Chapter 1

EDINBURGH, SCOTLAND

I

Monday, 7 January 1856

“Let’s go, Hannah. It’s getting lighter now.”

Hannah McKensie glanced at her brother, then looked up at the gray, leaden sky. Robbie—it was actually Robert, but not even his mother ever called him that—was twelve. Hannah was sixteen. They didn’t look much like brother and sister. Robbie had dark brown hair and round brown eyes. He was stocky and had been shooting up rapidly in the last few months. In a year or two he would definitely pass Hannah up. Hannah was slender of build and was only about five feet three inches tall. She had a fair complexion, and her hair was light brown, almost blond, with just a touch of auburn in it—a gift from her father. Her eyes were green and wide set.

Though they were sister and brother, in some ways the relationship was more like mother and son. In the four years between Hannah’s and Robbie’s births, Mary McKensie had suffered one miscarriage and given birth to a little girl who had lived only two hours, so there were no other siblings between them. Then two years ago Robert McKensie had taken ill and died. To that point, though they lived a very meager life, the McKensies had determined that the most valuable thing Mary could do for the family was stay home and care for their children. When her husband died, Mary McKensie no longer had a choice. She obtained work in the garment district of Edinburgh as a seamstress. After two years there, she now worked day shift—ten hours Monday through Friday and an eight-hour shift on Saturdays.

Their older sister, Margaret, or Maggie, had obtained work at that same time at the paper mill along the waterfront, but she worked the graveyard shift, ten-thirty P.M. to seven-thirty A.M., six days a week. Her mother was always gone by the time Maggie got home, but if Maggie hurried, she arrived just in time to see Robbie and Hannah off to school. She would then sleep during the day, and finally for a few brief hours in the evening the family would have time together.

Hannah sighed. Recently they had talked about her stopping school and going to work too, but then Robbie would be alone, and Hannah’s mother would not hear of that. Sometimes Hannah wanted to just be a young woman, not a mother. Like now. She sighed again and surveyed the clouds above them. “It’s still raining, Robbie.” It was a typical winter’s day in Edinburgh, Scotland. The January wind blew stiffly. The clouds were low and scudding swiftly eastward. The rain, quite heavy earlier, had now lightened to an intermittent drizzle. “Let’s wait a few more minutes. Then maybe Maggie will get here.”

“Come on, Hannah,” he implored. “I don’t want to wait any longer.”

“Maggie promised she would be here.”

“She said she would try to come. It’s already been ten minutes.”

She finally nodded, pulling her scarf up and over her hair. She could see the anxiety in her brother’s face and understood it only too well. Every minute she and Robbie waited here at the school increased the potential for problems. She started buttoning her coat, working up her courage. Maybe with the rain, the boys wouldn’t show today. Maybe they would just go home.

Robbie took three steps away from the school building. “Come on, Hannah. It’s barely enough to wet your face.”

With a sigh worthy of a thirty-year-old, Hannah pulled her coat around her more tightly and started after him. “All right,” she muttered. “All right.”

They moved off briskly, walking almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Robbie kept glancing back nervously. Hannah concentrated on the street in front of them, especially watching doorways that were deep enough to provide a hiding place. When they passed an alley, they moved as one out into the street to give it a wider berth. They didn’t speak now. In spite of her attempts to remain calm, Hannah felt her stomach knotting. She saw that Robbie kept licking his lips as well.

By the time they reached King Edward Street and turned south, the rain had become no more than a heavy mist. Four more blocks and they would be home. They had lived there for several years. Most people knew them. There would be safety there. Hannah’s hopes rose.

Then suddenly there was a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. Her head jerked around. “Watch out, Robbie!”

Robbie jumped, but not quickly enough. The apple caught him squarely on the back of his coat, splattering upward and outward.

He gave a cry as his body spun around. Hannah instantly smelled the putrid odor of spoiled fruit and realized that some of the apple had hit her face. She whirled. Across the street there was a small vacant lot protected by a dilapidated wooden slat fence. Through the cracks she could see movement. An arm flashed and a tin can arched skyward. Even before it started downward again, a hail of missiles followed—a whiskey bottle, more tin cans, clods of dirt, sticks, rocks—some of them large enough to be dangerous.

Hannah grabbed Robbie’s arm. “Run, Robbie, run!”

A small rock hit her on the cheek, stinging sharply. A half loaf of moldy bread bounced off her arm and slammed into Robbie’s shoulder. As they raced away, he began to sob hysterically.

“Get the Mormons!” came the cry from behind them. “Get ’em! Get ’em!”

Hannah glanced back and saw a pack of boys burst out from behind the fence.

“They’re getting away!” they shouted, breaking into a hard run. “After them!”

Hannah didn’t have to take a second look. It was the same group. There were eight or ten of them. The oldest two were Hannah’s age. They were the ringleaders. The rest ranged from twelve to fifteen. A week ago one of the boys, one of the leaders, had somehow learned that the McKensies were Mormons. They cornered Robbie as he tried to leave class, calling him “Mad Mormon,” “devil’s child,” and “crazy boy.” When Hannah and Robbie had told their mother she complained to the headmaster. He reprimanded the boys, but only for creating a disturbance in the building. He made little attempt to hide the fact that he held the Mormons in open contempt as well. The boys were too cunning to miss that signal. With others joining in the “fun” every day, they had taken to waiting just off the school yard for Hannah and Robbie. Things quickly escalated from jeers and threats to open bullying, grabbing, and shoving. Last time they had torn Hannah’s coat and knocked one of Robbie’s books into a puddle before letting them go.

Maggie? Where are you? As they raced along the street, Hannah searched ahead. Gripping Robbie’s hand tightly, she angled across the street toward the corner of the next intersection, hoping against hope. Behind her Hannah could hear the boys screaming and yelling, sounding like a pack of dogs in pursuit of a rabbit. Or two rabbits, she thought grimly.

“Hang on, Robbie!” She pulled him forward, running all the harder.

As they approached the corner, Hannah glanced back. The two oldest boys were pulling ahead of the rest, and she saw that one of them was Stuart Robison. She felt a chill shoot through her. He was the one who frightened her the most. Foul of temper, a natural bully, and hero of the pack, he had once tried to kiss Hannah on a dare and she had slapped his face. She knew that in addition to her being Mormon and therefore an object that would attract his malice, in his mind there was another score to settle. She could hear him swearing at his comrades, urging them on to greater effort. And then Hannah saw something that really frightened her. Stuart and his friend were both carrying short clubs.

“Run, Robbie! Run!”

•••

Maggie McKensie moved swiftly up the street, only half listening to the squeak of her leather soles on the wet cobblestones. She was berating herself bitterly. She never slept past three in the afternoon. Never! Until today. After all her promises to Robbie and Hannah. She saw again the fear in Robbie’s dark eyes. “Please, Maggie, walk us home from school.”

This morning Maggie had been exhausted after her shift and had collapsed on the bed when she finally arrived home. But then there had been some children playing in the streets and so she had not been able to sleep well. When they finally tired and went elsewhere, she had slept right through until almost three-thirty. She half closed her eyes. Wait for me, Hannah. Just wait!

She broke into a trot, the guilt giving urgency to her feet.

•••

Clutching Robbie’s hand even more tightly, Hannah shot around the corner, hair bouncing as she ran. Robbie’s feet slipped and he nearly went down, dragging her with him. She yanked up hard. “Don’t stop!”

And then down the block she saw the figure of her older sister coming toward them at a run. Hannah gave a cry of relief. “Maggie! Maggie!”

As they raced toward each other, the sound of the pursuit burst upon them. Hannah turned her head. There were five boys in the lead now, with Stuart Robinson at the head. They had closed the distance to thirty or forty yards. The rest of the group was coming hard behind them.

“Help, Maggie! Help!” It was Robbie and it came out in a great sob.

They met in the middle of the block and came to a stop facing each other. “Oh, Maggie!” Hannah blurted. Robbie gave a strangled cry and threw his arms around his older sister.

Up the street the boys pulled up short. Though Maggie was only an inch or two taller than Hannah, they saw immediately that here was an adult. They didn’t know that Maggie was only three years older than Hannah, but from where they were, nineteen years old looked like an adult. And that was an unexpected development.

Maggie’s face went hard. “Is that them, Hannah? Are those the boys who have been bothering you and Robbie?”

“Yes.”

She turned angrily. The group of boys had moved into a tight circle, heads together, talking excitedly, eyes lifting and staring in their direction.

“Get out of here!” Maggie yelled at them.

She heard a younger voice suddenly cry out. “Hey, that’s their sister.”

“Stay here,” Maggie said grimly, stepping forward.

That sent a little ripple through the group, and the boys pulled in more tightly together. But the leader’s face went hard. “You looking for trouble, big sister?” Stuart shouted as she closed the distance between them.

Maggie couldn’t believe it. This boy, barely starting to shave, swaggered as if he were twice that age. His face was an open sneer. Then Maggie saw his weapon. She felt a little start of fear, but that disappeared as a great anger washed over her. “No,” she cried, stalking forward, “I’m here to give you trouble.”

That surprised them, and the younger ones shrank a little. Even the two older boys standing beside the leader looked suddenly nervous. Maggie counted swiftly. There were eleven of them, but only these three were of any size or consequence. It struck her suddenly that these were not street urchins, the flotsam of the streets that wandered some parts of Edinburgh and which, in groups, could frighten even the hardiest of adults. They were just schoolboys. But right now, street urchins or not, they were running as a pack and they had been stopped short of their prey. She slowed her step, trying to keep the sudden twinge of anxiety out of her eyes.

“Aren’t you the brave warriors?” she hissed as she came to within ten feet of the three leaders and stopped. “Eleven of you to two of them? Why don’t you go find some more help? Then maybe you’ll feel safer taking on a twelve-year-old.”

The leader growled and stepped forward, tapping his stick menacingly against his leg. The other two boys moved with him to provide a solid phalanx. “You watch your tongue, Mormon, or we’ll teach you a lesson too.”

“Go home,” she said in disgust. “The fun’s over.”

The leader motioned to the group behind him. They moved forward to form a half circle around her. “You want us to teach you a lesson, Mormon?” the leader sneered.

And then behind her, Maggie heard Robbie’s soft whimpering as he tried to stop his crying. A great rage welled up inside her. Robbie was of such a tender heart, especially since their father had died. All Maggie had to do was speak sharply to him and he would start to cry. She lunged forward, snatching the stick from the stunned boy’s grasp. She turned and flung it away. “How about me teaching you a lesson, big man?” Her hands came up to form into fists.

The suddenness of her move broke his will. Disarmed and faced with her fury, he backed up a step. That was all it took. The others moved as one, staying behind him. “Let’s get out of here,” one of the younger ones cried to his companion. They turned, then broke and ran. The half circle dissolved into nothing.

The two boys who still carried sticks turned in horror; then, realizing they were all alone, they yelled at their buddy and took off as well. It said something for their friend’s bravado that he held his ground. His eyes were filled with anger at his being shamed, and for a moment he debated whether he dared go this alone. He was frightened. She leaned forward, thrusting her face next to his. “You think you are such a big man? Then let’s see if you’re big enough to beat a girl. How about it? Just you and me.”

He was startled for a moment, but then he shook his head in disdain. “I don’t fight girls.”

Maggie straightened. “You know what?” she said. “Neither do I, but in your case I’d make an exception.” She straightened to her full height, her eyes smouldering now.

That did it. He muttered something and then bolted. She turned and, without looking back, started for where Hannah and Robbie were watching. When she finally reached them the street behind them was empty. She turned and put an arm around her brother. “I’m sorry, Robbie. I’m sorry I was late.”

•••

James MacAllister and Maggie McKensie stood together a few rods down the street from the entrance to the tenement house where Maggie’s family lived. Maggie had hoped he would come. She hadn’t dared to leave Robbie and Hannah. For all they were putting on a brave face, she could tell they had been deeply shaken, and so she had not gone to the foundry as she usually did to wait for James to finish work. When she had not been there, he had come straight here to see if everything was all right.

And now it was. The rain had stopped, but the temperature had dropped enough that their breath showed in momentary puffs of mist. It was almost seven, and the sky was completely dark. She moved closer to him. In another half an hour her mother would be home and James would leave again. About once a month he would eat with the family, but otherwise he always declined. He still didn’t feel comfortable with her mother.

Maggie looked up at James and smiled at him. James MacAllister was twenty, just a year older than Maggie. He was born of Scottish Highland stock and it showed in the ruggedness of his features—the deep-set brown eyes that looked out from beneath thick dark eyebrows, the straight nose, the strong jawline, the mouth that she loved to watch, for it always betrayed his mood. A shock of black hair grew thick and straight, and he was always tossing his head back to take it from his eyes.

They made a striking couple. Everyone said that, though Maggie always felt plain when she was beside him. Her hair was as dark as his and long enough to come below her neck. She had her mother’s pleasant countenance, but it was not remarkable in any way. Except for her eyes. She knew they were her best feature—large, almost black, and with long lashes. “Thank you for coming,” she murmured.

“Aye,” he answered. “Mr. McPhail had me on a job and I was fifteen minutes late finishing my shift. I thought maybe you had come and gone again.”

She didn’t take her eyes from his face. “I always wait. You know that.”

“I wish I had been with you this afternoon. I would have taught them little beggars a lesson or two.”

She touched his arm. “I wish you had been too. I don’t know what I would have done if that boy had taken my challenge to fight with me.”

“You’da popped him one in the nose,” he said, smiling at her. He moved closer and put one arm around her. “It was him that was lucky, not you.”

She had to laugh. His Gaelic accent was particularly noticeable at times like this. The MacAllisters had been sheep men and farmers in the northern Highlands for generations, unlike her family, who had always lived in Edinburgh. English had been the official language of Scotland since the Act of Union with England and Wales in 1707. But there were some, especially in the north country, who still spoke Gaelic, the language of the Celtic tribes who had invaded the British Isles centuries before.

Then the laugh died. She shuddered slightly, remembering the hardness and hate in the face of the boys.

Feeling her shiver, he pulled her in against him. “You cold?”

She laid her head against his chest. “Mmm. Not now.”

“Good.” He put his arms all the way around her. Suddenly his voice became hard. “I’ll see to it that those slinking mongrels won’t be bothering your brother and sister anymore, Maggie.”

She looked up, grateful for his strength, grateful that he was angry, grateful that he understood clearly that something had to be done to change things. But then, as so many times before, in looking at him, she was swept away by his deep brown eyes, the dark hair which he left thick and shaggy, the high cheeks, the firm chin with a cleft in it. How had she, Maggie McKensie, ever in the world gotten James MacAllister to take one look at her, let alone become her beau.

“I don’t understand it,” he said, his eyes still smouldering. “Why would they pick on Robbie and Hannah?”

“Because we’re Mormons,” she answered in surprise. “I thought you knew that.”

“Oh, yeah. Seems like you did say something about that once.”

Maggie had lived in fear for a long time, worrying about what James would say or do when he learned that she was a Mormon. But then one day she had mentioned it casually in passing and that had been that. “Why do you suppose they hate us so?”

He shrugged, and she sensed that he had already gone to something else in his thoughts.

For some reason, that irritated her just a little. “They do, you know. They really hate us. I suppose they hear it from their parents.”

He pulled back a little and grinned down at her. “Never could understand people getting all excited about this religion or that. Now, take me, for example. I don’t have enough religion for anyone to get excited about.”

She ignored his attempt at humor. “So that’s your answer? Just stop being religious?”

He looked down at her, realizing that he had hit a tender spot. “No. If you want to be a Mormon, it doesn’t bother me one way or the other.”

“Good.” And yet she was somehow not comforted greatly by that response.

“Can I ask you a question, Maggie?”

She stepped back, sensing he was suddenly serious now. “Yes.”

“Why are you a Mormon?”

Her head came up quickly.

“I know your mother is a strong believer and all that, but it seems like religion doesn’t mean that much to you. Why don’t you just give it up? Then nobody will hate you.”

She stared at him.

“Well, does it mean that much to you?”

For a long moment she looked at him; then she turned her head slowly, glancing up at the darkness. “It’s getting late, James. Mother will be here shortly.”

His face registered surprise and she felt a little stab of shame at turning cold on him. His question had been innocent enough.

“I . . . I think Robbie and Hannah are still upset. I’d better go in.”

He gave her a sardonic smile. “If it’s none of my business, Maggie, just tell me.”

She feigned surprise. “What?”

He just shook his head, then bent and kissed her quickly. “I know a couple of those boys. I’ll go around tonight and let them know that if they give Robbie and Hannah more trouble, they’re giving me trouble. That should help.”

She kissed him back quickly. “Thank you, James.”

He was still looking at her, his eyes challenging, but then he grinned. “You’re welcome. See you, luv.”

She waved and watched him walk swiftly away. But even after he had turned the corner and disappeared she stood there, his words echoing in her mind. Well, does it mean that much to you?

Her head lifted and she stared at the spot where she had last seen him. “If you have to ask, James,” she said softly, “what does that say about me?”

•••

Maggie glanced up at the clock for the third or fourth time in as many minutes. She felt a burst of irritation mingled with growing worry. Her mother finished her shift at seven and was always home no more than half an hour later. Now it was three minutes to nine. Any hope Maggie had of getting some sleep before she had to leave for work was quickly disappearing. She was still feeling the loss of sleep from earlier in the day. It was going to be a very long shift.

She blew out her breath, the concern rising swiftly. The McKensie apartment was on the third floor of a dingy tenement house, one of dozens that filled this part of Edinburgh. It was not a neighborhood with a bad reputation like some of the south side slums, but recently there had been a robbery just four blocks away.

She turned. Hannah and Robbie were at the kitchen table doing their schoolwork, talking in low voices and occasionally laughing softly. Her face softened. The day’s confrontation was largely forgotten now, and that was good. That was part of the resilience of youth. It also showed the closeness that had grown between these two. They were more than just brother and sister now. They were friends, confidants, best buddies. In the three years since the family had been baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the bond between them had deepened significantly. Being ostracized by most of their friends had left them little choice but to turn to each other.

It left Maggie with a touch of envy. She had never had a close friend such as that. She didn’t like to admit it, but she knew that was partly why James meant so much to her now.

Through the door there was the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Maggie swung around. Finally! The footsteps grew louder and then stopped outside the door for a moment. Hannah and Robbie turned now as well. Then the door opened and Mary McKensie stepped into the room, holding a folded up umbrella.

“There you are,” Maggie said, rising quickly, greatly relieved.

“I’m sorry.” Her mother took off her coat and shook it. “I stopped off at Brother Stuart’s house,” she said. “The missionaries were there.”

Maggie noted that she pronounced it “mish-un-AIR-eez” in the American way, and not “MISH-un-reez,” as was the common pronunciation in the British Isles. She felt a quick flash of irritation. Maggie genuinely liked the Elders from America, and she found their accent quite amusing, but there was no need to try and imitate it.

Hannah and Robbie were on their feet. As their mother started to hang up her coat on one of the pegs, she suddenly leaned forward. She reached out and touched Robbie’s coat. Her fingers ran across the dark stain where the rotten apple had hit him. “Robbie? What happened to your coat?” Then suddenly she understood. She turned and crossed the room swiftly. “Not again!”

Robbie nodded and started to say something, but then his eyes filled with tears and he couldn’t speak. Hannah watched him for a moment, then answered for them. “They were hiding behind a fence, Mama. We didn’t see them until it was too late.”

Mary gathered Robbie into her arms, stroking his hair. “Oh, Robbie, I’m sorry.”

“Fortunately,” Hannah went on quickly, “Maggie came. She was just in time. Maggie—”

But Maggie shook her head quickly, warning Hannah off with her eyes.

Hannah understood and recovered quickly. “Maggie walked us home.”

“I’ll talk to the constable again,” Mary said to Robbie. “This has gone far enough.”

“The constable!” Maggie blurted in disgust. “He’s as bad as those boys are. He thinks it’s amusing when the Mormons ‘get theirs,’ as he calls it. But don’t worry. James is going to teach them a lesson or two.”

A look of alarm crossed her mother’s face. “No, Maggie!”

Maggie’s jaw set in a stubborn line, but she did not answer.

“I mean it, Maggie. That’s no answer, taking things into our own hands. Besides, Jesus taught us to forgive and leave vengeance to Him.”

“James and I are not talking vengeance,” Maggie shot right back. “We’re just going to teach them a lesson.”

Her mother’s mouth opened and shut again, knowing that this would go nowhere if she pursued it. Maggie turned and looked toward the clock.

“Oh, my!” her mother exclaimed when she followed Maggie’s eyes. “It’s nine o’clock.”

“We were getting worried about you,” Maggie pointed out. She hadn’t intended it to, but it came out with a touch of snappishness.

There was a quick, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Maggie. We got to talking and time just slipped away from us. Go to bed, or you’ll not be getting any sleep at all before you have to leave for work. I’m really sorry.”

Maggie sighed, feeling instant guilt. Everyone said she was so much like her mother that only their age difference allowed people to tell them apart. They both had dark black hair that was long and straight and which, when washed and brushed out, gleamed like freshly oiled ebony. Their noses—short and upturned slightly at the end—could have been interchanged without anyone’s noticing. Just the tiniest hint of what in their childhood had been freckles dusted the high cheekbones. Their eyes were the same deep brown and set beneath thick dark lashes. Maggie’s mouth was not quite as full as her mother’s, but when they smiled the slight difference between them disappeared.

But the one trait Maggie had not inherited from her mother was her quiet gentleness and seemingly endless patience. At the moment, Maggie was tired, irritable, and badly in need of sleep. But that only made the guilt rise all the higher. She worked an hour less every day than her mother and only half a shift on Saturday. Her mother’s Saturdays were celebrated by working two hours less that day. Was it so terrible that she had taken one night to stop and visit with friends for an hour? Did she never get to do anything for herself?

Maggie sighed again. “It’s all right, Mama. I slept well this morning. Come on. I think the stew is still warm.”

They moved back to the table, but as Maggie turned toward the stove, her mother caught her arm. “Sit down for a moment, Maggie. I have something I want to tell all of you.”

“What is it, Mama?” Robbie blurted, suddenly excited.

She just smiled and waved them to their chairs. Then she sat down across from the three of them. She folded her hands, trying to appear sedate, but Maggie could see that there was open excitement in her eyes.

“What, Mama?” Robbie said again. “What is it?”

“I have news,” she said with a half smile.

“What news?” Hannah asked, infected with a little of her brother’s eagerness. Hannah had inherited her father’s green eyes, fair skin, and lighter brown hair, but she was the one who had gotten her mother’s temperament. There was little of that patience showing now, however. “Tell us, Mama.”

“The missionaries received a letter from President Richards today.”

“Who is President Richards?” Robbie asked.

“Elder Franklin D. Richards,” Hannah explained. “He’s the president of the European Mission. He lives in Liverpool. He’s also one of the Twelve Apostles.”

Maggie had gone very quiet now, but no one seemed to notice.

“There’s good news,” her mother said happily. “The Church has found a way to help more people come to America. The missionaries think that we might be able to get on the list this year now.”

“Really?” Hannah cried.

“This year?” Maggie burst out. “But how can we? We have hardly anything saved.”

“More details will be coming in the near future.” Mary reached out and took Robbie’s hand and squeezed it happily. “But it looks very hopeful. The missionaries said they are almost certain we won’t have to wait another year.”

Maggie shot to her feet. “We can’t do that.”

Robbie had leaped up as well. “Really?” he shouted gleefully. “Really, Mama?”

Mary chose to respond to her son instead of her daughter. “There’s a ship leaving from Liverpool in May. They think we can get passage on that one.”

“Mother!”

Mary McKensie turned to her older daughter. “What, Maggie?” she asked evenly.

“We can’t . . . How can we just . . . ” She stopped, staggered. Then the anger exploded. “Why do they want us to go to Utah? Why can’t we just stay in our own country? We can still be good Latter-day Saints here.”

Mary spoke quietly. This was not an unexpected reaction from her oldest child. When they had first joined the Church, Maggie had been excited about the prospects of moving to America someday. Since James had come into her life, she would not even discuss it anymore.

“Maggie,” she said, “it’s not that at all. Some people can’t go, but our prophet has said that if we can do it, we should gather to Zion.”

“But why?” She was near tears now, which only fueled her anger the more.

“So we can be with people who believe as we do. So we can hear our prophet for ourselves. So we can be free to worship as we please.” She turned and looked at Robbie. Her eyes became firm and determined. “So Robbie can walk home from school and not be afraid.”

Slumping back down into her chair, Maggie just shook her head. “What about your job at the factory? What about my job? How will we live?”

“Maggie!” There was a touch of sorrow now along with the effort to be patient. “We’ve talked about this before. Why are you so surprised? The missionaries say we can find work in Utah. Everyone says that in a few years we’ll be better off financially there than we are here.”

Robbie, still on his feet, started dancing a little jig. “We’re going to America! We’re going to America!”

Maggie whirled, her eyes blazing. “Stop it, Robbie! Just stop it.”

He froze, the dismay written clearly on his face.

“That’s not necessary, Maggie,” Mary said slowly. “Just because you’re not excited doesn’t mean that Robbie can’t be.”

“Well, I’m not excited, Mama! I have friends here. Our life is here. This is our home.” Suddenly she was pleading. “You didn’t even ask me.”

“We’ve talked about going to America for three years now, Maggie. You know that’s been our plan all along.”

Maggie shook that off, not wanting to hear it. “If Papa were here,” she said suddenly, “he wouldn’t make us leave.”

There was a quick look of pain in her mother’s eyes. Mary took a quick breath, then responded in that same long-suffering tone. “That’s not fair, Maggie. You know that your father wanted to go to Zion as much as anyone. If he hadn’t died, we would have gone before now.”

For a long moment, Maggie just stared at her, unable to believe the depths of this betrayal. Then her mouth clamped shut. She whirled away, stomping to the door. Snatching her coat off its peg, she yanked the door open. “I have to go to work,” she murmured. Without waiting for an answer, she plunged through the door and shut it hard behind her.

Mary McKensie looked at the door for a long time, then slowly shook her head.

“Mama?”

She turned to Robbie, whose face showed his confusion now.

“Why doesn’t Maggie want to go to America?”

Hannah sighed. “Because of James.”

Her mother nodded and held out her arms toward Robbie. He stepped into them. “She’s just upset. She’ll be all right in a little while.”

“Are we really going to America, Mama?” The excitement was creeping back into his voice now.

She turned to him fully and smiled warmly. “Yes, son. We really are.” She half turned, looking at the dark stain on her son’s coat behind the door. “We are going to America.”

II

Tuesday, 8 January 1856

The heavy clouds that had covered the sky over Edinburgh the day before had finally moved on eastward across the North Sea toward Denmark, leaving the night chilly but crystal clear. The moon would not appear for another hour or more, but a gas lamp half a block down provided enough light for her to see around her. Maggie tipped her head back, looking up at the stars, blowing out her breath so it would cover them momentarily before dissipating again.

There was a noise to her left and she turned her head. A dark figure was approaching the gate of the foundry. She smiled, looking on as he waved to the watchman there, passed through the gate, and came out into the street. She stepped forward. “James?”

He looked up, then changed directions and came toward her. She waited, feeling the familiar stir of excitement at his presence. He was a good three inches taller than she was. His hair was darker than hers and his eyes nearly black. They were large and often danced with humor when he teased her. More than one girl had had her heart broken when James MacAllister had focused his affections on Maggie McKensie.

“Hello,” he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Hello, James.”

“How are things?”

She tried to smile but didn’t quite manage.

He gave her a sharp look. “Is everything all right?”

She nodded quickly.

His eyes narrowed a little and he searched her face, looking openly dubious. She smiled faintly. He knew her too well.

“So what is it?”

She slipped an arm through his. “Let’s walk.” But she turned him in the opposite direction from the way they would go if he were walking her home. He gave her another searching look but said nothing.

Three blocks from where he worked was a small park, not much more than a vacant lot in which someone had planted grass and a few trees and placed two dilapidated benches. When they reached it Maggie steered him to one of the benches and they sat down. She leaned back, closing her eyes.

He waited for only a few moments and then spoke. “All right, Maggie. What is it?”

She didn’t open her eyes. “Mama has decided that we are going to America.”

He visibly jerked. “What?”

She nodded glumly. “She came home and told us last night.”

“America? But why?”

She didn’t answer. She had told him before about the call for all Latter-day Saints to emigrate to America. But she had always said it was just talk. Her mother would never actually do it.

Now he half turned so he was facing her directly. “She can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I assure you. She is very serious.”

“But you can’t go, Maggie.”

She finally met his gaze. “Do you think I want to?”

“You can’t! You just can’t.”

She turned away. “I thought it was mostly just talk. Ever since we were baptized Mother’s talked about it. My father did too, before his death, but . . .” She shook her head.

His mouth tightened. “You told her that you won’t be going, didn’t you?”

“I . . . I haven’t talked to her since last night. I was so angry, I just left.”

Something about her answer bothered him. “You’re not even thinking about it.” He peered more closely at her. “Are you?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell.

He stood up abruptly. “What about us?” he said tightly.

“What about us, James?” she shot right back.

“You know the answer to that. As soon as I finish my apprenticeship we’ll be married. Then we’ll start our own family.”

There was a sharp stab of pain and she had to look away. She and James had been talking marriage for over a month now, but it was always “When I finish my apprenticeship.” He was only half through with the four years it took to become a journeyman machinist. She had told him that marriage would actually help him. He wouldn’t have to do his own cooking and laundry. Her salary at the mill would help them afford the larger flat they would need.

He had looked at her as though she were daft. He wasn’t going to have her living in squalor for two years. Once the apprenticeship was through, he would be able to care for her properly. He wouldn’t subject her to anything less than that. Two years wasn’t that long.

She barely managed to hide the hurt. Becoming a journeyman machinist would move James MacAllister into the middle class—the working middle class, to be sure, but the middle class nevertheless. Eventually, he liked to say, he might even be able to start his own small machine shop and they could actually become property owners. For someone who had spent most of his life in crushing poverty, such an opportunity could not be jeopardized.

“It’s only two years, Maggie.”

She turned back. What hurt the most was not that the possibility of her leaving Scotland hadn’t changed his mind. What hurt so deeply now was that it hadn’t even occurred to him that marriage was the answer to her problem. “You make it sound so simple,” she finally said, her voice forlorn.

“Tell her you’re not going. That’s simple enough.”

“Just like that, I say good-bye to my family and never see them again?”

He whirled away, clearly agitated, then swung back. “All right, Maggie, so it’s not simple. But it’s your mother who is complicating things, not me. I don’t understand this whole thing with you Mormons anyway. If you wanted to go to America to make your fortune, I could understand that. I’ve considered that myself. And maybe we’ll do that in a few years. But to go just so you can be with other Mormons? That strikes me as being a bit fanatical, frankly.”

That was not the thing to say to Maggie McKensie at that moment. “Fanatical?” she fired back. “My little brother cannot walk home from school without being afraid of being beat up by a group of bullies. My sister was spit upon the other day by a girl who told her she was a child of the devil. And you think it’s fanatical to want to get away from that?”

A little taken aback by her sudden vehemence, he just stared at her.

She was breathing hard now. “Before my father died, he lost his job because his fellow workers refused to work alongside a Mormon. Is it fanatical to want to live where we are not treated like a disease?”

“Look, Maggie, I don’t want to argue with you. If your mother is such a faithful Mormon, then let her go. You don’t have to go to America to worship God. Sure you’ll miss them, but when we marry you’ll have to be leaving them anyway.”

Her chin lifted and she stared at him for several moments.

“What?” he finally said.

In two more years? When it’s finally convenient for you, James? The words were like a hollow echo in her mind, but she would not speak them aloud. And then the significance of what he had just said hit her. “You don’t think of me as a faithful Latter-day Saint, do you, James?”

He reared back a little. “Well, I—”

“You said my mother is a faithful Mormon, but you didn’t say anything about me. What about me, James?”

“What about you? I don’t care what you believe. You know where I stand. I’ve not made a secret of that. I haven’t got much use for organized religion. All those preachers talking about how we should have faith in a better world in the hereafter. Sounds like a way to keep the poor from being unhappy with their miserable lot in life now, if you ask me.”

But Maggie was still marveling at this self-discovery. Why should she blame him? James had no reason to think that her religion meant that much to her at all. “Did you know that our founder, Joseph Smith, was shot dead by a mob while he was being held in jail under false charges?” she asked quietly.

He turned in surprise. “What was that again?”

“Yes, just twelve years ago now.”

He looked a little confused. He wasn’t sure what had brought that out just now.

“And did you know that our people were driven from three different states at the point of a bayonet by people just like those boys yesterday?”

“Aw, now, Maggie, they’re bullies, all right, but they don’t mean no lasting harm.” He gave her a sharp look. “They didn’t give Robbie any more trouble today, did they?”

She shook her head. “No, not in the sense you mean. But in a full day of school among three dozen classmates, not one person spoke to either Robbie or Hannah. They shunned them as effectively as if they were lepers.”

He decided to take the conversation back to where it needed to be. “They say Utah is a desert, Maggie. Is that what you want? to live in the desert?”

“No!” she exploded. “You know I don’t want to go, James. I don’t want to leave Scotland.” Her eyes lowered. And if you don’t want me to leave Scotland, why won’t you do something about it?

He came back and sat beside her, facing her. “Then just don’t. I’ll bet if your mother is really convinced that you’re not going, she’ll change her mind.”

She just shook her head slowly. He hadn’t heard any of it—not her words, not her silent cries. “Do you remember what you asked me yesterday, James?”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“I guess not. What?”

“You asked if Mormonism really meant that much to me.”

“Oh.” He was suddenly wary. “Yes, I remember.”

“I didn’t answer you. Do you know why?”

He shook his head.

“Because I suddenly realized that if you had to ask, that didn’t say a lot about me.”

He slipped off the bench and dropped to a crouch in front of her, taking both of her hands. “Look, Maggie . . . ”

For a moment, her heart leaped with hope. But his next words quickly dashed it.

“I told you, you can believe what you want.”

“I was sixteen when I was baptized, James,” she said, her voice wooden now. “It wasn’t as if I were a kid who didn’t know what she was doing. I didn’t just do it because my mother wanted me to. I prayed about it. I really wanted to know if it was true.”

He straightened, blowing out his breath. “All right! So you’re a good Mormon. That doesn’t mean you have to go to America.”

She dropped her head, staring at her hands. Then finally she spoke without looking up. “I love my family, James. I love them very much.”

“I know that, but—”

Now her head came up. “And believe it or not, I love my church.”

She saw his jaw go tight and his eyes narrow. “And what about me? Do you love me?”

She just stared at him for several seconds, unable to believe that she had heard him right. “Do you have to ask?” she whispered.

That seemed to satisfy him. “No, of course not.” And that seemed to solve everything, for now his mind jumped to other things. “So then, what we need to do is start looking for a place for you to stay. How soon will your family be leaving?”

She bit her lower lip, her eyes stricken. “Probably in May.”

“Well, that’s plenty of time to find something.” With that settled, he turned and looked around. “Where would you like to go?”

“I’d better go home, James. Mother will be home in a little while.”

“Not for an hour,” he said in surprise.

She didn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve got to help Hannah with supper.”

He stared at her for several seconds, finally sensing that something was wrong. But then his jaw tightened. “All right. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

Chapter Notes

Although fictional, the McKensie family and their experiences are based on what is known about some of the Scottish Latter-day Saint families who journeyed to Utah in the 1850s.

Having been called to Church service in the British Isles twice before, Elder Franklin D. Richards, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, returned to England in 1854 to preside over the Church’s affairs in Europe.