Fire of the Covenant Page 31

  There was no question that the trail had become more beautiful now, but it had also suddenly become terribly more brutal.

  At eleven o’clock they reached a small, swift-flowing creek which ran through the bottom of a thick stand of woods. Several times now in the last few days they had been forced to dig for water—twice in buffalo wallows, once near a spring which had dried up this late in the season, and once in a sandy creekbed. Captain Martin suspected it was the water that was causing much of their sickness, and knew that fresh water and shade were just too welcome to pass by. He decided they would noon there and ordered a two-hour halt.

  When that word reached the Jacksons’ handcart, Hannah gave a low cry of joy. Aaron Jackson, who was pulling with her at that point, gestured toward a spot near the creek that was deep in shade. When they reached it, carts were lowered, hats and bonnets removed. All around them, people sank slowly to the ground to give their aching bodies rest. Not Hannah. She walked swiftly to the creek, dropped to her knees, and began scooping up handfuls of the cool water. She drank hungrily, not caring that she was making terrible slurping sounds. Ingrid fell to her stomach beside her and shoved her whole face into the water, gulping loudly. Wonderful idea, Hannah thought. She buried her face into the stream as well.

  In five minutes they were all sprawled out in various places on the soft, leafy ground. In a few moments more, Brother Jackson began to snore softly.

  •••

  Hannah groaned and sat up. She glanced up at the sky through the canopy of trees. “Has it been two hours yet?” she asked Elizabeth.

  Sister Jackson shrugged. She lifted a hand and pointed to where one of the wagons was parked a few feet away. Edward Martin was holding a meeting with the subcaptains beside it. They were talking softly but earnestly. “If it has, they don’t seem anxious about getting us up yet.”

  “Good.” Hannah stretched lazily and looked around. She had not fallen asleep, but lying there in the cool air with the soft murmur of the stream beside them had been one of the most restful things she had done since leaving Scotland. It was absolutely wonderful.

  “What if we just stayed here for another couple of days?” Ingrid said. She was still lying down with her eyes closed.

  “How about a couple of years?” Hannah retorted. Then she looked around. “Where’s Brother Jackson?”

  “He wanted to get some more flour from the supply wagon.”

  That gave Hannah a chance to speak about something that was troubling her but which she hadn’t dared bring up before. “Is Brother Jackson all right?” she asked his wife.

  A shadow fell across Elizabeth Jackson’s face. “Yes,” she said slowly. “He has had a little touch of the sickness these last few days, but I think he’s better.”

  “Good.” It had frightened her to see that their only man on the cart had not been able to pull with the same vigor as on previous days. If it was left to the women, it would be very challenging.

  Just then they saw him coming, a sack of flour on his shoulder. As he drew closer, Hannah saw that his face was grim.

  “Uh-oh,” Sister Jackson murmured, standing up now to await her husband. As he reached them and set the sack in the back of the cart, she spoke. “Aaron, is anything wrong?”

  “You haven’t seen a young boy wandering around have you? a boy without his parents?”

  Hannah, Ingrid, and Elizabeth exchanged looks, then shook their heads. “No.”

  “His name is Arthur Parker,” Brother Jackson said with a worried frown. “His mother came round a bit ago looking for him. They supposed he was with the other children, but it seems he wasn’t. Now she’s just reported him missing to Brother Martin.”

  “Sorry.” Hannah felt a little sheepish. She had been looking up at leaves, not around the camp. “We weren’t really watching for anyone.”

  “He’s probably just off playing with some of his friends,” Elizabeth said helpfully.

  “Or fell asleep under a bush like us,” Ingrid suggested.

  Just then they heard a low, far-off rumble. A little surprised, they each swung around to look to the west. There had been a few clouds in the west as they approached the creek almost two hours ago, but Hannah had thought nothing of them. But now through the trees she could see that the western sky was mostly gray.

  Then she heard a man speaking. Edward Martin and the remaining captains were on their feet. They too were looking toward the west. Martin’s voice came softly to them, muted by the trees. “Stay here,” he said to the others. “I want to take a look.” He walked away swiftly. The thunder rumbled again, this time more distinctly. Here and there, others in the camp were taking notice now as well.

  In a couple of minutes Brother Martin was back. He shook his head. “It’s pretty dark. I think we’ve got a storm brewing.” He looked at the others for a moment, then said, “With that and the sickness, perhaps it is best if we make camp here rather than get caught out in the open.”

  No one disagreed with that welcome news. Their captain nodded. “Let’s spread the word.”

  Hannah almost clapped her hands. “Yes!” she cried. She wouldn’t get her wish to stay here forever, but the rest of the day and one full night would be heaven indeed.

  “All right, brothers and sisters,” their captain called out in a loud voice, turning as he spoke so that all could hear. “We’ll camp here for the night. Let’s get the tents up quickly and make sure they’re staked down good and tight.”

  •••

  All across the wooded glen that meandered along the path of the creek, the sound of voices echoed back and forth. The tents were being pitched. Large enough to hold twenty people and their belongings, putting them up was always a challenge. With the wind rising and starting to gust, it was taking not only the men but the women and older children as well. They were working quickly because now the smell of rain was in the air. This was one of the things that was amazing to Hannah McKensie—the swiftness with which a prairie thunderstorm could approach. It was less than quarter of an hour before when they had first noticed it. Now they would have to hurry to beat it.

  As they finished and began to shuttle their things from the carts into the tent, a shrill cry brought them up. “Captain Martin! Captain Martin!”

  Across the creek and about thirty feet away, Captain Edward Martin and two other men were securing the covers on the supply wagons. Martin turned, shielding his eyes from the dust and blowing leaves. A couple were making their way quickly toward him. Hannah and Ingrid were by their cart pulling out their bedding. Their tent was up now and they were hurrying to get their things inside. They stopped to watch.

  The cry brought Elizabeth Jackson out of the tent. She came to stand beside her two adopted daughters. After a moment she started. “Oh dear.”

  “What?” Hannah asked.

  “That’s Ann Parker.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Remember the little boy that was lost today? His name was Parker too.”

  Now, as the couple reached Elder Martin, Hannah could see that the woman was crying. Her husband, more subdued, looked nevertheless quite grim. “Brother Martin, our son is missing.”

  “What?” he exclaimed in alarm. “You mean you didn’t find him?”

  “No, and we’ve checked everywhere,” Brother Parker said. One hand came up and ran through his hair. It said more than words about how distraught he was. “He’s not in the camp.”

  “How long has he been gone?” Brother Martin demanded.

  Sister Parker’s head dropped and it was her husband who had to answer. He looked pale and drawn. “We’re not sure. We thought he was with our other children. When we crossed the creek and stopped to noon, he never came in.”

  Hannah, Ingrid, and Sister Jackson went over to join them as well.

  Brother Martin was firing questions now at Brother Parker. Sister Parker was too ashamed to look at anyone. “As you know, Brother Martin,” Brother Parker said, “I’ve had the fever the last few days
and have been riding in one of the wagons.”

  Ann Parker’s hands were twisting and turning. “Our son Maxie, who is twelve, always helps with the cart, and so Martha Alice, who is ten, watches over the younger children. But with Robert too sick to pull, we’ve had to have Martha Alice help us push. Some of the other children promised to watch Arthur.”

  “Arthur started in with the fever this morning, too,” Brother Parker added. “He was feeling quite poorly.”

  The woman’s eyes lifted briefly, then dropped again. She couldn’t bear to meet anyone else’s gaze. That was too bad, Hannah thought, for there was no one who was looking at her with condemning eyes. This was one of the universal fears of companies on the trail. Once a large company got under way each day, it was customary for the younger children to gather into their own group and follow along behind or off to one side, away from the heaviest dust. This was not just to free up the parents to push the carts. There was some danger in having the children underfoot. When your eyes were searching the ground ahead for prairie dog holes or the dreaded prickly pear plants, you couldn’t watch a child every moment. Each handcart, even as lightly loaded as they were for the Iowa portion of the journey, carried about four hundred pounds. A child run over by one of them could be seriously injured. The wagons and their teams were even more dangerous. Older brothers and sisters too young to pull were given charge of the younger ones and told to keep them away from the line of march. Martha Ann Jackson, who was seven, for example, had the responsibility for Mary Elizabeth, who was only five. It was the only way for families to cope with the double challenge of moving forward at the same time as caring for their children.

  Just then the first raindrops splattered on the canvas cover. Elder Martin looked up at the sky, frowning. The air was an ugly black now, and the wind was tearing at their clothes. This was likely going to be another gully-buster. He made a quick decision. “All right, let’s get things secure. This looks like a fast-moving storm. Once it clears, we’ll make a thorough search of the camp. Then . . .” He let it trail off. Then there was only one thing to do and that was send a party back to search the trail.

  •••

  The storm lasted about forty minutes, viciously lashing the camp, then passed on to the east. After that it took almost two more hours to confirm that six-year-old Arthur Parker was nowhere in the camp. As Ann Parker wept, Captain Martin called for two men from each company of hundred to form a posse that would accompany Robert Parker back across the trail to look for the boy. They set out immediately, knowing that they would not be able to search the full eleven miles they had come that morning. It was past four-thirty and there was no way they could cover that much ground before dark. If the boy wasn’t found, they would resume the search in the morning.

  Aaron Jackson was one of those chosen to go, so after the evening meal was completed, Sister Jackson, her three children, and Hannah and Ingrid crossed the creek and walked to the eastern edge of the trees where the company was camped. To no one’s surprise, Ann Parker and her four children were already there, watching steadfastly down the road they had crossed earlier in the day.

  They quietly found a log and sat down to join in the vigil. One by one the wives and children of the other men who had gone with the posse came out to sit with them.

  It was almost full dark when they heard a faint shout. Sister Parker leaped to her feet and shouted back. “Do you have him, Robert?”

  Her shoulders sagged and she buried her face in her hands when the faint answer came floating back on the night air. “No! We didn’t find him.”

  V

  Saturday, 16 August 1856

  Captain Martin kept the company camped at the creek for two additional days while the search posse traced and retraced the trail between there and their last campground. The rainstorm that had been a blessing in letting them rest at camp had proven to be a cursing for the trackers. All traces of their trail had been obliterated. It would seem like an easy thing to backtrack over the path that a company of nearly five hundred people had crossed, but out on the prairie the handcarts moved in and out of the main trail. If the roads were too rutted or had muddy sloughs, they might go off for as far as a mile to find a better place. Also, the column did not stay in a single line. When the ground was good, people would spread out for as much as a quarter of a mile laterally to escape the terrible dust. It was not like following a single track where Arthur Parker would have been. And that was not to consider the fact that a six-year-old, especially if he was lost and frightened, could cover a lot of ground in one day’s time.

  The second night the search posse came trailing in just at sundown. At least half of the camp, including the Jacksons, were waiting on the eastern edge of the camp to greet them. When her husband shook his head in response to her pleading look, Ann Parker dropped her head and began to sob softly.

  Edward Martin visited quietly with different searchers, then came over to stand beside the stricken couple. Sister Parker saw instantly what was coming. Her hand shot out and she clutched at his arm. “One more day, Brother Martin. Please.” Her voice was near hysteria and filled with unspeakable grief. “We can’t give up.”

  “Sister Parker,” the captain began, “I know how hard it is to—”

  “No,” she cried. “We can’t just walk away. He’s alive. I know he’s still alive.”

  “Ann, dear,” her husband started, taking her in his arms.

  She turned and buried her face against his chest, and her body began to shake violently.

  Captain Martin watched her for a moment, his own face torn with pain. Finally, he sighed. “Brother Parker, I—”

  “I understand, Brother Martin.”

  “Our food supply is getting dangerously low. It’s almost September and we’re not even to Florence yet. We have to keep moving or we face disastrous consequences.”

  “Yes,” Brother Parker said, pulling his wife in tighter against him, trying to stop the shudders. “We’ll be ready.”

  The captain’s shoulders lifted and fell, a gesture that more than anything else he could have done showed the burden of leadership. Then slowly he turned and surveyed the faces around him. “Brothers and sisters,” he said, his voice heavy. “Even though it is the Sabbath tomorrow, prepare to break camp in the morning. We’ll leave immediately after breakfast.”

  VI

  Sunday, 17 August 1856

  Hannah and Ingrid were kneeling beside the creek, washing out the breakfast dishes while the others took down the tent and stowed their personal belongings.

  “This must be the hardest thing she has ever done,” Hannah said softly.

  “Who?”

  She nodded, indicating a solitary figure off to their left. It was Sister Parker, working halfheartedly at putting her things in the cart.

  “Did you hear?” Ingrid said, turning to look at her now.

  “Hear what?”

  “Brother Parker left early this morning to go back and look for him some more.”

  “What? But I thought that . . . Even after the search party couldn’t find him?” And then suddenly Robbie’s face flashed into Hannah’s mind. If it were her brother who was lost, what would she do? What would her mother be doing this morning? There was no question. If no one else would, then Hannah or Maggie would be going back alone, no matter what anyone else said.

  “It was very sad,” Ingrid went on softly. “Sister Parker tied a red shawl around her husband’s shoulders—I guess he’s not completely well yet—and told him if he finds Arthur dead, he should bury him in the shawl. If he is alive, he is to signal to her with it when he returns. She promises to wait at the edge of camp every night and watch for him.”

  Hannah’s eyes suddenly clouded and she looked away. Finally she turned back. “Ingrid? I know we’ve already had morning prayers, but could we say another one?”

  Ingrid nodded almost instantly. “Yes, Hannah. Let’s do.”

  VII

  Tuesday, 19 August 1856

/>   The next two days were exhausting ones for the Edward Martin Company. The hill country and sandy roads continued and the sun was merciless. As the afternoon of the second day rolled on, the temperature climbed past ninety, and then ninety-five degrees. People began to lag, and then some of the older folks and young children began to faint from the heat. For a while they placed them in the wagons with those who were still sick and pressed on, but it became painfully evident that they had passed the point of capability. Captain Martin finally called a halt just before sundown. They had come about fourteen miles and it was clear they could go no farther.

  Hannah and Sister Jackson were pushing the cart at that point. Brother Jackson and Ingrid were pulling. When the signal came to halt, they stopped where they were, lowered the cart, then sank to the ground. Hannah stretched out flat, one arm up to shield her eyes from the sun, not caring that she was in inch-thick dust.

  Sister Jackson sat down cross-legged, pulling off her bonnet and wiping at the sweat that streamed down her face. Though she wouldn’t have said anything to her family, she was feeling quite light-headed herself. No wonder some of the older people had fainted. The Church agents at Iowa City had said they were concerned about the emigrants’ being caught in the winter snows before they reached the Valley. At the moment, Elizabeth could not think of anything more welcome than a good, hard snowstorm.

  All around them, people were in the same mode. Making camp could wait for a few minutes. For now they were simply too drained to move.

  •••

  An hour and a half later, Hannah and Ingrid sat together with their feet in the creek. It didn’t provide much relief. The water was more a trickle than a stream, but it was cooler than the parched earth all around them. They heard footsteps and turned. It was Sister Jackson. She removed her shoes even as she approached; then with a sigh, she sat down beside the two girls.