Corn Creek, Utah
September 1857
When Kanosh returned to the Paiutes after meeting with Brigham Young, three white men accompanied him. He introduced each like his brother, standing beside him and clapping him on the back.
Major John Higbee and Major Isaac Haight, battalion leaders in the Mormon militia, wore pale blue military uniforms. The last man was Apostle George A. Smith. His name was the only one I recognized. Apostle Smith had visited the Young home in Salt Lake often. The other two men were familiar to me, but I hadn’t known their names. I’d seen all three of them go into the room with the hair wreath many times. Those were meetings I couldn’t sit in on.
But here, beneath the hazy sky in the Paiute village, Kanosh invited each man in front of the fire in turn. Then he translated their words for the Paiutes who had gathered to listen.
Major Higbee spoke first. His graying hair curled over his ears in twin tufts that straggled into a messy beard beneath his neck. I felt his eyes on me, and I shrank into the darkness at the edge of the fire when he said, “When the governor of Missouri ordered our extermination, we pled for mercy. They answered us with bloodshed. When we fled to Illinois and built a city from the cholera swamps, they burned our temple to the ground. So we left our homes and came far into the wilderness where we could worship God according to our own conscience.”
He cleared his throat and rushed on. “Your story is our story. The Americans have driven you mercilessly from the lands of your inheritance. When you pled for mercy, the Trail of Tears was their answer. When you fled west, a tide of wagons followed on your heels.”
His voice shook as he finished. “I have been driven from my home for the last time. I’m prepared to feed the gentiles the same bread they fed my people—and yours.”
When Major Higbee finished speaking, he stared into the silent audience like he expected us to respond with whoops of applause. But he spoke so quickly that Kanosh was only part way through translating by the time he sat down on a rock beside the fire.
I caught Awan’s eye then looked away quickly, not wanting Inola to see. If Awan’s mother knew we had become friends, I was sure a different member of the tribe would be assigned to accompany me on my errands. Awan and I would never again be left alone together.
Apostle George A. Smith, a thickset man wearing an ugly brown suit, spoke next. He drew himself up to his full height, lifting his enormous hands in front of him. His voice boomed through the quiet night.
“Your day—the Day of the Lamanites—has arrived. I can see the light in your eyes … those of you who have been baptized.” He gestured to Kanosh and to the gathered crowd. “Already, you are becoming white and delightsome. The scales of darkness have fallen from your eyes as you soften your hearts and unite with us, your brethren, in building and defending the kingdom of God.”
I stole a glance at Kanosh while he translated the apostle’s words with animated gestures. Then I glanced around the crowd. Everyone’s skin, like mine, was the color of rich, ochre clay.
I was familiar with some of the words Apostle Smith used: Lamanites. White and delightsome. In the early mornings at the Young household, Clara had gathered the other wives and children together, including me, to read from the Book of Mormon. One day, she read a passage about the Lamanites, an ancient warlike and wicked people who had been cursed with a “skin of blackness,” so that they would not be “enticing” to the white-skinned Nephites. “Just like Sally,” she’d told the children, taking my hand and lifting it up, so the children could see my brown skin. “But look,” she said, flipping my hand so that the pale skin of my palm faced the group. “Sally has been baptized. She has accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ. One day, Sally and her children will be as white as you.” She let go of my hand and gestured to the children, who stared at me in wonder.
I pretended not to understand, as usual. But when I drew my hand away, I kept it clenched in a tight fist on my lap while Clara told the children that the Youngs were descendants of righteous members of the ten tribes of Israel. That’s why their skin was beautiful and white.
Something rebellious burned inside me whenever we read from the Book of Mormon after that.
Maybe it was all of my Lamanite blood.
Apostle Smith paused to let Kanosh finish translating, then raised his voice even louder. His words were like a slow roll of thunder. “As the Prophet Elisha said, ‘Those who are with us are more than those who are with them.’ We are your neighbors. We are your brothers. Who has clothed and fed you while the gentiles trample your grass and shoot your warriors? Who has baked bread with your women? The gathering of Israel is at hand, brother Laman. We will bring forth the kingdom of the Lord, united as one against our enemies. Be not afraid, for the Lord is with us.”
His eyes flashed in the firelight. A smattering of claps sounded among the Paiutes, this time as Kanosh relayed the final words.
I bit the inside of my cheek when Major Isaac Haight, also a church leader in Cedar City, finally rose to speak. My head was already swimming with sermons.
Thankfully, he was brief. “We will fight back the American troops who intend to replace Brigham Young as leader of Utah Territory. And as long as the Americans make war with us, the wagon trains should expect to pay in cattle.”
Isaac Haight lifted his hands, gesturing to the gathered crowd. “The gentiles’ cattle—and any of the plunder you can take in the raid—is yours. This wagon train is very rich.”
I stared at him in shock. Kanosh rushed to translate this part. The words drew murmurs from the crowd. An old man, one of the tribe’s elders, stood to speak. “Brigham says we should not steal cattle and plunder. The gentiles have guns.”
After Kenosha translated, Haight nodded. “Brother, this is not stealing. This is payment for all that the American government has stolen from your people. You are correct that the gentiles have many guns. But as Apostle Smith just told you, the Lord will deliver them into your hands. Even now, their wagons are arriving in the Meadow canyon.”
Another murmur rippled through the crowd gathered around the fire.
An uneasy twinge in my stomach kept my mouth shut. I had no love for the white gentiles. But I’d just as soon let them slip away to wherever they were going instead of strike them down.
Because the memory of that little girl still chipped at the stone around my heart, the same way the wails from the Paiutes had.
* * *
When Haight finished speaking, Kanosh rallied the men. His eyes lingered on his son, Awan. Not quite eighteen, Awan was still a boy. Not a warrior. But with his broad shoulders and strong, lean build, he looked older.
Inola touched her hand to her chest when Kanosh approached. I shrank back into the shadows, wanting to hear but not be seen.
“Leave him with me,” Inola said. “What if the American troops break through up north while you are away with the other men? Who will defend us?”
Kanosh kept his eyes on Awan, who held his gaze unblinking. Did Awan want to go with his father? The Paiutes had raided cattle before, culling them from the herd at night and disappearing with them. Nothing like this. From the number of men riding out, they planned to stampede the whole herd and take as much plunder from the gentiles as they could manage.
Don’t go, Awan, I wanted to shout. The air buzzed with danger and hot tempers.
Kanosh patted his son on the shoulder, confirming what Inola wanted.
Awan would stay.
Then he brushed past him, scanning the dispersing crowd. I withdrew farther into the shadows. If I could help it, I wanted to stay out of Kanosh’s sightline. Recent events had kept him away from camp—and away from me—but I didn’t want to take any chances of catching his attention.
Go away, I begged silently.
And he did.
As Kanosh and the Paiutes rode away with the white men, headed south, I studied their silhouettes.
Major Higbee and Major Haight were imposing in their military jackets and pants. Apostle George A. Smith created such a bulky frame in his flapping suit that he looked less like a man and more like a mountain.
Even their horses were well-muscled and striking.
The Paiutes rode like shadows, their horses all sinew and bone.