework and gave Arthur a questioning glance. “What in the world?”

  Then she shot out of her chair when she finally deciphered what her daughter was yelling about. “It’s a letter from Mitch! It’s a letter from Mitch!”

  November 24th, 1884

  C/O Mr. Pappy Carlson

  D&RG Railway

  Durango, Colorado

  Dear Mother, Father, Martha, and Johnny,

  I am so, so sorry that this is my first letter to you. Strange at it seems, this is the first chance I’ve had to write. I know that sounds like a lame excuse, but I’ll explain.

  It’s nearly midnight now and everyone else in the bunk car is asleep. We have to be up at 5:00 a.m. and ready to start wo
rk at 6:00, but I don’t care. I’ll write as long as I can keep my eyes open.

  Ben Perkins and I made good time to Durango. It is about a hundred miles, but we made it in three days. Ben got us a room in a rundown hotel here, and we got a bite to eat. We were both exhausted, so I told Ben I was going to wait until morning to see about a job. But then I had this thought not to wait but to go straightaway.

  I walked down to the train station and asked the stationmaster who to talk to about a job. He pointed to a bunk car and told me the track foreman was in there. When I found him and asked if he was still hiring, he looked me up and down and then without a word found a paper and had me sign it. “Good thing you came now,” he said as he showed me my bunk. “We’re rolling out of here in half an hour.” I barely had time to run back to the hotel to grab my things and tell Ben what was going on. So that impression was a blessing from Heavenly Father. I started to work only twelve hours after arriving.

  The railroad is called the Denver and Rio Grande Railway, but everyone just calls it the D&RG. With all the mining going in this part of Colorado, they need railroads bad, so they’re pushing rail lines west as fast as they can. I’m working on the line between Mancos and Durango.

  I tell you all of this is so you know why I haven’t written before. I left so quickly I didn’t have time to get paper and pencil before we left Durango. When I asked the guys if any of them could lend me some, they just laughed. Most of them can’t read or write, and the others hardly ever write home. A couple of guys told me they’ve been gone from home so long they don’t even know if their parents are still alive.

  We are back in Durango now for a couple of days while we wait for more track to come. And that means we got paid too. Twenty-four dollars! Yahoo! I’m rich!

  My first purchase was writing stuff. Guess what my next purchases were? First was a hot bath for 35¢. I’ve been bathing in creeks, which right now are extremely cold. I paid an extra 10¢ to soak for an hour. Exquisite pleasure!