Questing Lights

By Belle Watson Anderson

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Chapter 3

Synopsis: Andrew Rumgay leaves his mother and his fiancee Jane Allison in Scotland and joins his friend Hugh Shand to emigrate to America. They meet Mother MacKinlay and her son Bob whom they had known while doing missionary work, and also become acquainted with Kathleen Coleman and her friend Margaret Purvis. Hugh and Kathleen are married on board the ship.

As the early, glimmering dawn softly silvered the Iowa prairies, a camp, with a large central tent surrounded by many smaller tents, was revealed near the banks of a winding stream.

Three miles north of Iowa City on a spot where the grass was long and tender, the Woods company had camped the night before. They had come from New York City on the train and now were resting on the land purchased by the Church for the use of emigrants on their long journey to the Salt Lake Valley.

The men of the Woods encampment were up at daylight. There was work to be done. It was getting late in the year, almost too late to begin a journey to a mountainous country far away – there was no time to lose.

The camp life was different from the limited activities of the ship and train, and the emigrants were very grateful for the change. There was fresh, pure air to breathe, clean living quarters, and a variety of food, vegetables and fruit from the farmers’ gardens, wild berries growing on the prairies, fish in the streams, and abundant game on every side.

Hugh and Andrew brought in dry wood to burn. They knew what the women would call for as soon as they put their heads out of their tent doors, and it wasn’t very long until they began appearing like bees coming out of their hives for the day’s supply of honey.

Then there was a call for prayer, and right after breakfast a priesthood meeting. Everything must be planned and work assigned at once. Some of the men would leave early next day to buy provisions, material for building handcarts, wagons, cattle, horses, and oxen for the trek. All the other men would go to work for the farmers. The women would wash and mend the bedding and clothing.

Andrew came in to dinner. “Well, Mother Mac, we’ll be up and leaving for work at daylight in the morning. The farmers have even asked us over to breakfast.”

“But not too early in the morning, Sonny, we’re having those prairie chickens for supper tomorrow night and the fish for breakfast the next morning.”

“What prairie chickens? What fish?” asked Andrew. “What is going on around here? I thought I was the head of this house?”

“Not while I’m around, Brother Rumgay. You may have your place, but it isn’t preparing the meals. Hugh is out getting the chickens. Father Coleman and Bob are catching the fish.”

“We hope,” Andrew returned wistfully.

“Well, you just couldn’t stay away tomorrow night. Tomorrow is Margaret’s birthday. She’ll be twenty-two years old.”

“Not so loud, Mother, not so loud. Young ladies do not like their ages shouted about. That’s why they fix up so much, trying to deceive the lads – why, Margaret’s only a few months younger than I am.”

“Yes, and she looks it, too. Margaret is a very pretty lass, and I’m making a grand birthday dinner for her – saleratus biscuits, breasts of the prairie chickens fried to a turn, gravy, and green corn, crab-apple dumplings, boiled. Now, will you be home for dinner?”

“Just try and keep me away. How did you catch on to the way of cooking these American dishes? It is plain to see what women talk about when they are alone.”:

Bob and Brother Coleman came in with a long string of fish. Also, they had picked a beautiful bouquet of flowers, wild sweet williams, prairie lilies, and windflowers.

“See what I mean, Andrew? Thee are for the party,” said Mother Mac.

Margaret came over early the next morning to help Mother with the work.

“Happy birthday, my dear, and many happy returns of the day.” Mother put her arms around the young lady and gave her a good hug and a squeeze for good measure.

“Thanks, dear Mother Mac, you have a heart big enough for the whole world.”

“Well, it will be a queer world, Margaret darling, when a mother stops loving her own children. I hope that will never happen to me.”

“It’s a wonderful thing someone can love me,” Margaret answered.

Mother stopped her work. “Now look here, dearie, you’re not building up a lot of heartaches for yourself, are you, now? You know Andrew likes all the girls in the company, Scotch girls, and all the others, but he’s in love with Jane, you know that. He’ll always be true to her, so if I were you I’d forget all about him. There are so many young men in the company, Brother Nelson, Brother Walker, and oh, so many others.”

“So many others, and yet when I marry it’s going to be to a Scotchman, who will look just like Andrew Rumgay.”

“Oh, it’s so foolish, Margaret, so very foolish.”

“So foolish, when I love the very ground he walks on? I didn’t know there were men like him in the world. All the men I knew were those who worked in the factory, common, rough, uncouth men, whose ideas of women were the world’s concepts. Then I meet a man who puts women on a pedestal, something to be cherished, cared for, loved – I may be foolish, but I will love him till I die.”

Bob and Brother Coleman had brought in a stack of logs for a bonfire. After supper the women washed the dishes, sang songs, played games, and then decided to go to bed. Mother Mac would be up early to fry the fish for the boys before they went to work.

Some of the men had raised the question about going on to the Valley this summer. If the fall was about as usual everything would be all right; they would have plenty of time to make it into the Salt Lake Valley. If winter came early, on the other hand, it would be almost impossible to get through. The officers did not want the full responsibility of deciding, and hoped that word might come from President Young.

The night of Margaret’s birthday was one of those late June nights when heaven and earth and all nature joined in beautiful rhythm and harmony to make the world a perfect place for man to dwell in. The moonlight was bright and silvery, the skies blue, with a touch of gold from the flaming bonfire.

Margaret was too excited to go to bed; she sat at the fire and by it slight brought her diary up to date. She hadn’t written anything since she left the boat.

After the meeting Andrew had talked with the president of the company and Brother Nelson for a long time for their decision must be the right one. Andrew came out of the Woods tent into the night’s fairyland, and stood in the moonlight, thrilled to every part of it. He saw Margaret silhouetted against the firelight. A beautiful night – a beautiful girl! He walked over to the fire.

“Where are the others, Margaret? Am I so very late? Did we spoil the party?”

“No, Mother Mac wanted to get up early to fry the fish, Kathleen was tired, and I am too excited to sleep. I have just now finished my diary, a little dizzy when I think of the rocking of the boat, but on the whole no worse for wear, even when I think of you and the conductor on the train. Andrew – I laugh right out loud each time I think of you and that giant conductor, almost having a fight.”

“That was so uncalled for, Margaret. You never make a wrong right by adding another wrong.”

Margaret, still laughing, added, “But you have to figure, Brother Rumgay, that first, last, and all the time, you are a Scotchman. Then all the trimmings come after that – and those Scotch tempers! Oh! Oh!”

“That’s one reason the crew were so mean all along the way; the Scotch pay for their tempers.”

“Well, I see Kathleen left the tent flap open for me, so I’m off to bed. You will need your rest so you can work tomorrow, and you’ll need to take it easy the first few days, Andrew, till you get a little used to the work. Good night.”

Andrew sat and gazed about him till the fire went out. Night in America – no sound but the babbling of the water, and the rustling of corn in the distance.

Margaret stayed with Mother while the men were away. Kathleen had Brother Coleman to cook for. He had stayed from the fields to bring water and wood for the women’s washings. But the women found both on the banks of the stream. They washed for days and hung their clean white clothes on the bushes.

“What is more downright satisfying than a pretty, white wash flying in the breeze?” Mother stood and looked at the clothes. “You ken, Margaret, they’ll be up in the morning that beat the Scotch women washing. The American women’s clothes aren’t a bit whiter than ours.”

That evening they sat around the campfire in deep conversation. Kathleen joined them after supper, and sat down very close to Mother, snuggled up under her arm.

“I’m going to tell you the sweetest story a woman ever told.” Kathleen pulled Mother’s arm around her for protection, for support. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Margaret got up and moved to the other side of Kathleen, so they would not need to talk in whispers. This was something special, something sacred.

“Are you a tiny bit scared, Kathleen, because we are on the plain?”

“No, not one bit, Margaret. Other women are having their children, why shouldn’t I have mine? Nearly every week a baby is born. Why should I be frightened? Nothing ever happens by chance. God will take care of me and the baby. I wonder if it will be a boy or a girl. If it’s a boy we’ll call him Andrew, because Hugh and Andrew are such good friends. If it’ a girl I’d like to call her after both of you, but how can I?”

“We’d better choose a name your daughter would approve of, Kathleen,” Margaret suggested.

“Think how wonderful to have a daughter like you, Margaret! I would like her to be just like you!”

“That’s the sweetest compliment I was ever paid. Thanks, Kathleen.”

Hugh and Andrew were anxious to learn everything about building handcarts and repairing wagons, so they left the farm work to the others of their ward. It was very hard to get the handcarts ready for the road. The wheels were faulty; material in many instances was poor. Finally, after weeks of hard work, most of the handcarts were ready.

The day had been spent in packing wagons and handcarts. Tomorrow the mules and ponies would be packed and all would be ready for the trail, but Andrew was still working on his handcart. The wood was so dry and hard that when he thought it was all finished, something else would happen.

“Look at it, Andrew,” Hugh said, “the worst one in the bunch. Why did you choose that one?”

“Well, we couldn’t leave it behind. We need handcarts so badly and it may as well be mine. I hope it stays with me to the end of the road.”

“But you have your doots. so have I,” Hugh said as he gave one of the wheels a last hard shake.

The next morning Brother Woods pulled out with the first wagon. Brother Nelson led with the handcarts, and Brother Rumgay was the last to leave camp.

“The last, the best of all the game,” Margaret offered, “but who wants to be the last one?”

“Andrew, you’re bothered this morning.” Mother Mac looked anxiously at him. “Come now, what’s on your mind?”

Andrew tried to smile and pass it off, but Mother was determined.

“Well, we were told to bring only the necessities, but books have been as necessary to me as my food. I can’t take them. There isn’t room for them. I’ll have to leave them in father’s kist.”

“If we divide them, and each of takes a few, Andrew, then we could take them, couldn’t we?” asked Margaret.

“No, there just isn’t room for them. Hugh and I have tried to figure a way out, but it can’t be done. Every tiny space must be used for food. A handcart isn’t very large, you know, and if it’s too heavy it will be too hard to pull. Lots of other things to worry about, but I’ve never been without my books.”

“We all love them, don’t we, Hugh?” Kathleen added, in sympathy.

“Yes, we recall my sick days aboard the ship, and the help and consolation they brought us,”Hugh spoke gratefully.

“Well, maybe someone who appreciates books will find them. They may prove to be good missionaries.” Margaret was trying to add a note of cheer.

“I’ll look around and see that everything is taken care of. You folks go on up the line. No need for us all to stay behind,” Hugh suggested.

Bob and Brother Coleman went with Andrew to see that all the fires were out and nothing was left behind. Everything was in order. Now they could all take to the road.

They spent the first hours getting adjusted to pulling their handcarts. Even in this they found there was a great art. They passed many sloughs and swamps, and had to be very careful to stay on the road. The corn, just coming into tassel, reminded the saints of the quick passing of the summer days.

“The fields of growing corn, dependent on the sun and the rain for their growth, suggest to me our dependence upon our Heavenly Father,” Kathleen said.

“Yes,” Margaret replied, “and if God cares for the corn in the field, and provides for its welfare, how much more can his children trust him for their security, even on a strange road in a strange country.”

“God is taking care of us, I’m sure,” affirmed Mother Mac. “I have felt his helpful influence many times since leaving home.”

That night Mother, Margaret, and Kathleen came hobbling into camp. they went over to the creek, removed their shoes and stockings, and soaked their feet in the cool water.

“What a relief!” Margaret cried, giving vent to a heavy sigh.

Kathleen was worried.”What on earth will we do, walking every day, and our feet in this condition?”

“Nature is a wonderful doctor,” Mother assured her. “In a day or two our feet will be better than ever, strong for the strain and exercise they must take.”

But the women were late with supper that night and could hardly have managed at all without the help of Brother Coleman.

Andrew and Hugh worked on the handcarts that had broken down during the day. Bob helped with the herding, spreading out the horses and cattle as far as possible, so they would get in enough grazing before dark. The grass was abundant, and the animals tired and hungry afer their first day’s full haul.

Each day the emigrants traveled more miles, and their muscles seemed to adjust themselves to the work of the road, for, as Mother Mac said, “Nature is a wonderful friend to take with you on a journey.”

Each day they were hungry and ready for their food. They constantly breathed the clean, pure air of the prairies and it was not long before even the old men and women could take the day’s advance in comfort.

They left the cabins and corn and all cultivation behind them. Their way was through miles of prairie, with only nature’s primitive gifts of land and sky. Silence lay before them, behind them, and was with them every moment.

One day Margaret said, “Even the people have become silent. It seems that there is nothing to be said. Behind us lie our yesterdays marked by a tuft of grass, a tree, or a creek of water. Before us lie our tomorrows, rising each day from the bed the sun has used the night before to sleep in.”

“Yes, even I have been quiet longer than for anytime in my life,” Mother responded. “Every mile and every hour are filled with the throbbing rhythm of the land and the ever-changing pictures in the sky. The atmosphere is heavy-laden with beautiful thoughts, but no words.”

“The birds are satisfied to fly from tree to tree. They may sing to their young, but we do not hear them.” Kathleen was expressing the longing of her heart.

Margaret was thinking that perhaps the silence of the land was the expression of the future. A lovely dream that could have become a reality would always lie dormant and silent because the love she longed for would be claimed by another. She thought of the homes that some day would be built upon these silent acres in response to the plow and the farmer’s song, awakening the land and bringing the vibrant voices of happy children to the melody of busy reapers.

As they passed silently on towards night, clouds appeared in the west.

(To be continued)