The Fugitive Son (5 page)

July 1857
Fort Bridger, Oregon Territory

D
AY AFTER
endless day, the Devil’s Gate survivors and their rescuers, the returning missionaries, trudged along the trail toward Great Salt Lake City. Andy’s thoughts often focused on Ingrid and Anne Marie’s orphaned baby girl. Traversing the trail in the beautiful early summer weather was hard enough. How had it been for the sick and dying in the midst of the horrible winter cold? Had Ingrid and Ammie made it safely to Deseret? Or had Ingrid carried out her threat and managed to escape?

He seriously doubted that Heavenly Father even listened to his prayers anymore, but he prayed anyway.
Please, Father, keep Ingrid and Ammie safe until I can find both of them and figure out what to do.
Bitterness choked his prayer. Ammie should have been his and Anne Marie’s first-born. Instead, the beautiful infant was one of his father’s many daughters. Andy shook his head as he tried to count how many half-siblings he had.

He finally gave up in disgust.
I don’t even know how many wives Pa has, let alone how many brothers and sisters he’s produced for me
, he thought,
but one thing I know for sure, none of them were born of a love like Anne Marie and I shared
.
Still, he could do nothing.

Arriving at Fort Bridger, the travelers were met with a contingent of Mormon soldiers, arrayed in the full-dress uniform Andy remembered from his Nauvoo days. The Nauvoo Legion out here? When he spotted Porter Rockwell, the legendary gunslinger and hero of his youth, riding at the head of the contingent, he knew something was amiss.

The man Andy remembered fondly as “Old Port” dismounted and raised his hand in greeting. “Hello, brethren. Greetings in the name of the prophet. He has sent me out to deputize all of you into the reorganized Nauvoo Legion. I know you are all eager to get on down to Great Salt Lake, but the prophet has need of your services.”

At this, the men began firing questions at Rockwell and his troops. “What’s going on that can’t wait until we get home to our families? Some of us nearly died this winter. We need to rest…”

As they shouted question after question, Rockwell called for silence. “Enough! If the prophet says he needs you, that’s the end of it. Now, let’s get this unit organized, and I’ll explain what’s going on.”

In less time than Andy could have thought possible, Rockwell had the new arrivals deputized and assigned to specific units, judiciously placing the weakest men in units with those Legionnaires who seemed the strongest and most experienced. Among them, Andy recognized several who had been friends back in Nauvoo, some he had met in the Saints’ Missouri days, and a few he remembered meeting the few times he had guided wagon trains across the Plains.

Once the new arrivals were placed in their units, Rockwell set them down on the rocky ground and began to explain, “When me and Abe Smoot got wind that President Buchanan was plannin’ to send the Army to ‘clean up’ Utah Territory, we hightailed it back to Salt Lake with the news. Brother Brigham called up the old Nauvoo Legion and asked me to serve as a commander.”

As Rockwell stroked his long, flowing beard, Andy was reminded of Joseph Smith’s prophecy about the man known as the Avenging Angel of the Mormons. The prophet had said that his childhood friend and one of the first converts to the new faith need never fear bullet nor blade so long as he remained faithful to the church and didn’t cut his hair.

Rockwell’s throaty laugh brought Andy’s momentary thoughts back to the present. Pointing to his men in their colorful Legion uniforms, Rockwell said, “And some of us could still fit in our uniforms from the good ol’ days!” He walked over and playfully jabbed one of the more portly soldiers in the paunch. “But some of us enjoyed a bit too much good ole’ Mormon cookin’!”

Becoming serious once again, Rockwell gave the troops their orders, further explaining the dire situation. “As of now, none of us has a home in Great Salt Lake City. The prophet ordered everyone to leave their homes, takin’ just what they could carry, and then fill the empty houses with straw for burnin’. If Deseret is attacked, he plans to burn it to the ground, leavin’ nothin’ for them rotten gentiles.”

His mood changing abruptly, Rockwell again laughed. “Actually, he called the gentiles a lot worse than that. But I’m watchin’ my language for you young bucks that has virgin ears!”

After the laughter subsided, Rockwell continued. “All able-bodied men between fifteen and sixty are expected to join the Legion.” He glanced around the bedraggled would-be troops. “Guess some of you ain’t so able-bodied, but we still need you. Our job is to pester the Union troops comin’ from the north ‘nough to slow ‘em down. That way the Mormon settlements can git ready to fight or run. An’ the prophet can use the extry time to try to talk some sense into Buchanan. Meanwhile, Brother Brigham’s sent Colonel Burton and his men to keep an eye on Union troops comin’ from Kansas and to protect Saints travelin’ on the Mormon Trail.” He paused to take a swig of water from his canteen.

“Now, it would be blamed foolhardy for an army as small as ours to face hundreds of trained Union soldiers in an all out war. So the prophet has a better plan.”

Andy winced, remembering the prophet’s last “plan” that had cost so many lives.

“We’re goin’ to burn the grass along their trail, pester ‘em, play a few tricks, and make ‘em think we’ve got a lot more men than we have. We’ll run off their cattle, sneak in and steal their supplies – anything to annoy ‘em and keep ‘em from gettin’ into Deseret.” Rockwell stroked his beard again. “But we’re not s’posed to shoot anybody or start a battle, lessin’ we can’t help it.” He pointed back east. “So, turn back the way you came, and let’s get to work.”

The men began rustling, about to obey his orders. “I meant all in good time,” Rockwell called out. “Figured we’d head into old Jim Bridger’s fort here and make ourselves at home for a few days first. Mighty gentlemanly of him to leave it for us.” He chuckled. “He and Vasquez are off scoutin’ for the Army, and the Injuns are at their summer huntin’ grounds. Whilst they’re gone, the fort is ours. The new Union troops are still a long way off in Kansas, so we’ll just rattle the cages of the soldiers around Laramie.”

As an afterthought, he added, “An’ when we’re done with the fort, we might just set a match or two to this heap of junk as a nice surprise for old Bridger when he returns.”

Set fire to Fort Bridger? Andy shuddered. Old Jim had been nothing but nice to him and the travelers who had come through on the Oregon and Mormon trails. As best he could remember, Bridger had treated both Mormon and gentile fairly.

Andy’s thoughts quickly turned to Ingrid and Ammie. He knew Major Crawford had told Ingrid to enlist Bridger’s help to escape from the Mormon wagons. Would she be at the fort? Or had she decided to stay with the relief wagons and try to escape once they made it to Great Salt Lake? Another unbidden thought flashed across his mind – nobody escapes from the Mormons and lives to tell about it. Anne Marie had warned Ingrid of that as she lay dying at Devil’s Gate. Were Ingrid’s and Ammie’s bodies lying in a cold trench somewhere on up the trail? Andy sent up another prayer for their safety, wherever they were.

He picked up his duffel and headed toward the fort, determined to make the best of this new situation. At least he could put off the dreaded confrontation with Pa for a few more weeks.

The Ohio River

Elsie sighed deeply as the paddle-wheeler slowly pulled away from the dock. Would she ever see her beloved River Bend again? So many happy times. So many beautiful memories. She felt her heart would burst with anguish as she silently said goodbye to all that she had known.

Trying to shake her melancholy, she focused on the trees that lined the steep river banks, playing a game with herself as she catalogued the tree species in her mind. Chestnut, butternut, beech – wouldn’t her brothers and Isaac have loved this game here on the riverboat deck? At the thought of Isaac down below, another wave of sadness swept over her.

She shook her head, as if to chase her gloominess away. Instead of dwelling on the past and things that were out of her control, why not play the “thankful” game? Thankful she was en route to a reunion in Santa Fe with her brothers. And that Isaac was accompanying her. Thankful for the gorgeous sunset that was brightening the sky with the same colors that abounded in her garden back home.

She turned her gaze to the spectacle God was painting in the sky to the west. The brilliant hues reminded her of the flowers blooming outside the breakfast room back at River Bend. The lavender of her sweet-scented bushes deepened into the purple of the hyacinths before being joined by the orange of the lilies and the crimson of the roses.

Elsie caught her breath as the shades intensified and the reflection of the blazing sky seemed to set the river on fire. The mirrored colors glanced off the ripples, looking for all the world like joyful sparks flying off a bonfire.
God, forgive me!
she silently prayed.
Help me to be content in the situation in which you have placed me. Help me remember that all things work together for my good. You alone can bring peace to my aching heart!

The sky darkened as the boat passed by a mighty forest of oak, ash, and maple trees that lined both sides of the river. Ahead, the river broadened, and Elsie realized they were pulling onto an island. She watched as the slaves lashed the boat securely on a beautiful, broad beach.

“Looks like we’re going to overnight here.” A baritone voice behind her broke the evening quiet. Elsie turned to greet a young couple standing at the rail to watch the activity below. “John and Mary Montgomery,” the man said, tipping his hat. “We were married just a fortnight ago and are on our way to join my family at their home in Illinois.”

“Delighted to meet you both.” Elsie smiled warmly. “It will be nice to have some companionship on at least part of this long trip.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “Oh, forgive me. I’m Elsie Condit, and I’m on my way to meet my brothers in New Mexico.”

Mary’s eyes widened. “You’re traveling alone all the way across the Plains? I’ve heard some frightfully horrid stories about Indian uprisings out that way. Not to mention the mess in Kansas.” John tugged on her sleeve in an attempt to shush her.

“Oh, I won’t be alone,” Elsie began. “I have Isaac…” She stopped short. She didn’t know anything about her new friends. If they were abolitionists, they would resent her for owning a slave – freed or otherwise. If they were from the South, they might try to prevent her from taking Isaac to a nonslave territory. Perhaps it would be best not to explain him at all.

“My brothers bought my tickets for passage to Kansas City, Missouri. Then I’ll book a stagecoach and drovers for the rest of the journey. I’m sure I’ll be safely cared for.” Elsie ran her hand through her bouncy, dark curls. “God has promised to be with me wherever I am,” she asserted. “He’ll protect me.”

“You certainly have courage,” Mary said. “I wouldn’t have left my home in New York if I didn’t have my strong, handsome John to take care of me!” She snuggled close to her new husband. “I hope we’ll see you in the morning so we can talk some more. Both you and I are leaving our homes behind, so I imagine we have much in common.”

The couple bid her goodnight and went inside. Elsie soon followed, entering her own stateroom, where she was quickly lulled to sleep by the sound of the water lapping at the boat.

Fort Bridger

W
HEN THE
morning bugle sounded, Andy hurried to join the troops for their daily ritual. Unlike the soldiers he had observed at Fort Laramie, these men had no flag raising or salutes. They just stood at attention while Commander Rockwell barked orders.

“Rasmussen, you know this area real good, don’t you?” Andy startled when he realized Rockwell was talking to him. “Didn’t you scout with the prophet and bring several Mormon trains through here?”

“Yes, sir,” Andy replied, quickly recovering his composure. “I’m familiar with this territory.”