Sophie's Journey - Chapter 27
The Apostle's Promise
Sophie woke with her cheek pressed against the tent canvas. She did not know when she had fallen asleep. Around her, people were getting up and coughing. She heard Captain Atwood’s voice outside, loud and clear.
"Get up," Atwood called. "Up, or the tent comes down around you."
Sophie turned away. She understood why he did it. They were falling behind. Every day they did not make their miles was a day closer to winter. But she felt something harden in her chest. They were not an army. They were farmers and weavers and children, and the land did not care how early they woke.
She used last night’s coals to start her fire and boiled flour and water for breakfast. It was no longer porridge or bread. It was merely paste, enough to keep them going.
They were still eating when the riders came. Sophie heard the hoofbeats before she saw them. It was not like the sound of feet or carts. She looked up and saw dust on the trail behind them. Three light carriages and two wagons came up, pulled by strong horses with shiny coats. The riders sat tall in their seats.
The carriages slowed as they reached the camp. Sophie saw the man in the first carriage. It was Apostle Franklin D. Richards. She remembered him from Liverpool, from the meetings in the mission hall. He had spoken to them before they boarded the Thornton. She knew he was one of the Twelve Apostles of the church. Now he appeared older, or maybe just cleaner, with a brushed coat and a trimmed beard. He smiled at the handcart company, but Sophie watched his horses. They looked strong. Their ribs did not show.
Elder Richards called a meeting. The Saints gathered, hoping for news from the world they had left. They wanted to hear something besides miles and rations. Sophie sat on the ground with her children. Anne was in her lap, and Otto’s head rested on her shoulder. The river moved behind them.
Elder Richards stood in front of them, his voice laden with authority. He talked about their progress, the miracle of the handcarts, and how far they had come with so little.
Emma moved beside Sophie. She watched Richards with wide eyes, the same way she had watched the missionaries in Denmark before the trail made her doubt.
Then Richards raised his hand, and his tone of voice changed. It grew lower and heavier, the voice of someone speaking from certainty, not just thought.
“Beloved brothers and sisters, my heart grows with a joy that words can scarcely frame as I look upon your faces tonight. We have traveled hard and fast from the shores of Europe, pressing across the waters and the rails, pushing our teams to the limit so that we might catch you upon these great plains. And why? To speak to you as you prepare to press forward. You are the vanguard of a new dispensation in Israel. You are the literal fulfillment of prophecy, pulling Zion forward with your own hands!
I know your wagons are few. I know your hands are blistered, your feet are sore, and your shoulders are bruised from pulling handcarts. I know that the adversary raged against you just days ago, sending the wild beasts of the plains to stampede your cattle and strip you of your teams. The devil sees what you are doing, and he trembles! He desires nothing more than to see your knees buckle and your faith fail here in the wilderness.
But I say to you, look not at the cattle you have lost; look to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob! Some have told you that you have started too late. You have heard voices in your very midst murmuring of disaster, warning you of the mountain snows, of sickness, and of death. There will be some trials to endure, but I speak to urge you to trust faith over fear and keep pressing on.”
Turning toward Captain Willie and the other captains, Richards continued, pointing out Captain Savage. “Brother Levi Savage has spoken to you with the wisdom of the flesh. He has laid before you the calculations of the world, quivering at the sign of a cloud and counting the miles with a mind full of doubt. But I tell you tonight, Brother Savage has spoken by the spirit of the world and not by the Spirit of the Living God! It is a want of faith that looks upon the work of the Lord and sees only a grave.
Hear my word, Saints! I am an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ. I speak to you in the name of Israel's God: If you will gird up your loins, if you will banish doubt from your camp and walk forward in absolute obedience to your priesthood leaders, the Almighty will manifest His power in a manner this world has never witnessed.
Do you fear the winter? I promise you, the Lord will control the elements. He who parted the Red Sea and stayed the sun for Joshua will hold back the snows of the Rocky Mountains. The skies will be softened for your passage. Your path will be opened, and the cold shall not have power to destroy you. You shall walk across the canyons in safety, and your feet shall stand upon the holy ground of the Salt Lake Valley before the bitter cold can overtake you.
You are not forgotten. Our prophet, Brigham Young, does not yet know the perils of your travel, but he will soon. My party and I ride in light carriages. Tomorrow at daybreak, we press forward like an arrow from a bow. We shall outrun the wind to the valley. I give you my sacred promise tonight: the moment my boots touch the streets of Great Salt Lake City, I will stand before the Prophet. I will tell him of your devotion, your trials, and your need, and he will send aid.
Before the snows can fall, a line of wagons, fresh mules, warm blankets, and abundant flour will be rolling eastward from the valley to meet you on the trail! Relief will come. Israel will rescue her own.
Cast away your fears, then, O Israel! Let this dark wilderness echo with the holy strains of Zion ere the night closes in! Let the very peaks of the everlasting mountains tremble at your songs of victory before your feet have so much as touched their rugged slopes! Bind up the broken-hearted, lift high the weary hands that droop with the trials of the way, and sanctify your souls this hour for the manifest glory of the Lord God Almighty!
God bless you, Captain Willie. God bless you, faithful Saints. Press on, and we shall welcome you with shouting and tears of joy in the courts of Zion! Amen.”
The camp was quiet. Sophie listened to the words and looked toward the faces around her. She saw thin cheeks, cracked lips, and tired eyes. Everyone was listening. They needed hope. She did too.
But Sophie heard something else in his speech. There was a warning in his promise. He said there would be trials to endure, to prove their faith.
Peder Mortensen sat down next to her. He looked west, where Elder Richards’ carriages were tied up.
"He speaks well," Peder said, his voice husky from the day’s dust. "But he talks like someone who’s never had dirt fill his boots."
Sophie didn’t look up. She kept her hands on Anne’s tiny shoulders, trying to protect her from the increasing wind. "He promises the snow will hold back. He says the cold won’t have power over us."
"Do you believe him, Sister Sophie?"
"I want to," she said. It felt hard to admit. "Emma believes him. Look at her." She signaled toward the campfires. Emma was talking with the other girls, her face bright with hope. "She looks like she did in Copenhagen. Before the sea. Before the cattle ran off."
Peder coughed, rubbing at his throat. "Emma’s just a kid. Of course she still has hope," he murmured. He looked at Sophie, his eyes heavy with hunger and pain. "But look at the sky, Sophie. It doesn't care about Apostles. It just looks like winter."
"Brother Savage warned us," Sophie whispered. "In Florence. He told us the snows would catch us in the mountains. Richards called him a man of little faith tonight. He said Savage spoke by the spirit of the world."
"Levi Savage is a man of wisdom, who knows how many miles an ox can walk before its heart gives out. I trust his experience on the trail." Peder said. "I’m a blacksmith. I know faith doesn’t change timber and iron. And it doesn’t feed a starving mule."
"Don’t," Sophie said, her voice biting despite her tiredness. She looked up at him, her eyes fierce in her thin face. "Don’t say that. If I believe Savage, then I have to believe we’re pulling these carts to a grave. I have Otto. I have Anne. I can’t walk twenty miles tomorrow if I think the horizon is a lie. I have to believe Elder Richards. I have to believe he’ll send rescue wagons with supplies."
Peder was quiet for a long time. The wind shook the tents and brought the smell of sage and rain. The river moved brown and slow beside them. He stood up, his back stiff from the cold. "Tomorrow, whether the words of Elder Richards are true or not, we keep moving," he said as he walked away.
Sophie thought about the words she had heard that day. The sound of the North Platte River filled the camp. "Elder Richards has to be right," she thought, holding Anne’s shawl tightly. She closed her eyes, but she still saw Peder’s thin face and remembered Levi Savage’s warnings.
Savage had warned them about the possibility of early blizzards, of low rations, and the hard mountain passes. If he was right, every step would bring her closer to losing her children to the cold. The handcart could not save them.
She could not live with that. She could not get up at daybreak, make the flour paste, and put her sore feet into worn-out boots if the horizon was only a trap. So she chose to believe the Apostle’s promise. She pictured the skies clearing, the snow holding back, and rescue wagons coming with blankets and flour. It wasn't merely faith now. It was the only thing that kept her going. Elder Richards had to be right. If he was not, she could not go on.
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