Mountain Meadows, Utah
September 1857
Day 3 in the Meadow
Eliza stood waving the flag back and forth out in the open for what felt like an hour.
Each time she lifted her shaking arms higher, I felt certain I would hear the crack of a rifle, then watch her topple onto her face like little America Dunlap.
Then Daniel Ulrich hissed, “Two white riders, on the other side of the river. They’re crossing.”
My mouth dropped open, and I whirled around to look at Alexander. “I’m going back to my children.” I limped a step toward one of the spaces between the wagons.
Alexander offered me a tight-lipped shake of the head. Not quite a scowl, not quite a smile. “Stay here, Katrina. Daniel, gather the other heads of household back here. Once we reach an agreement for the surrender, we’ll need everyone ready to act. Nobody speaks, except me. The Mormons can’t know we suspect they ordered the attack.”
He glanced at Eliza and Hampton. “Help me get my jacket back on.”
I averted my eyes while he struggled to stand, brow drenched in sweat and furrowed in pain. My heart pounded like a drum in my ears as I leaned farther into the space between the wagons.
At first, all I saw was the matted grass and our unburied dead within the inner circle of supply wagons. Then my eyes landed on a narrow opening between two of the wagons in the outer circle.
I held in a gasp as two of the men unchained a pair of wagons and the first rider appeared, threading the opening.
I hadn’t expected to see military men.
He was followed by a second man, both sitting atop a skinny horse. What at first glance appeared to be smart military uniforms quickly revealed themselves as shabby. Their dark blue coats were faded and frayed at the edges. The brass buttons, several of which were missing, looked dull and tarnished. As the riders drew even closer, I could see that the fabric of their coats had been patched in places with mismatched thread. Their trousers were a patchwork of mended tears, revealing a life far removed from any garrison I’d seen back in Arkansas.
I glanced at Alexander as he moved past me. Even with sweat beading from his forehead and blood seeping through his shirt, he looked far more regal than any of the so-called militia approaching on horseback. In less than a minute, they would be near enough that I could see the whites of their eyes. Both men were armed, their rifles holstered within easy reach.
When the two riders were a stone’s throw away, they stopped. Alexander stepped into the open, Hampton at his side to support him. The man in the lead, a stout fellow with tawny blond hair, squinted in the sun, sending deep crow’s feet across his cheeks.
He dismounted and approached Alexander on foot.
Movement along the trench drew my eye, and I caught a glimpse of several heads bobbing above the lip of the embankment, watching.
“We’re grateful for your intervention.” Alexander’s voice rose strong and clear, above the hum of the cicada choir. “My name is Captain Alexander Fancher.”
“General John D. Lee,” the man replied, his voice matching Alexander’s tone. “And Major Isaac Haight.” He nodded to the man behind him on horseback. “It seems you’ve landed in the hornet’s nest.”
My stomach clenched as I moved my eyes between the two men facing each other in the trampled, bloody grass.
“It seems we’ve been kicking this nest since we crossed into Utah Territory,” Alexander replied solemnly. “The fact that you’re standing here tells me you have a great deal of sway with … our neighbors.” He gestured toward the river, where the first hailstorm of bullets had ripped through our camp three days earlier.
Lee kept his gaze focused on Alexander. “Our friends the Paiutes have authorized my militia to negotiate your surrender.” He flicked his eyes to the tightly circled inner wagons. “It took some doing. Chief Kanosh would just as soon scalp the lot of you. The Paiute are tired of the wagons and emigrants, ruining their grazing land. The drought this summer has been the worst in years, and grass is mighty scarce. President Buchanan is sending a mob of soldiers to remove Governor Brigham Young, the only white man who’s ever treated them kind. And you’re the unlucky group they’ve decided will pay the price.”
The way he said that last sentence made my stomach clench. Like he agreed with Chief Kanosh. I was glad, for the moment, that Uri was back in the trench with the children. He wouldn’t have been able to hold his tongue.
“We’ve certainly paid. They’ve got our cattle,” Alexander said. He stood a little taller. “But we’re prepared to offer them more.”
I couldn’t help but hear the faintest emphasis on the word them. What Alexander was really asking was what General Lee—and the rest of his men—wanted.
“How much are your scalps worth?” Lee asked, turning his head ever so slightly so that his pale gray eyes met mine.
This time, I refused to look away. My skin crawled like ants trailing up and down my legs. Don’t trust him, I wanted to cry. But these militiamen were the only allies we had. There was no other option.
Alexander hesitated only a moment. “In addition to the cattle we’ve parted with, we’re prepared to offer plenty of fine furniture, clothing, and jewelry. There’s gold hidden beneath every single one of the wagon bolsters. We’ll gladly part with all but the tiniest bit.”
Lee glanced over his shoulder at the other man, then gave a curt nod. Alexander’s offer seemed to please him. Lee cleared his throat. “Your generosity will go a long way to soften the Paiutes’ anger.”
He lifted a hand and beckoned to the second rider. Major Haight had a dark, scraggly beard and tiny wide-set eyes that made me think of a toad. “We’ll need to secure your rifles and ammunition before we can escort you through the canyon. Brother Haight—and the rest of my men—will assist you.”
Alexander stepped back as if he’d been stung by a hornet. “Surely that’s not necessary.”
Lee’s mouth made a hard line, and his brows furrowed as if he were displeased by the idea, too. “The Paiutes won’t accept an armed surrender. Your rifles will be returned to you once my men have led you safely past the Meadow.”
I cast a glance back at Daniel Ulrich. The anger and mistrust in his beet-red face and bulging eyes echoed the wariness in Alexander’s. “What’s to stop the Paiutes from attacking my wagon train again? Forgive my bluntness, but given what’s happened, surely you understand that I have no confidence that this Chief Kanosh won’t attack our unarmed party.” He lifted a hand to indicate the destruction in the Meadow.
Lee nodded like he’d anticipated this objection. “Certainly. Every single man in your party will be accompanied by an armed military escort—whom the Paiutes trust wholeheartedly.” He twisted his mouth up in concentration then added. “I suspect you have a number of injured among you. Many women and young children. We’ll evacuate them each in turn. Accompanied, of course, by armed escorts of the Nauvoo Legion. As soon as possible, if you’re agreeable. A short mile march will put you out of the canyon.”
The Nauvoo Legion. The words made my skin prickle. I’d heard them before. Uri said that the Mormon militia had been formed by Joseph Smith back in Nauvoo, Illinois, with the intent of protecting the Mormons from persecution—and overthrowing the government to establish a theocracy. Now, the Nauvoo Legion answered to Brigham Young.
I’d been disturbed by the idea of a rogue militia. But now my mind clung to the thought, desperate for reassurance. Brigham Young was a man of God. And these militiamen answered to him. We could trust them.
So, despite knowing that General Lee would be lining his pockets with my family’s treasures before the end of the day, my heart dared to hope.
We could be out of the Meadow within the hour.
We could survive on rationed beans the rest of the way to California if we had to. Scrape together whatever money we had left to buy oxen to replace Bright and Belle. Trade with Indians beyond the borders of Utah Territory. Crawl through the desert on our hands and knees if need be.
Anything but stay in this place.
Before I knew it, Alexander was holding out a hand and the blond man with pale gray eyes was grasping it, showing his teeth in a wide smile and directing the other men to arrange the logistics of the surrender.
Without waiting to look back at Alexander or the other heads of household, I limped across the Meadow to the trench, where I knew I’d find my children.
For the first time in three days, I didn’t expect to feel a bullet tear through me.