Mountain Meadows, Utah
September 1857
Day 1 in the Meadow
Minutes dragged into hours as we huddled in the trench.
The sun—and the flies—were relentless. But there was nowhere to run.
The children slept and startled awake over and over again to the sound of the droning buzz and the crack of bullets.
“Mama,” Nancy croaked when she stirred. “I dreamed about the rabbit stew. Can I have some water yet?”
She slid off Louisa’s lap and onto Mary’s, beside me.
I leaned over and kissed the top of her dusty head and took her hand. “Not yet, baby. Hold on a little longer.”
She drew in a shuddering breath like she was trying not to cry, then found the gimmel ring on my finger. “Papa gave you that ring, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” I murmured, swallowing back a lump in my throat.
She spun it round and round my finger as her thumb found its way back into her mouth and her breathing turned steady again. With one more sigh, she let go of my hand and lay back down across Mary’s lap, her head on Louisa’s.
“Mama, can I check on the boys?” Mary asked softly, her hand on Nancy’s side.
I knew she wanted to lay eyes on Hampton, Uri, and James. So did I. It had been too long.
I tried not to wince as I got to my feet. “Let your sister sleep. I’ll do it, Mare.”
Each time I stood, I imagined a whizzing bullet splitting the skin at my forehead the moment I peered over the edge of the trench. I refused to let Mary, or anyone else take that risk if I could help it.
Bright stomped his foot and sent me a mournful look. Belle had lain down next to him to rest in the grass, pulling the heavy wooden yoke cockeyed against his neck. “Lay down, Bright,” I coaxed him, but the fear in his eyes told me he’d stand until he fell.
I lowered myself a little and spotted a flash of blond hair. James. I lay my cheek flat against the dirt, hoping for a flash of red hair or a glimpse of Uri’s brown trousers.
“Mrs. Huff?”
I startled and spun around, only to realize that I wasn’t the Mrs. Huff being addressed. Next to me, Louisa was already scrambling to sit upright. So was Mary.
Red-haired Hampton stood on the back side of the trench—doing his best to keep Uri upright and appear unruffled. This, despite the blood from Uri’s bandages seeping through the wound and onto Hampton’s shirt.
“He collapsed. He won’t say so, but he’s hurt pretty bad.” Hampton looked at Mary, then me. It was impossible to miss the clash of longing and ferocity in his eyes. He wanted to be the one with his arm around Mary in the trench. But he wouldn’t lay his rifle down until he knew she was safe.
Louisa rose to a crouch, then reached for her husband. Uri muttered something under his breath but didn’t brush us off as we helped him down into the trench. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot. The bandages that clung to his ruined shoulder were soaked through, buckling in where the bullet had left a crater.
Hampton reached for Mary’s hand. Then he locked eyes with me. “The bullets aren’t coming this way anymore. The shooters are tucked against that ridge.” He nodded in the direction of the rocky slope near the river. “I’ll keep James with me,” he promised, then turned to leave.
“Hampton, wait,” I asked. “Where is Alexander—your daddy—and your mama?” I could see Hampton’s fourteen-year-old sister a little farther down the trench, trying to calm the baby of the family, Lizzie, who loudly whimpered, “Mama,” every few minutes.
Hampton drew his lips together in a tight line and shook his head. “They’re between the supply wagons in the middle of the field.” He cast his gaze toward the center of the Meadow, where two of our largest wagons sat side by side. The upside-down flag hung limp in the windless Meadow, a few feet away. “They have a little water and fresh bandages.”
I didn’t press for details, knowing Alexander’s injury must be severe if he wasn’t with the other men. Like Uri, the only way that Alexander would lay down his rifle was if he could no longer hold it.
“Thank you, Hampton. I’ll check on them.”
He swallowed, then nodded before he ducked his head and hurried back along the trench, toward James.
I sank down. Silent tears cut trails down Mary’s ruddy cheeks and landed on Nancy’s dress. I wanted to tell her not to cry. Not to let the tears out. Not to waste the water. Instead, I gripped her hand hard and gave her something to do. In my experience, small, concrete tasks were the only thing that helped dampen the paralyzing waves of grief and fear. “Help Sissy Lou with Uri, Mary. I’ll bring back bandages and water.” If there are any to be found, I thought. “Stay with Nancy and the boys. And make sure your stubborn uncle doesn’t try to pick up his rifle again.”
Mary nodded and managed a smile, wiping her tears and turning her attention to Uri, who was already trying to convince Louisa that Hampton should have left him where he was.
I could feel Bright’s and Belle’s eyes on me as I shakily rose to my feet, placed my hands on the dirt, and lifted one knee out of the ditch. Bright had finally laid himself down next to Belle. “Hold on,” I murmured to them, wishing I could pull them into the trench with us.
The two supply wagons stood in the center of the corral, a stone’s throw away from the dead and the distress flag. I tried not to think about little America Dunlap. About the two men whose faces weren’t even recognizable anymore.
For a few yards, I crawled through the trampled grass, making a beeline for the first wagon. I still hadn’t heard another gunshot. And when I paused, I could no longer feel the distant thunder of the cattle and horses disappearing into the distance.
I suspected that the Indians hidden in the brush were waiting to flee until their companions had driven the cattle far enough that we couldn’t easily recapture the herd. They would find eager buyers for the steers in Cedar City and the rest of Utah Territory. My heart sank at the thought. The cattle were our nest egg. Without Peter, I was already on shaky ground financially. I knew Uri and Louisa would help care for us. But a widow with four children was no small burden under the best of circumstances.
Small, finite tasks, I reminded myself so I wouldn’t fall apart. Get to the supply wagon. Get water. Get bandages for Uri. Get back to the children.
Balancing on my heel to avoid putting weight on my crushed toe, I rose to a crouch and peered over my shoulder through the flattened grass. There was no sense crawling, pretending the open Meadow gave me any sort of hiding place. Just a few more feet, and I’d reach the first wagon.
Moving as fast as I could, I hobbled forward in stilting steps, forcing myself not to look in the direction of the frenzied flies feasting on the corpses to my right. The dried blood on my arms itched and burned something fierce, and the metallic smell made me sick.
A gunshot sounded behind me, but I didn’t stop.
Faster, faster.
When I reached the two supply wagons a few seconds later, I gasped for breath and darted my eyes back to the ridge.
The rider I’d seen earlier was gone.