Excerpts from Beyond the Horizon
Book One: The Choice
Can a man really steer a middle course in life?
Excerpt: From the journal of
Jedediah Lee Madigan
I quietly lifted the latch on the wooden door and headed toward the river. The water flowed in a sibilant hush through the night only a hundred feet from our frontier home. I was preparing for a dip when a noise, a soft splash, brought me suddenly alert. I halted in mid-step. Trained in the ways of the river, I felt something . . . something not quite right. I ducked quickly behind the untidy tangle of growth that lined the riverbank and, keeping out of sight, carefully parted the bushes. Suddenly, very close to me, a number of small boats appeared, quietly pushing upstream. I melted back into the shadows, hoping to stay unobserved.
A whisper reached across the water. “We’re almost past the Madigan place. Another hundred feet.” Who would want to slip by unobserved? Unless . . . I had a bad feeling about this. After the last boat disappeared upstream, I ran for the house. Inside our neat, four-room framed cottage I knocked once on my parents’ bedroom door and stepped in.
“Pa! Wake up. There’re men on the river tonight. Sneaking past our place on their way upstream.”
Pa sat up. In an instant he was out of bed. “They’re going after the Chandlers.” He reached for his britches, jammed his feet into his boots, and pulled on a shirt. “I was afraid of this. Come on. We ought to at least warn them.”
I thought so too. It was well known among the old settlers of the region that the Madigans took no sides and wanted no trouble with the Mormons. If there was mischief afoot, there were those among our friends who wouldn’t want us to know what they were up to. . . .
Book Two: Hidden Peril
Is there a test of the heart for every man and woman?
Excerpt: From the journal of
Daniel Roy Madigan . . .
“Hey, there.” A man was shaking me awake.
I bolted upright. “You looking for me?”
I saw two men standing in front of me, leaning against the porch railing, and I didn’t know either one of them.
“Are you Madigan?” asked one of the men, a rather tall man with graying hair.
I nodded.
The other man spoke. “You the freighter from Kanab who brought a letter into the bank today?”
Again I nodded. “You have something needs hauling?”
They looked at each other, then looked around to see if anyone was listening. “You might say that.” They pulled up a couple of chairs and sat down. In a very casual voice he continued, “How often do you come into St. George, Mr. Madigan?”
Suspicious, I just looked at the two of them. “Who wants to know?”
They exchanged looks again, then drew their chairs a bit closer. “President Woodruff.”
They could have said most anything, and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelash. But it was pretty well known, at least among the Mormons, that Wilford Woodruff, President of the Quorum of the Twelve, was hiding somewhere in St. George to avoid arrest by the federal agents. I gaped at the men. “And you are . . . ?”
“Joshua Wright. And this is Frederick Townsend. We work at the bank. In our spare time we also help men trying to avoid arrest.” I didn’t speak, so the other added, “We run the underground, Madigan.”
Book Three: A Trust
Should the past rob the future?
Excerpt: From the Journal of
Theodore James Madigan . . .
. . . I sat down on a hard wooden chair and leaned it back against the wall in the old parlor office, then said to Pa, “What do you make of that Mr. Ambrose? Imagine, coming here to make a movie.”
Pa shook his head. “I don’t care for the influences coming into Kanab these days. I’m afraid he’ll be bringing a host of new notions with his crew, and I’m not sure we’re ready for it.”
“Oh, come on, Pa. We have to enter the new century sometime. Kanab is an old-fashioned outpost. We must be the only town in Utah without electric lights.”
It was an old discussion between us. “Electric lights won’t give us anything we don’t already have. Anyway, I’ve come to a decision about the Hidden M. I’ve signed papers with Fred Matthews this morning. I’ve put the ranch in your name.”
I crashed forward on my chair and stared at Pa. “You what?”
“It’s yours, son.” I came around the desk and put my hand on his shoulder. “Pa, I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing’s changed, really. You’ve been helping me with the business side for a long while. I’ll let you do even more of that now. It’s time I slowed down a bit.”
“Uh, Pa, does that mean I can make a few changes?”
Pa looked at me. “Son, you know my views on most everything. And I know yours. Of course I’d like to keep things as they are. But I also know a man needs room to grow. . . .
Book Four: The Quest
Problems can take a man to the edge of his faith.
Excerpt: From the journal of
William Roy Madigan
. . . We hitched the horses to the wagon and carefully chained the load down tight. One false move and the wood would shift, maybe even break a chain and fall out.
The road down was steep, and we had to be careful. Dad put on the wagon brake and started the horses carefully down the trail, keeping a tight rein on them. The first part wasn’t too steep, but Devil’s Gorge still lay ahead of us. It was rocky, steep, and treacherous.
The mountainous terrain at the top of the gorge opened between two rugged rock faces wide enough only for a wagon, and then farther down the road hugged one side of a deep ravine for maybe a mile more before safely entering into the woods again. We stopped at the top and rested the horses.
“Do you want one of us to take the wagon down, Dad?” asked Rupert as he led his horse around to the back of the wagon.
“No, I’ll be fine. I want you to hitch your ropes to the wagon and pull backwards with your mounts, just like we always do.”
Rupert, John, and I tied our ropes to the wagon, then wrapped the ends around the pommel of our saddles. George took the lead next to the wagon team, and Bobby and Kit trailed behind.
“We’re ready,” I hollered.
Dad slapped the reins and began the slow descent. He stood hard on the brake, and we pulled back on our mounts. The wagon went down, sliding a bit, but holding steady. We made our way carefully through the narrow opening, then started down the ravine.
As we came to the first sharp curve, my rope suddenly snapped. The wagon began skidding toward the edge. Rupert stood on his stirrups, hauling back on his mount, screaming, “Hold steady! Hold it!” Suddenly his mount buckled and went down. Rupert jumped from his saddle and rolled.
“Jump, T.J.!” screamed John, whose mount was being pulled toward the ravine. He grabbed a knife and sliced at the last remaining rope. . . .
Book Five: Discovery
Raising a son shouldn’t be so hard.
Excerpt: From the journal of
Robert Troy Madigan
. . . When we arrived at the water station, we dismounted and walked to the pump, where we turned on the cold-water spigot and stuck our heads under it. We led our horses and the young calf to a trough where they dipped their muzzles into the cool water. Kit, who had seen us ride up, came out of the fields to speak to us.
“Hot day. You look like you’ve been out riding.”
“Looking for some cattle. Last I saw them, they were down at the Three Forks Draw. All we found was this little maverick. Seems to have lost his ma.”
“I haven’t seen them.” Kit turned to Steve. “Hey, this is quite the man. He got all those cows you wanted sent off down to the chutes while you were gone. I let Lee help before he left with Grandpa George. I guess Steve’s shown us he’s a man now.”
My eyes swiveled over to Steve. “What cows? I . . .” A bad feeling came over me.
“Heck, Bob, if you’d a said something, George and I coulda got them down there for you.”
“Steve, what cows?”
“We changed our minds.” He didn’t meet my eyes. “We didn’t take any cows down there.”
“Why, Lee said . . .” Kit closed his mouth. His eyes sought out mine.
I felt anger burn inside me. “Did you try to sell our cows while I was gone, boy?”
“I told you, we didn’t do it! It’s just a misunderstanding.”
“Well, is that a fact? Then where’s the herd we just spent all day looking for?”
“I dunno. How am I supposed to know where some stupid cows decide to wander off to?”
I looked at Kit. “Are you sure? About the cows?” My eyes held a question, but Kit only shrugged.
“Let’s go.” I warned. “This won’t be the last of this, young man. We’ll talk about this later.”
“I don’t need a talk. You just always think the worst of me. . . .”
Book Six: The Challenge
What does it take to do a man’s job?
Excerpt: From the journal of
Steven Lee Madigan
. . . We arrived in the late afternoon. I just sat in the truck outside the old house and stared. It had been painted a pale sandy color. I approved—I liked the way it melted into the wide-open desert spaces. The old pioneer house was still in back. The barn. The corrals. Memories flooded me. I wondered if my old mare was still around.
A man came around the side of the house and stopped, then came forward. He drew alongside the driver’s window and nodded. “Howdy. Need help?”
I opened the door and got out. It seemed strange, but I was tall enough now to look my dad in the eye, man to man. Only he had grown older somehow. I saw gray at his temples and lines around his eyes. “Hello, Dad.”
He stared at me, taking in the long hair and ragged Levi’s. “Steve?” he whispered. I nodded slightly. My father pulled me into an embrace and crushed the air out of me. Few men were big enough to do that, and it felt good. “Melanie! Melanie, come on out here! Steve’s home! Steve!” He pounded me on the back. “Steve! You’ve come at last! We always hoped . . .” His voice got rough, and he cleared his throat.
Then I saw Mom. She was running, her arms opened. Then they were around me, and I hugged her. She cried, and I just stood there, feeling things I’d long forgotten about.
“I’ve prayed every day since you left that you’d come home! Oh, Steve, let me look at you!” She stepped away and looked me up and down. “You don’t know how I’ve worried . . .” She let out a sob. “Every night I wonder if you are alive and well, if you have a roof over your head . . .”
“Aw, Mom, I’m fine,” I said, feeling suddenly guilty. I hadn’t thought much about what my mom might be going through.
Dad cleared his throat. “We’re mighty glad you’ve come home, son.” That reminded me. I motioned to Ryan, who was still inside the Bronco. “Hey, kid, come here.” Ryan climbed out of the truck. Mom and Dad stared at him. “This is Ryan. You know, my son. Madeline didn’t, er, want him any longer.”
Mom knelt in front of Ryan. “My first grandson. And now I can finally meet you.” She pulled him into her embrace and held him for a long time. That’s when I was sure I had done the right thing in coming home. “You come right in the house with me, young man. Where are your things?”
I pulled the plastic bag out of the back and handed it to Mom. She exchanged a look with Dad. “Well, now, we’ll just get you whatever you need. Let’s see, we’ll put Steve back in his old room. I think we can put you next door. You’d like that . . .” Her voice trailed off when she saw the expression on Dad’s face.
“Son, what are your plans?” my father asked I hadn’t thought much about that. I shrugged. “I dunno.”
“You want to drop off your boy and leave? Is that it?”
I cringed. “I just met him myself, Dad. Give me a break.”
“What kind of break?” he asked, taking me literally.
“I—that is—look, Dad, I don’t know.”
He relented some. “Come with me, son. Let’s take a walk. I think we’d better know where we stand. . . .”
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