The Wedding Dress (11 page)

As the summer of 1848 had been hot and early, winter was hard and long. Snow piled around the Samuels' cabin and swirled through the cracks. Survival became the all-consuming thought. Food supplies dwindled, and illness moved from cabin to cabin. The war with Mexico was over and the Great Basin now belonged to the United States. Even as rumblings concerning this new situation were drawing together, Brigham Young and the twelve, plus the members of the Nauvoo Legion who had departed from Winter Quarters in the summer of 1846 to fight in the war, were trickling into the Great Salt Lake Valley.

With the returning soldiers came interesting facts. The first bit of knowledge produced the Mexican-style adobe, which provided the early shelters in the valley. They also returned with reports of the lush valleys and fair harbors in California. Later groups trickled back the news of gold, and Brigham Young promptly dealt with all the ungodly yearnings.

It was that winter, while Rebecca huddled beside the fire trying to remember to smile, that she recognized the change that had taken place within her. She was one of the Saints.

Until the letter from Joshua, she had not felt really at home. All last winter on the banks of the Missouri, even after her baptism, she had been but a spectator. “It's like putting on a slipper, but never wiggling your toes down into the very end. Comfort isn't there until you wiggle your toes and know it fits.”

Ann had been poking a needle in and out of a stocking. “What doesn't fit?”

“Life. At the Smyths I thought I fit. But I didn't. I didn't realize it until they made me uncomfortable by pushing at me about Lank.”

“That's the widower they wanted you to marry?”

She nodded. “I never could admit, no matter how much Josh and I liked each other, that I just didn't belong. Cynthia, well, she doesn't want me to have Joshua. But until this letter, I couldn't admit it. See, without realizing it, I'd been letting my life here just fill the time until he could come and get me. Now I know that down deep I've quit expecting it. He'll find his gold, but chances are, he'll never make it back to Oregon. His glory is going to be gold, not me.”

“Those are dismal thoughts for a snowy day,” Ann said.

“I'm just putting words to all I've been feeling since the letter. Now I'm wiggling my toes like I belong.” Ann raised her eyebrows, and hastily Rebecca added, “Oh, not to you, but to this place and this time. I'll make my own glory, and I think I can. The first step's going to be to move from this fire and start. If there's a primer and a slate in this valley, I can begin to teach school.”

“Better'n letting the young'uns run wild all winter.”

Rebecca made good her promise, and before the Christmas excitement was in the air, she had been given a spot in the fort, a handful of primers and a group of squirming students.

By the spring of 1849 significant changes had taken place in the Great Salt Lake Valley. In February the first political convention was held in the old fort.

At this time the Deseret territory was designated as an area bounded by the Rocky Mountains, the Republic of Mexico, the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and the newly established Territory of Oregon. In March another convention was held, and Congress was petitioned first for statehood and, when that failed, for recognition as the Territory of Deseret. Even as this was going on, a constitution had been adopted and a government set up. Brigham Young was governor, and the laws of the church became the laws of the land.

The steps toward self-government gave the settlers a feeling of permanence and self-confidence. Now roads were built; irrigation ditches, gristmills and even a water-powered threshing machine came into being. A twelve-mile stone wall surrounded the community farmland. Newly planted trees had taken hold, and there was a promise of swelling buds.

Although many of the settlers had moved into their own cabins last fall, Cora and her family were still living in the fort this spring. It was March, and as Rebecca walked toward the fort the air was soft and light. The snow was melting, and doors stood open to the breeze.

“It's a gladsome time,” Rebecca reflected, thinking that she sounded like Grandma Taylor. “Makes you happy we didn't just give up in January. Things do get better. Life is good!”

As she hopped her way through the soggy grasses, Rebecca felt icy water oozing into her shoes. On higher ground she surveyed the damage. The split along the side of her shoe gaped enough to reveal her heavy stocking. She remembered Brother Kimball's prophecy and smiled ruefully.

“If Brother Kimball's right—saying that before the year's up, we'll be getting all the goods we need—well, it'll make a true believer even out of me.”

“Rebecca!” Cora stuck her head out the door of her cabin. “I thought I heard you. Talking to yourself? What brings you out today?”

“You. I've gone most of the winter without seeing you.” Cora's dress strained over her stomach. “Expecting, huh?” She nodded, and Rebecca shook her head. “Only a year since Joseph, and you miscarrying last summer. You shouldn't so soon.”

Cora's face reddened. “It's my duty. Children are a blessing.”

“I hope you live to raise them.”

Rebecca knew her voice was cutting across raw emotions when Cora snapped, “And if you were living your religion, you'd be married and in the family way.”

She shook her head. “You've forgotten there're other things in life. I'm in no hurry. There's school to be taught.”

“Then you aren't thinking about your soul's welfare.”

“What do you mean?” Rebecca asked impatiently.

“The only way you'll ever achieve salvation is through your husband.”

“I don't believe it.”

“The principle. You know about it. The Prophet said you'll only achieve a higher glory by being married and having children. Do you want to end up just an angel? That's all right. I'll have you fetching and totin' for me for eternity.”

“Oh, Cora,” Rebecca burst out laughing. “This is funny. We haven't seen each other for ages, and here we are arguing. You live your religion, and I'll live mine.”

“Trouble is, you aren't living it. I heard you say you would believe if Brother Kimball's prophecy came true. You're not to be trying the Father. The Prophet said we're to believe on someone else's faith if we don't have enough to believe on our own.”

Ignoring Cora's words, Rebecca said, “Seems, for being the true followers of God, for having the restored gospel, we're not seeing too much evidence of His mercy. Looks like we ought to be experiencing some of the Lord's blessings. Last winter was more'n enough to try our religion. It nearly took our souls and bodies. I heard a woman on the other side of town went clear crazy and took off in the snow.”

Cora nodded, “I heard too. Her husband spent half the night trying to haul her back. It wasn't the weather and the lack of victuals. She was just plain rebelling.”

“The principle again?” Rebecca asked dryly.

Cora studied Rebecca's face. “You're still not quite in agreement, are you? Yes, her husband's second wife just got to her, and she flew apart. Poor thing. There's nothing to do but accept it. Remember, she's not rebelling against him; she's rebelling against God, and there's no way to handle it but to bring herself under control. They prophesied the way would be hard, but the harder it gets and the better we handle it, the greater will be our reward. Jewels in our crowns.” She bent to pick up her baby from the floor, and Rebecca sighed impatiently.

“Where's Mrs. Wright?”

Cora brushed dirt from her baby's hands and wiped his mouth. “Outside settin' in the sun. That's what she does come summer, and it's the fire in the winter.”

She got to her feet. “Come look what the Mister's done.” She moved to the fireplace and pointed to the bed of embers heaped in the center of the fireplace. “Got a piece of sheet iron and made me an oven.” Returning to the table she uncovered a pan of rising bread. “I'll show you how it works.”

With a stick she shoved aside a stone and eased the pan into the cavity formed by the metal and rocks. Pushing the stone into place, she scooped the glowing embers close and tumbled a share of them onto the earth-covered metal. “Bread's not bad.”

With a sigh of satisfaction she moved back to the table and sat down beside Rebecca. “There's some talk of us trying to start an ironworks down south.”

“Down south?” Rebecca echoed. “You'd move away from here?”

She nodded. “About three hundred miles from here. Brother Brigham's had men down there looking the place over. There's iron ore to be had. You know how he's always preaching we must be self-sufficient. Well, right away he started looking for someplace he could set up a foundry.”

“It's so far away.”

“He's going to have Saints spread all over this country. From here to California. Rebecca, think of it. This is all going to be the Kingdom of God, and we're starting it. This is the place where Jesus Christ is coming to set up His kingdom. Isn't that reason enough to stick through all the trouble?”

“I don't find my thinking inclined that way right now.”

“Then you aren't living by faith. You aren't really believing that Brigham is God's prophet and that God is directing him through all this. Rebecca, you can't wait until Jesus comes back before you're believing this is all true.”

Rebecca got to her feet laughing, “Then I'll believe because you say so.”

During that summer and fall of 1849, Rebecca saw Heber C. Kimball's prophecy come true.

While dust devils stirred the corn hanging limp in the July heat and the wagon trains continued to trickle into the Great Salt Lake Valley with their poor offering of tired and hungry Saints, a new force entered the valley. The sounds were different. The echo of their curses and the angry crack of whips was heard from dawn to dusk as heavily loaded wagons moved into the valley.

The commotion brought the Saints to the streets. They were mindful of the poor adobe of their homes and the graying calico and split boots as they watched Brother Kimball's prophecy arrive behind tired horses. Sweating men cursed the burden they had hauled across the plains, fearful of the tales they had heard of the dangers yet to come.

Ann and Rebecca had been watching the dust cloud when Ann's youngest rode in from the fields. His tousled hair was a banner of excitement even before he reined his panting horse. “Your pa'll whip you for winding that horse,” his mother scolded.

With eyes dancing with joy he ignored the warning. “They's gold miners, heading for California with loads of stuff. Rough ones, they is.”

“Are,” Rebecca reminded automatically. Her thoughts were racing before her. Gold—what if Joshua were there? “Where are they from?”

He shook his head, “Don't know. They're powerful discouraged by the tales of the mountains and all. There's talk of their getting rid of their load. Pa's coming to get the oxen and see if he can dicker.”

“Oxen!” Ann exclaimed. “Not Sue and Dixie. We can't get along without them.” But her son was off, and she hesitated only a moment. Grasping Rebecca's arm, she said, “Come, we'll see for ourselves just what's going on. Let's walk down there.”

“Wait up!” Cora was hurrying to reach them. She stopped for breath and shifted Joseph to her other hip. When she could speak, she said, “There's talk of them selling their goods that they're totin' to California. Now they're in too big a rush to get there.”

During the following week, as the wagons continued to break through the mountains, the teamsters held daily auctions in the streets. They were as desperately eager to dump their load and be on their way to California as the Saints were eager to acquire the merchandise and hurry the uncouth miners along. Fresh oxen and repaired wagons were traded for tired horses and collapsing wagons—at a profit to the Saints.

For the most part, the women clustered on the edges of the crowd and watched their menfolk dicker for merchandise. Clothing was sold for a fraction of the price it would bring back east. There was tinware, shoes, dress goods, and every sorely needed item imaginable from needles to nails.

Occasionally some of the braver of the women swooped close to the bulging wagons to peer and dart back with the news. “I declare, that wagon has a stove.”

“Those barrels are packed with shoes. I saw them. I suppose they're just for men.” The speaker studied her calloused feet. “I don't reckon these feet would fit shoes, for all their lumps.”

As Rebecca watched the wealth change hands for only a token of their value, destiny stepped close to her and wrapped its arms around her. Brother Kimball's prophecy had indeed come true. She must be a believer now. The facts were there, touchable and ready to be possessed.

It was barely light when Rebecca heard the bird. It scratched and pecked at the crude shingles above her head. As if just recognizing the dawn, it gave a trilling call. Rebecca smiled and snuggled against the comforter under her cheek. A gentle breeze stirred the sheet dividing the loft into two rooms.