(by Marjorie Ward) 

It was a beautiful day in May, the sun was shining brightly, and everything seemed to call one out to enjoy the fragrance of the early spring flowers.  I put on my had and went for a walk.  As I was passing my grandmother’s house, something seemed to call me inside.  Her house was a log one built in the shade of many locust trees.  A little spot was fenced off to one side for her flower garden which she took a great deal of pride in, although she was very old. 

This day as I entered the gate, the sweet perfume of violets came to me, suggesting that spring was here.  We always loved to go to grandmother’s house and listen to the stories she would tell, and enjoy a meal with her, especially when she made current cakes which she baked on a gridiron on the top of her stove, after which she spread them with plenty of butter and sugar.  After the meal was over and the dishes were done, we were ready to sit and listen to her talk.   

She was alone now in her declining years.  All of her children were married and had homes of their own.  She would not consent to leave the old home to live with them. 

As I entered her home on this one particular day, she looked up and greeted me with that same sweet smile that she always welcomed us with.  She was sitting in her rocking chair in front of the fireplace.  And although she greeted me with a smile there was a sad look in her eyes as she said, “Come and sit down by me.  I was just wishing someone would come in and talk to me”.  I drew my chair as close as I could to hers, removed my hat and placed it on the floor by my chair.  I did not say anything for I knew she had something to tell me.  I did not wait long for she soon began her story.  “My girl,” she said, I have been thinking of my boy today.  I wonder why he doesn’t come home.  She paused a moment and then went on.  “You know my boy, Dave, I’m sure your father has told you of him.”  (I could remember father saying he had a brother, Dave, whom he had not seen for many years.)  She wiped the tears from her eyes with the corner of her apron, and began once more. 

“When we left our home in the old country, I had all of my children with me and was happy, but now I am alone.  Dave was my baby when we crossed the plains.  We had lots of trouble, many took sick and died.  They had to be buried there on the plains with nothing to mark their graves but a rock or piece of iron.  My baby did not escape the disease as we trudged along in the hot sun.  Sometimes we would ride a short distance.  My baby was very sick.  An epidemic of black measles had broken out.  Every day seemed to find him worse, but we never gave up hope.  

One day the captain of our company came to me and said, “Sister you cannot carry that child another day, you will have to stop here with him for he will never live.” Again the tears ran down her wrinkled cheeks and I had to cry.  She was no doubt thinking of the hardship they had passed through for the sake of the gospel.  But I was thinking what a pity that she was alone in her old age.  She sighed and went on.  “I could not think of doing that, so I knelt in humble prayer and asked God to make my baby well.  We went to bed that night and when morning came my baby was much better and I was able to go on again.  In a short time he was well.  I thank my Heavenly Father for that and other blessings I have received.  And never have I neglected to say my prayers since then.” 

“We arrived in Salt Lake City in the fall of 1861 after a long and tiresome journey.  We did not stay there long but moved to Brigham City where we lived until 1866 when we moved to Malad.  It was not all pleasure then, my girl, but we knew we could live in peace, at least.” 

“So we worked hard to build us a home of logs with large, flat rocks for a floor.  We had to clear the sagebrush from the land and plant our crops.  We had very little machinery with which to do our work.  At that time we used oxen instead of horses.  Things looked better for a while until the grasshoppers and crickets came and destroyed our crops.  We never gave up but kept on trying.  My children all grew to be men and women.  I had eight of them.  One by one they left me to make homes of their own.  One night they brought my boy, Bill, home from a dance, shot.  A bullet, intended for someone else struck him and he died within a few hours after they brought him home.  The man who shot him escaped but some years later, after killing another man, he was caught and paid for his crimes with his life.   

They laid Bill on the floor of rocks in front of the fireplace and the blood stain could not be removed so the rock was turned over.  Father was at the dance at the time and as he was going for the doctor, the gunman thought he was being pursued and fired two shots which barely missed father.  I thought this was trouble, but I know where Bill is. 

“The time came when Dave left me.  He went away to find work.  For sometime I received letters from him.  He said he was married.  It has been nearly 20 years since I have heard from him and that is why I am thinking about him.  I cannot live many more years but I could die happy if I could only see my boy or hear from him.  I wonder why he doesn’t come home.  I have prayed for him every day.  Everyone has been good to me and I would give all I have to know where Dave is”.  She cried as though her heart would break and I cried with her.  It was time for me to go and as I rose from my chair, she took my hand in hers and told me to come again.  I promised that I would and bade her good day.  How thankful I was that I went to her home that day for it made me feel better for having heard her story.  As I walked toward home I wondered how a boy could leave his mother and not write to her, and let her know where he was after she had done so much for him.  I went to see her often after that and spent many happy hours with her.  She told me many more wonderful stories.  I tried to cheer her lonely life and make her think her boy would yet come home.  Time passed but no word came to her.   

One beautiful day in June when she was 85 years of age, the Lord called her home and her last wishes were denied her.  She finished her mission here on earth and God, in His wisdom, called her home, there to meet her loved ones where sorrow and pain is not known.  Some years after her death, a letter came to my father from Uncle Dave but it was too late.