Sophie’s Journey - Chapter 18
The Hills of Iowa
Morning light filtered through the Iowa mist. Sophie stood by her handcart. Her hands were stiff from the day's work, and the wet prairie grass soaked her wool skirts. The camp was busy with people calling out, wood scraping, and the scent of wet canvas. Feet thudded on the soft ground. The sun was up when the call came to move.
Sophie turned to her children. "Peter, stay by the cart," she said, her voice rough from the cool morning air. "Emma, hold onto Anne's shawl. We can't have anyone wandering off into that tall grass."
Peter nodded. His face was smudged with soot from the fire that went out too early. He looked smaller today, his shoulders thin under the weight of the journey. But when he turned to the cart, Sophie saw that he was determined. He kept going, even when it was hard.
Peter was only ten, but the journey was making him grow up fast. Sophie wished he could stay a child a little longer.
Sophie watched her children come closer. She felt both fear and love. The mist was still on the ground, and the road ahead looked endless. Some days, keeping them safe felt almost impossible.
But when Peter looked at her or Emma took her hand, Sophie remembered they had come this far. They were still together. Whatever happened next, they would face it as a family. She kept going because she had to.
The handcart creaked as they started moving. The day would be long, but they would face it together, step by step.
"Is it time to go, Mama?" Otto asked. At two, he still found wonder in everything; the prairie was just one more place to explore. When the cart lurched through the mud, he laughed and clapped his small hands against the wooden slats.
"Yes, Otto, we're moving," Sophie said, trying to sound cheerful. She felt the weight of the cart, the flour, the blankets, and the memories they carried.
They reached the top of the first hill. Sophie took a deep breath and counted her steps. The land ahead was green and wide, but she was too tired to enjoy it. She was pulling a cart with everything they owned, and every hill felt harder than the last.
Marianne grabbed the side of the cart, her fingers light but steady. She'd pinned a blue ribbon to her dress, a small spot of color against all the brown and dust. "The air smells sweet today, Sophie. Like the hay fields back home in Gentofte. Remember how the wind sounded in the belfry?"
Sophie kept her eyes on the handcart ahead of them. "The wind here doesn't sound like Denmark, Marianne. It's sharper. Keep watching the trail. We hit a rut wrong, the axle breaks, and all the sweet air in the world won't get us to the next creek."
Marianne was not bothered by Sophie's words. She hummed a Danish hymn as the cart wheels squeaked. She talked about the children and how Emma's braids were still neat. For a while, the trail felt less lonely.
By noon, the heat was strong. The air was heavy, and dust covered everything. Each mile was hard. The cart wood was green and leaking sap, and it felt heavier as the ground dried. Sophie's blisters hurt with every step as the pull-bars rubbed against them.
"Uphill, Peter," Sophie called out, her breath coming in ragged bursts. "Push now. Use your weight."
The cart shook as Peter pushed from behind. They struggled uphill, the wheels catching on the hard clay. Sophie kept her eyes on the ground in front of her boots: dust, dry grass, and the sound of the cart.
At the top of the hill, Brother Levi Savage waited by the trail. His hat was pulled low, and he looked out at the horizon. His jaw was set, and he looked serious.
"Keep them moving, Sister Petersen," Savage said as they passed, his voice a low rumble. "The sun is our only clock, and it's running faster than we are. Don't let the children lag in the shade of the carts."
Sophie stopped for a moment, breathing hard. "We are doing our best, Brother Savage. The hills are steeper than we thought."
Savage stepped closer, his shadow falling over the front of the cart where the girls were walking, and lowered his voice. "I spoke with Elder Willie this morning. There were men in the brush last night—locals from the settlements near here. One of them threatened to bring fifty men to tear our tents down if we didn't clear out of Iowa by the week's end."
Sophie felt a chill run through her, like someone had opened a door in a room she thought was sealed tight. She looked at Emma. The girl had Anne's hand in a grip so tight her knuckles had gone white.
"Why would they do that?" Sophie asked. "We're just passing through. We don't take what isn't ours."
"They don't like the look of five hundred people dragging their lives behind them like beggars," Savage replied, his gaze shifting back to the rear of the company. "They see us as a blight or a threat. Elder Willie has called upon the brethren to arm themselves. We'll be standing guard in shifts tonight. If you hear shouting, you stay in your tent and keep the children under the bedding. Do you understand?" She gave a single, sharp nod and leaned back into the harness.
The afternoon was long and hard. The land dropped into ravines, so families had to help each other with the carts. The Mortensen family helped Sophie pull her cart up a steep slope. Then Sophie and Peter helped push the Mortensen cart to the top.
"This isn't the Zion they promised us," Peder said when they reached the top. He spat in the dirt and looked at the dark clouds. "A man shouldn't have to work like this to find God. The wood is warping, and the wheels are wobbling."
"The wheels will hold if we grease them, Peder," Sophie replied, though she could see the truth in his words. "We have water and grass here. We must be grateful for that."
Peder laughed without humor. "I'll be grateful when we are not pulling a cart stuck in the mud. Look at the sky. That is not just summer rain coming. It looks worse."
He limped away before she could answer. Sophie went back to her children, thinking about what he said. She found Anne sitting in the dust, crying, her face dirty and her legs tired.
"I want to go home, Mama," Anne cried, her voice small against all that empty prairie. "The grass is too tall. It bites my knees."
Sophie knelt in the dirt, her knees aching. She did not try to comfort Anne with words. Instead, she picked her up and set her next to Otto in the cart. The extra weight made her back hurt as she pulled.
The sun was low when the bugle called them to stop. The company stopped, tired. They pulled the carts into formation for each division, the wood groaning. Sophie unhooked her harness. Her chest felt strange without the bar pressing on it.
The shadows grew long, and the first fires were lit. The camp became watchful. Men moved to the edges with rifles and sticks. Elder Willie stood in the middle, straight and stiff, talking to the sub-captains.
"We are a city on a hill," Willie said, his voice carrying through the quiet camp. "And the world will always seek to cast a shadow upon us. We will watch, and we will pray, and we will not be moved from our purpose. Let the guards be doubled. Let the sisters stay with the young."
Sophie watched her children eat their flour and water. Emma told Anne a story about a golden palace in the mountains. Her voice was calm, just as Sophie had taught her. Peter sat alone, cleaning his boots with dry grass.
Marianne sat next to Sophie. Her blue ribbon was dusty. She took it off, brushed it, and put it away. She looked west at the Iowa hills. "Do you think they'll come, Sophie?" she asked. "The men with the torches?"
"They are already here, Marianne," Sophie said, her voice clinical and cold. "The fear is here. The hunger is here. The men in the brush are just another kind of weather. Go and help Emma with the bedding. We have fifteen miles to pull tomorrow, and the sun won't wait for us to be brave."
She stood up, her joints popping like dry twigs, and began the work of the night. While Peter greased the axles with tallow, his fingers moving over the wood with a practiced, mechanical efficiency, she checked the water keg. She did not look at the horizon. She did not pray for the threats to vanish. She only prepared for the next mile, her hands steady as she surveyed the cart that was now her world.
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