Lamana Rose

The horses' rumps twitched now and then in response to horse flies buzzing around them. Little puffs of dust sprang up from eight hooves as the team plodded along the well-worn trail that wound along between Parowan and Cedar City. Ed knew the trail as well as the back of his hand, even though he and Mary had only been the area a little over five years.

   Pesky gnats swarmed here and there along the trail, but Ed paid them no mind other than to pull  his worn old hat down to keep them from getting into his eyes. Right now he lifted his hat to shake the dust off. Folks knew that hat as well as they knew Ed Pace. He was never without it now that his hair had receded, leaving just a dark fringe circling the shine of his scalp.

   Like other farmers scattered around Parowan, he wore overalls and a faded, long-sleeved shirt, except on Sundays when he put on his black suit, shiny from much wear, and joined with the others at the newly built little chapel for Sunday services. He and Mary had arrived from Salt Lake City early enough to help with the building of it. He was in the Bishopric now, a counselor to Bishop Maynes.

   Life here wasn't fancy, but it was good. If a man liked to work  hard, and if he had a wife like Mary, along with four healthy, loveable kids, he could count himself blessed. The whole community knew him, and Ed knew them, even the kids. He liked the tightness. Of course, there were those who came and went upon assignment from the prophet, to move to other sites and start communities there.

   Mary had come along nicely, even though city born in the east. He thought of her now. Lovely. She was a lovely sight to behold. Light brown hair done up in a soft bun which caught the sunlight like spun gold. Some of the women  on neighboring farms had taken to wearing coveralls to do their farm chores, figuring it to be more ladylike and  less cumbersome than long, full skirts, and he guessed that was alright in the privacy of their scattered farms. But, Mary? No, she was every inch an eastern bred lady, not that she paraded it, but like her hair, it just shined forth.

   Ed would be forty his next birthday. He and  Mary married in their mid-twenties, and went along childless for about six years. That had worried them both considerably, but everything happens in the Lord's good time. All together they were blessed with four: Eddie - Edward, Jr. - was the oldest at eleven. Then Melissa at nine. June - Junebug as long as anyone could remember - was seven. Jake was four, and just a little bit spoiled by everybody. It looked like Jake would be the caboose, though he and Mary would have liked a couple more.

   A jarring rut in the trail brought his mind back to the wagon. It was loaded with bulging burlap sacks of potatoes, his surplus after giving ten percent to the Lord for tithing, and selling as many as he could in Parowan. Each year he took a load to Cedar City, as much for the sociability as for the cash, although that came in handy, too. Sometimes he bartered for things hard to come by in Parowan. He did the trip every fall when the harvest was done. Mary stayed behind with the kids because of school for the older ones, and for herself, preserving food from the farm for the coming winter. She was good at it because of the kindness of sisters in the ward who had shown her the ropes.

   The day was warming, a nice warm, not hot. His mackinaw was draped over the buckboard next to him, not because he thought he would need it, but just in case. His rifle was there within arm's grasp, too. Probably wouldn't need that either. Both of them sitting there like an insurance policy: just in case.