Sophie's Journey - Chapter 36 - The Far Bank

Sophie's Journey - Chapter 36

The Far Bank

By mid-October, the trail was identified by loss. At Rock Avenue, the ground rose, rough and cracked. Sophie watched the last supply wagons stop. The oxen were thin and weak. One brindled ox with a white star knelt and did not get up. The sub-captain’s whip cracked in the wind.

“He’s done,” Peder Mortenson said, appearing at Sophie’s side, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. “That’s the third today. When the cattle go, Sophie, we are finished.

Sophie said nothing. She leaned into the pull-bar. Her mood became darker with each animal that fell. 

On the morning of the 15th, the camp was silent. It was not the quiet of sleep, but of sadness. Caroline Reeder was dead. She was seventeen, strong and quick to laugh, a girl who seemed built to survive.

 Sophie had seen her small frame bent under a last load of sagebrush. Her heart had stopped. Sophie did not feel grief, only dread. If the strong were dying, what chance did she and her children have?

Caroline’s father had died two weeks before. In Denmark, they were healthy. Now they were gone, lost to hunger and the late trail. They cut the rations to make the food last. The young paid the price.

"Another one gone," Peter Mortenson said, pulling his cart alongside Sophie’s. His eyes were bloodshot and wild; his voice had a low, vibrating growl. "How many more, Sophie? How many more children do we bury before the captains admit they’ve killed us with their faith?" 

Sophie didn't look at him, her eyes locked on the distant silver line of the Sweetwater River. "It isn't faith killing us, Peter. It’s the time of year and the miles. The captains are doing what they can with what is left. What would you have them do? Give us all the flour at once so we starve a week sooner?"

Peder spat into the dust, a dry, harsh sound. "I would have them listen to Savage. I would have them stay in Florence where there was wood and shelter. But no, they had to gather. They pushed us into the teeth of winter to see if the Lord would provide. Well, look around you, Sophie. Does this look like the Lord providing?"

Sophie strengthened her grip on the pull-bar, the wood biting into the calluses of her hands. "The Lord provides the strength to keep walking. That is all I ask today. If you have only complaints, keep them to yourself. My children do not need to hear your doubt."

Peder laughed and pulled ahead. His cart rattled over the stones. Sophie watched him go. His words voiced the fears she wouldn't speak. Marianne shuffled beside the cart, silent and more withdrawn each day.

The next morning, Sophie woke to frost-covered canvas. She sat on her bedding and fought with frozen bootlaces, stiff as wire. Every joint ached, from her ankles to her back.

Next to her, Peter fidgeted beneath the communal blankets. His eyes looked too large for his sunken face, his skin pale as parchment. 

Sophie pulled the small wooden crate from the cart and set it on the frozen ground. Within lay the last hardtack beside their small flour ration. She measured the portions by sight, dividing what remained.

"We eat now," Sophie said. "And then we pull. We do not eat again until we reach the Sweetwater. Do you understand?"

The children nodded. Even Otto, usually restless, sat with his hands folded, staring at the tin held in his hands. They ate their gruel in silence.

Outside, people loaded carts with care, knowing a mistake could be fatal. Sophie watched Brother Jensen lean against his cart. He had collapsed the day before. His eyes were empty as he stared west. No one prayed, sang hymns, or spoke of Zion.

"Mother, my boots are hurting," Anne whispered, her lip quivering while she looked down at the battered leather. "They feel like rocks."

Sophie sat in the dirt and followed the holes in Anne’s shoes. She saw white skin through the gaps, the flesh turning purple from cold. She remembered talk of boys chewing their shoes because of hunger. She took a scrap of burlap from the cart and wrapped it around Anne’s feet, tying it with twine. Better?" Sophie asked, looking up at her daughter.

Anne nodded, though the worry in her eyes did not fade. "Is there more gruel, Mother? Anything else to eat?"

Sophie’s hand squeezed around the burlap scrap, her throat closing. "No, Anne. Not until the river. Now help Emma with the blankets. We will be moving soon."

The carts rolled on under cold gray overcast skies. The line spread out as the trail climbed toward Pacific Springs. Sophie pulled hard on the handcart. Her shoes slipped on frozen mud. The weight dragged her down.

By midday, the sun broke through the clouds, but it brought no warmth. The children walked with hunched shoulders and bowed heads, watching the ground. Hunger taught them to save their strength and words.

Peter and some boys loitered by the willows and sagebrush. They stripped bark with their fingernails and chewed the bitter green layer. Dirt and sap streaked Peter’s face. Never had Sophie seen such hunger in a child.

"Peter, stop that," Sophie called, though the words sounded hollow and hypocritical. "You’ll make yourself sick. The bark is not for eating."

The boy looked at her, his jaw working as he chewed the tough, fibrous material. "It’s something, Mother. It stops the shaking for a little while. Peder Mortenson says the Indians eat it when the buffalo are gone."

Sophie reached out to touch the tree's bark. She wanted to bite it, to taste anything but dust. She forced her hand back to the pull-bar. The wood was smooth and frosty. They were no longer Saints, only hungry people moving through a land that did not know them.

As they neared the Sweetwater River, the trail dropped through sandy washes and rugged rock. The river spread before them like glass in motion. At the ford, starving oxen sank to their knees in silt, ribs jutting beneath their hides.

Sophie stopped the handcart at the river. Her breath was short and ragged. The water was dark and cold. She stared at it, knowing the danger. She remembered her dream in Denmark of a safe valley. Now it was far away, almost foolish. She wondered if hope had tricked her. Would she ever see Zion?

"We have to cross, Mother?" Emma murmured in a small, terrified whisper. She was clasping her small shawl around her shoulders, her eyes dark with a precocious understanding of the danger. "The water looks so cold."

Sophie knelt beside her daughter, her hands shaking as she smoothed the girl’s hair. "It is cold, Emma. But we cannot stay here. Zion is on the other side. We hold on to the cart and do not let go. Do you understand? No matter how cold it feels, you must keep your feet moving."

She looked at Peter, his face pale and his jaw set. He was not a child anymore. The trail had taken that from him. He met her eyes, steady and composed. Sophie nodded in a sign of shared understanding.

"Peter, take the downstream side," Sophie commanded, “grab hold of the cart to steady yourself. Emma, hold on to my skirt and don’t let go. Otto, Anne, stay in the cart. Do not move until I tell you."

She entered the water. The cold shocked her legs and stole their heat. It bit through her shoes and skirts. Her clothes became heavy and wet. The river thundered by. Sophie lost her footing as the silt gave way. The cart began to tip, their few belongings shifting. She saw Peter’s knuckles turn white as he held the cart, his face tight with effort.

"Hold on!" Sophie shouted, the wind tearing the words from her lungs. "Peter, push! Do not let go!" She threw her weight against the pull-bar. Her muscles burned with the effort. Pain stabbed her side, but she kept going. Only the far bank mattered. The cart straightened and she breathed a sigh of relief. 

Halfway across, Marianne lost her footing. The current pulled at her, and she slipped under the water. Her skirts dragged her downstream.

"Marianne!" Sophie shouted, but the wind took her voice. She held the cart steady, her arms shaking. Marianne’s hand broke the surface, then disappeared again.

Levi Savage moved into the river before Marianne could be swept away. He did not pause. The water reached his shoulders. His coat was soaked and heavy.

Marianne came up, coughing. Her lips were blue. Savage reached her, grabbed her dress and apron.

"I’ve got you! Savage’s voice rang out above the river's roar, gravelly and resolute.

The current pulled at them both. Savage braced his foot in the riverbed and lifted Marianne out of the water. He held her close and moved toward the bank.

Marianne shook and coughed up river water. She clung to Savage’s coat.

Savage turned into the current and carried Marianne to the bank. His boots slipped on the gravel, but he did not stop.

He set Marianne on the dry sagebrush and wrapped his scarf around her shoulders. She gasped for air. "Breathe, Marianne. You’re out of it now," Savage said, his heavy hand resting reassuringly on her trembling shoulder. He looked back across the river, his dark eyes fierce against the overcast light, meeting Sophie’s frantic gaze. "Keep moving, sister! Get that cart up the bank—Marianne's safe!"

The current surged on, cold, heavy, and completely uncaring. A quiet numbness settled over Sophie, but with the shore only paces away, she forced her legs to pull. The instant they breached the shallows, the cart handles slipped from her palms, and she lurched toward Marianne.

Sophie fell beside Marianne. Her knees gave out. Her red, numb hands lingered above her friend before she wrapped them around Marianne’s wet shoulders.

"Marianne, oh God, Marianne," Sophie gasped breathlessly. She pulled Marianne against her chest and felt her shaking.

Marianne leaned against the scarf. Her teeth chattered. Water dripped from her hair. Her eyes were wide.

"I—I felt my feet go, Sophie," Marianne whispered, her voice just a thread against the howling canyon wind. A dry, ragged sob ripped from her throat. "The bottom just... vanished. I thought I was gone. I was so tired... for a second, I just wanted to let the water take me."

Sophie took Marianne’s dripping face between her hands, forcing their eyes to lock. "Look at me, Marianne. The river didn't take you. Brother Savage caught you. You're right here." Marianne’s gaze drifted back toward the churning water. "How do we walk tomorrow? How does anyone?"

"We don't look at tomorrow," Sophie whispered. A single tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She began to rub Marianne’s frigid arms, fighting the cold with the sheer heat of her determination. "We only take the next breath, and then the next step. You keep breathing, and I’ll keep pulling. I’m not letting you go."

Levi Savage looked down at the two women. "Get her wrapped in dry blankets right now, Sister Sophie," he said. "The sun is setting, and it’s going to freeze hard tonight."

Sophie nodded firmly and pressed a brief, fierce kiss to Marianne’s icy forehead. The skin was pale and freezing, but beneath it, the pulse remained.

They had dragged themselves through the bitter shock of the Sweetwater, half-frozen and hollow with hunger. Yet as Sophie raised her head toward the horizon, the looming peaks stood waiting, wrapped in a blanket of blinding, white snow. The river was done with them. The mountains were next.

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