Spirit Pouch (26 page)

"Ty," I say calmly.  "I'm all ears.  You can tell me now."

"Okay.  You remember when Mr. F … I mean Brother Franklin gave us the assignment to bring a four generation fan chart to seminary?"

"Sure," I say. 
What could be so exciting about a seminary homework assignment?
I think. 
Except that you are actually doing it.

"Well, I couldn't figure out my fan chart."

"It's not that hard," I say. 
Ha.  I'm actually smarter than Ty in one thing,
I think.  But of course I don't say that out loud.  I do say, "You just enter in the names of your ancestors and press the print button."

"I know that," Ty says in exasperation, but trying to keep his voice down.  "I had my father's pedigree chart and I was entering the names into Family Search just like Brother Franklin said to do on the handout."

"So, …"

"So, I barely get started and suddenly the fan chart fills up with hundreds of names of ancestors that go back for ten generations or more."

"So, you got your fan chart," I say.  "That's really great!  Are you related to a king or something?  Wait … let me guess.  A serial killer?"

"Very funny, Jared," Ty says with a quick roll of his eyes.  "Listen to me.  This is important!"

"Okay, but this is a long story.  Can we sit down?"

"No.  Just listen."

I nod.

"So, the computer still is not listing me.  I want me at the beginning of the fan chart, right?"

"Right," I say, then I shut up to speed up the story. 
Otherwise
, I think,
I would die of boredom.  Family History is one of those things that is fascinating if it is your own family, but if you have to hear about your neighbor's genealogy, it is like reading the first part of Ether, chapter one.  It could put you right to sleep.

"So I look at my grandfather's descendants."

"Yeah."

"Well, my mother is listed there, and it shows that she is married to my father, but my father's last name is not Smith."

"It's not?" 
Okay, this shifted from really boring to intriguing pretty fast,
I think.

"No," Ty says definitely.  "But then bits and pieces of my memory started making sense."

"Not to me," I say.

Ty ignores me and continues, "I was told by my father to never tell anyone what I am about to tell you," he says seriously.

"Will you have to kill me after you tell me this," I ask, chuckling a little.

"Maybe … Yes, I think I will if you don't be quiet and listen."

"Okay, go on," I say with all the seriousness I can muster which is barely passable as serious.

"When I was about seven years old my father left my mother and took me with him," he begins.

"That's not so strange, Ty.  My mother is a single parent, too.  That doesn't stop me from doing a fan chart."

"Just listen."

"Sorry," I say, zipping my lips.

"My father was working on a top secret, highly classified project for the government that involved decoding and digitizing brain waves.  Apparently the National Security Administration intercepted some communication detailing plans to abduct my father in order to obtain this technology."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I ask.

"Because the NSA put us both into the witness protection program to hide us, and changed our names to Smith.  We moved to a different part of the country and started our lives over again.  I was only seven, so it was sort of an adventure.  But looking back it was hard on my father.  Apparently they wiped out any record that we ever existed.  Dad told me once that they actually faked our deaths with a funeral and everything."

That must have been hard,
I think,  I don't speak.

"My dad still works for the government on highly classified projects," Ty explains.

"But …"

"Okay, so I look at his name," he pauses and looks at me.  "His name used to be David S. Taggart."

"You're kidding me!" I yell. Most of William's family looks over at us and I lower my voice.

"No, and apparently my name used to be Joseph Spencer Taggart."  He pauses for a moment and I think I see his eyes glistening.  "I'm your brother," he finally says.

"My twin brother," I say. 
How could that be?
I ask myself.  Squinting I say, "Maybe you just logged onto my ancestral line somehow by mistake," I suggest.

"No. I put my grandfather's name in right off my father's pedigree chart.  "Look."  He pulls his fan chart out of his pocket and opens it up.

I study the chart for a full minute, reading each name carefully … twice.  "We both have the same grandparents," I say finally.

"Yes we do," Ty says quietly.

"Do you know what that means?" I ask, raising my voice a little with excitement.

"Yes, I do."

"It means we are brothers.  Who would have known?"

"No one knows," Ty says.

"This is exciting.  We've got to tell …"

"You can't tell anyone," Ty says sharply.

"We have to tell William," I reason.  "He is like family.  Besides, it is 1866.  What could it hurt?"

"He
is
family
," Ty says.  "He is your great, great, great grandfather.  I mean, what are you going to say? Ty was your friend, but now he is your brother.  And we know this because we found out that William is our great, great, great grandfather?  I don't think so.  He would just think you had too many fermented crabapples."

"You're probably right," I say.  "But it is still wonderful news, bro'," I smile.

"Now, one more thing," Ty says.  "Quit messing with the time continuum."

"It's only a song," I state defensively.  "It's not like I changed the outcome of the revolutionary war."

"No," Ty agrees.  "I'm more concerned about the butterfly effect."

"You think that if we step on a butterfly it will actually change something in the future?"

"Probably not," Ty admits.  He lowers his voice, "but William is your and my direct ancestor.  If anything were to alter his life or his future, it could affect our very existence."

"You mean if he dies," I say bluntly.

"Or doesn't get married, or marries someone different because he is not in the right place at the right time."

"Okay, now
that
I understand.  But don't get carried away with the butterfly thing," I say laughing.

William walks up to us looking perplexed.  "How could anyone get carried away by a butterfly?" He asks.

"No," I laugh.  "Ty was just explaining a theory that if you went back in time, you could actually change history just by stepping on a butterfly."

"There is an easy answer for that," William laughs.  "It won't happen."

"You sound pretty sure of your answer," I reply.

"I am sure, because no one can go back in time, or forward, for that matter," he says.

"Good point," I say smiling at Ty. "He's got you there." I laugh because I  know Ty can not argue any differently with William present.  He can not reveal that Ty and I have, in fact, gone back in time.  So I revel in the fun of winning a theoretical debate with Ty that I didn't actually win.  The real fun is watching Ty's eyes shoot daggers at me.  "It is useless debating a situation that can not ever happen," I agree.  "But it is interesting to think about the consequences that could take place if one were to travel back in time.  You certainly would not want to change anything major."

"Theoretically," Ty argues, "if you change even the smallest thing …"

"Ty," Joseph interrupts, squeezing past me until he stands in front of Ty.

Ty looks at Joseph.  "What?"

"Would you read to me?"

"You can read, yourself," Annie blurts.  "Mother taught you how."

"Sometimes I like someone else to read to me," he says, frowning at Annie.

"I would love to read to you, Joseph.  Do you have a book?"

"Sure."  He lifts his father's Book of Mormon.  "Would you read where Ammon cuts off the arms of the Lamanites?"

"Ammon cuts off some guy's arms?" Ty asks.  "Really?"

"Yes, really," I nod.  "It's in Alma chapter seventeen.  Middle of the book."

Ty opens the book and thumbs through the pages.

"The cool thing is," I mumble, "this book is an antique.  You'll probably never get to touch a Book of Mormon formatted in paragraph style back home.  Cool, huh?"

"Come on, Joseph," Ty says.  "Let's go read a chapter."  He finds a shady spot next to the wagon and sits down with his back against the wheel.  Joseph snuggles up next to him so he can see the words.  After a short search, Ty finds Alma chapter seventeen and begins reading about the adventures of Ammon.

I can see Annie listening from a few yards away.  Ty notices, too, and he reads a bit louder, adding slight inflections as he reads the words of King Lamoni, and then a little different voice for his servants.

Only a moment passes and Annie scoots up to Ty on his other side, and listens intently to the paragraphs that had been written over nineteen hundred years ago.  So intrigued by the words, they barely notice George turn a bucket upside down nearby and sit down to listen, also.  Henry slides a wooden box over near Ty and soon the entire Cottle family is absorbed in the story of Ammon.

"That was an exciting story," Ty says as he reaches the end of the chapter.

"Ty," Henry says softly.  "Could we encourage you to read a little more.  We are all enjoying your narration immensely."  He points around to the audience.  Even Grandfather and Grandmother have joined the gathering.

"Please," Joseph begs.  "Would you?"

"Okay," Ty consents.  He continues to read three more chapters up through meeting Lamoni's father, the king over all the land.  Ty closes the book.

"Thanks, Ty," Annie says.  "You are a good reader."

"Thanks, Annie," Ty says.

"Do you know everything?" Joseph blurts.  "George says you are really smart."

"I didn't say he knows
everything
," George defends himself.

"No," Ty says.  "Like, for instance, I don't know how to play marbles.  Maybe another day you can show me how to play."

"Okay," Joseph and Annie say in unison.

"I'll show him," Annie says frowning at Joseph.  "I know the rules."

"I know the rules, too," Joseph says quickly.

"Maybe tomorrow you can both show me," Ty says.  He stands up and walks over to Henry, handing him the Book of Mormon.

"That is quite a story," he says.  "Thanks for letting me read it."

"We all enjoyed your reading, son," Henry says.  "Have you ever read about Ammon before?"

"No.  But he must have been quite brave, to enter a foreign land, and then stand up to those hostile Lamanites."

"Yes, I believe he was, son.  But what else I believe is that Ammon had a testimony.  He knew about God and His commandments and was not afraid to share that knowledge, even with the king.  I know the Book of Mormon is true, son.  You are welcome to read it any time you want."

"Thank you, sir," Ty says.

Chapter Fourteen

Geometry

Monday
morning
comes soon enough.

"We're traveling today," William says as soon as I open my eyes.

"I must have missed the memo," I reply, not fully awake yet.

William just shakes his head.  "Father told us back in Denver.  Monday is a travel day."

"Okay," I say, trying to muster up some cheerfulness. I push back the covers.  "So what do we do?"  I find my tennis shoes and pull them toward me.

"It's not too hard," William says as he ties his boots.  "We just load the wagons.  Canvas, blankets, boxes and kitchen supplies.  Mother will get it packed.  We just have to load it.  Then we hitch the horse and yoke the oxen."

"Did you hear all that, Ty?" I ask, pushing on his blanket.  "Hey!  He's gone again."

William is smiling.  "He's been up for a while.  I saw him head out of camp with a bucket.  He is probably picking raspberries."

"I hope he finds some," I say tying my shoe.  "Raspberries are really good."

"We will see.  Mother says it is a little bit early for good raspberries.  But there may be a few."

"Okay," I say as I finish tying my last shoe.  "It looks like I am the last one out of the sack this morning."

"You are the last one up," William confirms.  "But now that you are, will you help me fold all the blankets and canvas?"

"Sure."

Henry, William, George and I have the blankets folded and loaded in the wagon in record time.  The canvas we mostly roll.  William says that it holds up better if we don't fold it.  Ty shows up with a partial bucket of raspberries.

"It was hard to find a lot of ripe berries," Ty says as I peer into the bucket.

"They look good to me," I smile.

"Go give them to Mother," William suggests.  "Maybe we will have a treat for breakfast."

Ty leaves us loading canvas and soon returns.  "So, did I miss all the heavy work?" Ty laughs.

"We'll let you help with loading the kitchen," William promises.

Joseph offers the morning prayer.  He asks for a blessing on us as we travel today, and he asks for a blessing on the raspberries.  I have never had raspberries with grits before.  It is like desert for breakfast and a biscuit on the side.  William and I both have seconds.

While the women clean up the breakfast dishes and start packing the kitchen, William, Ty and I herd the oxen and horse back to camp and position them to be yoked and hitched.

"Father was fortunate to get four oxen that have had good training," William says as he nudges one ox toward the other in front of the wagon.  George does the same on the other side of the wagon until both oxen are close together.  William lifts a large, six inch thick, wooden beam that has two curves in it.

"Help me with this yoke," he commands, shoving one end at me.

"This is a yoke?" I grunt as I heft my end of the beam.  "It looks like it melted and started sagging in two places."

"You are very odd, Jared.  Have you really never seen a yoke?"  He shakes his head in unbelief.  "Come on," he says.  "We have to place this yoke across the shoulders of both oxen."

With that, we heft it up and the two saggy places fit right across their necks.

"That thing is heavy," I whine.  "Won't it hurt them?"

"Does it look like it hurts?"

"No, not really," I admit.  "They hardly noticed that we put it up on their shoulders."

"Exactly.  Now grab that wooden bow and stick it around the neck of the ox and up through these two holes in the yoke."

I watch William and then position the bow just as he does, and lock it on with a wooden dowel.

"The britchen is next," William instructs.  "It goes around the back of the ox so it can back up the wagon if needed."  William lifts the tongue of the wagon between the two oxen.

"Backup," George commands while tapping both oxen on the head with the ox goad.  The oxen take one step backward and stop.  With the tongue in place and the tracer lines attached, this yoke of oxen is ready.  We position the other two oxen and soon have them yoked, also.  The wagon is ready to go.

Henry and Ty load the kitchen supplies into the wagon and William and I hitch up the horse to the other wagon.

I do not have any personal items to load, and neither does Ty, but soon the others have their personal belongings on the wagons, and we are ready to go.

"William, George," Henry announces, "let's start these wagons moving."

William clucks his tongue softly and with a gentle tug on the rope the horse starts the wagon forward.  George calls, "Get up," and taps each ox on the hind end with his goad.  The oxen lean into the yoke and their dual coordinated strength starts the heavy wagon forward.  I see the wheels turn and we are off for another trek.

"How far today?" I ask Henry after we have walked for about twenty minutes.

"We will go about five miles," he answers.  "According to my trail notes, there should be water and grass for the animals there."

"That's not bad," I say.  "The way looks fairly flat."

"It is flat," Henry agrees.  "That's why the stagecoach goes this way."

"That makes sense," I say.

"Jared," Ty calls.

"Excuse me," I say politely to Henry, and run to catch up with Ty and William.

"Pop quiz," Ty says as I settle into stride with him.  "What is a set?"

For the next hour I tell Ty what I have learned about sets, unions and intersections.  Then we review number lines.  Ty quizzes me on points, lines, planes and angles.  He then teaches about triangles, rectangles, and circles, including congruency, equilateral, opposite angles and right angles.

"That's enough for today," he finally says.

"Good," I reply in relief.  My head is so full of geometric shapes it is about to split into two semi-spheres.  I know Ty could go on all day.  I think he actually enjoys mathematics.  He probably saw triangles stick out of my eyes, though, and he knew my brain could hold no more geometry today.

"Tomorrow we will review shapes and we will learn the first and second theorems,"  Ty says.

"Great," I say with only a hint of sarcasm.  I really am grateful for Ty's help.

We walk over small hills and through shallow valleys for most of the day, stopping to rest frequently and collecting firewood on the way.  There is a slight breeze from the west and the sky is laced with high thin clouds that promise no rain.  We camp for the night in a grassy meadow near a small stream.

After breakfast the next morning William says, "Jared, come help me with something."

"Sure," I reply, hoping it will be more fun than gathering wood or hauling water.

William walks to the wagon and retrieves the rolled up deer skin.  "We need to get this tanned so it will last," he states.  William unrolls the hide and it is still moist.  "Lay that out flat on the grass," he directs.  "I will be right back."  In a moment he returns with a brown bag filled with salt.

"We need to work salt into the hide."  He pours a generous portion of salt onto the skin and for what seems like an hour we rub it into every inch of the hide using our fingers and palms.  Into the creases, folds and wrinkles.  Ty can not help himself and joins in, rubbing salt on the hide.

"Okay," William finally says, standing back and admiring their work.  "Now we let it dry."

"Right here on the ground?"

"No.  Let's tack it onto the wagon so it stays stretched out flat.  Otherwise it will curl."  William produces some small nails and we stretch out the skin and tack it flat.  "We will check it later," William says.  "It may take a day or two to fully dry."

Ty cocks his head in a puzzled look.

"The salt pulls all the moisture out of the hide as part of the curing process," William explains.  "After it cures, then we will tan it to preserve it."

"Got it," Ty says.

Just then the horse, hobbled a short distance away, whinnies, and William looks up scanning the horizon.  "Someone's coming," William announces loudly.

"I see them," Henry says, also staring northward at the horizon.  "Looks like a stage."

We watch as the stagecoach draws near.  Finally it rounds the bend in the trail.

"Whoa," the coach driver yells as he pulls on the reins.  The four horses slow, trot for a few feet, and finally stop, prancing nervously and snorting.  They edge forward until they can drop their noses to the clear cool water where the trail crosses the stream.

"Stretch your legs if you want," the driver yells.  "We will only be ten minutes.  Just long enough for the horses to get a drink."

Henry approaches the stage with Joseph running along side as two men and a young girl jump from the stage onto the ground.

"How was your trip so far?" Henry smiles.

"
Bumpy
," the girl answers, stretching her arms out sideways.

"I bet it is," Henry laughs.  He turns to the driver.  "How's the trail up north?"

"Good trail," the driver answers.  "Open all the way to Willow Springs.  Trail is dry.  Makes for a faster run, you know."

"That sounds good," Henry replies.  "We're headed that way, ourselves.  Did you pass a wagon train?"

"Sure did.  They are about ten miles ahead of you.  Are you going north of Willow Springs?"

"We hope to reach Utah before the rains come," Henry says.

"Well, you be careful up by Virginia Dale," the wagon driver warns.  "There is talk of Indian trouble in those parts.  You best travel with that wagon train if you can."

"We will.  Thanks for the information."

"Load up," the driver yells.  "We've got to make Denver by nightfall."

The passengers re-board the stage and with a flick of the reins the horses start forward in unison, slowly crossing the stream and then picking up speed on the other side.  Joseph waves and then they are gone.

"That girl is from Utah," Joseph says.

"From Utah?" Henry says.

"Yes.  She told me.  I want to go fast like a stage," he announces, prancing by us like a running horse.

"Our horse has to go slow," Henry says softly.

"Why?" Joseph looks serious.  "The stagecoach goes very fast."

"Because our horse is pulling a wagon that is very heavy."

Joseph frowns.  "Okay," he relents.  "But someday I'm going to have a fast horse."  Joseph gallops off.

"William," I say as we walk the short distance back to the wagons.  "Do you still have the boots that I had made back in Central City?"

"Sure.  You want them?"

"I just want the laces.  We can make new laces with the deer skin."

William finds them in the wagon and I pull the laces out.  Holding them up to check their length I say, "I need a small patch of leather and some twine or thread."

"What are you making?" William asks.

"I'm
making
something for Joseph," I answer.

"For me," Joseph sings, apparently dismounting his fast horse in mid gallop.  "What is it?"

"Well," I say as William returns with the leather and some thread.

"Mother gave me this thread and told me not to waste it," William admonishes, then settles down to watch.

"What is it?" Joseph pleas impatiently.

"Remember the story that Ty read to you a while back on Sunday?" I ask.

Ty turns his head and attention toward us, too.

"Sure I do.  Ammon saved the king's sheep because he cut off the arms of those mean ol' Lamanites.

I hold out the laces, double back a short piece and begin tying it to make a small loop at one end.

"That's right, he did.  But before he cut off their arms he threw stones at them using a … what?  Do you remember?"  I look at Joseph.

"A sling," Annie blurts.

"What's a sling?" Joseph squints the question at me.

I take the patch of leather and attach the other end of the boot lace to it through a small hole, and then tie the lace again with the thread.

"Ammon stood a ways off and threw stones at the Lamanites using a sling.  So a sling is something you use to throw rocks.  Some people hunt animals using a sling.  David shot a rock at Goliath using a sling."

"So, are you making me a sling?" Joseph asks almost yelling with excitement.

"Yes." I hold out the other lace and loop it through the leather patch and tie it with thread.

"You have to make me one promise," I say seriously.

"I will," Joseph says hardly hearing me.

"Okay," I say.  "You have to promise me that you will practice throwing stones far away from the wagons so you will not hit anyone."