Judgment of the Flood

JUDGMENT OF THE FLOOD By Ida W. Brown Earl Hudson was watching his bride closely. There had been a reason for taking the Bamberger train and that reason was near at hand. Purposely he let the conversation die that she might look out of the window. "Beautiful-beaut-iful — Oh, Earl, that mountain! What a spot for honeymooning!" The effect had been all that he desired. She too loved the mountain, as he had always loved it. "Would you choose it as a spot for life?" he inquired. "You don't mean you live here?" was her surprised inquiry as he began making preparations for getting off. "The shadow of that mountain falls in our very dooryard. Do you think it will take the place of your beloved Tetons?" "It's the most beautiful mountain I've ever seen. What is its name?" "It's an out-post of the Wasatch range but has no name," he replied as the train halted jerkily. "Then I'll name it." Twirling her hat pin between her fingers, she became very thoughtful. "How's Sentinel Peaks?" "The spirit of the mountain has reached you. The villagers have always regarded it as a guardian to their peach orchards." Their walk from the depot led through streets much resembling country lanes. As they walked, Myrtle kept her eyes fixed on the sturdy, rugged beauty of the mountain. As she came nearer she saw that no slope led to the base of it. Abruptly it rose from the earth, four towering spire-tipped peaks like four tall straight soldiers at attention. A wide band of salmon-colored rock, studded with black, passed through their center like a gay colored girdle. The rose-color, grey and light blue of the peaks, contrasted with glimpses of green behind them, and a sprinkling of black through the various colors. Harmoniously blended were the tapestries of the mountain, and seemed to be held in place by huge black headed tacks. Myrtle scarcely noted the dusty path of the lane or the ^fences fortified by wild rose bushes and here and there overhung by the drooping branches of Pottawattami plum trees heavily laden with fruit, so intent were her eyes and thoughts upon the beauty of the mountain. As they turned south the mountain was on her left with Earl shutting out the view of it, so she took occasion to look about this village which was to be her future home. She could not guess at the popula- tion, for the houses were mostly hidden by trees. Peach trees every- where brightly burdened with their golden yield of peaches. A tiny white cottage almost hidden by green trees caused little

JUDGMENT OF THE FLOOD 1059 quiverings of happiness to run riot through her being. She loved white and green. Most of all she loved this tall straight man at her side with his work-hardened hands, and bronze features, and eyes which spoke of many friendships; brown eyes, gleaming now with love at full-tide. As her questioning grey eyes met his, she had her answer: The white cottage was to be their love-nest. She was too happy for disappointment today, or the little porch scarcely large enough for two chairs with its two slender stick-like supports would have displeased her. She had dreamed of a spacious porch with huge white columns. Earl watched her closely as they stood hesitatingly at their own threshold. There was nothing of dis- pleasure in the soft pink of her cheeks, in the rounded chin uplifted from a creamy throat, in the arched smile of red lips or the dreamy depth of grey eyes. The thought of his possession of her, seemed to glorify her beauty. "I know I am going to be so happy here," was all she could say. She seemed a perfect jumble of emotions — all composure cast to the winds. He noted this and pointed to the house across the street, saying: "You'll like Mrs. Stone our neighbor across the street. Not much on looks or religion, but broad-minded and kind-hearted." "I love it all: This little white nest, the wonderful mountain and the peach trees." With these words on her lips and Earl's strong arms holding her close she entered the little white nest. The future looked as rosy as the bright colored stripe running through the mountain. But life has to do with sterner things than love-making and contemplation of beautiful scenery. Often it has to do with child- bearing, with household tasks which have a way of multiplying as years roll on, and with child-rearing. Oh! the complications, the confusion, the heart-break and the joy! A thousand household tasks punctuated with safety pins and panty buttons, music lessons and razor straps, broken baloons and shrill whistles, overturned coasters and hurt fingers, with washrags, torn clothes and nursing periods. Fourteen years of married life and Myrtle had experienced all of these things. A new modern cottage with the spacious white-columned porch of her dreams replaced the small white nest. But the mountain no longer held her spell-bound, in the hurry of her existence it had become common-place. And the companionship and love of her husband seemed almost as badly punctuated as were her household tasks. On a day in late August, it seemed to Myrtle that she was loosing patience with life, with her husband, her children, her work. The day had been hot and the house must be cleaned. What if she didn't feel just right, the house was not going over Friday. By late after- noon the tile of the fireplace and new varnish on woodwork and

1060 IMPROVEMENT ERA furniture glistened as only new varnish can glisten, the front window and cut glas on the side-board seemed to boast of not a speck of dust. The kitchen stove, and white enamel fixtures of kitchen and bathroom, shone out in black and white splendor. Everywhere was a spotless order. All too spotless for contented child-life. As she viewed the results of her toil, her satisfaction was somewhat marred by a recall of baby Ted's whipped hands for dropping crumbs, of Marion's tears from being scolded, of Cecil being put off to bed for playing with the garden hose. A knock at the front door disturbed her thoughts. Who could it be? Her face felt grimy, her hair needed combing and her apron was awful. She approached the door reluctantly. "Just me," called out a cheery voice. "Don't look at me, Mrs. Stone, I am a regular scare crow," she apologized, pinning stray whisps of hair away from her face as she spoke. "I was just looking at your porch. How on earth can you keep it so clean?" questioned Mrs. Stone. "Well, there ain't much use cleaning it, I never get to sit on it. I always wanted it, but I am too swamped in work to do anything but see it's clean. I almost wish it had never been built maybe I'd feel more contented at my work." "You used to love the mountain, but I don't believe you even take time to look at it," said Mrs. Stone in the playful scolding tone that intimate neighbors take liberty of. "I really don't, I have forgotten it's there," laughingly de- clared Myrtle as she and Mrs. Stone passed into the living room and sat down. "You're apt to have a sharp reminder, one of these days," — still the playful scolding tone from Mrs. Stone. Her utterance was to have sudden fulfilment, even though she was entirely innocent of trying to be a prophet. She shook her head in mock despair as she looked about the shin- ing house. "At it again! It does look beautiful though — furniture polish and elbow grease sure does wonders. But you, Myrtle, you look fagged." "I am, if one of the youngsters come near, well, I just could scream!" "You are one of those 'Mormons' who would fight for your religion, if necessary die for it, but you wouldn't live it. Your people call them 'Jack Mormons'." The playful tone was gone, nor did her eyes drop as she met the blazing indignant gaze of the younger woman. "I know what you're sayin' to yourself. What right has she who has no religion or no God to be meddlin' in my religion? You're

JUDGMENT OF THE FLOOD 1061 right. But if I believed in a religion as you say you do, I'd live it or I'd die a tryin'. Bank on that!" "Since you accuse me of not living my religion, kindly make plain in what respect I am backsliding." Myrtle's grey eyes were narrowed in anger, her body drawn straight and stiff in undisguised resentment as she made the demand. Mrs. Stone hesitated. The attitude of Myrtle made it hard for her to continue. But she had long thought of this subject and she was at least going to have the satisfaction of speaking plain to one whom she thought was putting the wrong values on the things of this life. "Doesn't your religion teach that your mental and spiritual needs should be as well taken care of as your bodily needs?" "Yes," Myrtle replied without the stir of an eyelash or the lessening of stiff attitude. "Myrtle — ". Mrs Stone's tone had lost its sternness. It was the parental voice pleading with a stubborn child. "Surely, child, you do not look at me as an enemy taking you to task!" Grey eyes met brown eyes. Waves of warmth seemed to emanate from the brown eyes. Friendliness. Grey eyes had misjudged. The rounded face framed in brown and grey and the smiling brown eyes, no longer seemed antagonistic. This was her neighbor who had been a friend through many a need. Myrtle settled in her chair with a little sigh of relief and weariness. Mrs. Stone took a magazine from the library table at her side. She studied the outer covering for a few seconds. "Have you ever read the motto on the cover page of your 'Improvement Era'?" she asked as she handed the magazine to Myrtle. Myrtle took it and read aloud: "The Glory of God is Intelligence." "There it is in a nutshell, Myrtle. Just what I wanted to say. Your religion teaches you to keep out of the ruts; that you cannot be saved in ignorance. In other words you are saved no faster than you gain intelligence." "I know I am in a rut — mothering youngsters 'd put anyone in a mental rut." "No, dear, your house is more to blame than your children. You can be clean without being a slave to your house. You may spend your time in scouring and polishing, in sweeping and scrubbing for a half century, at the end of that time you have made no substantial gain. If you stop for a single week the dust and cobwebs will accumulate." "But surely industry and service are worth while — " "Yes, Myrtle, but not the service that leaves you one-sided. A service which develops physically, mentally and spiritually is the service

1062 IMPROVEMENT ERA which your Church is trying to have its people understand. Questions you are too polite to ask? I'll give you the answer." "Fifteen years ago my husband purchased the ten acres across the street from one of your 'Mormon' pioneers. I've lived behind that Pioneer rock fence ever since. For ten years I watched your peo- ple much as a hawk watching a flock of chickens. Ready to criticize. Anxious for the chance. I found you 'Mormons' to be valiant, self- sacrificing, sincere and humble. Exceptions, of course. My husband and I wouldn't have entered a 'Mormon' Church if your bishop would' ve given us the Church. We didn't care to make friends. But we did. Your people are friendly. When he died five years ago, your people became more than friends to me, they became brothers and sisters. The beautiful funeral service — the spirit of brotherhood — the sincere words of consolation — I'll never forget — not empty words, but words which came from hearts which had known sorrow and trials and had survived with renewed faith. That funeral service marked the turning point of my life." Tears rolled slowly down the faded cheeks of Mrs. Stone. Per- haps, tears that would ease a hurt, as this confession, this testimony of goodness, where goodness was not expected, was casting a load from her mind. She wiped the tears from her face with the corner of her white apron as she continued. "Across there is that eight-room house; alone with empty hands and a sick mind — But for your Relief Society teachers I might still be there brooding and holding folded hands. I am thankful I accepted their invitation and became interested in life. There in that Relief Society I first learned of your belief in eternal progression. Your Church is not theorizing upon this subject it is practicing what it preaches. It is offering to its people more avenues of intellectual and spiritual attainment than any other religious body upon the face of the earth. A multitude of co-workers, self-trained for service, that's what your people represent. That's where you belong, Myrtle. You give of your time and you receive intellectual power and growth. You are a 'Mormon' and a 'Mormon' should move on. As a house- hold slave you are standing still in a rut." "I don't understand, Mrs. Stone, why you don't belong when you think so well of us. Surely you are not afraid of the world's ridicule." "Not for one minute!" answered Mrs. Stone with much emphasis. I am a doubter of the existence of a God. I'd like to have the living faith which some of you possess." "Perhaps you don't seek after faith hard enough," suggested Myrtle. "I suppose I leave off where I should begin. I look at my neighbors and know they are honest tithe payers, and I look at my peach trees loaded to the ground with fruit, and I wonder wherein

JUDGMENT OF THE FLOOD 1063 the one who serves God and pays tithes is blessed more than I. If not, why not? They are more deserving than I, and yet my fertile spot yields as abundantly as theirs. I think it will continue to yield to the end of time. Then why the sacrifice if there is no blessing!" With the last statement Mrs. Stone shrugged her shoulders as if to throw from them a useless burden. With a sudden alertness, she arose as she explained: "My, how dark! I believe it's going to rain. I'll have to run and pick in my clothes. I'd plum forgot them, talkin' religion." On the porch she hesitated long enough to add a parting in- junction: "Now just forget this front porch and some of your house- work and get acquainted with your neighbors an' religion." "Run over again, soon," Myrtle called out as Mrs. Stone hurried across the street. For a moment Myrtle studied the face of the mountain, its bright colors were dulled by shadows — seemingly a frown upon the face of the four sentinel peaks. Today they seemed like dignified judges who had passed severe sentence. "I'll be late with supper," she muttered as she hurried to the kitchen. Of her neighbor she was not thinking very complimentary thoughts: She must think I've got as much time as she has to fool away on social welfare, iliterature, psychology, teacher-training and parent classes. I can see my house in a week-lint under the beds; shoe-polish in the bathtub, dirty collars on the side-board. The soapy washcloth vigorously applied to her face and neck put an end to connected thinking. But as she combed her long strands of brown hair and coiled them in an accustomed witch-knot, she shrugged the subject from her with a muttered remark: "A woman without a God and worryin' about other people's religion. Sure does get me!" With the evening meal over and the kitchen in spotless order, baby Ted came in next in the thoughts of his ambitious mother. She knew she had neglected him. He looked neglected, forsaken. Why couldn't mothers have more time with their children, more patience, more love? Marion was just putting his night gown on him. She too had not the sparkling brightness and pep that her age called for. A little prickling of conscience. She had made it hard for all of them today. What was a house beside the love of her children? Why couldn't she be more patient with these little ones depending on her? "Mildred, put fresh water on the zinnas, and get ready for bed. You look tired. I'll take Teddie to bed." Earl looked fagged, too, as she approached him in the living room. She imagined a look of unhappiness had been tucked away, as she held the fresh, sweet face of Ted down for him to kiss good-night.

1064 IMPROVEMENT ERA His shoulders seemed stooped and the lines in his cheeks were getting deeper. She had never seen him looking so weary. "Night, night, old Teddie boy." He took the little fellow and held him close and kissed him and tweaked his toes before giving him up to Myrtle. As she tucked Ted in his little bed, she was still thinking of her husband. Was he just a little warmer in his love for the children than she? As she kissed the soft little cheek of Ted she resolved to be a better mother. Marion was just placing the huge vase of zinnas in the center of the dining room table when a loud clap of thunder shook the house. Cecil came running from the kitchen and both children hurried into the living room. "Daddy, I'm afraid," complained Cecil and he looked the part. His mother was alarmed at his palor. "Get into your nighties quickly, both of you and I'll tell you 'Waldo's Dream'," said Myrtle thinking to change the channel of the children's thoughts. "Oh, goodie," they exclaimed and both children dashed off to see who could undress the quickest. It seemed only an instant before they romped to her chair. With an arm about each she began: "Waldo was a hermit who lived — " The sound as of ten thousand cartridge shells whistling on the air interrupted. The sound seemed to center in the room near the electric light. Amazement held them. A crash of thunder shook the earth before they could voice their bewilderment. "What could it be?" was Myrtle's puzzled inquiry. "Got me! Perhaps some trouble at the power house up the canyon. Lightnin' struck somewhere close, too." "But — that was like the singing of a giant bullet," suggested Myrtle. "What's that?" Earl did not have to listen to hear the sound indicated by Myrtle. A continued roar sounded that he could not account for. "Oh, that must be the echo of the thunder up the canyon," said Myrtle thinking that she had found answer to her question. But Earl's forehead was still wrinkled and his ear attentive. "Some rocks must have been started down the mountain," he supplied as explanation. "Well, even rocks would find a lighting place, sometime," was Myrtle's opposing opinion. By this time they were shouting to each other to be heard above the roar. An incessant grumbling roar. They rushed to the front window. Men, women and children were running, and intermingled with the roar came their screaming. Myrtle laughed as she thought that some people were surely easily excited. Her voice was quite calm as she spoke: "Let's just

JUDGMENT OF THE FLOOD 1065 shut the doors. There could come six feet of water before it could toi"-h us. Let's not go crazy!" "I'm goin' to have a look," shouted Earl for shouting was neces- sary to hear. He ran out on the front porch from there to the south side of the yard to get a view of the canyon. Myrtle followed him. What they saw froze them with fear. What seemed to be a mountainous object, dust-clothed was moving swiftly upon them. Quick flashing of thought. Their house, every thing would be swept before it. His shouted directions she tried to make out. He must have said for her to get the baby. He ran the front way and she the back. Eight steps led to the kitchen door. By the time she had mounted them and came through the kitchen he was gone. The children were gone. He expected her to bring the baby, that was it. But the bed was empty. The baby gone. Could he have heard the thunder and being frightened hidden in the house? She must look. With swiftness and frantic fear she began. Down on her knees peering under beds. ' 'Teddie — Teddie — In corners and clothes closets. "Ted — oh, Teddie — " Through bathroom and kitchen, dining room and living room — nothing behind the piano. "Teddie — Teddie — Oh, my God, protect my baby — !" Out on the front porch. Could he be out here somewhere in the dusk? People were still running uttering terrible, inhuman cries in their fear. They may have seen her baby. She rushed out to the highway screeching with all the strength left to her: "Has anyone seen my baby? Anyone seen Teddie?" A man's voice battling against this deafening roar that was surging down upon them: "Mr. Hudson's got your baby. Hurry, for God's sake, Mrs. Hudson!" She could hurry now. Relief penetrated to her soul like a soothing ointment. Teddie was safe! She must reach them — her husband and children. The stone fence started to move as if a giant hand was behind it. The toppling of it added nothing to the roar — only pebbles stirred by a moving mountain. The fierce grinding of mighty boulders upon the rocks and other boulders forced forth on their busi- ness of destruction growled and grumbled and seemingly jumped toward the swift fleeing figures. Impetus of mud and water and their own momentum, carried them swiftly toward their victims. A truck was awaiting them. This crushing thing, just to one side of them, and the truck. Mrs. Hudson was the last one. Hands reached out and helped her in. They shrieked for the driver to start A hooded part separated him from them and he could not hear. Three more leaps and it would be upon them! It tumbled toward them one more clumsy step as

1066 IMPROVEMENT ERA the men shouted and pounded on the hood for the driver to start. He had heard, the motor chugged and they started. Myrtle felt something slippery under her feet. The jerk of the starting truck sent her and others sprawling to the bottom. Slippery, yes and sloppy, too. The bottom of the truck was covered with fish. When Myrtle had scrambled up from the fish to a sitting position, she saw her darling children and husband huddled in the front end of the truck. They had not seen her. The roar of the flood was lessening. She could plainly hear them sobbing out their trouble: "We've left mama. I don't want to go without mama!" Had the bottom of the truck been covered with live snakes instead of chubs and suckers, Myrtle would have gone to her children. That moment of joy when they first caught sight of her! Joy that leaped into troubled little hearts and brains! What did she care for fish or floods or ruined homes! She had her babies and her husband! Their feet and night gowns were slimy and damp from contact with the fish. They shivered with the cold as she cuddled them to her. Miserable day they'd had, and she partly to blame. Never again would rugs and polished floors, scrubbed linoleums and shining varnishes, glittering cut-glass and clean windows interfere with the rights of these. Her heart ached with pity as she whispered comforting words to them: "We'll soon be to Aunt Ethel's. Then for hot baths an' dry clothes and warm beds. You'll soon be feeling fine." And soon they were. For Aunt Ethel administered to them all that had been promised. With the morning came newspaper boys on Ogden streets, their cries were confident, for their papers had the stuff this particular morning to invite quick sales. "All 'bout the cloud-bursts. Scouts missing! All about the cloud-bursts!" When Earl and Myrtle had read, they were surprised to learn that many settlements had suffered besides their own. What would be their home-coming? Myrtle tried to picture in her mind, but she gave it up. Leaving the children with her sister, she and Earl started by automobile to find out how great had been the destruction to their home and village. Soldiers from Salt Lake City had arrived and were guarding the homes of the deserted settlement. But for them it might have been the village of the dead. By leaving the car Earl and Myrtle were enabled to make their way to the back of their lot. Soldiers supplied them with rubber boots and pitch-forks that they might wade through to their house. The pitch-forks were to steady themselves with. Where there had been eight steps to the back door, only four remained in sight. When they had tugged through mud and rocks half way across the lot Myrtle saw an object which looked like the roof of a house. Calling one of the guards' attention to it she inquired: "Is that the roof of some one's house?"

Judgment of The flood 1067 "No, madam, that is the roof of your own front porch," came his quick reply. Well, that was that! No more need she worry about the dust from the highway settling on her spacious front porch. Where great loss confronted her she was going to look for the small gain and be comforted. It was with this spirit that she entered her house. The kitchen and bathroom were in spotless order. But here order ended and dis- order prevailed. Two long panels of glass were broken from the front window. Mud and water had come through the openings covering the living room floor, and splashing on walls, woodwork and furniture. Splatterings and rivulets of it were in the dining room. The hall and bedrooms were found to be in like condition. The windows which remained unbroken were so mud-splashed that one could not see through them. Myrtle viewed it all, not with sorrow, but with a thankful heart. Had not her eyes been opened? Yes, opened to her own unnecessary drudgery and ignorance, to her unprayerfulness, to her spirit of fault- finding and nagging with her children. The magnitude of the office of motherhood dawned upon the vision of her mind. She recalled times when she had had to be judge, jury and prosecuting attorney in one. In this moment of introspection she knew to fill the office of motherhood with dignity, she must not only study but she must be ready to reap the benefit of other people's study. Books, classes, lectures were all within her reach. Mrs. Stone had been right, she was a slacker. But a slacker she would not remain. She was going to qualify for motherhood. "Myrtle, come here." Complying to the summons from her husband she found him standing by one of the broken panels of the front window. "Look at the mountain. The northern peak is entirely gone." An amazing thing, but her eyes confirmed his statement. No longer the fourth sentinel stood there in silent dignity. Bright layers of rock marked the spot from which it had been torn. No doubt lightning and cloudburst simultaneously had accomplished this al- most unbelievable feat. From the mountain, her eyes took in the destruction of her neighbor's home. Only yesterday, an orchard in its yellow and green splendor seeming to boast of triumphant fruition; today, a rock-pile — the dump-ground of nature on the rampage. Four or five bent and beaten trees remained where hundreds had stood. Such utter des- truction! A fertile spot devastated and sterilized! The house was buried in debris to the middle of the lower windows. What sorrow Mrs. Stone must feel. Myrtle's meditation was interrupted by a sudden exclamation from her husband: "There's Mrs. Stone! At the upper window to the south. Do you see?" Yes; she was there and waving to them.

1068 IMPROVEMENT ERA "Go get the guards to help you. The poor soul has been there all night." By the aid of rubber boots, pitch-forks and a ladder, Earl and the guards succeeded in bringing Mrs. Stone. Myrtle expected her to be almost overcome with grief and nerve strain. As she helped the elder woman pull off the clumsy boots, she was surprised at the peaceful serenity of her countenance. "I need a boot- jack, dont' you think, Myrtle?" The question came during their united efforts to pull off the boots. "I had a hard time to keep them on in the mud, now the stub- born things want to say." An extra hard pull and Myrtle sat down on the kitchen floor with emphasis and a rubber boot. Both women felt better for a good hearty laugh. Myrtle looked at Mrs. Stone in wonder. Did she realize her loss? The elder woman read her thoughts and questioned: "If a woman looses the whole world and gains a soul, what has she lost? Christ's apostles did not understand the value of a soul, as I understand today. Jesus, alone, knew it is priceless. And I with my new acquisition, accept his valuation. What is that destruction to me? Or the night of terror? For my stubborn knees bended and my stiff neck bowed to God; and the sweetness of peace came to me in answer to my prayer — a comforting peace which not even the judgment of the flood could destroy." The shining countenance of Mrs. Stone was testimony to the truthfulness of her words. And in Myrtle's heart she, too, knew that she had received a priceless blessing. Porches could be rebuilt, the debris on their lot could be hauled away, but her new estimation of life, she hoped would remain with her forever. Pocatello, Idaho. Death Oh, Angel of Death, why comest thou to me? Why is it that thou ever hoverest near? Doth my life in some way antagonize thee, Or dost thou merely protect me by fear? I sometimes fancy that I hear thy footsteps. Or that I am scorched by the fire of thy breath; This causest me to remember God's precepts, And to ponder upon the nature of death. Oh, why, oh, why do ye fear me, ye mortals? Why do ye tremble at the sight of my face? I am merely keeper of God's portals And dispenser of his merciful grace. Ye grow tired of sorrow, of sickness, of strife, Yet these are the true heritages of earth; As Death's Angel I show you the way to life, For death is nothing but Celestial re-birth. Dirigo, Ky. ROBERT L. CAMPBELL.