Questing Lights

By Belle Watson Anderson

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Chapter 4

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 become acquainted with Kathleen Coleman and her friend Margaret Purvis. Hugh and Kathleen are married on board the ship. While in Iowa preparing for the handcart journey across the plains, Margaret tells Mother Mac that she is in love with Andrew, and Kathleen informs them that she is expecting a baby.

Margaret, looking questioningly at the sky, re-echoed some ship lore: “Red skies at night, the sailor’s delight. Red skies in the morning, a sailor’s warning.”

Mother Mac tried to appear unaffected by such dark forebodings.”I’m not so sure that those heavy clouds are not the emigrants’ warning. Oh, well, there must always be some change I the weather,” she added.

It rained all night, and was still raining the next morning. As always, the handcarts and wagons needed repairs. The company decided to wait a few hours and let the animals graze further away from camp as grass had been scarce for several days.

The women caught up with their mending. Mother Mac, with Margaret’s help, cooked a boiled dinner. How much it was appreciated was expressed in the amount they did not leave on their plates.

“My only wish,” Hugh spoke very gratefully, “is that every family going across the plains could have a Mother Mac to help them out.”

“If they haven’t, we’ll loan them Margaret.” Andrew smiled a most tormenting smile at the lady in question.

“We neither borrow nor lend,” Mother Mac spoke p quickly,”and if Margaret were loaned, not one of you should eat a bite until she was returned.”

“Then we’ll keep Margaret,” Andrew laughed.

“How very much a man loves his stomach,” Margaret rejoined as she began gathering up the dishes.

“Oh, we’ll keep Margaret, all right,” Mother returned with finality, “and now, Bob, get some dry wood so we can heat some water for the dishes.”

“One more wagon, two more cart wheels, and we’ll be on our way. Better hurry those dishes if you’re going with us.” Andrew patted Mother’s shoulder tenderly, but sometimes he loved ease.

“We’ll be ready. You never wait for the Mac women.”

“And no other women, either,” Hugh added. “If the men were only on the job, as much as the women are, things would move along all right.”

After helping with the dishes, Margaret stood in the tent door, viewing the landscape. She felt closer to nature after a storm. Everything was nearly dry, although it was still very muddy. Near their tent a stream was running, filled to the top of its banks with the storm’s overflow. Its song was gay, noisy, inviting. Margaret walked to the lone tree on its bank. She became interested. She looked at the tree for a long time. The storm had left it in tears; it had a strange appeal.

“Margaret!” Mother called. “Margaret!”

Margaret could see that the company was on the move. She ran for her cart, but turned to take a last look at the tree. A gentle breeze was shaking its branches; the sun was drying its tears. “How wonderful are nature’s children, how kind,” she remarked aloud as she turned to her handcart.

The company was eager to hurry on its way. The tang of autumn was in the air, with the nights and mornings growing cooler, but – for a while – the days were perfect for travel.

Then, as the season advanced and the days shortened, there were more and more storms, lashed by cold winds. Bad weather slowed down the march and, in spite of care and earnest watchfulness, the Indians were stealing the cattle. About fifteen in all had been stole, good, sturdy animals which had carried much of the supplies. This freight now had to be transferred to the handcarts and wagons. In order that the food supply could be carried on the handcarts, the heavier clothing had to be discarded. This was a heavy blow to the saints.

One windy, bitter cold day they arrived at a fort and prepared to weld and mend some of their broken down handcarts and creaking wagons. Several more days were lost and the autumn winds swept the vast plains.

The women dug deep into their hearts and handcarts. At different places along he trail they had bought grain and potatoes. This fort would be the last place they could buy food. They took tiny gold lockets hanging on fragile chains around their necks, close to their hearts, and gave all their valuable treasures to balance the exchange with the storekeepers.

One night, several weeks after leaving the fort, the emigrants stood on the banks of the Platte. The day had been dark and dreary. Through mists and purple haze the mountains stood as a challenge. Andrew and Hugh gazed across the stream as the shadows darkened. They held out the palms of their hands. It was beginning to snow. Kathleen and Margaret were astounded, and as the snowflakes whitened their carts, Kathleen burst into tears.

Mother and Bob finally got the fire to burning.

“I’ve never seen anything yet that a little faith, and a lot of perseverance wouldn’t cure.” Mother was brushing the snow and dirt from her hands and apron. “Common sense told me that the fire wouldn’t burn, so I used a little plan on the unusual order. I said a little prayer or two. See how it helps. There’s our fire, just as bright as it will ever need to be.”

Kathleen dried her tears. Margaret began making up the beds and the men went to their work.

Although there was a good fall of snow in the morning, the company began the trek early. There were good days and there were bad days. When the weather was fair and warm they went ahead rapidly; when it was stormy and cold they did not make much progress.

Then came another very cold day. The snow, which began falling in the forenoon, kept up until nearly dark. The winds blew the loose snow into the trail, and walking was almost impossible. The people were nearly exhausted when they got to camp. The animals were corralled early, supper was cooked, and everyone went to bed as soon as the work was done.

Andrew took the first part of the night for herding. He came in about midnight, threw some logs on the fire, and sat down to wait for Hugh to come on shift. They had to stand guard constantly over the cattle so that the Indians could not steal them. Mother could not sleep. He arose and made a cup of ginger tea for Andrew. The clouds had cleared away, and one by one the stars began appearing in the sky.

“Mother, I wish you would stay in your bed. You’ll catch cold on a night like this. You’re something special – take care of yourself.”

“I will, son, but the moon and stars are so beautiful tonight after our hard day.”

“What about the snow on the earth beneath the stars? I declare I can’t raise my eyes above these drifts.”

“There’s another emigration company above us. They remind me of our camp in Iowa, a large tent and all the smaller tents. Their lights are bright. The sisters must clean the chimneys, and fill their lamps with coal oil every day.”

Andrew looked up. “Yes, I see what you mean. I wish our lights were as bright tonight.”

“They are. No storm can dim our lights. The candles of the wise virgins shine brightest in the dark.”

Next day the sun was shining and it was warm in the forenoon. In the afternoon clouds began to gather and the wind howled along the pass. In the evening the wind switched to the north and snow began to fall. The temperature dropped. A blizzard whirled over the camp and the people were hardly able to move. It grew colder every minute.

The well helped the sick; the strong helped the weak. Many handcarts were left frozen in the trail. Toward midnight relief came. The winds died down and the people pitched their tents and built their fires.

Many graves were left on the hillside. But if their needs were great, their blessings were also great. The Lord waited in that valley with the emigrants by night, and many times they felt that the veil between them and their Heavenly Father was very thin. His peace and comfort restored them, and led them back into the road to Zion.

The days grew shorter as they approached the mountains. One cold day, as it began to grow dark, they made camp. Bob and Brother Coleman set up tents and made beds so that the women could get some rest. Margaret urged Mother and Kathleen to lie down while she started supper. She was busy preparing the meal when it occurred to her that she had not seen Andrew come in. There was a rule that each person should report just as soon as camp was made. Margaret set the food to one side and went in search of Andrew. She made the rounds, and came back to the tents. Mother and Kathleen were asleep. Bob and Brother Coleman were herding the cattle and Hugh was helping with a wagon that had broken down. Margaret waited. Surely Andrew would come soon. But he did not come. Time was precious; the trail would be filled up with snow. Her duty suddenly was clear to her. Andrew was out on the trail. When it grew cold the heavy snow would be hard to get through. She must get him and bring him in.

She found her woolen hood, bound her feet and legs in burlap over her overshoes and leggings, put on her heavy coat, took Mother’s knitted shawl and threw around her shoulders. She knelt by Mother’s bed and prayed for confidence and courage. Out into the night, out into the trail, she went alone and unafraid. The wind was blowing, but it was behind her. It helped her break the trail. Quietly, peacefully, the time went by, and quietly, peacefully her courage kept her moving forward. she did not know how long – she did not know how far, but of one thing she was certain – Andrew was out there in the snow, and she would never stop until she found him. Finally she saw what she was looking for, a big object in the snow: the handcart.

“Andrew! Andrew!” She almost ran to him.

She brushed the snow from the handcart, got his blankets and stretched them out on the cart, then she raised him up, brushed the snow from him, and pulled him onto the blankets.

She had Andrew now. No power on earth could stop her. She would take him into camp. it was strange, but the wind that helped her break the trail had changed, and was now at her back, pushing her back to camp. On and on she went. It was not all her own strength that was turning the wheels through the heavy snow. Finally, she saw horses and riders in the distance. She heard voices. President Wood and Hugh were coming to meet her. Soon they would both be safe.

“Margaret, don’t ever do such a thing again!” But Margaret did not answer. Andrew was safe, and that was all that mattered.

The company crossed the river and kept pushing forward, but the snow was deep. The rations grew less and less, until they did not have strength enough to shovel through the drifts. Several days they tried to go on, but it was useless. They made camp in a canyon with protection from the storms, and waited for help from Zion.

Margaret spent her time nursing the sick – so many in their own ward needed help and encouragement. One night she came to Mother, overtired after a ver hard day. Mother had some hot soup waiting for her. Hugh had killed a doe and he divided it with the aged, and with mothers of small children. Margaret sat down and tried to eat, but the thought of her friends made it impossible. She laid her spoon down by her dish and sat thinking, then burst into tears.

“I canna eat – I canna eat, Mother. My throat fills up and I canna swallow.” She laid her head in her arms and began to sob.

Andrew jumped to Margaret’s side and called to Mother Mac. Mother took the weeping girl in her arms. The Macs had tried to be cheerful all the day, but they were weary. Mother’s usual smile was gone. She was worried; the last food was in the pot.

Andrew looked about at the serious faces, so unlike the Macs.

“What’s the matter with the lights?” he asked.

Mother looked up without answering. Kathleen and Margaret were sitting on Mother’s bed.

“No coal oil,” Margaret replied.

Andrew asked them to kneel and repeat the Lord’s prayer with him.

“Our father which art in heaven, hallowed by thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread …”

“Whoa –whoa – Anybody at home?” A shout in the distance heralding, at last, the hoped-for help from the saints in Zion, was heard.

They continued and finished the prayer. Tears were rolling down their faces, tears of gratefulness.

“Thank you, God,” Andrew murmured.

Margaret and Andrew rushed to the wagons. The men had removed the wagon tops, so they could get at the food. In their work they knocked off a box of soda crackers. The box broke into pieces when it hit the ground. Margaret stooped down and began to fill her apron with the crackers.

“Wait a minute, Miss. These things must be divided.”

Andrew’s face went white. “You had your breakfast and your dinner. You’ll get your supper,” he said shortly.

“Remember, Andrew, the Scotch pay for their tempers,” Margaret whispered.

The driver stood up and looked around. “Not this time he won’t. A million apologies, my brother. Take the crackers, all of them, and everything else you can reach. They are all yours – all yours.”

Margaret filled her apron and went running to Mother and Kathleen. Andrew followed. He was weak and trembling.

One forenoon Margaret searched out Mother Mac in the Shand tent.

“Mother, try to understand what I am going to tell you, and if you can, see it my way. I’m leaving in the morning with Brother Brown from Tooele. He is taking a number of sick people into Salt Lake city and I’m going along to take care of them.”

“You made up your mind in a hurry, didn’t you, Margaret?”

“Well, Brother Brown was in great Salt Lake to conference, and when they asked for volunteers to bring provisions out to us, he volunteered. One good turn deserves another. I would like to go.”

“I’ve always had a mind, Margaret, that you would be with me when my baby came.” Kathleen voiced her keen disappointment.

“So I would if I could, Kathleen, but you will have Hugh and Mother. My prayers will be with you every day.”

“Well, Margaret, if that’s the way you want it, I think it’s all right. We will miss you, and be sure to take care of yourself in the snow.”

But Andrew was not willing to see Margaret go. “Now you are loaning Margaret,” he reminded the women.

“Well, we’ve done pretty well to keep her this long,” Mother responded. “All good things must come to an end sooner or later.”

Next morning the wagons were ready to take off.

Margaret was the last one to be helped into the wagon. The Macs stood nearby with very serious faces. Andrew was drinking water from a tin cup. He had never been able to express his appreciation to Margaret for bringing him in from the trail.

As she climbed up the wheel with Brother Brown assisting her, Andrew forced himself to call to her, “Thanks for saving my life.”

She turned on top of the wheel. “Oh, that,” she nonchalantly offered, “it was such a little thing, think nothing of it.”

Andrew gasped. “My life a little thing, hey? Well, how do you like that?” He threw the water in the tin cp at her.

Margaret dodged, and fell headfirst into the wagon among boxes, bedding, and sick saints.

Brother Brown pulled the canvas up over the front, spoke to his team, and Margaret started on the last part of her journey to Zion.

(To be continued)