The Fugitive Son (9 page)

She shuddered. What a contrast to the life she had enjoyed back at River Bend, where the family worshiped together every Lord’s Day, where Papa led the family in prayer nightly, and where never an unkind word was spoken. How she longed for the peace of home! If Cairo was a picture of what the outside world offered, what would life be like in New Mexico?

John broke into her reverie, explaining to both women what the sign meant by family whiskey. “It doesn’t mean whiskey for the family to drink,” he said. “It’s a brew they concoct in the basement of their family establishment, blending water, prune juice, and caramel coloring in barrels of sour mash. Then they sell it for 25 cents a shot. Easy money.”

Elsie and Mary both grimaced. “I’ve never tasted whiskey,” Mary said, “so I would have no comparison, but it surely sounds terrible.”

“I’ve never had whiskey either,” Elsie agreed, “nor any other spirits.”

John laughed. “You mean you didn’t sit on your verandah sipping a mint julep like all the other Southern belles?”

Elsie punched him lightly in the shoulder. “Oh, go on with you! The only thing we ever sipped was sweet tea. Papa didn’t allow anything stronger at River Bend.”

They approached a tiny cafe that looked a bit cleaner than those along the dock and found a passable lunch offered for 25 cents – cold cuts, cheese, rye bread, pickles, and a hard-boiled egg, plus coffee or tea.

After lunch, they walked down the dock to the
Banner
, the large riverboat that would be their home for the next 200 miles. Slaves were busy loading freight on the lower decks, while passengers began walking up the gangplank to their staterooms and salons. Elsie looked at the ship in wonder. It was a virtual palace! The upper decks were luxuriously furnished with a huge dining room so elegantly designed it made the gracious dining room at River Bend seem gauche in comparison.

Elsie was overcome with awe as they passed through the dining room with its majestic promenade, crystal chandeliers, intricate wooden arches, and gold-embossed wallpapers enhanced by gilt-edged trimmings. A number of equally elegant betting and dancing salons surrounded the expansive space. White-jacketed attendants held silver serving trays, offering snacks of every sort – lemonade and sandwiches to champagne and caviar. It was all far too extravagant for her tastes, but John and Mary seemed to be accustomed to such luxury and were enjoying it to the fullest.

Her stateroom, too, offered far more luxury than the small paddle-wheeler cabin had on her trip down the Ohio. Silk sheets and coverlet. Soft, plush carpeting. Even a gorgeous view out her porthole.
Don’t get too used to this
, Elsie admonished herself.
Santa Fe surely doesn’t offer these comforts!

As she drifted off to sleep that night with the rhythmic rocking of the boat, she wondered what her new life out West would hold. She had known when she sold River Bend that her life would change, but she didn’t know how much. Was she up to the challenge?

Late July 1857
Green River

A
NDY FINISHED
smoking the trout he had caught earlier. Major Crawford was certainly right about there being plenty of food here for a body – actually, for a lot of bodies! He had tried to catch only small animals that he could safely eat before the meat spoiled, not wanting to waste any of it.

Here in this secluded valley near the stream, antelope abounded. More antelope than he had ever seen. But he knew he could never eat an entire antelope. And to destroy the gorgeous creatures for a few meals seemed an awful waste.

He carved another notch in the walking stick he used to mark off his days of hiding. Ten days already. It didn’t seem possible that he had been alone that long, so well fed and so comfortable in his own skin.

He glanced around the area, decided it was safe, and sat down against a massive tree trunk. Pulling out the Bible Major Crawford had given him, he once again followed the notes and references the major had marked. Andy was surprised by all the markings in the Bible. The major must have spent a lot of time reading and pondering it. Why would anybody love a book enough to read it over and over?
At testimony and fast meetings, I always stood up and testified how much I love the Book of Mormon,
Andy recalled. He paused as his own thoughts convicted him. Despite his proclaimed love for the book, he hadn’t read it much. And judging from the comments of other Mormons, neither had they.

The first couple of days here in his self-imposed exile, Andy had been too busy setting up camp and laying in food to honor his promise to the major to read the Bible. Every time he glanced at it, lying on his duffel in the cave, he had felt pangs of guilt for not honoring that promise. Then boredom set in, and he began reading just to pass the time.

Now, it was like a magnet, drawing him into it, raising questions and doubts. On the front inside cover, someone had inscribed, “This Book will keep you from sin; sin will keep you from this Book.”

He reflected on the strange sentiment. What is sin? The Mormons didn’t speak of sin very often. When they did, it was defined as disobeying the laws and ordinances of the gospel. But was it sin to lie and steal and murder people, as he had witnessed so often lately?

Andy remembered the first time he had opened Major Crawford’s Bible. He had felt guilty, as if he were dishonoring Heavenly Father and the prophet. But then he remembered – the Mormons’ Articles of Faith stated that the church believed in the King James Bible insofar as it was translated correctly. Andy had flipped to the title page of the Bible he held in his hands. Yep, it was definitely King James. Why shouldn’t he read it?

Since then, he had read and reread the opening chapters of Genesis, becoming more confused each time he read it. “Sure sounds like Adam and Eve sinned; that God was displeased with their actions,” he murmured. “So why do the Mormons say they didn’t really sin? That they simply chose the lesser of two evils?”

He had heard the story of the Garden of Eve since he was a little boy. How God told Adam and Eve not to eat of the fruit, but at the same time had ordered them to multiply and replenish the earth with their offspring. Adam wisely chose the right command and ate the fruit, so that “man may be.”

If Adam chose wisely, why did God kill an animal and shed its blood? Andy followed Major Crawford’s references to verses like, “The soul that sinneth, it shall die,” and “Without the shedding of blood is no remission of sin.”

“Am I a sinner? I’ve tried to follow all the laws and ordinances of the gospel to the best of my ability. Is that not enough?” Andy gave voice to his questions, feeling a deep agony of soul. Conviction coursed through him. “Of course I’ve sinned,” he confessed aloud. “I’ve lied. I’ve coveted my father’s wife. I’ve harbored secret thoughts against the prophet and the leaders.

He shuddered violently as he reread the statement, “Without the shedding of blood is no remission of sin.” Did this mean only blood atonement would cover his many sins? Must he offer his life to the brethren’s knife? Was he strong enough for that?

Almost of its own volition, the Bible flipped over to another verse the major had marked, in First Peter 2. Andy read the entire passage that was marked and quickly deduced it was talking about Jesus Christ, who did no sin – a sinless man “who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree, that we, being dead to sins, should live unto righteousness, by whose stripes ye were healed.”

He bore our sins on the tree. That clearly is talking about the cross on which Jesus was crucified
, Andy mused.
But the church teaches that Jesus paid for most of our sins in the Garden of Gethsemane. Really awful sins, like murder and adultery, must be paid for by our own blood. Did Prophet Smith get it wrong? Did Jesus bear all my sin on the cross? Or do I have to shed my own blood for my sins?

Major Crawford had written yet another reference in the margin, so Andy searched through the Old Testament until he found Isaiah 53:6. “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all,” he read.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out?” a rough voice broke into Andy’s thoughts. At the same time, a booted foot kicked the Bible out of his hands.

“Preparing for the hereafter by reading the Good Book?” the voice continued.

Andy looked up into the sneering face of Brother Hickman, one of the most notorious Danites and one of the officers of the renewed Nauvoo Legion. Hickman was surrounded by his men.

Andy quickly rose to his feet and saluted. “Yes, sir,” he stammered. “I was captured by a bunch of Bannock warriors, managed to get away, and was laying low in case they were still looking for me.” Another lie, his conscience prodded him. His sins just kept continuing to pile up!

Hickman stroked his beard. “Looks like you’re pretty good at going it alone and taking care of yourself. Well now, this is mighty lucky for us. I need somebody strong, smart, and able to take a very important message to the prophet. Think you’re up to it? Can you make it over to Great Salt Lake City without getting captured again?”

Andy straightened up, standing military erect. He saluted Hickman again. “Yes, sir. I know these parts around here like the back of my hand. I’m sure I can get through with your message.”

Hickman bent down and picked up the Bible. “Here, better take this. Where you’re going, you might need it! Not many fellas would tackle these mountains alone. Better load up with more ammo, too.”

Andy breathed deeply, inwardly thanking Heavenly Father that Hickman hadn’t opened the Bible and realized it belonged to a U.S. soldier. He put the Bible in his saddle pack and prepared to leave. “I’m guessing you want this delivered with haste?”

“The sooner the better. But don’t ruin your horse or break your neck to get there. The army is starting to send the first troops out of Kansas. They’re moving slower than molasses across the prairie. But it’s important that we get these missives to the prophet so he’ll know when to expect an attack and have plenty of time to prepare for it.”

Andy accepted the packet Hickman handed him and placed it in his saddlebag alongside the Bible. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

Hickman shook his hand. “Figured I could count on you. At this point, I don’t have too many reliable men I could send. Mount up and head out. We’re on our way to do a little scorch and burn so the cavalry horses won’t have anything to eat along the trail.”

Leaving the Green River to head west over the rugged Wasatch Mountains, Andy couldn’t believe his good fortune. When he’d seen Hickman and his men, he was sure he was headed for a blood atonement for desertion. Facing Pa and the prophet in Salt Lake might not be pleasant, but at least for the moment he still had an intact throat.

Andy wended his way over old Indian trails, up and around mountains, finding the pass and avoiding with great caution the Cherokee Trail, the busy byway hundreds of people were using to travel between the Santa Fe Trail to the south and the Oregon Trail in the north. He was careful not to run into any more Nauvoo Legion units, and he especially didn’t want to come across Army scouts or Indians. He’d been lucky so far in his encounters with both groups, but how long could that kind of luck hold out?

But was it simply luck? A verse that Major Crawford had marked in the Bible popped into his thoughts. How did that verse go? “I know the plans I have for you, to give you a future.” And then something about “plans for good and not evil.” Could that be true? Could Heavenly Father really have a good plan for his life?

Andy stopped his horse on a high ridge and gazed out over the spectacular Great Salt Lake Valley. If it were true that God had a plan for him, maybe his visit with Pa and the prophet wouldn’t be so bad.

With that cheerful thought, he coaxed his mount into a fast trot and rode into the valley.