The Wedding Dress (10 page)

Rebecca glanced up at her, but Ann's sunbonnet hid her expression. Quickly she said, “Let's get this finished. There's lots of baking to be done before we go.”

“Will Brother Brigham be traveling with the train?”

“No. He'll be moving most of his family out later this spring.”

“Does he have a big family?” Her voice was timid, “Wives and children?”

Ann's face was still hidden and her answer a short, “Yes.”

On the day the big wagons began moving out, spring put on her best show. With the dawn had come wind and a fierce sprinkling of rain, just as quick and impatient as a housewife sloshing water around her dooryard to settle the dust.

In the early sun the tender green things gleamed with the moisture. Blooming meadow grasses, dandelions and nestling crocus all seemed to snatch at wagon wheels and plodding oxen as they passed that one last time.

At the Samuels' cabin the rooms had been stripped of all except the makeshift furniture, and the children's voices echoed from the chinked-log walls and bare rafters. It was a lonesome sound, catching at Rebecca, winding the good-bye feeling around her. As they left the cabin, she realized the lonesome feeling was wrapped around the unknown future, not the secure past.

The wagon train quickly settled into a daily routine. In the pattern set by Brigham Young on the first trip across the plains, the train was organized into companies with captains set over a group of wagons. Each morning the bugle was heard at five. At seven, after morning prayers and breakfast, the call came to move out. In the evening the sound of the bugle came at eight-thirty, signaling the Saints to retire to their wagons for prayer and then bed at nine.

At the end of the week there was the Sabbath rest. This, Rebecca discovered, was also an ordered part of their routine. The entire train accepted the pattern. First came worship and then there was the heartening aroma of freshly-baked bread and stewed apples to flavor the air, enhancing even the smell of the ever-present rabbit stew.

As March was waning, the cold was leaving their bones. Chilblained hands and reddened noses disappeared, and little Dee's nose began to show sunburn.

Brother Samuels watched them discard shawls for sunbonnets. “Summer's coming early. We'll reach Great Salt Lake City in time to plant a good crop of corn.”

Ellen's pinched face brightened, “Oh, roasting ears. I can hardly wait.”

“I'd just like to see some Indians first,” grumbled Andy.

“Hey, hey,” his father teased, “the trip isn't over yet. We've just begun, and it's a three-month stretch between here and the Great Basin.”

“Then we'll see Indians?”

Rebecca shuddered, and Tim teased, “They'll take a real hankering to you, thinking that stuff hanging over your shoulders is real gold.”

“Maybe it would be a good idea to wear your hair tucked up,” Ann worried.

“Ah, we'll solve the whole problem by marrying her off to the Indians. She wouldn't even have to go through the temple for that.”

“That's enough of that, young man,” Tim's father said sternly. “Remember, we're to be converting the Lamanites back to their origins, not picking fun.”

“Lamanites.” Rebecca straightened up. “What's that?”

“The Indians. Rebecca, you really should read the Book of Mormon.”

“It tells about the Lamanites?”

Brother Samuel nodded. He turned to Tim, “Now, Brother Brigham has already instructed us that one of our tasks is to bring the gospel to these Indians in the Great Basin. They are your brothers and sisters in God, and nothing will be spared to bring them to the church. Quit thinking of them as enemies, and start calling them your friends.”

At the next Sabbath stop, Bishop Taylor approached Rebecca after worship. “A word with you, sister,” he hailed her as she hurried after Ann. “Brother Samuels tells me you haven't been baptized. Are you ready?”

“I was thinking it would be nice to wait and be baptized in the temple. The one in Nauvoo kinda took my fancy.”

“It'll be years before we have another temple. You don't understand. Becoming a part of the Latter-day Saints Church is not something you can put off without endangering your soul's welfare.” When she didn't reply, he said, “I think you should plan for it when we camp on the Platte.”

“I'll be thinking about it,” she answered in a low voice.

Rebecca was baptized on a warm May day in the muddy North Platte River. Beaming Saints lined the bank, and she tried to pick up their excitement. She was still pondering it all when her golden braids came up limp and wet, and the elders circled her and conferred on her the gift of the Holy Ghost by laying their hands upon her head.

When the Platte River separated into two forks and the wagon train turned to follow the North Fork, spring's freshness disappeared. By the time the wagon train reached Fort Laramie, the heat lay heavy on the prairie.

The word moved back down the train. “We're going to hole up at Fort Laramie for a few days, long enough to set up a forge and repair wagons.”

They camped close to the junction of the North Platte and the Laramie rivers, snugged in a grove of cottonwoods, knee deep in meadow grass and close enough to hear the river's talk. Rebecca wished they could stay forever.

During their days of rest and freedom, the women used their time to do laundry and bake innumerable loaves of bread. While older children romped and played in the river, the men repaired and strengthened the wagons.

As if the Saints couldn't tolerate idleness, the evenings were given to dancing and singing. Old Elmer Nils wore out the horsehair on his bow and broke one string on his fiddle. But the frenzy of activity continued, building always to a greater peak.

But peaks are topped, flattened. Before the week was finished, David Fullmister was dead.

It had started as innocent fun and the need to repair Elmer's bow, but the mare was young and nervous, barely broken to the saddle, and hardly apt to stand still when her tail was pulled. Later they told Rebecca that David had tried to stop the mare as she ran toward the wagons. He had seized her neck and was nearly astride when she stepped in the prairie dog hole.

When Mr. Samuels came after her, he warned, “Unless there is a miracle, he will die. A man can't have a horse that size fall on him and survive.”

In the dimness of the wagon, David's face was a white square. Rebecca knelt beside him and tried to talk. “It doesn't hurt,” he assured her in a whisper, “I'm all numb. They say that's good, but I know it's bad.”

“Oh, David!” She bent her head, and he touched the braid that swung forward.

“It was fun, wasn't it?”

“What?”

“Last winter, the studying and all. I was hoping that we would teach school together when we got to Great Salt Lake City, but I guess that's not to be.”

“David, don't say—” She remembered Mr. Samuels' words and couldn't continue.

He was shaking his head. “Let's not pretend. There isn't that much time. It's all okay, except…” for a moment he was silent, and then in even a softer voice he said, “I'm glad you were baptized.” After more silence he said, “You know the teachings of our church. Rebecca, I'm only nineteen.” In the shadowy wagon he turned his face toward her, and for a fleeting second his face twisted. The agony in his eyes forced her to drop her head against the hand that clung to hers.

“It doesn't seem quite fair.” His voice rose in despair. “I didn't get a chance to marry and have a family. There's nothing in the revelation to take care of a problem like that. You might say I've been left out in the cold.”

“Oh, David!” Her tears were on his hands now. “I'll do anything on this earth that I can to help you.” His face brightened, but before she had time to say more, the dreadful spasm shook him, and when it had passed his eyes remained closed.

David died during the night without regaining consciousness. The next day he was buried on the hillside in full view of the rivers and trees while the prairie glimmered beyond. There were words and promises, but Rebecca was conscious only of the damp earth and the clunk of steel against wood.

On the following day the wagon train moved on, trailing the north fork of the Platte. Rebecca kept her eyes on the lead oxen and refused even a backward look.

“Rebecca Wolstone, letter, Rebecca, Rebecca!” Her name bounced around the fort like pebbles in a pail. Quickly Rebecca wiped her hands and ran out the door. The heat struck her and she gasped and slowed to a walk. The excitement of their arrival at the Great Salt Basin had been overshadowed by the midsummer heat. She was prone to forget that the adobe walls of the fort trapped the heat and stilled the air. At least the huts lining the inside of the fort were cooler, thanks to their thick adobe.

She walked through the powdery dust to the well at the center of the fort. “Here I am.” She lifted her hands, and the letter was passed to her. Her eyes widened. It was from Joshua. She pried at the envelope as she walked to the cabin.

In the six weeks since they had arrived in the valley of the Great Salt Lake, Mr. Samuels had begun to build his cabin. But until that cabin was completed, the Samuelses and Rebecca were sharing a hut not much larger than the wagon.

Rebecca stopped on the threshold. The Samuels family lined the table. “You didn't eat much,” Ann chided.

“I've a letter from a friend. I'll go sit in the shade and read it.” She explained, “I'm just not hungry.”

“Oh, ho, what kind of a friend?” Mr. Samuels called.

“A boyfriend,” Ellen cried. “Her ears are red.”

On the shady side of the fort, Rebecca found a patch of grass and sat down. She opened the letter, and the sheets of paper waved and crackled in the breeze. Holding them against her knees, she read: “Dear Rebecca, It sure was a shock to come home and find you gone. Wouldn't surprise me if we didn't nearly bump into each other. I arrived home the first of June, and the family thought you'd be getting to the Great Basin this summer. They are all fine and wish you well.” She paused to let the memories of those faces flood her thoughts. She swallowed the lump in her throat and went back to the letter.

“I wanted so badly to see you. There's much to tell. Oregon is a fair land, and I am eager to get back. The matter most pressing now is money. There's land for the taking, but I must have money for stock and all the other necessary gear.”

He went on to describe the country and his daily routine, and then a tentative note appeared in his writing. “I mentioned the Whitmans and told you a little about them. Well, they've been murdered by the Indians. It was heartbreaking after all the sacrifice they made to help these people. It's made me do a lot of thinking—about them and about life and God. I'm beginning to see that the living out of a person's life, if it is to have meaning, must be a glory. I could see their love for each other and for those savages was a glory. I aim to find out more about that.”

Now the tenor of the letter changed. “Little Becky, I'm hungry-lonesome for you. I was ready to drop everything and head for the Great Basin until Pa talked some sense into me. He's made me see that unless I want the same kind of existence he and Ma had all these years, then I'd better do something about it now.

“There's talk of gold in California, and the idea of trying my luck there is picking at my thoughts. Pa says I can do enough digging to make my dreams come true in one season.” Rebecca raised her head and stared at the flaking adobe wall of the fort. Disappointment was spreading through her, and she hugged the letter.

Words, like weeds in the wind, flailed her. Hungry-lonesome. Pa talked some sense into me. Glory. She rested her head against her knees with the letter sandwiched between. Finally with a sigh, she sat up and spread the crumpled pages.

“I'm going to dig my gold,” she read, “and then I'm coming to Great Salt Lake City looking for you.” She studied Joshua's signature, and her mind was full of the last time she had seen him. Tall and slim, bright in his buckskin on that fair horse with his hair reflecting the sun. He had said, “I'll see you next year.” Cynthia had told him not to plant notions.

Rebecca was talking down to the letter, “Cynthia doesn't want me getting too close to you, Joshua. I think she's planned something different for you.”

She closed her eyes, and a vision of the wedding dress floated before her. “I wonder if it still fits,” she mused, looking down the slim length of her.

With a sigh she got to her feet and went back into the fort. How long would it take Joshua to dig enough gold to satisfy him?