Journey to Genoa
by
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The trail quickly steepened and soon took its toll on Elizabeth, nearly nine months pregnant. The feet were measured in minutes, the yards in quarter hours. Merrien glanced up to the summit. Two thirds of the way. Just a little more. She looked sideways at Elizabeth as they struggled up the rocky path. Sweat poured down Elizabeth’s beet red face in tiny rivers and she gasped for breath with each step. She slowly staggered to a stop and started teetering. Merrien scrambling to her side and grabbed her by her shoulders, then sat Elizabeth down on a log. Her eyes looked dazed and disorientated. “I…I can’t…m…make it,” Elizabeth mumbled. Merrien sat down next to Elizabeth. Jane slumped on the rock next to her with Teapot Mary sound asleep in her backpack. Merrien’s arms and legs throbbed. She felt the sweat run down her back where Sarah squirmed against her, whimpering. She looked up at the sun and felt its rays pierce her face like needles. Merrien took a couple of deep breaths and pointed up the trail to Jane. “It’s getting steeper and narrower.” Merrien looked at her dress. Brambles and foxtail haphazardly stuck out from all over her bloomers. Several three and four inch slits in the fabric fluttered in the breeze. “Even the trees cannot stand straight.” Merrien motioned to a tree, although larger than most, it leaned heavily down towards the bottom of the mountain. She slowly shook her head, stood up and turned to Elizabeth. “Listen to me, Elizabeth” Merrien moved in front of her. “I’m going to make a rope for you. Do you understand? I will pull you up while Jane pushes.” She glanced over to Jane, who nodded in understanding. Merrien turned back to Elizabeth “Don’t speak, just breathe.” She reached for the leg of her bloomers and tore off several strips. “Owww!” A thorn, hidden on the underside of her garment, protruded from her hand. She pulled it out and put her hand in her mouth for a moment to stem the blood. She ripped several more strips, then tied the ends together. She looked at her shredded bloomers. What is the point? I’ll just trip over the dangling pieces of material. She reached down and tore off the rest of the fabric all the way to her knees. “See, I’m going to tie this around my waist and under your arms. Just hang on as tight as you can.” Merrien tied the tether between her and Elizabeth. She looked to her right but couldn’t see the wagons or men through the cloud of dust, but she did notice a steady stream of small rocks and boulders running down the mountain below the cloud of dust. Don’t think about them, just get Elizabeth to the top. From somewhere near the peak came the shrill cry of an eagle calling its mate. “Come on, Elizabeth, let’s get to the top so we can rest. It’s not much further now.” Merrien started up the mountain with Sarah on her back. With each step, Merrien pulled. Jane pushed. Elizabeth moaned. Heads down. Step, then another. Tree branches whipped at them and the rocks cut their hands. “Merrien!” The muffled moan carried fear. Merrien whipped around. Jane had fallen face down with Teapot Mary screaming from her back. Elizabeth was on her hands and knees, trying to reach back as Jane slowly slid down the mountain. “Jane!!!” Merrien screamed, then plopped down. With shaking hands she untied her shawl. Sarah slid to the ground. “Stay here, Sarah.” Sarah stared at her wide eyed and nodded. Merrien, pointed her feet downhill and started scooting and sliding down the mountain on her bottom. The jagged rocks tore into her hands and legs. She cried out when a gnarled, exposed root left a long gash in her left calf. Faster. Must go faster. “Jane!!” Her lungs felt on fire. Jane seemed to be sliding faster and Teapot Mary’s cries grew louder. Jane looked up at Merrien as she slid on her stomach, her chin bouncing off the ground. Five feet! Jane’s hands stretched toward her. Twenty feet below Jane, Merrien saw a drop off. OH GOD! NO! Merrien straightened her legs and dug her heals into the ground. Her momentum catapulted her to her feet and she leaped head first at Jane. She felt her head bounce off a rock, then time seemed to stand still. She noticed Teapot Mary’s little hand sticking out from the shawl, fingers reaching to grasp something. Merrien focused on Jane’s hands. Will I push us both over the edge? GOT HER!! “Jane, hold my hand tight,” Merrien yelled. She would not have let go if fire swept the mountainside or if red ants had swarmed over her from head to toe. She dug in her heals and spread out her other hand to slow their descent. They bounced, then seemed to find softer soil and Merrien dug in. They slowed, but not fast enough. God help us, please! She looked at Jane. Five feet below her, a three foot sapling clung to the earth and not far after that the ground disappeared from sight. Merrien grabbed the sapling with her left arm as she skidded by. “AHHHHH!” The tremendous jerk on her arm, as their combined weights and momentum pulled them to a stop, jolted through Merrien’s body. She slowly twisted her head to the right. Jane lay shivering with her feet dangling over the drop-off with eyes as wide as a full moon, still gripping Merrien’s hand. Blood dripped from an ugly gash on Jane’s chin. Mary cried loudly. Every part of Merrien’s body felt on fire. Her left arm wouldn’t move. Her right hand still grasped Jane’s. She tried to get up… “Merrien…Merrien can you hear me?” a voice sounded far away. She thought she heard gurgling water. A drink would be nice…darkness engulfed her.
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About the Book
Journey To Genoa is based on the remarkable lives of Benjamin T. and Jane Jones who along with their children, migrate to America on the Buena Vista, the first Latter Day Saints or Mormon ship to sail from Wales to America with converts in 1849. Two days before the ship docks in New Orleans, the Jones family, having exposed the Mormon practices of communicating with the spirits and polygamy, is excommunicated by the Latter Day Saints. Follow their journey as they make their way alone in a strange land starting in New Orleans, then working their way West to St. Louis, where the tragedy of the cholera claims the lives of three family members, then across the plains where they encounter hostile Indians, violent weather and the near death of their infant daughter. In Salt Lake City, they again confront the Mormon hierarchy. Prophet and Territorial Governor, Brigham Young throws the five Jones men in the stockade. Persuaded by the women in the family, the US Cavalry not only rescues the men, but escorts the family out of the Valley towards the Gold Fields of California. Much has been written about the ‘soiled doves’ of the Gold Rush, but little has been written about the respectable women who joined their husbands with their families in the Gold Fields. The Jones women take advantage of the laws of their new country that enabled them to own businesses in their own name, not just their husbands, one of which is a partnership with Levi Strauss in the beginning of his ‘Levi pants’ empire. Eighteen months later their success rivals that of their husbands in the Gold Fields. With their new found wealth, they cross back across the Sierra and establish a home in the rich Carson Valley, Utah Territory. There they are part of the founding of the Nevada Territory and the State of Nevada.
About the Author
At the age of 10, Nevada’s normal perch was on the corral fence as she gazed out at the barn yard around her. She looked at an old headstone laying on its side that belonged to some grandfather and pondered about this forgotten man. Solving that mystery led to Nevada’s fascination with where her ancestors came from and how it came to be that one of their headstones had been in the barn yard for as long as anyone could remember. Her quest led her to follow her ancestors from Wales by way of the rat-invested hold of a Mormon ship and then across America by covered wagon through Indian territory until they reached the Gold Fields. She continues to pursue the different paths of her ancestors as they made their way West. With each journey there is another story to tell.