Spirit Pouch (16 page)

“Father says that this book is true,” Annie says softly.  “Do you think it is true?”

I am a little surprised by her innocent question, but I am also surprised by the conviction of my answer, which comes from my heart.  “Yes.  I know it is true.”

“How do you know?” she asks, again very seriously.  She is not challenging me.  She just wants to know.

“Well,” I say, gathering my thoughts, “Toward the back of the Book, Moroni says that to know if it is true, all you have to do is read it, then pray to God with real intent to know if it is true, having faith that He will tell you, and then He will let you know in your heart that it is true.
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  That’s how I know.”

“It’s hard to have faith,” Annie says softly.

“It is if you try to have huge faith all at once.  Remember me telling you this morning how a seed reminds me of faith?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you start out with just a little bit of faith, like just wanting to believe in Jesus Christ.  That is a tiny bit of faith.  It is like planting a seed.  That belief will grow, just like a seed grows.  And just like how you have to water it so it doesn’t die, you have to feed your little bit of faith.”

“How do you feed it?”

“By reading the scriptures and by praying and going to church.  Those are good ways.”

Annie thinks about that for a moment and I can see in her eyes that she is going to plant that seed and water it.

“Do you have a favorite story in the scriptures?” she asks.  For a moment I think she is changing the subject, but I realize that this was the ‘watering’.

“Actually, I do.  It is about Alma and Amulek.
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  They were teaching the people of Ammonihah about Jesus Christ.

Annie giggles.  “That’s a funny name.”

“It is kind of funny sounding, isn’t it?  It sounds like an Indian name.”

“Yes, it does.”  She giggles again.

“Well, some of the people believed Alma and Amulek when he told them about Jesus Christ, but many did not.  Those people threw the believers into a fire and burned them up, but they threw Alma and Amulek into prison.”

“They were mean people,” Annie says.  “I wouldn’t like them.”

“Yes, they were very mean,” I agree.  “They tied up Alma and Amulek with rope and then took their clothes away.  After that, many of the people that did not believe in Jesus walked by them and spat on them and slapped them and said, ‘If you have the power of God, then free yourself from these ropes’.”

“What did they do?”  Annie is almost crying.

“Alma stood up, and with great faith, prayed to God, and God broke the ropes.  Those mean people were so afraid that they fell to the ground.  Then God shook the walls of the prison until the walls fell down on those people.  Alma and Amulek walked out unhurt.  I like that story because Alma and Amulek had tremendous faith in Jesus Christ.”

“I like that story, too,” Annie says.  She gets up and leaves the room.  In a moment she returns with Emma and again sits on the floor close by.  I return to the Book of Ether and read up to the beginning of Moroni.  Resting my head against the log wall, I close my eyes.  Across my mind floats images of the Jaredite nation being destroyed because of iniquity.

I feel something poke my arm and I know without looking that it will be a Jaredite spear.  The warrior is very persistent and pokes me again.  I do not want to be a prisoner, and even more I do not want to be impaled and left to die on the battlefield.  The warrior pushes again.  With all my strength I reach up with both hands to defend myself and let out my own war cry.  Then my eyes open.

William is pushing on my shoulder and a broad smile fills his face.

Annie giggles where she sits on the floor next to me with Emma in her lap.  “You were sleeping with your mouth open, again,” she says smiling.

“I thought you were going to punch me,” William says laughing.  “I just wanted to wake you because it is time to do the milking.”

“You yelled pretty loud,” Annie giggles again.

“I guess I was asleep,” I say, stretching and slowly getting to my feet.

“Yeah you were.”

I stretch again trying to expel the groggy cobwebs of sleep from my mind.  I stoop over and pick up Henry’s scriptures from off the floor where I had set them.

“I guess it is chore time,” I say softly to Annie.  She makes a face that is sign language for ‘I know.  I hate chores, too.’

I walk across the small room to where Henry sits on a bench by the dinner table.  He is writing a list on a crumpled piece of newspaper.

“Thank you,” I say as I hand Henry the scriptures.  “Thank you for letting me read your Book of Mormon.”

“You’re welcome, Jared.”

I turn and quickly slip out the front door to help William with the milking.  When I round the corner of the cabin, William is just tying Spot to the wooden post.  I walk carefully and quietly over to William trying not to spook Spot.  The short walk is not nearly so treacherous as before when I had no boots, but I still try not to step directly into any fresh cow pies.

“Here,” William says, motioning for me to take his place.  “You milk Spot this time.”

I kneel down, trying to find a soft place in the dirt that isn’t wet.  I am not too good at this milking thing right at first, and even Spot notices and tries to step away.  William coaches me and after a few minutes I have a steady rhythm of milk flowing into the bucket.

“This will be exciting to go to the Utah Territory,” William says rapidly out of the blue.

I can hear the excitement in his voice.  If he could climb into a wagon and go today I think he would do it.

“What is so great about Utah?” I ask.  “I mean, here in Colorado you have a home, your family, a job.”

“I guess in my mind I think of Utah as the land of opportunity.  Start a new life.  That sort of thing.  How do you imagine Utah?”

Wow!  What a question! 
I want to tell him that I lived in Utah for a while.  And that what I remember is that everyone has a large house with a basement.  That in Utah it snows a lot and if you save your money you can go snow skiing in the winter.  Some kids go fishing and camping in the summer and their fathers take them deer hunting in the fall when the leaves on the trees turn colors.  Most people I know have a four wheel drive truck and a garage to park it in.  If you are kind of wealthy, your family has a quad or a snowmobile.  That’s what I want to say.  But what I do say is, “I imagine Utah as a busy place, where the people are busy doing good things for other people.  It is a place where families are important and where the Church is strong.  I think that in Utah people expect you to be a decent and an honest person.  Utah is about the same latitude, so I expect that it will snow and be cold in the winter just like in Colorado.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” William agrees.  “I haven’t thought of all that.  I’ve heard rumors that Brigham Young planned out Salt Lake City with really wide streets.  Like wide enough to have eight wagons side by side.  Isn’t that crazy?  Who needs a street that wide?”

“Well, that rumor is actually true.  Brigham Young actually wanted a wagon to be able to turn around in the street without provoking the driver to use profanity.
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  I’m sure that he expects Salt Lake to grow and become a major city someday.  I think being able to envision the future is the mark of a wise man.”

“I guess so, but eight wagons?  Wow.”

William continues on with his excited chatter about moving to Utah.  He talks about what he is taking, what he will not be able to take, and what the trail will be like.

“Father says that we are going to take the Overland Stagecoach Trail,” William informs me authoritatively.  “He says that supply wagons go that way all the time.  The trail goes northward up into the Dakota Territory.
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  Then it goes around the mountains and down into Utah.  That’s why we have to go now.”

“Huh?” I say, not following his train of thought.  “Tell me why you have to go now?  I mean, besides the fact that your
family
is going now.”

I can see that dreamy look in William’s eyes fade back to solid reality as his mind absorbs and processes my question.

“Because it is a long trek,” he explains.  He can tell that I still do not understand, but I think he is getting used to this Arizona city-boy, and that he has to explain things in more detail.

William continues, “A wagon has to get through the north country while it is summer because the snow in the winter gets so deep that a wagon can’t pass through it.  Besides, it gets really cold.  Of course, when it gets that cold, you can get across the rivers easier,” he adds.

“Because they are frozen over?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says, and I know he is thinking that there is hope for me after all.  “In the spring the rivers flood and the ground is soft and muddy.  It is hard for a wagon to travel then, too.  We are hoping to be in the most northern part of the trail in mid-summer.  That will be best.”

I finish milking and my pail is full nearly to the top.  William helps me lift it over the corral and then he unties Spot.

William and I carry the pail of milk into the cabin and set it into the kitchen just in time for supper.  I find some water in the kitchen and wash my hands before sitting down at the table.

After the blessing on the food, Elizabeth lifts a pitcher from the table and begins pouring milk into each cup.  I am pretty hungry and the milk looks very refreshing even though I know very well that this milk did not come from a plastic jug that says ‘homogenized’ on the label.

Henry takes a large spoon and dishes a generous helping of soup into his bowl.

“Mmm!  I love soup,” Joseph croons.

“Me, too,” Annie agrees.  “But it sure is a lot of work to make it,” she frowns.

Thomas hands her a plate of steaming hot corn bread fresh out of the oven and I see the frown melt away as she adds a little real butter across the top.  The soup finally gets to me.  It is so thick with diced potatoes and chunks of meat that it is more like stew than soup.

“Mmm!  I agree with Joseph,” I smile as I taste the first spoonful of soup.  “You did a great job, Annie.”

“Mom helped,” she replies with half a smile.

“Well, you both did a great job,” I say, taking a big bite of buttered cornbread.

“Are we going to take soup in the wagon on the way to Utah?” Joseph blurts out between spoonfuls.

“Of course,” Annie whispers, poking an elbow into Joseph.  “We’ve gotta eat.”

“We will probably make soup,” Elizabeth smiles, “if you hunters bring back enough meat.”

“Father’s been teaching me how to hunt and shoot,” Thomas reminds us.  “I think we will have plenty of meat.”

Dinner is over all too soon and Annie is summoned into the kitchen to help with dishes.  William’s grandparents walk outside and sit on the front porch to enjoy the cool evening breeze.

“They just like a little quiet time,” William whispers as he walks past me.

I smile and sit down on the floor with my back against the wall. 
Tomorrow,
I think, putting my head back and closing my eyes. 
Tomorrow, if I can get a spirit pouch ready, I will try to go home.
  My mind fills with images of my house, my mother, and of Lyn. 
They must be worried sick,
I reason. 
I’ve been gone three days.
  Then I smile,
maybe no one has noticed.
  I hope someone has noticed. 
Maybe I can’t go back,
I think.  I can feel my heart race as the implications of being stuck in 1866 force panic to swell up inside my chest. 
Maybe the spirit pouch only works one way.  Maybe it only works once!

“I have two marbles,” Joseph says, plunking himself down next to me on the floor.  “Do you want to see ‘em?”  His eyes beg for me to say ‘yes’.

“You bet,” I reply.  Actually, anything is better than contemplating how marooned I might be in 1866 Colorado.

Joseph digs around in his over stuffed pockets until he finally pulls his hand out in triumph.  “Here they are.”  He sets them on the floor in front of me.  “They are both chipped,” he announces sadly.  Then he smiles, “That’s why people give them to me.”

“Because they are chipped?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says.  “Sometimes they don’t roll very straight.  Then you don’t win.”

I pick up the closest marble and examined it.  It is not perfectly round and has a good sized chip out of one side.  “I can see why it might not roll straight,” I say.  “This one looks like a bumblebee.”

“Yeah, It’s my favorite,” he smiles.  “You want to shoot it?” he invites.

“Sure!”

Joseph sets his other marble onto the floor.  “You just flick it with your thumb,” he instructs.  “Watch me.”  He grabs the bumblebee
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and flicks it almost in a straight line.

“Okay,” I say.  “It’s my turn.”  I hold out my hand and Joseph plops the bumblebee into it.

“No keepsies,” he announces, just to be sure he gets it back.

I get up on my knees and sight down the wooden floor.  Lining up my arm, I squint with one eye. 
Maybe if I knew geometry,
I think,
I could predict where this marble will go.
  I flick my thumb.  The marble taw
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swerves over the uneven floor and turns wildly as it rolls across the chipped surface, missing the duck by several inches.