Helen Kimball Orgill was a grandaughter of Heber C. Kimball. He arrived with Brigham Young in the Salt Lake Valley in 1847. Helen, my grandmother, was always touched by her pioneer heritage and wrote the following story which appeared in the Improvement Era (now Ensign) beginning in March 1954 in seven issues. The story portrays the struggles of the early Mormon pioneers in their effort to gather in Salt Lake City, Utah. The graphics are the original images that appeard in the story.

The story was considered by MGM (Cecil B. Demille) for a movie, but Mr. Demille passed away before details could be discussed

Pioneer Silhouette She stood, as evening shades embraced The last sweet fragments of the day, Among the sun-bleached, rolling hills Amid the sagebrush, gray With Dust a human train has stirred. She stood where man had ne'er yet Sought to build his home, where God Had stayed the hand of life To bring forth its abundant yield from sod Unquenched by sparkling mountain streams. She stood where just before her Death forbade all living things to breathe. Tomorrow's hope lay in her eyes; Tomorrow's dreams unfold to wreathe A silhouette of courage against a cloudless sky.

Swinging and swaying, the stagecoach, emerging from mud holes left from the recent storm, pursued its way through checkered sunshine and shadow of the woods, issuing at last into broad daylight, with the forest left behind. This last part of the trip from Chicago to Iowa City seemed interminable to the girl and boy, Pamela Brownlee and her young brother Allan, who a few weeks previously, had set sail on the clipper Thornton from Liverpool.

The year was 1855, and they were the only ones of the group of converts to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints who had come through immediately after embarking at Boston. The journey had passed pleasantly while in the company of these friends, but as the couple viewed Boston receding, they realized the sacrifice they had made in giving up home, mother, and father as well as friends of a lifetime, for this unpopular belief.

The day had begun with a sharp wind but became calm as the morning wore on. They passed with a sharp wind but became calm as the morning wore on. They passed alternately through bushes and green grass, and trees in bloom or budding into leaf. There were red clusters of the maple blossoms and rich, red flowers of the Indian apples in profusion, and then another foretaste of the prairies. Studding the green swales were the gaily colored wild flowers of the range. Flocks of crows, raven, and turkey buzzards were in evidence. There were serenades from the wolves. One came close to the coach, staring with large gray eyes.

"The gun, George!"

"It's all ready, Smitty," came the answer, which was a little drama put on for the benefit of the tenderfoot passengers, whose eyes were all agog. When the gun was leveled at the animal, it ran away.

"What would the Church members be like, here in America?" Pamela pondered in anticipation of meeting new friends, and her mind went back to the week-end about a year ago when she had visited her friend Kathleen Garson in Preston, England, and had heard the message of the new and despised religion.

Just as the sun was dipping into the West, Iowa City came into view.

"Our stop is at the People's Hotel." In stentorian tones the driver shouted. Everyone's effects were unloaded here.

"No rooms available," the desk clerk announced. Noting the look of dismay on the faces of the young girl and her brother, the clerk asked questions.

"Hey, Rusty," he called to a young urchin who was busily sweeping up odds and ends of litter, "run over to Saunder's Cafe and tell them a couple of Mormons have arrived on the stage."

With slightly flushed face and wide-open eyes. Pamela kept looking toward the entrance through which the boy had disappeared.

"It's all right, Sis, the desk clerk had a good face. He's probably sent for some of our people."

But neither of them was prepared for what met their gaze. A young girl came in from the street. She had blue eyes, auburn hair, a few vivid freckles across a slightly upturned nose. But more important than her looks was the never-to-be-forgotten expression of friendly interest. With slender arms extended, she came toward them -- the dusty, travel-weary brother and sister.

"I'm Polly Saunders. Pa's in charge here, and he wants me to bring you over to our restaurant." And the three went into the street. Soon they met Emma Lou, another daughter of the kindly Phineas Saunders. Later they were driven along the river road and up to a one-storied frame and log house, home of the hospitable Church members whom they had just met.

"Mother, we have company," Phineas called out, and immediately the door was opened, and Jane Saunders appeared.

Small, pert as a bird, she smiled kindly and answered, "come in, come in." And flying back and forth, she took care of the brother and sister and their belongings. Her dark hair and almost black eyes denoted the strain of the Cornwall people. As was usually the way in similar cases, they talked of England, the new arrivals answering questions as to the part of the Old Country they had come from, and a comparing of notes as to the memories of their former homes.

Pamela was reminded of a letter she carried.

Elder Philemon Merrill wrote this to Stephan Weller."

At the mention of the last name, there was a slight rustle on the settee where Emma Lou and Polly were seated.

"David's father," the latter whispered.

Pamela looked questioningly in their direction, but no one spoke.

"The evening is early, Pa. Can't we drive over to the Wellers now?" Mother Saunders asked.

"no reason why we can't. Wake up Jeremiah if you want to go" The seven-year-old heir of the family was dozing, lying full length on the rug in front of the grate fireplace.

Later, when the family had retired for the night, Pamela lay awake thinking of the events of the past few hours, and the kindly Church members she and Allan had met. She thought of the Wellers, stalwart members who had gone through the persecutions from the mobs.

"I'm proud to meet two who have so nobly survived the persecutions of our people," she had spoken with feeling.

"There isn't enough money on earth to pay for what we have suffered, and we wouldn't take it all for the souled happiness we have received. If we did put in a bill, the story would read like a psalm of mortal agony and rejoicing." Stephan Weller had answered in well-modulated tones.

Then he had spoken of Philemon Merrill. "What a man he is! I was proud to be fighting alongside of him in that tragic Crooked River engagement, and what a loss to the Church was our dearly beloved Apostle David W. Patten, who was injured fatally at the time."

Through the open door Pamela had had a glimpse of David Weller, by lantern light, sweaty and grimy from his work with the cattle.

"Come David, come meet these young people," his father had called. And after washing up in the lean-to kitchen, he had come in. Pamela membered him--every detail--his friendly brown eyes, crisp wavy hair. The blue flannel shirt he was wearing had been open at the neck. His buckskin trousers were dirt-stained.

After first viewing the town's conglomeration of log and frame houses, Pamela tried to put away the feeling of disappointment. They held no hint of the mansion like homes the Saints had built in Nauvoo. Yet in direct contrast, the present neighbors were as friendly toward them as those other places had been bitter.

"You can't learn everything at once, my dear," smilingly Mrs. Saunders said to the puzzled girl. "When the Mormons were driven from the neighboring states, they fanned out across Iowa, where a pleasant surprise awaited them. Their new neighbors, like themselves, wanted nothing better than to be left alone, to worship as they pleased. The only explanation I know of is that they, like most of our people, were emigrants themselves and wanted to establish homes and churches.

"I've noticed the many churches," observed Pamela.

Phineas, who was doing some figuring on a small table in the corner, noticed the wistful expression on her face.

Just a little homesickness," he spoke gently. "We all have experienced it at one time or another. But one thing we must remember, Pamela, dear child, the Lord has established his Church in these latter days. The gathering place is in the valleys in the mountains --- not in Iowa nor back in England. And never fear, we will build homes of lasting beauty again. And this time they will not be taken away from us."

She smiled at him through a mist of tears.

"Don't mind me," she said, "I'll be all right."

The back door burst open, and Jerry rushed in calling loudly, "Danny and I have been picking herbs. See what a lot I have."

"Fine," his mother answered. "Now you can help me make assafedita bags."

Blacksmiths, mechanics, and wagon makers were kept busy early and late. The women stitched tents, pieced quilts, and did innumerable other tasks. Strolling along the main street the next afternoon, Allan and his sister noted groups of men conversing on politics -- the Missouri Compromise, extension of slavery into the territories, the dispute over accepting Kansas as a free state. The name of General John Fremont was on every lip. His exploiting of the far west and the hazardous trail he had blazed into the icebound Rockies had fired the imagination of both parties. He had suffered hardships which staggered the imagination of all. Each party wanted him to accept the nomination and run for president.

"Your Buchanan won't have a ghost of a chance, now Fremont has consented to run on the Republican ticket."

"Mebby so, Jim, but 'tis rumored that Fremont has refused to campaign for himself." And so the talk went on. Wistfully Allan observed, "If Pa were here, wouldn't he be in the midst of the discussions!"

And during these tense, stirring times, the Latter-day Saints were quietly, assiduously going about making preparations for the trip across the plains.

The Iowa Banner carried an item which read, "Travelers to the west who wish to take the southern route will outfit in Burlington. Those choosing the northern train will outfit in Iowa City." The Mormons followed the northern route, thus making Iowa City their headquarters.

Church leaders in Iowa had been urged to be prompt in their attendance at their forthcoming Wednesday evening meeting, as matters of importance were to be brought up. Wheelwright Brown stated one of the problems.

"The fact is, brethren, we aren't making wagons and handcarts fast enough for the Saints who are leaving right along for Utah. How then are we going to take care of the hundreds, yes, the thousands, who we are told will be landing here in the months to come?" The seriousness of the condition was apparent to all assembled, and each one offered a little extra time each day to aid this project.

"I have a fine, clean-cut young man who wishes to learn the wheel wright trade, young Allan Brownlee," Elder Weiler announced.

That same evening with the Saunders family gathered in the front room, Father spoke, "We are kept busy in the restaurant. Now if you, Pamela, can give Mother a hand in the mornings, you can get a job elsewhere to aid you in your journey to Utah. Allan can help Jerry with the chores before he goes to Brother Brown's. Then both of you can stay with us.

Pamela smiled at her brother, "We'd like that, not to be separated, wouldn't we, Allan?"

Polly's eyes were beaming, and she seemed on edge to impart some important bit of information. "Just last night, Mr. Dayton, manager of the Mercantile Store, had supper in the cafe. I heard him say he needed a girl to help with the accounts. Come, Pamela, I'll take you to interview him now. He doesn't live far from here."

As the two girls departed, Emma Lou turned to her mother, "Now all that is settled, or at least appears to be, we'll set our minds on the get acquainted party."

A night or two later, the Saunders' home took on a festive air, shining as the faces that lined the walls.

Pamela had dressed carefully in her blue empire-styled crinoline which her mother had so proudly made for the harvest ball. Her shining dark hair, combed over her temples, concealing all but the lobes of her ears, framed the oval face. Jane wore her black redingote with yellow collars and cuffs. With arms outstretched she said, "Come dear, meet all these people. Folks, this is Pamela, and this is Allan, her brother who've come clear from Dedrin, Darby Vale, in the midlands of England. They've left home and all, to be with the Saints in Zion."

Pamela glanced around at the guests seated in the rush-bottomed chairs, the red plush rocking chair, and the settee. The large walnut bed had been taken down and carried out for the occasion. She smiled to feel friendly eyes upon her. Complimentary expressions accompanied the words of welcome. The chattering which had been interrupted went gaily on, and Pamela had an opportunity to have a better look around. It was important, for were not these to be her people from now on? She was glad to see them dressed neatly, from Grandmother Tolliver in stiff calico with cord and tassel around her waist, to Emma Lou in brown moiré with bodice of pink corded silk.

Nancy Ware was striking up a tune on the organ. "Musical chairs," she announced. Josh Carter was tuning up his fiddle, and dances were called in spritely manner. "Hi Nellie, Ho Nellie, Listen Love to Me," "Log Cabin Waltz," and many more.

Pamela's eyes kept straying in the direction of David Weiler. She had always been accustomed to receiving admiring glances from young men. His expression was baffling. She just couldn't read his mind. Perhaps the tables were turned this time. She liked his wavy hair -- the way it fell back from his well-formed forehead -- and the strength shown in his attractive brown hands. He didn't really join in the fun but held himself somewhat aloof. He finally asked her for a dance when the evening festivities were nearly over.

Afterwards the girls talked of the events of the evening.

"David, I like that name," thoughtfully spoke Pamela.

"The name or the boy?" slyly queried Emma Lou.

"Why of all things, the name, of course!" The answer came with so much emphasis that the sisters laughed delightedly at her evident dilemma.

"But one thing, Pamela dear," Polly whispered as though divulging a dark secret, "David never looks at girls."

At the same moment, the young man in question was thinking, "I don't know what was wrong with my hair tonight. The new girl kept looking at it. My hands seemed to be bothering her, too. But what large, dancing blue yes she has.

"But I'm not interested in her or any other girl. My responsibility is my family, with Pa not being well. Besides I never had a dream of hope that didn't end in disappointment, I won't be hurt again. Everyone I really care for was killed or stayed back in Nauvoo." Then resolutely he refused to think as memories of the burnings, whippings, and blizzards began to cross his mind.

To her parents in England, Pamela wrote: "Mornings, I help Mrs. Saunders. We sew, scrub, wash clothes, and do whatever has to be done. They tease me for scouring away the wood grain in the cupboards with newly made lye. Afternoons I ride the pinto, Daisy, into town and keep accounts for Mr. Dayton. Every day is 'market' day here. Eastern men rush into town to close land deals. You'd think they were afraid it would run out, but I'm sure there is enough land to last several generations. Iowa City is the capital of the state, and the Senate meets here. You would like it here, Pa. Allan and I can just hear you expressing your opinion. And you can say whatever you wish, it seems."

With a sense of satisfaction she thought, "No more long waits to get to Church in Preston" And with spirit she joined in the hymns. A favorite one of the Saints at that time was,

"I long to breathe the mountain air, Of Zion's peaceful home."

Walking out of Sunday School the first time, Pamela remarked casually to Polly, "I wonder why David wasn't there."

"He often misses," came the answer. "You see there is quicksand along the river banks where the cattle go to drink. David and Jed Mordin ride every day, Sunday no exception."

"But why does David have to go along, too? Isn't one enough?"

"You'll just have to ask David yourself, Pam."

"I would never do that."

Mail day was an occasion. With the arrival of the stagecoach, a cry would go up, and all rejoiced in each other's mail, especially when it came from across the ocean. One day, upon receiving a letter from her mother, Pamela called good-bye to a group in front of the post office and started down the road on Daisy. She heard the music of tinkling spurs and a voice saying,

"I'll ride you a ways home, Miss Pamela."

It was a quiet voice, but suddenly the pathway was shot with golden sunlight, and the muddy river was a sparkling stream of water, blue as the heavens. They rode on while luminous purple spread out ahead to the distant hills. She found herself prattling breathlessly until she wondered why he did not wheel about and ride off in disgust. But his shining Chestnut Bay kept by her right side. David nodded gravely to her chattering, as though what she said really mattered. They slowed to a walk, and she felt a strong hand hold her right one, as it was lying idly across the pommel of the saddle. She felt dizzy and seemed to hear voices in the distance saying, "He loves you, he loves you!"

She lived in a dream for days to come. After throwing out a pan of dishwater or hanging out the clothes, she would stand looking across the Iowa fields away to the horizon. She saw the hazy smoke of the straw fires, and closer, the long rows of corn coming into tassel, the road with the cumuli of dust sloping up the long roll of hill between dark, cultivated earth. But she was learning many things -- how to make the leach lye for soapmaking, how to make candles by pouring the wax into the molds. Allan and Jerry gathered creosote leaves for making olive green dye, "rabbit brush" for a lighter shade of green. Pamela learned to mix sour bran and wood ashes to set the colors. The madden berry, she learned, made a nice shade of red. There was also wool carding, and spinning to do.

It wasn't all toil though. Once she wandered along the river bank where cattle shouldered through thickets of willow and dogwood, lumbering laboriously in thick mud and sand, pocked with deep tracks. She met David, and they walked side by side, elbowing their way through the jungle of birch, cottonwood, and oak, thick with creepers and wild grapes. The rough softness of soil under her feet was pleasant, and there was a sense of well-being to be near David in this transition from blazing sunlight to cooling shade. They sat on the bank, overgrown with dandelions and snake grass. A muskrat skimmed across the river, and Pamela trailed her hand in the water. She reached for a leaf, and he saw that her hand was trembling. Drawing her to him, he held her in a long embrace, "Oh, David," she said, "we must return now."

Going back they startled a mother prairie hen and her squawking young ones, and both laughed gleefully with the happiness of young love shining in their eyes.

The shaking of hands and visiting after Church seemed part of the service. David had a way of leaving as soon as the "amen" was said.

Pamela spoke impatiently about it one evening.

"Why must you dash out -- can't you tarry a while?"

"I'm just a little fed up on so much religion. Oh, don't mistake me. I believe it to be the only true one." With downcast eyes, neither spoke.

Joining the young people at the Ware residence, David, in answer to the questioning glances said, "Pamela doesn't understand my feelings. The religion is all right, but why we have to suffer so much for it is a mystery to me."

"It is worth it, David," Delbert Allan spoke quietly, but with conviction.

"He is right, David. I know. I've left my family and all for it. I've had a taste of what it means to be a Mormon!" Pamela ventured.

"If you've had a taste, I've had a full meal!"

Before an answer could come, Allan was urging Nancy Ware to the organ.

"Let's sing 'Come Where My Love Lies Dreaming.'" Polly suggested.

This was followed by others, when David mentioned his favorite, "Belle Brandon," with the plaintive refrain,

"I loved the little beauty, Belle Brandon,
And we both loved the old arbor tree."

Fall sped on with its accompanying harvest and preparation for winter. Footprints of Indian summer blotted out the autumn rains. Pamela loved the woods with the maple and sumac turning crimson. The lawn was thick with falling leaves, and robins were on the way south, the jays being last to go. Numberless tasks took up the morning hours, and afternoons she bent over accounts and looked at bolts of flannel until her eyes swam.

"I wonder what Father and Mother are doing." she often lay awake thinking. "I fear they are holding something back. I wonde r if they are really well."

Then homesickness would envelop her until it seemed to eat at her very vitals. Zealously she had prayed for their conversion, and she pondered over the mystery of some receiving the message of the gospel wholeheartedly and others listening with coldness.Such thoughts usually took her back in memory to the great conference of the British Isles in February of this year 1855. It was the first one she and Allan had been privileged to attend. Presiding at this memorable assemblage was the well-loved Apostle, Franklin D. Richards. Occupying the stand beside him were eighteen missionaries from America.

Studying their countenances, one felt that here was as fine as an example of stalwart manhood as could be found. There were a son, a nephew, and a son-in-law of Brigham Young, and a son of Heber C. Kimball. There was young Daniel Spencer, already a strong figure in Utah, and George D. Grant, a fearless and faithful defender of his people. Dan Jones had come over from Wales where he had been the means of converting three thousand souls. Also included among them was Philamon Merrill, who had been shot though the body in the Crooked River engagement, where the beloved Apostle David W. Patten had lost his life.

Pamela remembered being told about the young men in the group. Most of them had been born during the time of their parents' deepest tribulations, endured for the gospel's sake. In the memories of their tender years were the pillaging, the killings, the tar-and-featherings, and the evictions from comfortable homes into the pitiless blizzards. They were among the children who had trudged beside the covered wagons, salvaging wood and buffalo chips for fuel. Later in the valley, they were handed sticks to help dispose of the crickets threatening to destroy the crops which meant life to the pioneers. And then when the days of famine came, they were given forks by their mothers to go out on the hills and dig sego roots to satisfy their pangs of huger. Still late they had become veritable guardian angels of the settlements, keeping the lurking redmen at bay. They had herded cows on Antelope Island and at home and broke the wild horses. When little more than of adolescent age these boys had spent weeks on end in the canyons, wielding the ax and cutting down the mighty trees to build early Utah.

However valuable their labors were, their parents had insisted on education and study of the scriptures. Pamela was reminded of the stirring strains of hymns such as "Hail to the Prophet Ascended to Heaven," when the rafters of the old building fairly rang with the echoes. Hearts were warmed and souls uplifted. So eager were the converts to dispose of frugal belongings and gather to Zion that the leaders became concerned and lifted restraining arms and explained that England was not the only place where hard times prevailed. They were told that the present year had witnessed one of the worst crop failures since the advent of the pioneers into Utah. But nothing could stay the spirit of gathering which had taken possession of these believers.

Bringing her thoughts down to the present, Pamela always came back to David, and she realized her lack of charity toward his seeming failure to live up to her conceived ideas of faithfulness. Only the Lord knows us all, she concluded. We can only judge by uncertain signs. He surely expects us to have faith in each other. With these musings, peace would come, and sleep.

End of Part I, March 1954, continue to Part II

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