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CHAPTER I  - Lost on the Plains in 1848

Elizabeth Ann Shumway looked the long way up to her father with tears in her dark-lashed blue eyes. "Please Papa, can't we stay and build a house here near Mama and Isaac?" Papa stooped down to meet his daughter's eyes, and he gently brushed a tear that had rolled down her cheek. "Mama and Isaac aren't here, Elizabeth Ann, they've already gone on to Heaven. We can't build a house here, look around, Pumpkin, there are no trees, and we haven't enough wood. There's no way to bring water from the river. Besides that, the Brethren have called us to the Great Salt Lake. We want to be obedient, don't we?" "I don't want to leave Mama and Isaac," sobbed Elizabeth Ann. "I don't either," said Papa, hugging her tight, "but we're already a week behind the others. Remember, we all left early so that we could plant this spring. We wanted to have a good harvest. Now be a good girl and climb up in the wagon, and get the scriptures. We'll read a bit over them, and say a prayer." Peter Shumway finished the last of the carving on the rock he had found to set at the head of the tiny grave. It read, IPS 1848 for Isaac Peter Shumway. Three days after they had celebrated her eighth birthday, Mama gave birth to Isaac. That same day, Mama died. Papa had told the others to go on, and he buried Mama using some of the wood planks he had hauled under the wagon for their new home. There had been no water in which to baptize the little girl in on her birthday, and then her father, wrapped in grief, simply forgot. Two days later, they had to turn back and bury Caroline Rutherford Shumway's infant son beside her. Another tiny box was built, and rested in the ground beside the larger one. Two large rocks marked the head. Elizabeth Ann stood shivering beside the grave as her Father read, "Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me." Then he prayed, but Elizabeth Ann didn't pray, or bow her head, or close her eyes. She was a little bit mad at God for taking her mother and brother away. The rock wavered as tears filled her eyes. "Look, Papa, the rock is dancing," Elizabeth Ann pointed to the rock. Papa picked up Elizabeth Ann and hugged her tight. "We'll have to make good time tomorrow," he said. He carried his little girl to the wagon, and swung her into the back. Giving the horses a drink, he then climbed up in the seat, took the reins, and abruptly shouted, "Gee up." "Mama, Isaac," she whispered, "I'll come back." She watched as long as she could out of the wagon until the graves were a speck in the distance. The Shumways had joined a wagon train to the Salt Lake Valley. Some of the members of their train were making for California where rumors of gold lying around for the picking salted the conversations around the campfires at night. A Mormon missionary had converted the family recently, and they were going across this wide country to join others who had fled the persecutions, to worship as they pleased. Now they were a week behind the others, and Peter Shumway wanted to catch up. Traveling alone through Indian country was a risky business. He drove his team far into the night. Elizabeth Ann had slept a while, but when the wagon stopped, she awoke in the early dawn, and remembered, "We didn't put any flowers on the graves!. Papa, we have to go back, we forgot the flowers. I won't be long," she called. Peter Shumway was very tired, and he didn't waken, or hear the cry. He was exhausted from the long drive, the digging, and the building. So there was no one to hear Elizabeth Ann when she took some biscuits and a canteen, rolled them up in her doll blanket, and ran back along the trail to the graves. They hadn't laid any flowers on the grave. She just had to say goodbye one more time, and find some flowers to place on the graves. Along the trail Elizabeth Ann recited her multiplication tables. Mama, a school teacher, thought education was very important for girls. She taught Elizabeth Ann every day. Math was her favorite subject. As she trudged along she recited, "twelve times twelve is a gross, a gross is one hundred forty-four" Then she would begin again, "Aught times one is aught." Elizabeth Ann ran until she was out of breath, then sat down to rest. Around her, the desert had come alive. Birds were flying overhead, and insects flew and crawled about searching for food. Night creatures weren't out yet, and she was glad. She didn't like their noises, especially not the coyotes, and wolves. Picking herself up she trudged on toward the grave site, and walked until she couldn't walk any more. She ate the biscuits she had wrapped in her doll blanket, and then ate some dried fruit. There wasn't much water in her canteen, but what there was she only sipped. After running and walking until she was tired, she slept under some sagebrush to keep the hot sun away, then awoke and ran some more. It was coming on dark when she finally reached the scrub oak where the graves lay. Away in the distance she could hear the howling of coyotes, but she saw some blue flowers in the dusk and ran to pick the spindly patch of flowery weeds that were colored blue, Mama's favorite color. She gathered them, and didn't notice until it rattled that a snake had taken a rest under the weed. Screaming, she ran from the snake only to stumble, fall, and hit her head on a rock. The earthly Elizabeth Ann fell into a deep sleep from which she never awoke, however: Elizabeth Ann sat up in her little bed inside the wagon. Her body felt so light. She rose up above the bed, and looked down. It surprised her to see her body still lying there on the bed. Her father was bending over her weeping. "Don't cry, Papa," she said, "I'm right here." Papa didn't hear her, or look up. Elizabeth Ann tugged his arm, but he only kissed the forehead of his child lying on the bed, and then pulled himself up, took the shovel from under the wagon, and began digging a hole on the other side of his wife's grave. "Heavenly Father," he pleaded, "Help me bear this anguish." "Papa," said Elizabeth Ann, "why are you digging another grave?" She looked on helplessly as he combed out her braids, and left the brown shining wavy hair long. He pulled her finest dress from the trunk and dressed her body in it. Gently he laid her in the box he had built just a little larger than her size. Then he sealed the box, and placed it in the grave. "Don't pour dirt over me Papa," she cried. "I'm here, don't put my body in the ground." She thought she would feel smothered when he poured the dirt over the box, and laid another stone on her grave. The only thing she felt now was lost. She looked around some for her mother, and her infant brother, but they were gone. Across the trail there was a bright light, and some strong feeling beckoned Elizabeth Ann to follow the light, but Papa was still standing over the graves, and weeping. She couldn't leave him. "I won't come, I won't," she shouted. "I want my Mama, and Isaac, and Papa." She was sure Papa would stay, and she didn't dare to leave her body. What if she needed it again? Silently she watched her father grieve through the night, and fall into a weary slumber. The next morning he found some more of the wild weeds that flowered a pretty blue. He laid all he could find on the graves, fed the horses pulling the wagon, and drove off after the train. Elizabeth Ann ran after the wagon. "Papa, don't leave us," she sobbed. Wildly she looked about for her mother, but no one was there. "Don't leave me out here alone," she cried, but all Peter Shumway could hear was a wailing in the early morning wind. Again a light appeared in front of Elizabeth Ann, and a voice seemed to call to her, but she asked, "Where is my Mama? I'm afraid. I don't want to go." She sat down on her grave, and wondered what she should do. "Mama will come and get me here. Then we'll go to heaven together. Where is heaven exactly?" she asked herself. Elizabeth Ann had chosen to stay. It was lonely out in the wide, open spaces, but Elizabeth Ann was quite a talker. Besides calling her Pumpkin, Papa often called her Squirrel, because she chattered so much. "Talking around here sure doesn't do any good," she complained, "No one answers." The only company she had was the animals that chanced across the area that now had three graves instead of two. She talked to the prairie dogs. She talked to the rabbits. The only time she fled, and refused to speak was when the coyotes and wolves came sniffing at the graves. Not one of the animals seemed to notice her except an occasional bird would hop aside rather than fly through her. At night wolves, and coyotes would howl. She would cover her ears and yell, "Shut up, SHUT UP." Owls kept asking, who? Whooo? "My name is Elizabeth Ann," she always answered, but their conversation was always limited to that one word. "You need to go to school," she concluded. Sporadically, during the day, a herd of buffalo would thunder by, but always in the distance. She never did see an Indian. Rabbits were the most fun to watch with their tiny young hopping after them as they scouted for food. Elizabeth Ann was always polite, "Good morning Mrs. Rabbit, how is your fine family today?" Sometimes the silly things would hop right through her. After several lonely days and nights Elizabeth Ann had enough. It was right after a lizard scurried right through her arm lying on the rock marked, CRS 1848. "I don't like it here," she said aloud. "I'm going to find Papa, even if he did leave me here, I know he will help me find heaven."