The Veil Page 30

  “That’s the route of the Donner party,” Liza said quietly. Beside her, Abe circled his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. The whole country had heard the tale of the wagon train finally reduced to cannibalism.

  Alexander nodded. “We’ll have to decide which is the greater danger,” he said. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll wait to strike camp until every family’s had a chance to enter the fort and buy enough supplies to get to the valley. Then we’ll replenish there.

  “And while you ladies are buying supplies, some of us men will go over to the Missourians’ camp and have a talk. They’ve stayed a few miles behind us since Laramie—at least, since we last told them to keep their distance. They’re not part of our company, by any stretch, and we want it to stay that way.”

  “We’ll just hope the Mormons don’t think they’re part of our train,” said Liza. Her voice carried into the quiet of the night, and Ellie saw the worried expressions cross the company members’ faces, young and old. No one spoke, and after a minute, they all quietly made their way back to their wagons and tents. Later, when Hampton picked up his fiddle to play, the songs sounded mournful.

  At ten o’clock the following morning, the new supplies were packed, the rigs were hitched, and the train moved away from the rough-hewn buildings at Fort Bridger. Ellie looked back, thinking this might be the last friendly place they’d see until they were out of Utah Territory. She quickly brushed the thought from her mind, popped the whip, yelled “Haw!” to the team, and the wheels began to roll forward, creaking and bouncing across the rocky soil.

  Alexander was riding point today with Abe by his side. Ellie saw them in the distance, leading the long line of wagons southwest onto the Salt Lake road.

  TWENTY-THREE

  The Road to Cedar City

  To protect Hannah from suspicion and to keep John from knowing that they’d already met, Lucas waited to arrive at camp until well after Hannah had ridden in. John was indeed expecting him and greeted him warmly.

  Hannah treated him with feigned indifference, but Sophronia ran to him and rocked him in her arms as if she would never let him go. John introduced him to the young Saint who was traveling with them, and after exchanging news of the trail and the latest reports about Johnston’s troops, John and Lucas walked some distance from camp to talk out of earshot of the others. By now the summer thunderstorm had moved to the east, and a bright, round moon lit their path.

  “I’m glad to see that you’ve agreed to take the oath,” John said. “I figured you would.”

  Lucas leaned against a tall outcropping of boulders, crossing one ankle over the other. “You didn’t leave me a choice,” he said.

  “I figured it was for your own good, son,” John said. “You’re either for us or against us. And I think you’re aware by now that your orders come straight from God. You’re right about having no choice. The elders and apostles—Brigham himself—are merely God’s messengers.”

  “With that thinking,” countered Lucas, “it would seem that the priests cannot give a wrong order.”

  “They’ve been spoken to by God, son,” John said, his tone still conciliatory. “And it’s high time you started listening to their wisdom.”

  Lucas decided not to challenge the man’s words. He wanted to give no cause for suspicion. “Brother Roe said that you would tell me about my first mission,” he said. “I’m assuming I’ll be riding with you.

  John shook his head slowly, watching Lucas as if assessing his sincerity. “No, you’ll not be coming along with us—though it’s no wonder you want to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Hannah,” John said simply, his ice blue eyes flicking across Lucas’s face.

  Lucas’s hands fisted at his sides, and he fought the urge to tear John Steele limb from limb. He could feel his jaw tensing, and his breath coming fast and shallow. One more word about Hannah, and he would not be able to stop himself from hurting the man. Hurting him. And getting nowhere. Certainly not getting Hannah and Sophronia safely beyond Utah’s borders. He steadied his breathing and simply returned John’s stare.

  “I’m talking about my mission,” he said, finally. “Not a holiday ride down the Old Spanish Trail.”

  John seemed satisfied that he wouldn’t be challenged about his new bride. “There are rumors about a train heading into the territory—a company from Arkansas.”

  Lucas figured he was talking about the Farringtons and was surprised anyone knew about the train. “There are many trains coming through this time of year.”

  “Not this wealthy. Not from Arkansas.”

  “I assume you’re referring to Phineas Potts … and you’re talking about blood atonement.”

  John looked pleased that Lucas had already guessed the general intent of his mission. “Why yes, I am indeed, son. You see, we’re aware that you rode along with that particular train for some time—made friends with their captain. Seems that you even had an altercation with a group in Laramie. Some hateful folks called the Missouri Wildcats.”

  Lucas’s jaw was working in anger, and again he fought to keep his voice controlled. “You had me followed?”

  John didn’t respond, and Lucas wondered who might have been in the saloon that night or who had trailed him and reported back on his whereabouts, his actions.

  “So that’s why you had the oath waiting for my return. You’d even dated it.” He narrowed his eyes. “You even knew the day I would return.”

  Again, John didn’t respond to his statement. “The important thing here, Lucas, is that you’ve gained the trust of the captain of this train … Farrington, is that it?”

  Lucas nodded. “Alexander Farrington.”

  “We can use that.”

  “How?”

  “Your mission is to ride back to meet them. They will be arriving in the valley within days. Meet them and find out their intentions.”

  “That’s all?”

  John chuckled. “You were expecting more?”

  Lucas was relieved. Perhaps John understood his reluctance and wouldn’t push him toward a mission of atonement after all.

  “If you want me to warn them to stay clear of the territory, I’ve already done that. I told them it wasn’t safe—that they needed to take another route.”

  John didn’t comment. “Our scouts tell us they must not have listened to your advice. Just ride with them, Lucas, find out what you can. I want to know everything, from where they’ve hidden their trunks of gold—which we hear are considerable—to the number of chests of silver eating utensils. We already know the size of their herd.” He chuckled. “In fact, you could say some of the cattle and a few horses got to the valley ahead of the train.”

  “You attacked them?” Lucas asked, already guessing the answer. He himself had been on “Indian” raids with the Avenging Angels.

  John laughed again. “Not me personally, no. But it’s surprising what good luck war paint can bring a Saint.” Then his expression sobered. “We’re preparing for war. Our coffers must be full if we’re going to drive off the U.S. troops.”

  Lucas said nothing, and John continued thoughtfully, “The U.S. forces are hoping to kill Brigham Young. Even now they march toward our Deseret, declaring they will destroy every man, woman, and child in order to wipe us out of existence.”

  “That information isn’t correct,” Lucas interjected. “I heard they’re coming to depose him, not kill him.”

  John dismissed his words with a wave of the hand. Lucas knew he didn’t believe him. He also knew that if he pursued the line of thought, it would merely be considered another reason to believe he was softening toward the Gentiles.

  John’s voice was now rising with passion. “Brigham himself has cursed President Buchanan, saying he will fight until there’s not a drop of blood left in his veins.” John stood and moved toward Lucas, his eyes cold and unblinking. “Now tell me, son. Is it too much to ask any one of us to defend ourselves however we can … by taking gold or silver, cattle
, or even wagons from our enemy?”

  “And blood atonement?” Lucas said. “Is it also part of this mission?”

  Again, John seemed to study Lucas’s face as if looking inside his soul for some sign of commitment. He didn’t answer the question. Finally, he said, “Porter Roe will be contacting you once you return to the valley. For now, you are to leave immediately for Salt Lake.” He looked up at the full moon. “You might as well leave now; it’s a good night for traveling.”

  “One more thing, John,” Lucas said, before they started walking back to camp. “Why did you want to tell me about the mission? Couldn’t Roe have done the same?”

  “I raised you as my son, Lucas,” John said, throwing his arm around the younger man’s shoulders as they walked. “Though you’ve ridden with the Angels countless times, I know how you’ve evaded killing. And now I’m sure it’s no surprise to you to know you are being tested. I think you’re at a crossroads. I’d always planned for you to someday take my place. But now, I think you’ve got some devils you’re wrestling inside—devils of doubt and skepticism. You could go either way.”

  Lucas dared not even swallow, afraid he would give himself away. He merely nodded.

  “There are those—Porter Roe is among them—who think you’ve already made your decision. They wanted to ask you on the spot when you returned, ‘Whom do you serve, God or mammon?’ But I wanted to see you, son, give you a chance to redeem yourself.” He looked grim. “But it’s going to be up to you. And there will be no second chances.”

  “I understand,” Lucas said, finally.

  They had almost reached camp, and Lucas could see the flicker of the small night fire through the trees. Hannah sat on the far side, facing Lucas, her head tilted downward. Sophronia was by her side, mending something by the firelight. Hannah seemed lost in thought, and instead of looking small and fragile, she seemed cloaked in a new strength. Her pale, wild curls glistened in the firelight, and it struck him suddenly that the strength that had always been within Hannah was also being tested and found not wanting.

  Instead, God was with her. God was giving her strength. In the instant their eyes met when he stepped into the compound, he recognized in her the same fresh hope that God was giving him. Hope and love beyond human understanding, beyond what two people could give each other.

  He looked at her in wonder, and she gave him the briefest smile as if understanding his thoughts.

  “There’s something else.” John, still at his side, broke into his thoughts. He turned Lucas away from the group, dropping his voice so as not to be overheard. “You’re my adopted son.”

  “Everyone knows that.”

  “The crossroads we talked about?”

  “Yes,” Lucas said.

  “Just because of your relationship to me, don’t expect they’ll go easy on you … should you choose the wrong road.”

  “I know that, sir.”

  “If anything, you’d be set up as an example. It could be very bad.”

  “I know that too.” Lucas started to turn away.

  “One more word of instruction.”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “You will be watched.”

  “Are you worried my actions will make you look bad?” He wondered about the real reason for John’s warning, for his concern.

  For a moment, the older man didn’t answer. “You’re my adopted son, Lucas.” But Lucas said nothing in response. John Steele obviously knew his bitter thoughts, because he said, “God’s ways are mysterious, son. Mysterious indeed.” And that was the end of the discussion.

  Lucas said his good-bye to Hannah and Sophronia, and then John called Lucas to kneel in front of him, with the other young Mormon at his side.

  John bowed his head and began to speak, his hands pressing heavily on Lucas’s head: “Father God, bless this your servant as he sets forth on his journey. Bring success to your servant’s mission. I speak with all the authority and power of the priesthood when I say, Bring down a curse upon the heads of our enemies, their children, and their nation.

  “Go with this thy servant,” John intoned. “Make him as quick as a serpent and as wise as a fox. May he strike our enemies dead, and may the blood that pours from their veins avenge the deaths of our Prophet, Joseph Smith, and his brother, Hyrum, and atone for the sins of these cursed enemies of yours, Father God, and of your chosen people.”

  John Steele solemnly nodded at Lucas. “Go, now, my son. And may our God be with you.”

  Minutes later, Lucas saddled Spitfire and swung onto the stallion’s saddle. He looked back at the small band of travelers, and Hannah met his gaze. Then he kicked the stallion into a trot, and they headed back up the trail to Salt Lake City. It took less than two weeks for Lucas to intercept the Farrington train. He had just reached Emigrant’s Gap when he first spotted the dust from their herd, then trailing behind as the winding caravan of high-topped wagons jerked along the narrow, rocky valley. He kicked Spitfire to a gallop, and threading his way along the winding trail, hurried to greet them.

  He had no intention of carrying out his mission. His only concern was to get the train to head as quickly as possible out of the territory. He’d already devised a route that would take them on a little-known trail to the east of Salt Lake that intersected with the Oregon road.

  Lucas spotted Alexander Farrington on the Appaloosa riding at the front of the caravan, and he held up his hand in greeting as he galloped toward the captain.

  “Lucas Knight!” the captain called out, recognizing him. “Good to see a friendly face, man!”

  Lucas chuckled, riding closer then reining Spitfire to the left to pull up beside the Appaloosa. “Those you’ll soon encounter won’t be, though, my friend.”

  Farrington nodded, his sun-worn face showing his concern. “We’re running so late, we really didn’t have much choice. We’ve had trouble along the trail that’s delayed us even more since we last met.”

  “You’re still planning on taking the southern route?” Spitfire danced sideways on the trail a few steps, and Lucas nudged him in the flanks to settle him down.

  “There’s always the Hastings,” the captain said, pulling his hat down against the sun and looking west.

  “I wouldn’t recommend it,” Lucas said. “Crossing on that trail in August might be worse than facing the Mormons.”

  The captain shook his head slowly, his eyes still on the western horizon. “We’ve seemed ill-fated somehow from the beginning. Delay upon delay,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I think I’m simply not fit for the job. You won’t find me volunteering again.”

  “You told me this is your third trip across.”

  Farrington grinned. “I always traveled with smaller groups. Trappers and settlers mostly. These folks, however, are a different sort. More stubborn than trappers’ mules.” He craned a bit in the saddle, looking back at the winding caravan of wagons slowly making their way through the pass. “We’ve lost some in a mutiny back at Devil’s Gate. Good riddance. They’d become troublemakers. A couple of wagons from Ohio joined us at Bridger. But we’re still smaller than we were when we left Arkansas.”

  “How about the Missourians?”

  “The ones I kept you from killing?”

  It was Lucas’s turn to grin. “The same.”

  “They’re still a ways behind us. I wouldn’t let them catch you in their sights, Lucas.”

  “I’m not worried.” He reined the stallion around some loose rocks. “Have they given you any trouble?”

  Farrington shook his head. “Not really. They keep to themselves. A few of us talked pretty straight to them back at Bridger. Told them that where we’re headed we didn’t want to hear a word against the Mormons.” He pulled his hat down against the slanting sun. “They agreed. But then, we’re not in Mormon country yet.”

  “You hit Mormon country the minute you rolled out of Bridger.”

  “That right?”

  “You’re being watched. They’ve known your eve
ry move since you left Laramie.”

  Farrington slowed the Appaloosa, frowning. “Now, how’s that?”

  Lucas wondered if the captain suspected him of reporting their actions. “If it makes you feel any better, they’ve known about every move I’ve made too—from the fight in the saloon to my leaving your company a week later.”

  Still sitting tall in the saddle, the captain pulled back on the reins a bit as they headed around a steep curve in the mountainside trail. Rocks spilled down the side of the mountain, and a cloud of dust lifted. “That doesn’t make me feel better, son.” After a minute, he added, “And now they’ve sent you to check on our progress.”

  Lucas nodded. “Those were my orders.”

  “And you’re to report back?”

  “Yes. But my intentions differ from my orders.”

  “Isn’t that dangerous?”

  “Might be.”

  “What is it they want from us, Lucas?”

  “Your cash, gold, silver, firearms, and ammunition.”

  “Sounds like they’re preparing for war.”

  “They are.” Lucas gave the captain a steady look. “I think there may be another way around this.”

  “How’s that?” Farrington peered at him from beneath the rim of his hat.

  “I’ll negotiate on your behalf. If you’re willing to buy your way out of this.” Lucas drew the stallion to a halt, and Farrington did the same with his horse. “You’ve put yourself in great danger by heading into Utah right now. News of Johnston’s troops got here before I did. Also news of the murder of one of our apostles in Arkansas.”

  Farrington nodded slowly. “We know about both.”

  “But you don’t know the frenzy you’re heading into.” Lucas drew in a deep breath. “And the Missourians following you … if they can’t keep their mouths shut …” He shrugged.

  “They may be as thick-headed as mules, but even they know better than to throw out barbs in hostile territory.”

  “There’s a campsite just outside the city. You can let your herd rest while I see if I can get some of the leaders to talk to you. I’m hoping that if they will agree—and if you’re willing to pay for safe passage—they’ll give you an escort through to Mountain Meadows. That’s at the south of the territory. Beyond that point you’ll be safe.”