Fire of the Covenant Read online

Robbie nodded and started to say something, but then his eyes filled with tears and he couldn’t speak. Hannah watched him for a moment, then answered for them. “They were hiding behind a fence, Mama. We didn’t see them until it was too late.”

  Mary gathered Robbie into her arms, stroking his hair. “Oh, Robbie, I’m sorry.”

  “Fortunately,” Hannah went on quickly, “Maggie came. She was just in time. Maggie—”

  But Maggie shook her head quickly, warning Hannah off with her eyes.

  Hannah understood and recovered quickly. “Maggie walked us home.”

  “I’ll talk to the constable again,” Mary said to Robbie. “This has gone far enough.”

  “The constable!” Maggie blurted in disgust. “He’s as bad as those boys are. He thinks it’s amusing when the Mormons ‘get theirs,’ as he calls it. But don’t worry. James is going to teach them a lesson or two.”

  A look of alarm crossed her mother’s face. “No, Maggie!”

  Maggie’s jaw set in a stubborn line, but she did not answer.

  “I mean it, Maggie. That’s no answer, taking things into our own hands. Besides, Jesus taught us to forgive and leave vengeance to Him.”

  “James and I are not talking vengeance,” Maggie shot right back. “We’re just going to teach them a lesson.”

  Her mother’s mouth opened and shut again, knowing that this would go nowhere if she pursued it. Maggie turned and looked toward the clock.

  “Oh, my!” her mother exclaimed when she followed Maggie’s eyes. “It’s nine o’clock.”

  “We were getting worried about you,” Maggie pointed out. She hadn’t intended it to, but it came out with a touch of snappishness.

  There was a quick, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Maggie. We got to talking and time just slipped away from us. Go to bed, or you’ll not be getting any sleep at all before you have to leave for work. I’m really sorry.”

  Maggie sighed, feeling instant guilt. Everyone said she was so much like her mother that only their age difference allowed people to tell them apart. They both had dark black hair that was long and straight and which, when washed and brushed out, gleamed like freshly oiled ebony. Their noses—short and upturned slightly at the end—could have been interchanged without anyone’s noticing. Just the tiniest hint of what in their childhood had been freckles dusted the high cheekbones. Their eyes were the same deep brown and set beneath thick dark lashes. Maggie’s mouth was not quite as full as her mother’s, but when they smiled the slight difference between them disappeared.

  But the one trait Maggie had not inherited from her mother was her quiet gentleness and seemingly endless patience. At the moment, Maggie was tired, irritable, and badly in need of sleep. But that only made the guilt rise all the higher. She worked an hour less every day than her mother and only half a shift on Saturday. Her mother’s Saturdays were celebrated by working two hours less that day. Was it so terrible that she had taken one night to stop and visit with friends for an hour? Did she never get to do anything for herself?

  Maggie sighed again. “It’s all right, Mama. I slept well this morning. Come on. I think the stew is still warm.”

  They moved back to the table, but as Maggie turned toward the stove, her mother caught her arm. “Sit down for a moment, Maggie. I have something I want to tell all of you.”

  “What is it, Mama?” Robbie blurted, suddenly excited.

  She just smiled and waved them to their chairs. Then she sat down across from the three of them. She folded her hands, trying to appear sedate, but Maggie could see that there was open excitement in her eyes.

  “What, Mama?” Robbie said again. “What is it?”

  “I have news,” she said with a half smile.

  “What news?” Hannah asked, infected with a little of her brother’s eagerness. Hannah had inherited her father’s green eyes, fair skin, and lighter brown hair, but she was the one who had gotten her mother’s temperament. There was little of that patience showing now, however. “Tell us, Mama.”

  “The missionaries received a letter from President Richards today.”

  “Who is President Richards?” Robbie asked.

  “Elder Franklin D. Richards,” Hannah explained. “He’s the president of the European Mission. He lives in Liverpool. He’s also one of the Twelve Apostles.”

  Maggie had gone very quiet now, but no one seemed to notice.

  “There’s good news,” her mother said happily. “The Church has found a way to help more people come to America. The missionaries think that we might be able to get on the list this year now.”

  “Really?” Hannah cried.

  “This year?” Maggie burst out. “But how can we? We have hardly anything saved.”

  “More details will be coming in the near future.” Mary reached out and took Robbie’s hand and squeezed it happily. “But it looks very hopeful. The missionaries said they are almost certain we won’t have to wait another year.”

  Maggie shot to her feet. “We can’t do that.”

  Robbie had leaped up as well. “Really?” he shouted gleefully. “Really, Mama?”

  Mary chose to respond to her son instead of her daughter. “There’s a ship leaving from Liverpool in May. They think we can get passage on that one.”

  “Mother!”

  Mary McKensie turned to her older daughter. “What, Maggie?” she asked evenly.

  “We can’t . . . How can we just . . . ” She stopped, staggered. Then the anger exploded. “Why do they want us to go to Utah? Why can’t we just stay in our own country? We can still be good Latter-day Saints here.”

  Mary spoke quietly. This was not an unexpected reaction from her oldest child. When they had first joined the Church, Maggie had been excited about the prospects of moving to America someday. Since James had come into her life, she would not even discuss it anymore.

  “Maggie,” she said, “it’s not that at all. Some people can’t go, but our prophet has said that if we can do it, we should gather to Zion.”

  “But why?” She was near tears now, which only fueled her anger the more.

  “So we can be with people who believe as we do. So we can hear our prophet for ourselves. So we can be free to worship as we please.” She turned and looked at Robbie. Her eyes became firm and determined. “So Robbie can walk home from school and not be afraid.”

  Slumping back down into her chair, Maggie just shook her head. “What about your job at the factory? What about my job? How will we live?”

  “Maggie!” There was a touch of sorrow now along with the effort to be patient. “We’ve talked about this before. Why are you so surprised? The missionaries say we can find work in Utah. Everyone says that in a few years we’ll be better off financially there than we are here.”

  Robbie, still on his feet, started dancing a little jig. “We’re going to America! We’re going to America!”

  Maggie whirled, her eyes blazing. “Stop it, Robbie! Just stop it.”

  He froze, the dismay written clearly on his face.

  “That’s not necessary, Maggie,” Mary said slowly. “Just because you’re not excited doesn’t mean that Robbie can’t be.”

  “Well, I’m not excited, Mama! I have friends here. Our life is here. This is our home.” Suddenly she was pleading. “You didn’t even ask me.”

  “We’ve talked about going to America for three years now, Maggie. You know that’s been our plan all along.”

  Maggie shook that off, not wanting to hear it. “If Papa were here,” she said suddenly, “he wouldn’t make us leave.”

  There was a quick look of pain in her mother’s eyes. Mary took a quick breath, then responded in that same long-suffering tone. “That’s not fair, Maggie. You know that your father wanted to go to Zion as much as anyone. If he hadn’t died, we would have gone before now.”

  For a long moment, Maggie just stared at her, unable to believe the depths of this betrayal. Then her mouth clamped shut. She whirled away, stomping to the door. Snatching he
r coat off its peg, she yanked the door open. “I have to go to work,” she murmured. Without waiting for an answer, she plunged through the door and shut it hard behind her.

  Mary McKensie looked at the door for a long time, then slowly shook her head.

  “Mama?”

  She turned to Robbie, whose face showed his confusion now.

  “Why doesn’t Maggie want to go to America?”

  Hannah sighed. “Because of James.”

  Her mother nodded and held out her arms toward Robbie. He stepped into them. “She’s just upset. She’ll be all right in a little while.”

  “Are we really going to America, Mama?” The excitement was creeping back into his voice now.

  She turned to him fully and smiled warmly. “Yes, son. We really are.” She half turned, looking at the dark stain on her son’s coat behind the door. “We are going to America.”

  II

  Tuesday, 8 January 1856

  The heavy clouds that had covered the sky over Edinburgh the day before had finally moved on eastward across the North Sea toward Denmark, leaving the night chilly but crystal clear. The moon would not appear for another hour or more, but a gas lamp half a block down provided enough light for her to see around her. Maggie tipped her head back, looking up at the stars, blowing out her breath so it would cover them momentarily before dissipating again.

  There was a noise to her left and she turned her head. A dark figure was approaching the gate of the foundry. She smiled, looking on as he waved to the watchman there, passed through the gate, and came out into the street. She stepped forward. “James?”

  He looked up, then changed directions and came toward her. She waited, feeling the familiar stir of excitement at his presence. He was a good three inches taller than she was. His hair was darker than hers and his eyes nearly black. They were large and often danced with humor when he teased her. More than one girl had had her heart broken when James MacAllister had focused his affections on Maggie McKensie.

  “Hello,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  “Hello, James.”

  “How are things?”

  She tried to smile but didn’t quite manage.

  He gave her a sharp look. “Is everything all right?”

  She nodded quickly.

  His eyes narrowed a little and he searched her face, looking openly dubious. She smiled faintly. He knew her too well.

  “So what is it?”

  She slipped an arm through his. “Let’s walk.” But she turned him in the opposite direction from the way they would go if he were walking her home. He gave her another searching look but said nothing.

  Three blocks from where he worked was a small park, not much more than a vacant lot in which someone had planted grass and a few trees and placed two dilapidated benches. When they reached it Maggie steered him to one of the benches and they sat down. She leaned back, closing her eyes.

  He waited for only a few moments and then spoke. “All right, Maggie. What is it?”

  She didn’t open her eyes. “Mama has decided that we are going to America.”

  He visibly jerked. “What?”

  She nodded glumly. “She came home and told us last night.”

  “America? But why?”

  She didn’t answer. She had told him before about the call for all Latter-day Saints to emigrate to America. But she had always said it was just talk. Her mother would never actually do it.

  Now he half turned so he was facing her directly. “She can’t be serious.”

  “Oh, I assure you. She is very serious.”

  “But you can’t go, Maggie.”

  She finally met his gaze. “Do you think I want to?”

  “You can’t! You just can’t.”

  She turned away. “I thought it was mostly just talk. Ever since we were baptized Mother’s talked about it. My father did too, before his death, but . . .” She shook her head.

  His mouth tightened. “You told her that you won’t be going, didn’t you?”

  “I . . . I haven’t talked to her since last night. I was so angry, I just left.”

  Something about her answer bothered him. “You’re not even thinking about it.” He peered more closely at her. “Are you?”

  Her shoulders lifted and fell.

  He stood up abruptly. “What about us?” he said tightly.

  “What about us, James?” she shot right back.

  “You know the answer to that. As soon as I finish my apprenticeship we’ll be married. Then we’ll start our own family.”

  There was a sharp stab of pain and she had to look away. She and James had been talking marriage for over a month now, but it was always “When I finish my apprenticeship.” He was only half through with the four years it took to become a journeyman machinist. She had told him that marriage would actually help him. He wouldn’t have to do his own cooking and laundry. Her salary at the mill would help them afford the larger flat they would need.

  He had looked at her as though she were daft. He wasn’t going to have her living in squalor for two years. Once the apprenticeship was through, he would be able to care for her properly. He wouldn’t subject her to anything less than that. Two years wasn’t that long.

  She barely managed to hide the hurt. Becoming a journeyman machinist would move James MacAllister into the middle class—the working middle class, to be sure, but the middle class nevertheless. Eventually, he liked to say, he might even be able to start his own small machine shop and they could actually become property owners. For someone who had spent most of his life in crushing poverty, such an opportunity could not be jeopardized.

  “It’s only two years, Maggie.”

  She turned back. What hurt the most was not that the possibility of her leaving Scotland hadn’t changed his mind. What hurt so deeply now was that it hadn’t even occurred to him that marriage was the answer to her problem. “You make it sound so simple,” she finally said, her voice forlorn.

  “Tell her you’re not going. That’s simple enough.”

  “Just like that, I say good-bye to my family and never see them again?”

  He whirled away, clearly agitated, then swung back. “All right, Maggie, so it’s not simple. But it’s your mother who is complicating things, not me. I don’t understand this whole thing with you Mormons anyway. If you wanted to go to America to make your fortune, I could understand that. I’ve considered that myself. And maybe we’ll do that in a few years. But to go just so you can be with other Mormons? That strikes me as being a bit fanatical, frankly.”

  That was not the thing to say to Maggie McKensie at that moment. “Fanatical?” she fired back. “My little brother cannot walk home from school without being afraid of being beat up by a group of bullies. My sister was spit upon the other day by a girl who told her she was a child of the devil. And you think it’s fanatical to want to get away from that?”

  A little taken aback by her sudden vehemence, he just stared at her.

  She was breathing hard now. “Before my father died, he lost his job because his fellow workers refused to work alongside a Mormon. Is it fanatical to want to live where we are not treated like a disease?”

  “Look, Maggie, I don’t want to argue with you. If your mother is such a faithful Mormon, then let her go. You don’t have to go to America to worship God. Sure you’ll miss them, but when we marry you’ll have to be leaving them anyway.”

  Her chin lifted and she stared at him for several moments.

  “What?” he finally said.

  In two more years? When it’s finally convenient for you, James? The words were like a hollow echo in her mind, but she would not speak them aloud. And then the significance of what he had just said hit her. “You don’t think of me as a faithful Latter-day Saint, do you, James?”

  He reared back a little. “Well, I—”

  “You said my mother is a faithful Mormon, but you didn’t say anything about me. What about me, James?”

  “What about
you? I don’t care what you believe. You know where I stand. I’ve not made a secret of that. I haven’t got much use for organized religion. All those preachers talking about how we should have faith in a better world in the hereafter. Sounds like a way to keep the poor from being unhappy with their miserable lot in life now, if you ask me.”

  But Maggie was still marveling at this self-discovery. Why should she blame him? James had no reason to think that her religion meant that much to her at all. “Did you know that our founder, Joseph Smith, was shot dead by a mob while he was being held in jail under false charges?” she asked quietly.

  He turned in surprise. “What was that again?”

  “Yes, just twelve years ago now.”

  He looked a little confused. He wasn’t sure what had brought that out just now.

  “And did you know that our people were driven from three different states at the point of a bayonet by people just like those boys yesterday?”

  “Aw, now, Maggie, they’re bullies, all right, but they don’t mean no lasting harm.” He gave her a sharp look. “They didn’t give Robbie any more trouble today, did they?”

  She shook her head. “No, not in the sense you mean. But in a full day of school among three dozen classmates, not one person spoke to either Robbie or Hannah. They shunned them as effectively as if they were lepers.”

  He decided to take the conversation back to where it needed to be. “They say Utah is a desert, Maggie. Is that what you want? to live in the desert?”

  “No!” she exploded. “You know I don’t want to go, James. I don’t want to leave Scotland.” Her eyes lowered. And if you don’t want me to leave Scotland, why won’t you do something about it?

  He came back and sat beside her, facing her. “Then just don’t. I’ll bet if your mother is really convinced that you’re not going, she’ll change her mind.”

  She just shook her head slowly. He hadn’t heard any of it—not her words, not her silent cries. “Do you remember what you asked me yesterday, James?”

  “Yesterday?”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess not. What?”

  “You asked if Mormonism really meant that much to me.”

  “Oh.” He was suddenly wary. “Yes, I remember.”