Sophie's Journey - Chapter 28
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 now," Atwood called. "Get up, or the tent comes down around you."
Sophie turned away. She knew why he was so gruff. They were falling behind, and every day brought winter closer. But the people here were not fighters; they were simple farmers, merchants, weavers, and children.
She used last night’s coals to start her fire. She boiled flour and water for breakfast. It was no longer porridge or bread. It was paste, barely enough to keep them moving.
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.
Wagons and carriages rolled in from the east, with strong, well-fed horses. The shiny carriages shone brightly in the sun. Apostle Richards and his party had arrived.
The carriages slowed at the edge of camp. Sophie saw Apostle Franklin D. Richards in the first carriage. She remembered him from Liverpool, from the mission hall. He had spoken to them before they left on the Thornton. Now he appeared older, or maybe just cleaner, with a neat coat and trimmed beard. He smiled at the handcart company, but Sophie watched the horses. They looked strong. Their ribs did not show.
The Saints crowded around the visitors, hungry for news. Sophie sat on the ground with Anne in her lap and Otto leaning against her. The river moved behind them.
Elder Richards stood before them and spoke 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 understanding 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. We shall outrun the wind to the valley. I give you my sacred promise: the moment my boots touch the streets of Great Salt Lake City, I will stand before the Prophet and 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 reverberate 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 at first. Sophie looked on the faces around her: thin cheeks, cracked lips, tired eyes. Everyone needed the promise to be true. When Richards said the Lord would hold back the snows, a woman nearby sobbed with relief. Others called out 'Amen.' Sophie wanted to join them, but hope looked dangerous. She was afraid to say it out loud.
Sophie heard something else beneath the relief. Richards had promised rescue, but he also spoke of trials and suffering. She tried to hold on to the promise, but the warning stayed with her.
Then the smell of smoke drifted through camp. Usually it served as a comfort, but today it carried the heavy odor of roasting meat.
“Look at them,” someone blurted out. Peder Mortensen's face was twisted into a scowl as he whittled a scrap of wood. He didn't look at the Apostle; he looked at the place where the company’s fattest calf had been slaughtered an hour before. “Faith, patience, and obedience. That’s the sermon. And the collection plate is our children’s dinner.”
“He is an Apostle, Peder,” Sophie whispered, though the words sounded thinner than she wanted them to, and her own stomach cramped at the odor of the meat. “He carries the word of the Lord.”
'He carries our meat in his belly,' Peder snapped, his knife shaving a long, thin curl of wood. “Captain Willie gave it up because he’s a man of order. But there are four hundred of us, Sophie. Old men with no shoes, and your little Anne who can barely stand. They have four horses to a carriage. They could have hunted a buffalo in an hour. Instead, they take the calf.”
He pointed his knife toward the river, where the Apostles’ carriages were already beginning to roll toward the crossing, their drivers high and dry on their benches.
“They tell us the Lord will keep the way open,” Peder said, his speech sinking to a low, dangerous growl. 'But they’re the ones holding the gate, and they’re charging a heavy toll.”
Sophie did not answer. She watched the carriages move toward the river, the men riding high above the dust. The hunger in her wasn't merely an ache. It was turning into something colder.
Peder sat down next to her after the carriages had disappeared. "He speaks well," Peder said, his speech 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. "Emma believes the Apostle. You can see how happy she is." She signaled toward the campfires. Emma was talking with the other girls, her face bright with hope. "She looks like she did back in Denmark. Before Thomas died at 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 gently. 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."
"I know that Brother Savage warned us," Sophie exclaimed. "In Florence, he told us the snows would catch us in the mountains. But Elder Richards called him a man of little faith. 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 manner biting despite her tiredness. She looked up at him, her eyes fierce-looking 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 of the possibility of early blizzards, of low rations, and the difficult mountain passes. If he were right, every step would bring her nearer to losing her children to the trail. The handcart and the Elders could not save them.
She could not live with getting up each morning at daybreak, and putting on her weathered boots with holes in the sole. Then preparing their meager portions of flour into paste and feeding her children, only to find the horizon was a trap. She chose to believe the Apostle’s promise because there was nothing else. She imagined the sky clearing, the snow holding back, and wagons coming with blankets and flour. It wasn't just faith now. Elder Richards had to be right. If he wasn't, she couldn't go on.
