The Work and the Glory (639 page)

Caroline chuckled, glad for the reminder. “Now that you say that,” she said, “maybe I was a little hasty.”

“I’m going to miss the dirt floors,” Jessica said. “How will little Solomon get his pantaloons black as coal if we have wooden floors again?”

“How about the parched corn?” Melissa said, jumping in with what had suddenly become a game. “How will you ever be able to do without parched corn?”

“I think I could adjust to that,” Caroline said dryly.

Mary Ann watched her daughter and daughters-in-law for a moment, enjoying their warm sisterhood, and then said, “Let me ask you a question. When you think about the time when we reach the Rocky Mountains and finally have a permanent home, to what do you most look forward?”

That stopped them for a moment, and they looked at each other as they thought about it. Finally, Jenny spoke first. “I want a large, bright kitchen.”

“With a pump right in the sink so I don’t have to go outside in the winter to draw water,” Melissa added.

“I don’t care if it’s a large house,” Lydia said dreamily, “but I picture a white picket fence all around with flowers everywhere.”

Jessica nodded at that. “Oh, don’t flowers sound wonderful right now? And a big oak tree with a swing for the children.”

“Savannah would love that,” Caroline agreed. “And a piano.” Now there was a deep wistfulness in her eyes. “Oh, I hope someday we can have a piano again.”

Lydia came in now. “How about an orchard with apples and peaches, so every spring we’ll have pink and white blossoms? I loved that when I was a girl.”

“As long as there is plenty of food for the children,” Melissa said, suddenly sober, “I’ll be happy.”

That brought a murmur of assent from all of them. Then Lydia turned to Mary Ann. “What about you, Mother Steed? What would you like to have?”

Mary Ann was thoughtful for a moment, but then spoke softly. “First of all, I want my family all around me. I want us to build another Steed Row.”  

“Oh, yes,” several of them cried. “All together.”

“And I want the mobs gone. I want to sit on the porch and watch my grandchildren play and know that they are safe from our enemies.”

Now they were all silent, struck deeply by what that would mean. Melissa, who had experienced the viciousness of the mob most recently, nodded slowly. “I don’t want my children to ever have to see their father threatened again.”

“Amen,” Lydia said softly. “I’ll trade that for ten apple orchards.”

They fell silent, each occupied by her own thoughts. Mary Ann watched them, then smiled warmly. “But that
is
what we are going to get,” she said with assurance. “On this Christmas Day as we remember the birth of our Savior, let’s remember that too. He watches over us. He knows our needs. He is our Savior and Redeemer. Though we have suffered much—and are still suffering—he will lead us to a new home in the wilderness. Of that I am sure.”

“Christmas Gift,” Jessica said quietly.

“Happy Christmas,” they all responded back.

Kathryn Ingalls pushed open the heavy wooden shutters about halfway and immediately felt the rush of cold. There was no window glass to block the winter air. Even if glass had been available at the fort—which it was not—it would be horribly expensive. Since the Latter-day Saints from the Mormon Battalion and the Mississippi company planned to abandon the cabins they had built come spring, window glass was not even considered. Instead, they made heavy wooden shutters to cover the openings, then stuffed blankets or sacks in front of them to hold out the cold.

As she looked north across the Arkansas River, Fort Pueblo looked almost like a painting. It sat framed against the leaden sky and was partially obscured by the light snow that had been falling most of the day. It seemed like an appropriate picture for a Christmas Day. Then, as they almost inevitably did, her thoughts turned to Peter. Was this what Sutter’s Fort looked like? What was Christmas like in California? Would the Reeds and the Donners and Peter stay near the fort during the winter, as she and Derek and Rebecca were doing, or would Mr. Reed use all of his money to construct another fancy home like their one in Illinois?

She felt the baby stir within her, and for some reason, coming just at that time, it brought tears to her eyes. Peter would be leaving to come back to her in the spring, but it would be well into the summer—perhaps even fall—before they met again. It would be another six months at the least, perhaps as many as nine or ten. By then their baby would be crawling, maybe even taking its first step or two, and Peter would not even have seen it yet.

Rebecca, who was sitting at their makeshift table feeding Leah some oatmeal mush and goat’s milk, had been watching Kathryn since she had first stood and gone to the window. Now, seeing the tears, she motioned to Derek to come and take over. Derek was on their bedroll in the corner. He had been telling Christopher and Benji the story of Christ’s birth, but they had both fallen asleep now. When he saw Rebecca waving at him, he got up and came over to her.

Without a word, she handed Derek the spoon, then got up and went over to stand beside Kathryn. “Kind of a gray day, isn’t it?” she said.

Realizing she had been caught, Kathryn quickly wiped at her eyes and nodded. “They say it doesn’t snow in California.” She sniffed a little. “If I find out that Peter spent all winter just lying around in the sunshine doing nothing, I’m going to be very angry with him.”

Rebecca laughed. “So will I. That sounds downright criminal right now, doesn’t it?” She touched Kathryn softly. “You really miss him, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you and Peter talk about what to name the baby? You’re not going to have to wait until you see him to decide on a name, are you?”

“Oh, no. We didn’t settle on anything, but we talked about it.”

“And?”

“If it’s a boy, we thought about Alexander.” She flushed a little. “Sounds a little grand, doesn’t it?”

Derek looked up now. “For Alexander the Great?”

“Yes,” she said, pleased that he had guessed. “Peter said that Alexander wandered over half of Europe and Asia, and by the time we reach our new home this baby will have covered a good part of North America.”

“And if it’s a girl?” Rebecca asked.

“Nicole.”

“Oh, that’s pretty.”

“It’s French,” Kathryn explained. “We don’t know anyone with that name, but we both like it.” Suddenly she shivered. “It’s getting cold. We’d better shut the window.”

Rebecca laid a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t know where Peter is this Christmas, Kathryn, but I know this for sure. He’s thinking of you.”

Kathryn could only nod. Then she reached out and brought the heavy shutters closed.

At Sutter’s Fort in Upper California, the rain had ranged from a light mist to a heavy downpour for over a week, never once clearing enough for the sun to be seen. Peter was standing at one of the windows, looking out through the thick glass at the continuing drizzle. The fields, which had been golden with wheat or green with corn, squash, and melons just a few weeks before, were great lakes of standing water.

“But no snow,” Peter said, half to himself.

Will looked up from the table in surprise. “What?”

Peter turned. “I said, there’s still no snow. Here it is Christmas Day. We’ve had rain for more than a week now and not a snowflake. No frost. No ice. No blizzards. Maybe there really is something to be said for California.”

“Beats Nauvoo, doesn’t it?” Will said.

Jared, now about three months old, was lying contentedly in his father’s arms but watched him carefully as he spoke. Alice had taken the umbrella and run the quarter mile to the fort to see if she could get some vegetables for their Christmas supper.

Peter turned back, noting how thick the gray of the sky looked. “So how soon is Sutter going to want us to go upriver and start cutting lumber for his mill?”

Will shrugged. “Last I talked to him, he was thinking maybe right after the first of the year.”

“So that will please Alice if we don’t have to leave for another week.” Sutter wanted to build a sawmill about forty-five miles up the American River to prepare building materials for the influx of emigrants that would come next season. He had already contracted with Will, because of his experience in the pineries of Wisconsin, to help, and Peter would go along as laborer.

“Yes. She is already dreading our being gone for two months or more.”

Finally Peter turned away. Though he had not spoken her name to Will as yet this day, his mind was really on Kathryn, not the rain, not John Sutter, and not cutting timber. And the longer he looked out the windows, the more agonizing was the pain of missing her. “Do you think Alice will be much longer?”

“Another few minutes is all.”

He turned and started for the door. “I’ll go get some more firewood so that it will be ready for Alice when she gets back.”

Chapter Notes

The first Christmas at Winter Quarters was largely a workday, though the Saints were aware of the holiday. In the evening small parties were held in celebration, but for the most part, except for the cannon fire and the Christmas greetings shared by all, it was pretty much a normal day for that time. (See David R. Crockett, “Christmas in Winter Quarters,”
Church News,
21 December 1996, pp. 11, 14.) Though it is not certain how the expression “Christmas Gift” came about, it is found in the journals. It was probably a reminder that each person had received the gift of Christ in his or her life.

There are reports of those who were unwilling to work and who basically depended on the Church to care for them, and there are some entries showing frustration with them. But the John Winger mentioned here is a fictitious name.

Chapter 34

Rebecca finished tucking in the quilt around Kathryn’s feet. “Are you ready?”

She nodded. Though pale and weary, she was smiling happily.

Rebecca nodded at Derek, who then turned and pulled back the blanket that separated Kathryn’s “room” from the main part of the cabin. “All right, children. But be soft and quiet.”

Christopher, Benjamin, and Leah—seven and a half, four and a half, and almost two, respectively—marched in, trying to peer around their father to where Kathryn was on the makeshift bed. When they saw her they slowed, eyes wide with concern. She laughed. “It’s all right. Come forward and see your new little cousin.” She pulled back the blanket from the baby’s face as they came up to stand beside her.

“Ohh,” Christopher said in awe. “She’s cute, Aunt Kathryn.”

Rebecca lifted Leah up so that she could see better. Her eyes were large and filled with wonder. Benji was up on tiptoes, peeking at the tiny red face. “Is it a girl, Aunt Kathryn?” he whispered.

“Yes, Benji. Children, I’d like you to meet Nicole Ingalls. Nicole, these are your cousins—Benjamin, Christopher, and Leah Rebecca.” Solemnly she reached down and took the baby’s hand, then lifted it to make it look as though she were waving to them. “She is very pleased to meet you.”

“Look how teeny her fingers are,” Benji exclaimed.

“Face red,” Leah said with some concern.

Kathryn laughed, stroking the smoothness of the cheek with the back of her finger. “Her face is red, Leah, but she had to work so hard to get here.”

“So it’s Nicole for sure?” Derek asked.

“Or is it Nicole Kathryn?” Rebecca ventured.

“No, I think just Nicole. Nicole Kathryn Ingalls is a pretty big name for such a little girl.” She looked at Benjamin. “Don’t you think so, Benji?”

“I like Nicole,” he said gravely.

“All right, children,” Rebecca said, starting to shoo them back toward the blanket that partitioned the room. “Kathryn needs to rest now. We’ll see the baby some more in a little while.”

“Thank you,” Kathryn said as they moved back out into the main part of the cabin.

They waved and let the blanket drop again. For a long time, Kathryn looked down at the rounded face, the soft lashes, and the thin dark fuzz that covered the head. Then she looked toward the window. “It’s a girl, Peter,” she whispered. “I’m going to call her Nicole.”

Josh Steed marched along with a cheerful heart. In some people’s minds, there was no justification for cheer of any kind. It was January twenty-seventh, 1847. That meant it had been more than six months since their enlistment and here they were still marching westward, not yet at their destination. But they were getting close. And they were out of the desert and into beautiful Upper California now. Those two facts cheered Josh immensely. He had made it. He, Joshua Benjamin Steed, oldest son of Nathan and Lydia McBride Steed, had done it. Though he was one of the youngest members of the battalion, he had seen it through.

He chuckled to himself. To look at him, one couldn’t be sure whether he had made it or not. He was a sorry-looking sight, that he knew. His clothes were tattered and worn almost completely off his back. They had lost any color they had once had. His hair was long and shaggy, and he now had a respectable beard. He had long since given up shaving, something that he missed. He looked forward to shaving off the beard as quickly as possible. His face was deep brown, his nose peeled and sunburned, his lips cracked and prone to bleed if he forgot and smiled too broadly. He had no shoes. They had long since worn out and been discarded, and now, like many others in the battalion, he wore “ox hide slippers,” as they called them. When an ox died or was killed, they would take a knife and cut a strip of hide off from each of the four legs just above the knee joint. The hide had a natural curl to it, and when sewn together and worn for a couple of days it shaped itself to the foot and provided an ankle-high boot. It was never comfortable, but it beat going barefoot or wrapping one’s feet in rags.

To be sure, the few months since they had left Santa Fe had been incredibly difficult. They had faced blistering heat, freezing cold, bitter winds, snow, sandstorms, crazed bulls, sullen Mexicans, filthy water, no water at all, reduced rations, no rations in some cases. They had marched a total of two thousand miles and cut a wagon road across a trackless, hostile desert for the last four hundred miles of that. In some cases they had actually cut through mountain passes with picks and shovels to make a way for the wagons.