The Fugitive Son (8 page)

Major Crawford invited Andy to ride with him at the front of the contingent. “Still don’t trust me, do you?” Andy asked.

“Should I? What are you really doing here?”

Andy looked over at the major. “I’m not exactly sure. I spent the winter at Devil’s Gate with a few others. We ‘bout froze our tails off, waiting for somebody from Great Salt Lake to rescue us.” He shrugged, a rueful look crossing his face. “Instead, Porter Rockwell and his men showed up and conscripted us all into the newly reorganized Nauvoo Legion. We didn’t even know there was a war going on and still don’t know what’s happening.”

“I heard about the tragedy at Devil’s Gate,” Major Crawford said, his voice full of sympathy. “And the girls? What happened to Ingrid and Anne Marie?”

Andy choked back a huge sob. “Anne Marie died in childbirth. Ingrid and I helped deliver the baby, but it was too late for Anne Marie.” Anger resonated in his voice. “She’s lying in a cold trench with about fifty other unfortunate bodies.”

“And Ingrid? Where is she?”

“I don’t rightly know. Relief wagons came from Salt Lake right after Anne Marie died, and I put Ingrid and Ammie, the baby, on one of the wagons. I knew you told her to ask Jim Bridger for help, but I don’t know if she managed to get away.”

The major paused, thoughtful. “We were by Fort Bridger a month or so ago, and some of the Indians who hadn’t left for their northern hunting grounds mentioned a golden-haired white girl with a baby who had spent the winter there. I hoped against hope it was Ingrid, but nobody knew what happened to her. I’m praying she caught a ride with a wagon train heading to Oregon.” His voice grew wistful as he confessed, “I really loved that girl.” He turned and looked Andy in the eye. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“Strongly suspected it,” Andy admitted. “I saw the same look in your eye when she was around that I got when Anne Marie came by.”

The two broken-hearted young men rode along in silence, each contemplating all they had lost. With a sudden “Halt!” Major Crawford stopped his riders at a beautiful clearing along the river. “We’ll set up camp here tonight,” he ordered. Then as an afterthought, he introduced Andy to his men. “You’re probably wondering who our new friend is,” he began. “This is Andy Rasmussen, a fellow who came through Laramie last year guiding a group of travelers. They met up with a terrible fate along the way, and he’s trying to go it alone to his destination. He’s suffered much, so let’s take it easy on him till we part company.”

Andy was overwhelmed with gratitude for the major’s kindness. He also noticed how carefully Major Crawford had phrased his words to keep his connection with the Mormons hidden without lying about anything.
Now that’s a real Christian!
The thought rose unbidden into his mind.

Later, Andy and the major walked a short distance away from the others who were lounging around a campfire. “Do you plan on going back to your post with the Legion?” the major asked.

“I don’t know,” Andy replied. “I don’t want to. But if I don’t, they’ll shoot me as an apostate or a deserter. If I go on to the Great Salt Lake, I’ll be as good as dead, too. Seems pretty hopeless right now.”

“How about if you hide out around here till they quit looking for you? When it’s safe, you could head south, bypassing Utah. The Utes are fairly friendly.”

“I’m not even sure they’ll be looking for me. They plan to stay at Fort Bridger for a while, till the Army arrives,” Andy said. The major pointed up into the cliffs that towered above them. “There’s some mighty fine, livable caves up there. Places where a fella could hide out pretty easily. Lots of grub here along the river, too.”

Returning to camp, he ordered his troops to turn in and get rested for an early start in the morning. In a subdued voice, he told Andy, “I’ll show you a path up through the canyon to a nice cave and draw a map of a southerly route when you decide it’s safe to leave this area.”

Listening to the soft sound of the river tumbling over the rocks that night, Andy soon fell asleep, his worries for the moment forgotten.

He joined the soldiers early in the morning as they washed up in the cold waters of the Green River. “Nothing like a cold splash to wake a body up,” he remarked. “This water is downright invigorating!”

The soldiers agreed and set about packing up to continue their ride.

After a hearty breakfast, Major Crawford told the men, “I’ll be back in about an hour.” Motioning for Andy to mount up and follow him, he added, “We’re going up the canyon a ways so I can show him a southerly route out of here.”

Andy couldn’t help comparing Major Crawford’s leadership with that of Old Port and some of the other Mormon leaders. The major’s men obeyed him with respect and without question, while the church leaders seemed to demand obedience out of fear and sheer terror at what would happen if they didn’t comply. He wondered what made the difference.

Riding up the narrow animal path that led higher into the pinyons, the two men didn’t talk much, focusing all their attention on the steep, rocky path. When the desert flora began to merge into trees and flowers of a more temperate climate zone, the major halted his palomino. “Look carefully along those shrubs,” he said, pointing to a large, bushy area.

Andy followed his gaze and saw it – an entry to a large depression in the rock, well hidden and easily missed by a casual observer. They dismounted, tied their horses in a shady spot behind the copse of shrubs, and entered the cave.

“Think you can comfortably hole up here for a while?” the major asked.

Andy surveyed the huge, dry cave. No wild animals had chosen to call it home, and no bats or swallows flew about. “Looks good,” Andy agreed. “Much better than some places I’ve had to lay my head.”

They spent a few minutes going over the crude map Major Crawford had drawn to help Andy bypass the Mormon-occupied areas and colonies. “One more thing,” he said as he handed Andy a well-worn Bible. “I know you Mormons don’t think this has been translated correctly, but it sure helps me when I’m in trouble or in need of guidance. Will you promise me you’ll read it and ask God to help you understand it?”

He paused for a moment, then added, “And if you come to a part you think has been mistranslated, just skip that part and read somewhere else.”

Reaching for the book, Andy promised. “But will you answer me something first? Why are you being so kind to me? I’m the enemy. You could have shot me in cold blood.”

The major laughed. “Do I look like somebody who could shoot anybody in cold blood?” He paused and reflected. “I know I’m a soldier, and possibly if I had to kill to save an innocent life, I might be able to pull the trigger. But basically, it turns my stomach to think I might have to kill a man some day.” He laughed again. “Guess I’m a lover, not a fighter!”

Andy felt as though he’d finally met a kindred spirit. “My feelings exactly,” he confessed. “When I see all the killing going on among the Mormons, I try hard to understand, but I know I couldn’t slit a man’s throat to ‘help him into Paradise.’ Makes no sense to me.”

Major Crawford contemplated Andy’s confession. “I just pray I’m not faced with having to kill anybody. Soon as my time is up with the cavalry in a few months, I’m resigning my commission and heading out to Oregon to look for Ingrid.”

Andy reached out and shook his hand. “I wish you Godspeed and hope you find both her and the baby well. Thanks barely seems enough for sparing my worthless life, but thanks will have to do!”

“Just keep reading the Good Book and keep your carcass out of trouble!” The major smiled as he mounted his horse and headed back down the trail, leaving Andy to his lonesome thoughts.

Cairo, Illinois

The cacophony of dozens of steamboat bands, each trying to outplay the other, reached Elsie’s ears long before she saw the dock at Cairo. It looked like a hundred boats were moored there. Following their enforced layover on the sandbar while the rudder was being repaired, Elsie had worried she’d miss hooking up with the steamboat to St. Louis. With that many boats headed upriver, however, there would surely be another on which she could book passage if her original choice had already left.

John and Mary Montgomery joined Elsie on the promenade, near the point where they would disembark. “Would you care to join us for a tour of Cairo?” John asked. “I’ve been here several times and would be glad to escort both of you lovely ladies. And I’ll assure you, Cairo is no place for a lady alone. It has nearly a hundred saloons, all of which are full of revelers!”

Elsie was thankful for the invitation. She had no desire to be ogled, accosted, or pushed into close contact with a drunken sailor or unsavory gambler. And even though Illinois was a free state, people might not take too kindly to her seeing the sites accompanied only by Isaac.

“They tell me,” John continued, “that each time a new saloon is opened, the owner throws the key into the river to show the door will never be locked. The revelry goes on day and night, as the saloons provide gaming rooms and betting parlors for the riverboat pilots and crews, as well as traveling businessmen.”

Mary and Elsie exchanged worried glances. “I declare, maybe we shouldn’t leave the boat after all,” Elsie said without thinking.

“But we must,” Mary countered. “How else will we get our tickets and book passage on a boat going north?” She looked toward the dock as their ship angled into a slip. “We’ll be loading onto one of those big ones, while our little paddle-wheeler turns around and goes back up the Ohio.”

The confluence of the Ohio and Mississippi rivers spread out before them. As they drew closer to the action, Elsie could see the riverfront was a rough place. She watched from the top deck as card sharks and ne’er-do-wells preyed on the passengers disembarking from other boats to transfer to ships going north to St. Louis, south to New Orleans, or back east to Pittsburgh. She shuddered. It seemed no one was safe from being accosted by the pushy barkers.

“Over here!” An old man stood on the pier, holding up a sign and yelling, “Best poker in the city! Let Lady Luck smile on you!” Other barkers ballyhooed riverfront cafes. “Blue Front Cafe! Best meal in the city. Only 25 cents. Nice place to wash and brush up!”

Just a few doors away, another barker stood in front of the K.C. Cafe and yelled, “Best meals in the city. Only 15 cents!”

Elsie watched the cargo being unloaded from the lower deck of their paddle-wheeler. Huge barrels of sorghum, heavy bales of steel from Pittsburgh, and boxes and barrels of goods making their way from the Eastern seaboard to the interior of the country. “No wonder we went aground,” Elsie gasped. “With all that stuff on board, it’s a wonder we didn’t sink!”

John grinned. “These riverboat captains are so experienced at maneuvering in shallow water, they boast they could stay afloat on nothing but the morning dew.”

The trio laughed, until Mary said, “That was a bit more than morning dew that nearly capsized us!”

They silently watched as much more cargo was unloaded from the huge ships coming in from the north and south lanes of the mighty Mississippi. Cotton, molasses, and tobacco were unloaded from the southern ships; the ones from upriver carried timber, textiles, wheat, and other grain – everything the North had to offer. Most of the goods were simply transferred from one ship to another. The sight was an amazing tableau – slaves sweating and hauling, doing all the dirty work; whites standing by, sometimes barking orders or cracking whips, sometimes directing goods from one ship to another.

It wasn’t all work, however. Ladies and beaus gathered around, apparently waiting to meet friends or relatives among the passengers. Others sat on park benches, relaxing and listening to the band music floating up from the boats.

Once the paddle-wheeler was unloaded, the captain indicated the passengers could leave the ship. Elsie picked up her valise and reticule, hoping Isaac would be allowed to come up to help with her baggage. When she saw him bounding up the stairs, she sighed in relief.

She wanted to run to him and give him a sisterly hug, but she checked herself. Such a show of affection with a supposed slave would be frowned upon. Instead, she gave him the widest smile she could muster and felt it broaden even more in response to his face-splitting grin. “Oh, I’m that glad to see you!” she gushed.

With the skill of a stevedore, Isaac assembled her trunks and started toward the gangplank. He arranged for a worker to watch over the pile while they went to purchase passage to St. Louis, then hurried back to collect the bags to transport them to a huge sidewheeler, which fortunately was only a few berths down from where they had docked.

Since their new ship wasn’t ready to board yet, Isaac deposited Elsie’s baggage just inside her stateroom, and they were told to see the sights of Cairo and grab a bite to eat. Isaac insisted on going off on his own after leaving Elsie with the Montgomerys, who had booked their northern passage on the same ship.

“You be careful,” Elsie warned him.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with an exaggerated bow, causing her to grin.

Elsie’s first impression of the city at the crossroads of humanity was a good one. A picturesque town, teeming with people, surrounded by rivers going every direction. But the huge, brightly painted signs told a different story. Her eyes glanced on a sign hanging over the windows of B.B. Harrell’s Mercantile. “Family whiskey, tar and feathers, rawhides, Bowie knives, and slow poison,” it boasted. Another boasted, “Gin and sin dispensary.”