The Fugitive Son (33 page)

“I’ve never seen such a group of eager shoppers,” Ned said as the family finally sat down to a late dinner. “I knew Santa Fe needed a store like this, but I have to admit, I really didn’t expect it to take off out of the gate like this.”

“Yep, I have to hand it to you, little sister,” Peter added. “You obviously know what you’re doing.”

Andy squeezed her hand under the table. “And now we have something else to celebrate,” he declared. “Elsie has promised to marry me!”

Commotion surrounded the table, as everyone talked at once, clamoring for details and offering advice. Andy held up his hand for quiet. “Whoa! I’ve only just proposed. We’ll work out the wedding plans later. Elsie wants to be a June bride, so that gives us a few months to get to know each other better and decide on a place to live.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Isaac agreed. “Do I get to be best man?”

Everyone laughed as Elsie joked, “You already are the best man! You’re the one who convinced Andy I was a good catch!”

Pete raised his glass in a toast to the beaming couple. “May you always be as happy as you are right now!”

Elsie smiled at her betrothed. She knew they would be happy – she and this wonderful man God had brought into her life. Their love would grow deeper each day. And even if some hard times crossed their path in the future, she was confident their love was strong enough to see them through.

The first flush of being in love and preparations for her first Christmas in her new home kept all thoughts of hard times at bay. Elsie had too much to do to borrow trouble from tomorrow. In the days following the grand opening, her store became the place to be in Santa Fe.

With the Christmas season upon her, she arrived at the merc even earlier than usual. The rattle of wagon wheels announced the arrival of Trip, back from his journey to San Francisco with a load of supplies from the coast. He swept his hand toward the wagon filled with goods. “Think we can sell some of this here?”

Elsie, glad to see him back, gave a quick hug. “Good to see you, too,” she teased. “Looks like your idea to travel west was a good plan. And you made it back in time for Christmas!”

“You wouldn’t believe how business is booming in California. Just look at what I’ve got!” Trip poked around in his load, pulling out some of the dry goods he’d brought back. “Silk from China, jade and ivory from the Orient – I think we can sell some of this stuff for a good profit in the store.”

Elsie looked at him playfully. “We? Who made you a partner?” She smoothed her hand over the fine fabric and fingered some of the trinkets he held. “These are beautiful. And I could use some new stock. My biggest problem may be keeping up with the demand I’m creating for the finer things in life!”

“Sorry I missed the grand opening. I hear I also missed a big announcement,” he said, a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. “When you read what’s in the newspapers I brought back from ‘Frisco, you may change your mind about accepting my offer of marriage.” He pulled a tattered copy of the Los Angeles Star from a bundle of newspapers and pointed to a headline, “Horrible Massacre of Arkansas and Missouri Emigrants – Over One Hundred Persons Slaughtered by Indians – Mormon Instigation Suspected.”

Elsie grabbed the paper from his hands. “Oh no! Oh no!” she gasped, as she read the article. In vivid detail, it told of how the Fanchers, the Tackitts, and their fellow travelers were murdered at a place called Mountain Meadows and their bodies left to rot in the sun. She sank onto a nearby bench, oblivious to the morning cold, her head in her hands. “I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it!” she cried.

Turning toward Trip, who had joined her on the bench, she asked, “Are you sure this is true? There must be a mistake. How could something like this happen?”

He put his arm around her shoulders to comfort her. “I’m afraid it’s all true. After refusing to sell the Fancher Party provisions in Great Salt Lake City, some Mormons encouraged them to take the southern route to California. Said it would be safer than the northern trail they had planned to take and there would be plenty of grazing for their animals. It was all a trap. The wagon train was attacked in September when it arrived at Mountain Meadows in the southern part of Mormon country.”

Trip patted Elsie’s back. “Stories about the massacre began appearing in the California newspapers in October, before I arrived. The first accounts blamed the Indians. But then the truth started coming out,” he told her. “Here’s a report from John Aiken, who went through the area with a Mormon mail carrier a few weeks after the murders.”

Pulling another issue of the Los Angeles Star from the bundle, he read, “Although Capt. Baker and a number of others from the slain party were my acquaintances, yet I dared not express my sentiments in the company of Hunt and his companions, knowing that I was traveling with enemies to my country and countrymen. Mr. Hunt and his companions often laughed, and made remarks derogatory to decency, and contrary to humanity, upon the persons of those who were there rotting, or had become food to wild beasts.”

Sobbing hysterically, Elsie put her hands over her ears. “Stop! I’ve heard enough. I can’t bear to think of my friends suffering such a fate!” She looked heavenward. “Why, God? All they wanted was to live in peace with their families.”

“Those cussed Mormons are not going to get away with it,” Trip said. “People are calling for a full government investigation. And some are demanding a crusade against Utah to crush out the Mormon heresy forever. Americans from the West Coast to the East Coast want military action against those responsible for this crime.”

“But that won’t bring them back,” Elsie said, still sobbing. Images of her friends raced across her mind. Sally Poteet, so young and full of life, rejoicing in the life of a newlywed. The irrepressible Cynthia Tackitt playing with her grandchildren. Her son Pleasant Tackitt sharing God’s truth by the campfire. Who could be evil enough to murder such godly people?

“And the children?” she asked through her tears, as the little ones paraded through her thoughts. Kit Carson Fancher, who tried so hard to stay out of trouble but ended up getting into one scrape after another. Kit’s baby sister, Triphenia, the Fanchers’ “tail ender.” Other little ones came to mind. William Twitty, who wasn’t even walking yet. One-year-old Sarah Dunlap and her big sisters, Louisa and Rebecca. Had they been killed, too? “No! No!” Elsie sobbed. “Please, Lord, don’t let it be true!”

Trip hugged her in sympathy. “Some of the youngest children were spared – the ones too young to tell what really happened.” He shook his head. “Like you, I can’t imagine anyone doing something so horrible,” he said. “But it won’t happen again. There will be safe passage through Utah from now on, you can bet your life on that.”

He waited for her sobbing to subside, then picked up her left hand and kissed her ring finger. “But surely you must see now why you can’t go through with your marriage to Andy?”

She looked at Trip, totally befuddled. “What has any of this to do with Andy?”

“Think about it,” Trip insisted with measured tone. “The massacre happened in southern Utah in mid-September. A month later, Andy shows up, obviously a fugitive, with no history, no job, no family. The way I figure it, he’s a Mormon, running from the law for his part in the murder.”

Elsie gasped. “You’re not serious? Andy? A Mormon? No. He can’t be. He just can’t be!”

“Let’s go inside and ask him, then. Even if he doesn’t tell you the truth, you should be able to see if he’s lying.”

“I know it’s not true, so why embarrass myself by asking such a question?” Elsie twisted away from Trip’s comforting arms.

“Are you afraid of the truth? Let’s go ask.” Trip headed for the door of the store.

Andy was sitting at his desk going over the books when Trip and Elsie burst in to the office. “What’s the rush?” he asked, rising from his chair. “Is something wrong?”

“That depends,” Trip said. Not giving Elsie a chance to ask, he blurted out, “Are you a Mormon?”

A
NDY’S FACE
was a dead giveaway. He looked like a thief who had been caught with his hand in the money bag. The shock sent Elsie’s emotions reeling even further out of control, her knees weakening.

“You are,” Elsie accused in a stony coldness that belied the lance of anger ripping into her chest. “You lied to me. How could you deceive me about something that important?”

Andy looked bewildered by her accusations. He took hold of her hands, trying to reassure her as he spoke. “I was brought up as a Mormon, but I’m…”

She yanked her hands from his and yelled, “Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever touch me again! You killed my friends. You butchered them!” She sank onto the nearest stack of fabric, her head in her hands, and began to sob again violently.

Andy tried to comfort her as she flailed at him, totally out of control. “What’s going on here?” he asked Trip.

Trip shot him a contemptuous look. “Maybe you should tell us,” he said. “I brought back newspapers from California, with stories about what you Mormons did at Mountain Meadows. The people on that wagon train were her friends. Hearing about what happened to them was nearly more than she could bear.”

Through her tears, Elsie watched Andy’s reaction, searching for a clue that he knew all about the massacre. The old cliché was true – Andy’s face was an open book. Guilt was written all over it.

“You were there, weren’t you?” Trip asked. “I figured you had something to do with it. You’re obviously a fugitive running from something, so secretive about your past, the timing of your arrival. It all adds up. You’re as guilty as hell!”

“You’re right. I was there, and I am a fugitive running from something. But your conclusions are all wrong,” Andy said quietly.

“Oh? So what’s your explanation?” Trip demanded.

Andy turned to Elsie, trying to explain. “Unless you’re familiar with Mormon culture, you couldn’t possibly understand. The commitment to the prophet, the desire to please him and do whatever he commands, the fear of losing out on heaven if you don’t obey. In the temple, we vow complete consecration and obedience, swearing an oath that we will suffer our throat to be slit from ear to ear if we don’t live up to our vows.”

“Even if it means killing innocent women and children?” Trip asked disparagingly. “That’s hardly an excuse.”

“I’m not making excuses. I’m trying to tell you what life was like, not only for me but also for the mob that killed the Fancher Party. My father and I were sent by the prophet to keep an eye on the wagon train – ‘to keep them out of trouble,’ were his exact words. I thought we were supposed to protect them, not kill them. Apparently, Pa knew what the prophet really meant for us to do, and when it was all over, he tried to shoot me to keep me from telling the truth of what happened. You’re right. I am a fugitive. I’m running from my father and the Mormon authorities to keep from being blood atoned.”

“Blood atoned? What does that mean?” Trip asked, sounding both confused and accusatory at the same time.

“When the Mormons think a person is in danger of losing his soul for a sin he’s committed – like blasphemy or disobedience to an order, or even trying to leave the religion – they slit his throat to shed his blood so he can atone for his sins. In other words, they kill the body to save the soul. When I refused to shoot Marion Tackitt in cold blood, Pa did it and then came after me to shed my blood to save my soul for disobeying the prophet.”

Elsie reared up from the pile of fabric she was sitting on. “Marion? You killed Marion Tackitt? He was my driver across the Plains, and he married my best friend, Sally Poteet!” She raged at Andy, pummeling his chest, shouting all kinds of accusations.

Again, Andy tried to constrain her hands. “Whoa! You didn’t hear me right. I was protecting Marion from what I thought was an Indian attack. I had no idea I was expected to shoot him when the command came. When I didn’t shoot him, Pa, who was marching right behind me, shot him in the back. My new friend, who had trusted me to protect him, fell face first at my feet.”

It was Andy’s turn to sob. “In just that short walk, Marion and I had become friends. He was so relieved that we had come to rescue them. He shared the good news that his wife was expecting a baby, and he was so excited about the new life they had planned in California. To think that my own father so callously gunned him down…” In between sobs, Andy shared some of the awful story that he had tried to blot from his mind.