“
This is the right place. Drive on.” That’s what he said, or pretty close. Several of our company were near enough to hear, and several have reported different versions.
I must confess that mine may not be the most reliable of the lot, because I wasn’t really listening to
Brigham. I was listening to my New Hampshire heart. From somewhere in the vicinity of my knees, it cried out, “Brigham, where are the trees? We’re not Arabs, and we’re not Indians. We’re New England folk, and we live with trees. You’re a prophet, Brigham; I believe that. And your prophetic vision must be looking at something I can’t see, for the life of me. Nothing here but desolation, outside and in. Even Nebraska Territory looked more like human habitation than this.”
Dow says I remarked to him something like “I’ve come fifteen hundred miles. I’m tired. I’m sick. And I’d gladly go another thousand miles if it would take us to someplace that looks like a white man could live.” “
Orson Whitney says so, too, but he wasn’t there. Maybe I did. Takes a lot to close my mouth, as many have witnessed.
I didn’t mean to worry
Clara, but it appears she was distracted, too, at the historic moment. Sitting next to Brigham
in Wilford’s carriage, she had the best opportunity to get his words straight. Ever since, though, she’s refused to chime in with her version. Says she was enfolded in a vision of her own. That’s Clara.
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But I
think she was worried about me. She did say she came along just “to take care of Mama.”
I came, of course, because I figured the menfolk had another think coming, if they thought they could go out to the Rocky Mountains all by
themselves and pick a place for the rest of us to live. Told Dow so. Said the women of this Church were going to have a voice, and either I was coming along, or he wasn’t. Besides, those Nebraska river-bottoms were death on my phthisis, and he’d probably return to my grave, if he went without me.
Dear Dow. Humble, faithful, generous husband that he always was, he went to his big brother and said, “Brigham, I guess you’ll have to replace me in the company of 144 elders that you’re going to lead to the West.” “Why ever,” replied he, “would I do a thing like that? I want my brother at my side, and you’ve earned your place.” “Well,” said Dow, “Harriet says she’s coming along, or I’m not.” “Now, Dow,” said Brigham, “you and I both know Harriet. If she says she’s coming, she probably is. For Heaven’s sake, please try to keep it quiet.”
I have that, by the way, mostly from Brigham himself. Dow just came home and said I had permission to join the vanguard party, but to keep it to myself, please. It must have been Brigham who told Clara: Dow wouldn’t, and I didn’t. He never could keep much from her. No idea who told Heber Kimball. Must’ve been either Brigham or Clara. She and I were glad to have his Ellen with us, even though her English is still so poor. Never could pronounce her Norwegian name. No wonder she changed it to “Ellen Sanders.”
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