From the Relief Society Magazine, 1944-45 –

Forward, Without Fear

By Dorothy Clapp Robinson

Chapter One

It was early afternoon of a June day in 1844. The River Maid finishing her journey up from New Orleans was disgorging her passengers and freight. On a newly constructed pier Ann Kristin Mortensen watched with lively interest, impervious to the heat that wrapped about her like a sticky blanket. A vagrant breeze from off the river flickered aimlessly across the planks with a half promise of relief then wandered on, letting the blanket settle more closely about the indifferent girl. For Ann Kristin was only vaguely aware of the heat, the dank smells, the coarse shouts of the men. She was here at last, in Zion!

“Zion,” she whispered reverently. “Our long hard journey is over. Our troubles are past.”

It was so— so different. The river, the trees, the wide vistas were so immense. For a moment homesickness, like a wave of nausea, sickened her. Home was so far away. The skies above Loftshammer were so blue, the peaks so near. America, her father had once said, was like the Gospel, deep and wide and all encompassing. America was her country now, if she could endure staying here. It was her parent’s, too, for already their bodies were moldering in its soil. Mother in New York; father in New Orleans.

Immigrants pushed about her, guarding boxes, separating bundles. Weary faces were alight with anticipation. All were eager for what awaited them at journey’s end.

“Take the trail to the right.” She heard it repeated in faultless English, in broad Cockney, in Welsh. The crowd surged about and past her. Then Helga spoke.

“I’ll help Johanna. She is so weary and Niels has so much to carry. Watch the trunks until I get back. Remember Elder Lewis’ warning. Don’t leave that trunk.”

Just then Niels Hansen came up. He was tall and broad, but his gaunt features told a story of long privation. The ferocity of beetling black brows was belied by the gentleness of his gray eyes. On one shoulder he balanced a huge wooden chest. In his free hand he gripped two canvas bags. Both he and Johanna wore the rough clothes and wooden shoes of the peasant.

“I will go ahead,” he told them in Norwegian. “Miss Helga will come with you, my Johanna.”

“No, no, Niels,” Helga chided. “We are in Zion now. You must speak American.”

Bafflement erased the simple trust from Niel’s face. Johanna saw and her hand touched his arm caressingly. With a huge sigh of relief he started up the path that lead to Camp Lewis, a scant quarter of a mile away. Johanna reached for another bag but Helga took it from her.

Ann Kristin watched as they went slowly up the trail. Johanna was too colorless, too frail. She was heavy with child, and each step took something from her diminishing strength, but her pride was untouched. Niels and Johanna, with many others had been stranded in New Orleans. The heat and fever, so hard on those from the North Countries, had undermined her rapidly. But now the cruel journey was over and Niels could get work and buy good food. Strength would come back to her sinews and flesh to her bones.

“Erva’s baby died. They couldn’t get it to eat and they had to bury it without Ez. He’s working down in Missouri and they couldn’t get word to him.”

The shrill treble of a child’s voice rose above the other sounds. Ann Kristin turned her head quickly. A tall, lean man in homespun trousers and wide-rimmed hat was threading his way through the crowd. A small boy, whose short legs were skipping excitedly, was holding fast to one of his fingers. Quite evidently they were looking for someone. The tall one caught sight of Ann Kristin and stopped abruptly. Their glances met and the girl smiled expectantly. He started to speak, thought better of it, nodded curtly and went on. Huh. Not one of the immigrants, but there was something definitely familiar about his eyes. No. She was imagining things. She could not have seen him before. He was the type one did not forget.

“Where’s the Wonder Man?”

Ann Kristin’s smile faded quickly to annoyance. Before her stood a redheaded girl with mocking black eyes.

Her companion was a lanky, loose-jointed young man whose abnormally large mouth widened into a startling grin.

“I have no idea of whom you are speaking, Patty Lou Turner.”

“Do tell,” the girl drawled softly. Her companion spoke quickly.

“Is that what you-all expected of your new Church?”

The black eyes flashed dangerously. “Certainly it is what I expected, Jake Nichols, and if you-all don’t —.”

Ann Kristin turned away. Her baggage was piled beside her. She felt a momentary sense of guilt at the amount of it. She and Helga had so much, while so many had nothing. Even her dress marked her as different. It was of blue flowered voile. The same blue as her eyes, and its many ruffles billowed about her, hiding all but the toes of her dainty shoes. A nosegay hat flaunted blue ribbon bows that draped over the back of her flaxen curls. Helga had been out of patience with her.

“You should not have put on such clothes,” she had chided. “There will be time and place for finery when we cross over to Nauvoo.” She had been on deck and had come back to see that all was in readiness. Yet she looked a little doubtfully at her own dark poplin, her heavy boots. Everything about her, she thought a little enviously, was dark and heavy. Her bones were large, her brows and hair thick and heavy. Beside her, Ann Kristin was a fairy, small and nimble.

It was too late to change. Their trunks were already locked and strapped. Standing on the pier, Ann Kristin was acutely conscious of her mistake. But there had been many mistakes in the two years since leaving Norway, and many stops. The happiest had been England where they had stopped for baptism; the unbearable one, in New York, where her mother was buried. She removed one glove and looked at a ring on one slender finger. It was curiously made and very old. As long as she could remember her mother she could remember this ring on her finger.

“I am here at last, with a dray of sorts.”

Ann Kristin whided quickly. A young man stood beside her, a smile of triumph playing about his full, rather loose lips. His black coat and immaculate gray trousers set him apart from the none-too-clean, roughly clad men milling about, as surely as his cultured tones and formal words.

‘This trading post has been established since our people came here, and vehicles are hard to get.”

Her pulse quickened. “Brother Bedloe, you came up so quietly I did not hear you.”

His smile widened. “I am sure my steps were loud enough on these creaking boards. You were dreaming. There is still a far-away look in your eyes.”

“Yes.” She looked again at her ring. “I was thinking many things— of father’s hearing the Gospel while in England— of our long.”

“I know; but now you are here at last, in Zion.”

“Oh, yes.” Unshed tears brightened her eyes. “It is hard to believe that all our heartaches are in the past. I am actually here— in Zion. Mother wanted so much to reach Nauvoo.”

His face sobered. “Kristin, dear, you must prepare yourself for disappointments.”

“But why? What more could we suffer? Surely, too, all the Saints are not like— I mean they are not all poor like these immigrants.”

“Far from it. This group, I understand, were stragglers, stranded in New Orleans by lack of funds. I wish you would let me take you to Nauvoo now.”

“No. Helga would not consent. We must stay and help Elder Lewis with the others.”

“It looks as if he had deserted us. He left the boat at Montrose this morning and has not come back.”

“Did Captain Russell leave him?” she asked in alarm.

He shrugged. “Certainly not. Captain Russell is a friend of his. He must have driven up. He is probably in camp now helping to get the immigrants settled. It is going to be very crude.”

Ann Kristin laughed. “You worry too much about me. Brother Bedloe.”

“Tom is the name.”

“Tom.” She repeated the name slowly. “It is strange on my tongue. It is hard to say just Tom.”

“You might put darling with it.”

She caught her breath a little at that and a vivid pink washed over her face and neck. She said almost primly, “If the others can endure it indefinitely, I can for one night.”

He picked up a bag. “There is a mind and will under that pretty hat. You should send your luggage across.”

“No! No!” Her words held a note of alarm. “We must keep our trunks with us. Helga would insist on it, too.”

“In that case I will see them loaded and then we will walk up.”

“Brother Bedloe – I mean, Tom, should I not go with –?” She hesitated and looked toward the dray. It gave her a start. Tom was so fastidious, but perhaps this was all he could get. The dilapidated old wagon was drawn by a flea-bitten mule. Waiting beside the wagon was a gangly youth with a long, sunburned nose and tobacco-stained mouth. He blinked at Kristin’s look, and spat tobacco juice between the mule’s ears. She glanced away and met Bedloe’s amused smile.

“I don’t think you want to ride; but if you insist on guarding your property, I will go along with it. That is,” he added, “if you will trust me with it.”

“Tom. I hope you didn’t think that—.”

“I was teasing because you guard your trunks so carefully. ne would think you had a fortune concealed in one of them. A-ha! Guessed it that time. Don’t worry, my dear. I shall guard it as my own, which is quite fitting under the circumstances.”

Again she started to protest, but he patted her arm. “The cart is much too dirty for your pretty dress. Camp is only a short way through the trees but a long way by the road. Run along. We will be there soon after you are.”

She still hesitated, but he motioned to the boy and they began loading. The trunks first and then the bags. It was silly to hesitate. She was going to marry Tom – soon; but she had promised Helga not to leave the trunks alone, even for a moment, especially the small one. Bedloe was paying no heed to her, so, stifling her fears, she turned and started up the trail. What else could she do? She was lucky to have a good man like Thomas Bedloe to look after them, and her. he with others, including Patty Lou and Jake, had joined the company at St. Louis. he had fallen in love with her immediately and she with him.

It was the strangest thing, she reasoned, that a number of people disliked him. That was because of his clothes and his polished manner. Patty Lou Turner – bu then Patty Lou was full of whims. One moment she seemed to be in love with him, and the next moment she hated him. As for that, she treated Ann Kristin the same way Elder Lewis was a boat with a different ail. he was not a man given to unwarranted dislikes, and his manner toward Tom was above reproach, yet there was something. perhaps she was over-sensitive. latter-day Saint men were above petty jealousies. Tom was not an immigrant really. He had attached himself to the group because it was going to Nauvoo.

The trail was spongy with humus. At first she walked quickly, but her shoes had been made for floors, not trails. Her bouffant skirt was caught by twigs, and thoughts came rushing over her to slow her steps. Life ahead was going to be so wonderful. It must be, to compensate for the heartaches of the last two years.

A keen aching throb went through her. if only her parents could have lived to reach Zion, but God’s ways are mysterious and it was not her place to question. She could only trust and be thankful for the good friends they had made.

The path led to higher ground and away from the river. The grove had been thinned by felling trees, probably to build the cabins she could see here and there. All were in a more or less suspended state of completion, and were flanked by twice their number of tents. Children, made listless by the heat, stopped their play to stare at her. She smiled and went on.

Then through the trees she saw the camp. She stopped and leaned against a huge oak tree. Two women in calico aprons were placing dishes on a table made of planks on sawhorses. Fifteen or twenty immigrants from the River Maid were milling about. Dismay drew her lips together. She should have trusted Tom’s judgment. Just why should she be camping with these destitute people? She had money t put up at a good hotel.

“For shame, Ann Kristin Mortenson,” she chided herself.

The faces of the immigrants showed how thankful they were to these ministering women. With good food in their stomachs once again, they could go out and look for work. They could build homes and do their share in building up the Kingdom. Just now they had nothing, and she wondered how Elder Lewis had managed to get them all here.

“Matthew Lewis. Put me down this instant. Someone might see you.”

Startled, Ann Kristin looked about. Just beyond, and hidden by the big tree against which she had leaned, was a campfire. Over it hung two huge iron pots from which came tantalizing odors. Near it, a short plump woman was struggling in the arms of a tall, lean young man. Dancing delightedly about them was a small boy. No wonder the tall one had seemed familiar. he must be the son Elder Lewis had told her about.

“So you are not glad to see your son. And he has been away three months.”

“Oh, Matthew, I am. You know I am, but your behavior is unbecoming.”

“Swing her around, Matt. swing her around,” the boy screamed.

Matt swung her about. Her bonnet fell off, and Ann Kristin could see she was enjoying it as much as the boy, but her voice was sharp.

“Matthew! Put me down. A woman my age!”

Matt laughed. Giving her a sound kiss, he set her on her feet. Breathing heavily, she smoothed her hair and pulled her apron into place. She looked about for her bonnet. The small boy handed it to her. Tears ran down her curiously untanned cheeks. She put a hand caressingly on her tall son’s sleeve.

‘Matthew, I am so glad to see you. it is so hard to have you and Father both gone.”

“Where is Father?” Matt asked.

“He went down to the wharf, dear. He ran across Ezra in Montrose this morning, and rode home with him. He was here until a few minutes ago, then he went down to the wharf. He wanted to be sure there was no trouble over baggage.”

“He ain’t there. We looked for him.”

“Teddy, the way you talk.” Mrs. Lewis tied her bonnet under her chin. “That is the sad part of camping. Children have no rearing.”

“Will he be back?”

“Who? Father? Certainly; but why are you here? And without your uniform?”

‘The Legion has been disbanded. I hope temporarily, but—.”

Ann Kristin knew she should go on, but if she did she would reveal her presence. A thickness came into her throat. Once she had been part of a family. Now there were just she and Helga— oh, and Tom, of course.”

“Don’t tell me there is trouble again.”

The cry of distress brought Kristin’s mind back to the group. There was a deep and poignant note in it that brought the old ache back to the girl’s heart. She saw Mrs. Lewis drop to a stump.

“Yes, Mother,” the man’s deeper tones answered. “I am afraid so.”

“Does that mean we shall have to move again?”

There was infinite kindness in the son’s voice as he answered, “I wish I knew, but don’t fret. If another move comes we shall have to meet it.”

“I won’t. I am tired of moves and trouble. If I thought I had to move again, especially into Indian Territory as Teddy has been saying, I would simply sit down and die.”

“You been five years moving and you ain’t dead yet.”

Matthew smiled. “Don’t die until we find out. I want to eat some of your biscuits once more.”

“My goodness,” Mrs. Lewis rose hastily. “I must get this food on. And your father has the fever again. You haven’t told me about Becky.”

“Becky? That reminds me. I saw an over-decorated female at the wharf. I wonder where she was going.”

They moved away, and under cover of their going, Ann Kristin moved, too. Her eyes were dark with anger. “So. I am an over-decorated female, am I?”

(To be continued)