The bright fire upon the wide hearthstone in Aunt Clara's sitting room
in Great Salt Lake City seemed all the brighter to the young man who
opened the cheerful green door late in the afternoon on the 24th day of
February, 1858. The slow moving figure of Aunt Clara swung around from
her busy loom in the corner, as she looked to see who her visitor was.
"You, John? I thought you were in Echo Canyon or in San Bernardino, or
on the Southern Mexican route."
"So I was till this morning; I have come to see if you will take a
stranger for a few days, who is sent to you by Governor Young."
"Anyone sent from President Young is welcome, and John, anyone you
bring is welcome also."
John Stevens thanked her and added that he would return shortly with
his guest, and then departed as silently and swiftly as he had come.
"Ellen," called Aunt Clara to the girl whose spinning wheel whirred
from the kitchen, "bring some more wood for the fire-place, and put the
clean white blankets in the front bedroom. Have we enough white flour
to make some biscuits?"
Ellen came into the sitting-room, followed by her friend Dian, who was
busily engaged in knitting at some large, coarse but warm socks. Dian
did not stop as she walked, but knitted away as if life depended upon
the "stunt" being accomplished before the dusk should come upon her.
"Why do you want to make biscuits tonight, Aunt Clara?" asked Ellen.
The answer produced much scurrying of the girl's quick feet, and in
less than half an hour, the table was set in the clean front sitting
room, shining with the few cherished china pieces brought from the
early colonial days into these bleak mountain valleys by this Puritan
daughter from New England's wave-washed shores. Ellen set some eggs
to wait their turn at the great open fire-place, and in the covered
bake skillet were browning the cream biscuits which only Aunt Clara
could compound from the various chemical resultants of lye made
from wood-ashes and the pleasant acid of soured cream. Serviceberry
preserves glowed darkly through the one precious glass dish, and soft
Dutch cheese was molded into oval richness on a china saucer. A pitcher
of foaming milk testified to its recent cold storage; and a plate of
doughnuts flanked the cheese. It was a hasty meal, but none the less
appetizing; and was ready none too soon.
A strong yet quick rap at the front door introduced John Stevens, to be
followed by a dusty, travel-stained man, of small stature, and of an
exceedingly dignified mien, yet looking very feeble and ill.
"Mrs. Tyler, let me introduce Dr. Osborne," said John gravely, and the
gentleman bowed courteously over the extended hand of his hostess. The
lady looked at the traveler with a curious half remembrance in her
black eyes, but the "doctor" responded with only a grave salute, as
he followed his hostess into the low-ceiled bedchamber, just off the
sitting-room.
"John," said Aunt Clara, when she returned, "I have surely seen that
gentleman somewhere, but I can't tell where for the life of me. He is
very tired and looks sick;" and she gazed thoughtfully and inquiringly
at dusty John Stevens, who only stroked his long beard and gazed kindly
at her without reply.
"Hurry, John," called Ellen from the inner kitchen door; "supper is all
ready, and if you are going to eat with this gentleman, you will need
to hurry and wash. Come out here to the porch; I have water and a clean
towel for you."
Dian was still knitting away for dear life, near the small-framed west
window; John halted a moment at her side.
"What's the hurry?" he asked, laconically, as he touched the dark grey
ribbed stocking swinging from the shining needles in her deft fingers.
"Oh, it's for the Utah militia boys. Aunt Clara has kept us girls
knitting and spinning, sewing and weaving, night and day, for the
soldiers. We don't mind, for it's all we can do to help along."
"Any particular soldier?" he queried, indifferently. Dian glanced up
to discover a latent meaning, but John's cool gaze gave her no clue.
However, a girl flings many chance shots, and some are sure to hit. So
she replied with a supercilious accent: "Oh, I promised Charlie Rose to
knit all the socks he needed for the expedition. Will you take these to
him?"
"Certainly," answered John, gravely. He turned and left her, saying:
"Charlie will be real grateful for your kindness."
"How provoking men can be," thought Dian.
Left with Dian, Aunt Clara stood in the center of the floor, her dark
eyes fixed in an absent-minded stare, so common to her when she was
trying to puzzle out some mental problem that eluded her. Where had
she seen her visitor? Dian hurried away to her home across the way,
ignorant both of Aunt Clara's problem or its possible solution.
As soon as the supper was despatched, Aunt Clara followed her two
guests out of the front door, and said softly to John, "Come back after
your interview with the President, John; I have something to tell you."
John nodded assent, and he and the traveler melted away into the
freezing gloom of the winter's darkness.
But John did not return with his visitor till after midnight, and
then, finding the front door on the latch, as was usual in that safe
and honest pioneer town, he guided his guest by the light of the fire
into the front chamber, now somewhat warmed by the open door from the
sitting room, and, lighting the tallow candle left on the light-stand
by the bedside for his guest, he softly made all as comfortable as he
could and then left the traveler to seek a much-needed repose.
Who was the traveler and what was his business with President Young?
This was the thought that flashed and wandered in and out of the
sleepless brain of Aunt Clara, hour after hour, in that still and cold
night. She knew much of her people's inner, unwritten history, for hers
was the silent tongue and quick sympathy which drew all men, as well as
women, to her tender heart and warm hearthstone for help and counsel.
She had been the trusted friend of the great Prophet Joseph Smith, and
to him she had given more than a human devotion; she had accorded him
his place beside the greatest martyrs in Biblical history. She was
likewise the confidential friend of his successor, Brigham Young; to
Aunt Clara the great Pioneer often looked when he had a delicate task
which needed the quickness and subtlety of a woman's help. And now she
could not sleep till she had puzzled out her puzzle, and had answered
the challenge of her unerring memory.
Daylight had brought the answer. Aunt Clara was up early, and, by the
light of her candle, was kneading the loaves for the day's baking.
To her soon came Ellen, intent on finishing her spinning and reeling
before daylight should bring breakfast and interruption.
"Do you suppose that this is another of those splendid United States
soldiers?" asked Ellen, her feet stepping off the regular rhythm of the
whizzing yarn, as it whirled and spun from the steel point into fine
threads under the flying fingers of the industrious girl. Her wheel
paused in its onward circling flight to catch Aunt Clara's answer:
"No, dear; if he were, John would have taken him down to the Salt Lake
House. And how could John bring in a soldier? They are all out east.
John has been down to San Bernardino."
Evidently Aunt Clara herself had been busy with the same question,
which still did not possess so vital an interest for youth as for
experienced age. Youth leaned upon the wisdom of Brigham Young, and
the proved Providence which drew them safely from most difficulties;
maturity grasped the dangers and difficulties with surer fear, and
sought to find answers to every problem.
"Well, one thing is certain, Aunt Clara. President Young has kept the
soldiers out of the Valley, and the winter is half over."
"True, dear; but no one but God knows what is ahead of us just now. One
thing just now, however, is to get this yarn all spun, reeled and woven
into good coats for our soldiers;" and Aunt Clara slid into her seat
before the huge loom, as if to shut off further discussion.
When the traveler came into the room two hours later, he found the
wintry sun well started on his morning pilgrimage and his hostess
placing his modest breakfast on the table in the sitting room; he
noted every point of the innate refinement and peace which filled the
small place with more than human sweetness. The delicately crocheted
white window-curtains, the cushioned rush-bottomed chairs, all of them
garnished neatly with antimacassars, tied with green ribbons; the
windows filled with geraniums and blooming petunias; and the great
hand-loom in the corner of the roomy sitting-room only added to its
homelike air.
He walked up to the fire-place and as he stretched out his hands to the
blaze, he said cordially:
"Well, Aunt Clara, have you found me out yet?"
"Yes, Colonel Haines, I discovered you not more than three hours ago."
"What was your clue?"
"You spoke of our people last night as your friends; there is but one
man in the United States who thus refers to this hunted people."
"I had no idea that I could remain so long incognito to those keen eyes
and ears of yours, Aunt Clara. You see I've not forgotten the quaint
Yankee term by which all of your friends designated you in Nauvoo?"
"Have you had your interview with the President?"
"Yes, and I must say again, what I have said before: if the government
of this country knew Brigham Young as I know him, they would honor
themselves by honoring him with every trust and responsibility they
could bestow."
"Ah, Colonel, how few men ever get human perspective. Only a true man
himself may discover truth and honor in another."
"I find your people very sore, and naturally so; but President Young
has wisely agreed to welcome Governor Cumming into the Territory, and
I think he will permit the army to be quartered somewhere, not too
near your settlements; I can appreciate his dislike to bringing the
turbulent elements of army life into too close a juxtaposition with
your innocent and sylvan communities. Yet the great government of which
we are all proud factors has sent an army here--right or wrong--to
be quartered within the confines of this Territory; and I was sure
that President Young only needed the assurance that Governor Cumming
comes here as an element of peace, and not as a casus belli, to accept
wisely and quietly the unfortunate situation. Captain Van Arden has
been a good friend to your people, my dear lady. We are to hold another
council meeting this morning, and then I shall take myself from under
your hospitable roof and go on my way."
"Surely, Colonel, you will not think of taking up another journey in
this terrible winter season, and you in the delicate state of health
which is evidenced in the lines of pain just now showing upon your
face?"
"Fear not, friend Clara. Your president promised me last night that my
life should be spared to complete this and other good works; and you
know that I look upon Brigham Young as a prophet."
Aunt Clara moved quietly about the room for a few moments; then,
coming up to the table once more, she said reverently, with the deep
tenderness that only a devout woman may express in voice and eyes:
"Friend Thomas, I feel that God has sent you here to put a stop to this
terrible misunderstanding and tragedy."
"Dear old friend, you are just repeating the words of our mutual friend
and President, Brigham Young, last night, as he gave me his goodnight
hand-clasp. And now tell me who is that exceedingly pretty girl who was
in here last night?"
"That is the daughter of my dead sister; she lives with me and assists
me as my own daughter would have done, if she had lived."
"She is certainly good to look upon. May I charge you to look well
after her? The future advent of many strange men into this primitive
society of yours will call for the closest watching and the most loving
care on the part of you older ones."
"Ellen is the light of our eyes; she is a good girl, Colonel Haines;
very loving and sincere; she is easy to lead and asks only for love in
return."
"Ah, Aunt Clara, it is the paradox of human nature that man, who should
be the protector of woman, is too often her assailant; and that the
kindly virtues of a woman which make her the best of wives and mothers,
too often renders her the easiest prey to a wicked man."
"Have you noted anything wrong with my Ellen, sir?" asked Aunt Clara,
in mournful surprise.
"Not so. She is just a little too endowed with natural loveliness for
her complete safety in this unhappy world."
Then, saying a few words of gratitude, the Colonel, or "Doctor
Osborne," arose and put on his heavy army cloak.
"May I ask you one question, Colonel?"
"A dozen, if you will."
"Why do you come here to us under an assumed name?"
"Ah, that is easy to answer; for you yourself have riddled me my
riddle. I had received such generous and courteous treatment in your
old unhappy city of Nauvoo, and had made so many warm friends there,
that I wondered if it could be that you had changed into the creatures
that your enemies in Washington tried to convince me you were; so I
chose to come under a borrowed name, and thus test all round your
quality of hospitality. And my good friend Aunt Clara Tyler has proved
for me all that I sought to discover."
The interview at the President's office that day was so satisfactory
that within twenty-four hours, John Stevens was once more at the head
of an escort which was to convey Colonel Haines, the mediator, the
friend, and the great heart, on his mission of mercy and peace into the
lines of Federal armies quartered at Fort Scott, on Black's Fork.