Your Heart to Understanding

By Hazel M. Thomson

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Chapter 7

Synopsis: Selena and Belle Baldwin, sisters, travel from Winter Quarters to the Valley of the Great Salt Lake in the company of Lon Holiday, captain of fifty, and Josiah Blodgett, captain of ten. Selena, whose fiance died at Winter Quarters, cannot overcome the great sorrow and bitterness of her loss. When the wagon train arrives in the Valley, Belle and Josiah are married, and, later they leave with a group of saints to settle in San Bernardino, California. Selena and Lon, who has loved her since their first meeting, also join the company but are separated for most of the journey after the division of the company. Alfred Quale, who has traveled all the way to San Bernardino with the Blodgetts and Selena, continues his ardent courtship after the company arrives at San Bernardino. Much difficulty is encountered in securing title to the land, and Lon volunteers to journey to the gold camps to secure money for purchase of the land.

It was a long trip north that Brothers Lyman and Rich and their Httle group of men had mapped out for themselves. But everywhere they found members of the Church, the response to their request for financial help was gratifying and immediate. The brethren were willing, and even anxious, to ease the needs of the group waiting in San Bernardino Valley.

To Lon, saddened though he was by his own personal problem, the trip was a revelation. In the same camp with drunkards and gamblers were to be found converts to the revealed gospel of Christ who gave their last bit of gold dust to aid in the establishment of the new settlement. A request from the two apostles was to them a call from the Lord, himself, and Lon found their faith strengthening his own.

Selena had been somewhat puzzled by Lon’s apparent disinterest in her when he left the camp, and with Alfred Quale’s proposal of marriage the previous evening, she was seriously considering marrying him.

“Come on, Selena, away from the wagon for a bit,” he had urged. “I have an important question to discuss with you, and it isn’t for Belle nor Josiah to hear.”

Selena had known the time had arrived when Alfred planned to ask her to marry him and wondered just why he had chosen this particular time, when the affairs of the camp were in a rather uncertain state.

As they walked out along the trail through the grove, Alfred wasted no time. “We can be married right away, Selena,” he had said. “I expect to come into a bit of money, a sort of legacy you might call it,” and he had laughed in a strange, mysterious way.

He certainly wasn’t a man who would be sharing all his dealings in detail with a wife, Selena had thought. But then he would be around, and with the Indians constantly besieging the camp in their never-ending begging for food, this trait in her future husband had become important to Selena.

Unlike Lon, who was leaving in the morning for a lengthy trip north, Alfred wouldn’t always be jumping in response to what he considered to be a call from authority, letting his own affairs take care of themselves. This problem would always be with her, she knew very well, if she married Lon Holiday.

The thoughts passed with lightning speed through her mind, as did also the fact that Alfred hadn’t really asked her. He had apparently assumed, in his self-assurance, that she could not possibly refuse him.

“We’re two alike, Selena. I hate this idea of empire building that seems to possess the others.
We can leave here together, Selena, and go north where the empire is already underway. The bishop can perform the ceremony, then, when the leaders get back, we can be on our way.”

This last puzzled Selena. “If we wait un+il they return, I should very much like to have Brother Lyman marry us. But I don’t understand your wanting to wait until they come.”

“I just can’t walk away without a proper goodbye, my sweet. I shall always owe the two brethren who led us here a great debt.”

Selena was not sure whether Alfred was serious or whether there was a bit of sarcasm in his words, but his plan held out to her a means of escape, and she had decided to take it. But upon one point she was determined to insist, to wait until the apostles returned to have their marriage performed.

“Since you plan to remain until Brother Lyman is back, Alfred, you can have no serious objection to having him marry us,” she said.

“All right, if that’s the way you want it. I had thought to be ready to leave almost immediately, but I presume that giving in to you on this won’t give you the idea that I intend always to give in to your whims. But since that’s settled, come here. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”

Alfred had pulled her to him and kissed her, long and hard. Selena resisted an impulse to pull away, watching the bright, full moon high above the sycamores.

Upon her return to camp Selena decided against telling Belle and Josiah. There was plenty of time to do so before the men returned from the north. She went directly to bed after Alfred returned to his own wagon, her thoughts a whirl of confusion.

The gospel meant a good deal to Selena, and she knew what she was planning was fundamentally wrong. But she felt she just couldn’t remain in the San Bernardino settlement.

When the wagon left Sycamore Grove for San Pedro to meet the south-bound brig Fremont which was carrying the supplies the brethren had sent for the camp, Josiah went along.

“I’ll be just fine, Josiah,” Belle had insisted. “You’ll only be gone a few days, and it’ll give you a chance to see a bit more of California.”

He met Lon and learned that Brother Lyman had not returned with the others, having stayed north in an effort to raise more money. Brother Rich had gone to Los Angeles with the funds already obtained and would return to the Grove from there.

Most of the wagons had returned to the grove before Brother Rich put in an appearance. A gun shot was heard in the camp that night. Josiah remembered it later, wondering just what it was. By noon the next day he knew.

A stranger came into camp asking for Alfred Quale. Josiah paused from pulling burrs from the tail of his horse and nodded his head in Alfred’s direction. A heated argument followed, and though Josiah couldn’t hear it all, he heard enough. That gun shot the night Brother Rich brought the money into camp was probably a signal. Quale had planned with this man and others to waylay Brother Rich out somewhere along the road.

Suddenly the man swung at Quale. Josiah watched, but made no effort to intervene. A short few minutes later the man looked at Quale on the ground, blood oozing from Alfred’s mouth.

“Next time when you say New Road you’d better mean New Road. You knew all the time Rich would come on the Old Road that’s seldom traveled. You had ideas of getting it all for yourself. That’s why I’m here, right in your camp, to let them know just what you are.”

The man jumped on his horse and was gone. By morning Alfred Quale had left also and never again was seen in the camp of the saints. One week later Brother Rich performed the marriage of Selena Baldwin and Lon Holiday.

Belle and Josiah offered a prayer of thankfulness, took a good deep breath apiece, and relaxed. But for Lon this was to be the beginning of days and months running into years during which he was to wonder over and over again whether the time would ever come when Selena would ever feel deep love for him.

Selena, herself, found a measure of comfort in knowing that she had not left the Church, as Alfred had planned for her to do. There was a great strength which she drew from Lon.

But there were to be many, many times, when she would hate herself for her own weakness; for her inability to return the love she received from Lon; for the hurt she caused him in return for his unceasing goodness to her. She recognized all of these, and yet remained powerless to act as she would have done, had she no memory of a burial in the cemetery at Winter Quarters.

Negotiations were finally completed, and then came the day when the Mormons moved onto the Rancho del San Bernardino. The originally planned 80,000 acres proved to be in reality 35,509. The purchase price of $70,000 changed also, to $77,500, yet it was a day of great rejoicing when the settlers were at last on their own land. One square mile was set aside as the site for the town.

“We will pattern it after the City of the Great Salt Lake,” Brother Rich declared, “with a temple block in the center of the city.”

Now the work began in earnest. Homes must be built, land cleared and plowed, and fences built. The fences intrigued Belle. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Josiah,” she said. “Live willow posts, driven in the ground, and then they say that the posts will continue growing to form a hedge-like fence around the land.”

It was on an afternoon when they were nearing completion of the first section of the fence, and Josiah had gone for more posts, that Belle felt her first pain. She simply stood her axe by the fence, asked Lon to tell Josiah she had gone to the wagon, and walked calmly toward it.

Belle had always handled everything quickly and efficiently, and with as little fuss as possible. She had no intention of doing otherwise now. She knew she must get Sister Tenny and was glad that it wasn’t far. The pains were becoming a bit more bothersome. Josiah returned with the posts, and by the time the fence was finished the baby had arrived. Belle, as usual, worked things out well on schedule.

Only then, according to Belle’s wishes, did Sister Tenny call to Josiah, “Come and see your son,” after walking some distance to the end of the section of fence.

Josiah’s face paled.

“Lon! You said. . . .” Josiah turned toward his friend.

“I said all she told me, Josiah. She never once mentioned that she was leaving to have the baby.”

Josiah dropped his axe and ran, but at the wagon box he stopped and climbed in carefully, moving to the bed where Belle lay, cheerful and smiling.

“Belle! Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Land sakes, Josiah. You’d have become excited as you are now, and you never would have finished the fence today.”

Josiah turned to the baby, his face filled with the wonder of him.

“My boy! My son!” he said.

“Well, Josiah Blodgett!” said Belle spiritedly. “You might remember that he belongs to me a little, too.”

Lon withdrew to go and tell Selena.

When the news came that the Indians were planning an attack, all work on homes ceased. Along with her fears, Selena suffered a great disappointment. Lon had spoken of the home he planned to build.

“What kind of trees are there in the mountains, Lon?” she had asked.

“You name it, Selena, and it’s there, cedar, pine, hemlock. There is a sugar-pine with light, almost white wood and straight-grained with no pitch. That is what we will use for the finishing. Therein not be a house in all New England made of better materials.

“Oh, Lon!” she cried. “Really? No soft adobe with the dust blowing from the cracks?”

“No adobe, Selena,” he said, thinking how very beautiful she was when she was excited about something, wondering for the hundredth time whether he could ever bring that light into her eyes. The thought of a beautiful home could do it, but her husband couldn’t.

Now, in the face of the Indian scare, all efforts were united in one big undertaking, that of building a fort. There were those in the group who had lived in Kentucky, and the fort was patterned after others they had seen there. But it was a big task and all building on individual homes ceased.

It was Juan Antonio who brought the news. He was to be the best friend the Mormons had among the Indians. At one time the lands of San Bernardino had belonged to this Cahuilla Chief and his people. Now they lived on a small bit of land in San Gorgonio Canyon.

Juan Antonio met with Brother Rich and Brother Hunter, the Indian Agent, telling them of Chief Garra’s invitation to attend a convocation of chiefs.

“Who is this Garra?” Brother Rich asked.

“He’s an independent chief with a band of renegade Indians, and he is the scourge of Southern California. He killed eleven of a group of Califomians who sought refuge at Pauma during the Mexican War. Juan Antonio, here, aided the whites in driving Garra off at that time. There have been feelings between the two ever since. Personally, I am surprised that you have been invited, Juan,” Hunter said.

“Garra has set himself a big job,” replied Juan Antonio, his English almost as perfect as his physique. He stood tall in the group of men, his white teeth flashing in contrast to the copper tones of his skin. “He needs all the Indians he can get, and plans to drive out all the Americans from San Diego to Santa Barbara.”

“The news has traveled fast,” said Hunter. “San Diego County has enrolled every able-bodied man, and Los Angeles County has a large volunteer crowd on its way now to station themselves at the Chino Ranch.”

“Yes,” agreed Brother Rich. “We’ve been asked to send our own quota to join the men at Chino. Seems wisest to send those without families and the other men could stay here with the women and children and keep on with finishing the fort.”

General Bean, commander of the militia in Southern California, called at the fort and commended the Mormons for their undertaking.

“Your fort is a wise move,” he said, watching the beehive of activity. There were over one hundred men busy cutting and splitting the trunks of Cottonwood trees, fitting them close together, and setting them three feet down into the ground. The finished wall looked to be about twelve feet high, with the outer walls of the houses making a part of the fence.

Others of the settlers were making the ditch from Garner’s Springs to bring water through the fort.

“You will be well prepared for any move Garra may make,” added the General. “We’re trying to keep track of him enough that we can anticipate his plans. Usually we have succeeded, but he was ahead of us at Agua Caliente, and twelve men were lost.”

“But how can you know?” asked Brother Rich. “Where do you get any information about his next raid?”

“Juan Antonio is our best help,” said the general. “His braves have gone right into Garra’s camp without being detected, a time or two. He’s a wicked Indian, Garra. No respect for any man’s life, except perhaps his own. We have plenty of evidence against him. All that remains to be done is to take him into custody.”

“Quite a large order, isn’t it, General?” asked Josiah. “From what I’ve heard there isn’t a horse in the state than can stay with his.”

“It’s true, all right,” answered the General. “I’ve lost him on more than one occasion for that very reason. Had a good mount under me, too. When he is taken the law won’t be the winner nearly as much as the man who gets that white horse.”

It was soon after the move into the fort and into the small cabin Selena and Lon shared with Belle and Josiah that Brother Rich and Brother Lyman both came to see Lon. Selena knew instantly that something important was in the air. She withdrew to the end of the room where her bed was, dropping the curtain down between herself and the men.

It won’t matter what they want, Lon will be ready and willing, she thought, half angrily. He thinks the greatest honor in life is to be worthy to suffer for the Church.

The voices came easily through to where Selena lay, as Brother Lyman said, “It’s not an easy task we’re asking, Lon. Juan Antonio brings us word that Garra is set up for his next raid. It is to be against the Weaver Ranch at San Gorgonio.”

“What we had in mind, Lon,” continued Brother Rich, “was this. A white man could ride into the Weaver Ranch without Weaver thinking it might be Garra and starting to fire. You are to go with Juan, warn Weaver and his men, and give them time to move out and go into hiding. Juan’s braves, those whom he can really trust, will join you then in the ranch house. When Garra arrives and sees the Indian ponies, he will think that Juan and his men have decided to join him and will walk right into the trap.”

There was a long moment of silence. Selena’s heart pounded at the danger Lon would be in.

“We realize there are a number of things that could go wrong, but we have given a great deal of thought to this, and it looks like the best plan in order to have the least fighting and the fewest possible lives lost.”

Again the brethren fell silent, waiting for Lon to speak.

“I don’t blame you for being hesitant,” Brother Rich said.

“You have every right to turn the proposition down, but Juan Antonio has great respect for you, Lon. He asked that we would send you with him. Your wife will object to your going, of course. But this may be the means of saving many, many lives, Brother Holiday.”

Selena knew exactly the hurt look that would be in Lon’s eyes. She wanted to rush past the heavy curtain, throw herself into his arms and beg him not to go. But the habit of keeping a stem grip on any show of emotion was strong upon her. She gripped her arms hard, feeling her nails sink into her own flesh. Lon’s voice was even when he spoke. “There’ll be no problem in that quarter. Brother Rich. I shall be ready as soon as the horses are.

As the two leaders left Lon’s cabin to send for the Indian pony he would ride, Lon walked to the curtain and pushed it aside. Selena lay on the bed, her back toward her husband.

“You heard, Selena?^’

“Yes.”

“I have to go, Selena.”

“So it seems.”

She lay without moving, refusing to face him. For a long moment Lon waited.

“Selena ”

She turned slowly. Lon bent low over the bed, but the look in her dark eyes stopped him, causing him to draw back, as it had done so many times. He straightened.

“Goodbye, Selena.”

“Goodbye, Lon.”

He picked up his hat and gloves and turned toward the door. She reached out a hand, then drew it back quickly. Lon did not see her as he went out, closing the door behind him.

Riding alongside of the Indian throughout the long night, Lon gained increased respect for him. He could sense the Indian’s great reluctance to do this thing to one who had long been his friend, who but for injustices which Garra felt his people had suffered at the hands of the whites, would still be a friend to Juan Antonio. Lon felt that night that he was seeing real courage for the first time in his life, although the Indian spoke little of his own feelings.

“Garra and I were true friends, once. Now he knows only hate.”

Lon did not ask questions, allowing Juan Antonio to stop or continue as he chose.

“Garra saved my life, long ago. I tell him I give him anything he asks. My colt. My white colt. That was what he ask. I give Garra my colt. He still rides it.” Lon heard the note of pride in the Indian’s voice.

“I’ve heard of the white horse Garra rides,” said Lon. “The men claim there isn’t a horse in all California that could catch it.”

“This is true,” answered Juan. “We catch Garra, but not in a fair race.”

At the ranch Weaver welcomed them and stayed only long enough to pack supplies before taking his family and ranch hands to a place of hiding in the opposite direction from the road Garra would use.

After Juan’s braves arrived the hours dragged by slowly. Some of the Indians slept, but Juan had no feel for sleep. Neither did Lon.

His thoughts turned to Selena. If she had only made some little protest at his leaving. But she had watched him go, he felt, as calmly as though he were going to the spring for a bucket of water. Discouragement closed in heavily upon him. Perhaps this thing he had hoped to accomplish, to one day win Selena’s love, was after all impossible.

It must have been past midnight when Garra and his men appeared. The firelight cast a glow on the copper faces of the waiting braves. They were awake instantly as Juan Antonio stepped to the door and called a greeting to Garra in his own tongue.

Garra entered alone, leaving his men still mounted on their horses in the moonlight. Juan Antonio moved swiftly, closing the door behind Garra.

“So you join us, Juan,” Garra said. “The white men leave. We have things to ourselves. When they come back, no house, we bum all up.” Garra looked at the circle of braves before him. And then he saw Lon.

“A white?” he cried. “Is he against his own?” He whirled toward Juan, as he saw the row of guns raised toward him. Juan Antonio moved swiftly, removing Garra’s own weapons, both gun and knife.

“No, Garra. He is not against his own,” Juan answered. “Nor do I kill the white men. And you do not kill any more of them, Garra. We are holding you for General Bean.”

Garra turned one way and then another, his eyes wild with fright.

“My braves! I command! They burn house now!”

Juan Antonio turned Garra’s own gun against the chief.

“Tell them to go back to your camp, Garra. Tell them you stay for the night.”

Garra looked at the circle of guns confronting him. Through the open window he spoke a few words, repeating them sharply. His braves hesitated for a moment, then turned their horses and galloped back along the way they had come.

Juan, himself, rode Garra’s white horse back to San Bernardino. The black tail and black markings on the animal’s head made it the most startlingly beautiful horse Lon had ever seen. He was more than a little surprised, as they drew near the fort, to have Juan jump lightly to the ground and hand the horse’s reins to him.

“You keep Cajon,” he said, taking his own horse from one of his men. “I leave him here with you.”

Lon looked at the magnificent animal, speed marking every line of the horse’s body.

“But the horse is yours, Juan Antonio,” protested Lon. “I cannot keep him.”

Juan shook his head sadly.
“This day will be very hard to forget. The horse would only make it more hard. I do not want to take Cajon back to San Timoteo.”

Juan placed an arm under the horse’s neck, patting the animal briefly. Then he mounted his own, raised his arm in farewell, and rode swiftly away at the head of his braves toward San Timoteo Canyon.

Lon led the horse toward his room in the fort. Selena was cooking something in a large kettle over an open fire. Lon came near.

“I’m back, Selena.”

“I am glad, Lon.” Her voice stirred him; he felt she meant it.

They sat together on a large log. As she watched over the cooking food he told her of the days since he had been gone.

“So that is where you got the horse,” she said, her eyes on the fire.

“Yes, Selena. Cajon is the finest horse I have ever seen. I would like to give him to you.”

“Give him to me?”

“Would you take the horse, Selena? He’s fine to ride.”

Selena withdrew her hand quickly, and walked away in silence.

It seemed now to Selena to have been a terrific waste of labor and materials in constructing the fort, rather than homes.

“We could be in our own home now,” she complained to Belle, “rather than the whole camp crowded in here in the fort.”

“But Josiah says we would have had an attack, Selena, if the fort hadn’t been here to discourage the Indians from trying anything.”

Then, at long last, using the finest woods just as he had promised, Lon finished Selena’s home. They planted fruit trees and flowers and Selena, in her childless state, lavished care and attention upon them. People began coming to her for a start of daisies or asters or for grape cuttings, and her gardens were the pride of all San Bernardino.

“If she could only have a baby to love,” Belle said on more than one occasion.

This, of course was Lon’s greatest hope. “I think it would help,” he had said. “She really wants one. Belle. I know that, and I’ve always felt that it might help to unlock all that she keeps stored up so tightly inside of her.”

The night Juan Antonio’s wife gave birth to a daughter, the Indian came for Lon. The squaw was dangerously ill, and Juan, as had other Indians with sickness in their families, came for the Mormons.

Lon listened as Juan explained that this was their third baby. The other two had died.

“You come,” he said. “Pray over my squaw. It will be all right.”

“I will be there as soon as I can get Josiah,” said Lon. With humility at the Indian’s faith in the Mormon God being certain to answer prayer, Lon watched Juan Antonio mount his horse and ride swiftly back toward the canyon.

Selena, knitting nearby, had surely heard, but she gave no indication.

“Would you come, Selena?” Lon asked.

Selena shuddered. “I’ll go and stay with the baby and Belle can go,” she said, hurrying away from the disappointment she read in Lon’s eyes.

From that night on, anything that Juan Antonio would ever have could be Lon’s just for the asking. He insisted that Lon find him a name for the child in his Indian Book.

“Not many squaw names in the Book,” Lon answered. “Mostly braves. Laman, Lemuel. . . .”

“Bad men,” interrupted Juan. “I do not name my little squaw bad name.”

“Well.” said Lon, “there is Samuel.”

“Samuel, the Lamanite. I remember,” Juan said. He rolled the words on his tongue, liking the feel of them. “That is good. I call the baby girl Sam.”

Lon smiled, but Juan saw nothing humorous in the decision.

It was well into the springtime of 1857 when Juan Antonio came again to Lon asking for help. Smallpox had struck the small band of Indians in San Timoteo Canyon. Juan’s squaw was dead.

“I bring Sam to you,” the Indian said, as Lon looked past him to where the child sat, still on the Indian pony.

“We’ll take good care of Sam,” Lon said. “If she gets the sickness we’ll use all the white-main medicine we have.”

Easy enough for him to say, Selena thought bitterly. For several days she refused even to speak to Lon, beyond the barest necessities.

“The nerve of that Indian!” she cried at him. “Bringing that child here when she may come down with the smallpox any day herself.”

“Juan knows we have the scar, Selena. I have told him about it, that it means we will not take the disease. He is only trying to help a little child. Don’t think it was easy for him to leave her here.”

Selena was silent, thinking over what Lon had said. But the days dragged by. She could not even take the child to visit Belle now, lest her son become exposed to the dreaded disease.

Then one evening Lon came home to find Sam playing happily with a rag doll Selena had made. There was a gay, red ribbon entwined in the jet braids.

When the Sabbath came Lon insisted that Selena go to meeting with Belle and Josiah while he stayed with the child.

“The baby is feverish with cutting teeth,” Belle said. “You and Josiah go on without me.”

In the wagon Josiah was strangely silent and seemed ill at ease. Selena attributed it to the unusualness of the situation. She and Josiah seldom went anywhere without either Belle or Lon with them. Then, holding the lines tight and looking straight ahead, Josiah cleared his throat. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, Selena. I know you don’t want to hear a sermon. You’ll probably hear four or five before we get back so I’ll be short.

“I watched you eating your heart out for a man who wasn’t worth a tear. He was a crook, Selena. Belle knows it, but I was never supposed to say anything. Then I kept still about Alfred Quale. Belle said the decision was yours, but we were all-fired glad when he cleared out after he found gold so much more tempting than God. Now, seems to me, for a man who had no part in causing any of this, that Lon has had about enough mistreatment.”

That was all. Josiah had finished and he did not labor the issue, but his words troubled her deeply. Supposing, she asked herself, that her years of unhappiness had been just that, and not loyalty to a high and noble ideal.

It was not only Josiah’s words, however, but also a part of one of the day’s sermons, that was to stay with Selena for weeks to come. “Apply your heart to understanding.” These words were to stay with Selena as long as she lived.

Perhaps, she told herself, she not only had been making it difficult for everyone around her, but had been failing to live an important part of the gospel’s teaching in regard to her fellow men. The short time she had cared for Sam in her home had brought to Selena the greatest satisfaction she had ever known. She found herself wishing Josiah would drive faster on the way home.

Lon met her at the door. “It’s Sam,” he said. “I guess she’s getting the smallpox.”

Selena’s heart pounded as she looked at the ugly spots appearing on the dark skin. The black eyes were bright with fever.

The days and nights that followed were a nightmare to Selena, but they brought her closer to Lon than she had ever been. During one of the worst evenings, when the child had passed to unconsciousness, Josiah came to aid Lon in administering to her. For the first time in Josiah’s experience he saw Selena in Lon’s arms as though she really wanted to be there.

“Oh, Lon,” she sobbed, “ask God that her face may not be scarred.”

Josiah listened intently to the words as they came from Lon’s lips, and he was impressed that Lon was praying, not only for the sick child before them, but also that old scars of long standing might be healed.

From that night the child’s recovery was swift, and though her body would always bear marks of the ravages of the disease, not a sign remained to mar the smoothness of her brown cheeks.

The summer passed pleasantly for Selena. There had been many rumors throughout the settlement since Brother Lyman and Brother Rich had both returned to Salt Lake in April, but it was October before the news was certain.

Juan Antonio rode over to see Lon as soon as he heard.

“You must take Sam with you,” her father said. “She will learn to read the Indian Book. And when she is eight-of-age she must have the true baptism.”

Lon gripped his friend’s hand, realizing something of the cost to this man.

“Sam is over to Josiah’s, but she will be back for dinner. You will stay?” He saw the muscles in the Indian’s face move.

“No. It is better not. You will do the baptism?”

“I will do it, with authority and in the right way.”

Still Juan waited, reluctant to take his leave. Lon wished for something he might do in return. Not in payment for Sam. Nothing could do that, but as a token of esteem for Juan Antonio.

Cajon! Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of the stallion before?

Juan objected but not so strongly now. “My mare will foal in the spring,” Lon said. “Perhaps I’ll have a Cajon of my
own.”

Selena was all excited over the news that was spreading like wildfire through the settlement.

“But why, Lon?” she cried. “Why are we going back? The crops have never been better. Fruit trees are bearing. Everything looks favorable.”

“We’re being recalled, Selena. An army has been sent toward the Valley of the Great Salt Lake, and President Young has sent word for everyone to come. We’re going home.”

“Lon!” she cried. “We can’t go! Our house. …” The look on Lon’s face brought her words to a halt. Of course he would go. Nothing in this world could keep Lon Holiday from obeying counsel.

“Yes, of course. The house.” His voice was low, with a touch of bitterness.

“You may have the house, Selena, and our grain field and the cattle we have. With good management you’ll get along. The Mormons again are in no position to bargain. Settlers will move in fast. And there are some who have decided against returning. You will not be alone.”

“You want me to stay, then, Lon?”

“I want you to do what you want to, Selena.” Lon was weary with the long years of disappointment.

“Belle will care for Sam. You know, of course, that they are going back. There is no time to lose before winter sets in. I’m helping load their wagon tonight.”

Lon picked up his hat and went out, closing the door behind him. So he was taking Sam to Deseret! Through the window Selena saw the girl running to meet Lon. He held out his hand and she skipped along beside him, keeping up with his long stride.

Selena stood in the middle of the floor and looked around at the room. The air felt heavy and oppressive. What was home? Where was it? Nauvoo, Winter Quarters, San Bernardino — or the Valley of the Great Salt Lake? Even with an army on its way, it would never matter again. Wherever Lon Holiday was, that would be home for Selena.

She ran to the door and flung it open. Lon and Sam were almost to Belle’s door.

“Lon!” she cried. “Sam! Wait for me! I’m coming.”

And the distance between them seemed longer to Selena than the trip back to the Great Salt Lake.

(The End)