Sophie’s Journey - Chapter 21 - A Bargain with the Night

 

 

Sophie’s Journey - Chapter 21

A Bargain with the Night

Before sunrise on Friday, August fifteenth, the Saints took down their camp and got ready to move. Sophie woke up to a gray sky and a cool breeze. All around her, people were busy packing up for the journey. She heard children coughing, a sign that many were still weak. Even so, everyone kept working, determined to keep going.

Only 104 handcarts remained. Each one was packed with flour, bedding, clothes, and the hope that God would make up for what they lacked.

Sophie watched Peter check the wheels on their cart again. He had soaked the hubs in the river for three days so the wood would swell and fit tight. Peter worked carefully, his small shoulders straight under his thin shirt.

"Peter," she said. "Help me load."

They did not have much. Their blankets were worn thin in the middle. The cooking pot was dented. Each child had two changes of clothes, and every piece had been patched and mended so many times that the original fabric was hard to find.

"Where are we going, Mama?" Emma asked. She stood barefoot in the grass. Her only good dress was loose on her. The trip had already worn her down. Her cheeks were thin, and her eyes looked big in her face.

"To Zion," Sophie said. "To the mountains where the Saints gather."

"Will Papa be there?"

Sophie kept her hands moving, folding, securing. "Papa is with God, Emma. You know that."

"But will we see him?"

"Not yet." Sophie tied the knot tighter than she needed to. "Not for a long time."

Marianne Lautrup came out of the mist. She had not spoken to Sophie since the meeting where Levi Savage talked about the dangers of the trail. Every morning, Marianne did what needed to be done. Her movements were stiff, and she stared ahead without looking at anyone.

"Brother Willie says we march at six," Marianne said. Her voice was flat, stripped of inflection. "The captains want the carts in line by the Bowery."

Sophie nodded. She lifted Otto into the cart where he rode when his legs got tired. Anne would walk. Peter would walk. Emma would walk. They would all walk, mile after mile, until they reached the valley or could not go any farther.

The sun came up as they gathered on the flats west of Florence. The Missouri River shone behind them, marking the line between settled land and wilderness. Ahead was only grass and sky, golden fields stretching as far as they could see.

Captain Willie sat on his mule as he addressed the Saints. He looked older than he had in Liverpool, his face lined from wind and worry. When he spoke, his voice was strong and sure.

"Brothers and sisters," he said. "We go forward in the name of the Lord. The trail before us is long, but our faith is longer. Let every man, woman, and child remember that we are chosen. We are the covenant people, and Zion awaits."

He raised his arm to signal the beginning, and the company began to move.

The trail started out easy. The ground was flat, the grass was short, and the morning air was cool. Sophie pulled the crossbar and felt the weight of the cart in her shoulders and back.

Peter walked next to her, sometimes touching the cart to steady it. He did not complain. He had not complained since his father died. It was as if losing his father had made him grow up fast.

"Look," he said, pointing.

Sophie looked back. Florence was already far away, the buildings and muddy streets fading away. People who stayed behind stood, waving handkerchiefs until they could no longer be seen.

She did not wave back. She kept her eyes ahead, looking at the grass and the empty horizon where the land touched the sky.

By noon, the heat pressed down on them. Sophie felt it through her bonnet, her dress, and even her boots. The children grew tired. Otto whimpered, and Peter lifted him into the cart. Anne complained that her legs hurt.

They stopped at a creek to rest and drink. The water was brown and tasted bad, but they drank it anyway because of the heat. Otto and Anne laughed as they played in the tall grass beside the water.

Levi Savage walked past their cart. He did not stop, but he nodded to Sophie. His face was sunburned, and his eyes looked the same as they had in Florence.

She watched him talk to different families, helping and encouraging them just like he said he would. His shoulders were bent, and he kept looking toward the west.

"Who is that man?" Otto asked.

"Brother Savage. He knows the trail."

"He looks sad."

"He is sad, Otto. He tried to tell us not to come."

"Then why did he come?"

Sophie thought about the question. She saw Savage talking with an older woman and helping her adjust the load on her cart. His big hands were gentle as he handled her few belongings.

"Because," she said, "he is a good man. And good men do not abandon others."

They walked until dusk. The sun set in bright orange and red, a sharp change from the gray that morning. They made camp on a rise above a dry creek. The grass was short, and the ground was hard.

Sophie helped put up the big tent. She had done this for weeks. The canvas was dirty and stained, but it was shelter, and that was enough. Around her, people settled in for the evening. Fires were lit, and food was cooked. Some groups sang hymns, while others sat quietly, too tired or scared to sing or pray.

"Will we walk again tomorrow?" Emma asked. She lay on her blanket, her eyes already heavy with sleep.

"Yes," Sophie said. "And the day after. And the day after that."

"For how long?"

"Until we reach Zion."

"How long is that?"

Sophie tucked the blanket around her daughter's shoulders. "I don't know, Emma. Nobody knows."

She stepped outside the tent. The stars emerged over the prairie. She was awed by the magnificent sight, which made her think about how small she was and how big God was.

Marianne Lautrup stood nearby, looking up at the sky. She held her shawl close, even though the evening was warm. "Do you think they will come for us?"

"Who?"

"The rescuers. If we become stranded, do you think they will send wagons from the valley?"

Sophie thought about the question. She remembered Captain Willie's faith and his certainty that God would provide. She remembered Levi Savage's tears and his warning that bones would lie beside the trail.

"I think," she said carefully, "that we must not count on rescue. We must count on ourselves."

Marianne turned to look at her. In the starlight, her face looked thin and tired. She walked away. Sophie stood alone with the stars, the wind, and the distant sound of someone crying.

Sophie watched the moon rise over the empty land. It was a slender crescent, barely casting shadows on the ground.

She thought of her husband Peter, buried in Denmark, a place she would never see again. She remembered her son who died at sea, his small coffin lowered into the water. She listened to her children sleeping in the tent, their breathing steady. She lay down on the hard ground next to Anne and pulled her in close with a gentle hug. She did not pray. Prayer felt like something she had left behind, a language she no longer used. Instead, she made a promise to the night and the prairie, to whatever force watched over women who had too much to lose.

"Let them live," she thought. "I do not need comfort or happiness. I only want my children to live."

The wind was silent. The stars moved overhead. Somewhere in the darkness, a wolf howled, and Sophie drifted off to sleep.

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