We left the plains in the last few days of July and entered the Rockies. The trail through those spectacular mountains was not as hard as I had anticipated. Our trail captain, Keats, put the fear of God in us, ensuring we hasten on at every moment despite being slowed down by the crippled Mormon wagon.

We crossed South Pass on the last day of July, gently descending from the mountains on to land so bare and arid that I can barely imagine anyone could survive here. But Keats assures us they do; Ute, Shoshone, Bannock . . . they all manage after a fashion.

We have started to see graves more frequently by the trailside. Sometimes in ones or twos, sometimes, it seems, whole parties. There are those that have died because their horses have failed them and those that have died from sickness. Some of the graves were opened and the bodies unearthed. Keats said Ute most likely did this, scavenging for items, clothes. Indians, he says, do not bury their dead; once the spirit is gone, they consider what’s left as mere carrion.

He said the same fate awaits the Zimmermans when their wheel finally collapses, or their stressed axle breaks. Out here in this salty plain, he says, they will die quickly and be scavenged first by Indians, then by vultures . . .

Ben stirred.

‘Mr Lambert . . . Benjamin?’ a voice whispered out of the darkness. He put down his pen and screwed the lid tightly on his precious inkpot.

He recognised the voice coming out of the night nearby. The lad had sneaked out under cover of dark several times before.

‘Samuel?’

Into the small pool of flickering light from his writing lamp, the lad emerged, hand in hand with Emily, a grin of mischievous excitement stretched across her small bonnet-framed face.

‘Emily too?’ He looked at Sam. ‘Will she not be in trouble, being out this late?’

‘Momma’s at an Elders’ meeting with Preston.’

‘Momma won’t find out,’ said Emily. ‘They pray and talk late.’

Ben smiled. ‘All right then. But I’d hate for you two to get in trouble.’

Both of them shrugged.

‘Come on the pair of you,’ said Ben. He nodded towards the campfire, around which the children from the Bowen, McIntyre and Hussein families sat and played together. ‘Why don’t we join the others?’

He led them over to the communal fire. There was a moment of awkwardness as the children sized each other up, aware that Emily and Sam were from the other camp. Five minutes later, names had been politely exchanged and Emily was chatting with one of the McIntyre children, Anne-Marie, a girl a year older than Emily, who was eagerly showing and sharing her small collection of dolls.

Sam stayed close by Ben’s side, fascinated by the dark skins of Mr Hussein and his family and Weyland’s Negro girl, and the quiet studied form of Broken Wing. On the other hand, the young lad was wary of Keats, spitting, cursing and swapping dirty stories with Mr Bowen and Mr Weyland.

Ben noticed Sam also discreetly watching over Emily across the flames, smiling at her giggles of pleasure, clearly proud of his little sister and how her ever-cheerful demeanour instantly charmed the other children and Mrs Bowen and Mrs McIntyre.

He cares for her more like a father than a brother.

It made sense. There was no father and Sam was now of an age where he was becoming the man of their small family. But there was a wonderful tenderness he had noticed between them over the last few weeks. They were certainly much closer to each other than they were to that cold, hard-faced mother of theirs.

‘Sam, would you like a little coffee?’

He nodded. Ben poured and passed him a mug that he held tightly in both hands, savouring both the warmth and the aroma.

‘Do you have any other family, Sam? Uncles, aunts, grand-parents, left back east?’

‘The community is our family,’ he replied. ‘We aren’t allowed any family beyond that.’

‘Aren’t allowed?’

‘Outside of our church.’ Sam cast a glance across at the larger cluster of wagons across the way. ‘Outside of his ministry. But they’re not our real family. There’s only us,’ he said, looking back at Emily. ‘I don’t like it over there,’ he continued. ‘We’re all alone, never supposed to talk to anyone else. Sometimes it feels like we’re the only people in the world.’

Ben nodded. ‘It was a bit like that for me too when I was a kid. I was an only child, and my parents were always busy with other things. That’s why I like books. Can you read, Sam?’

‘Of course, but we’re only allowed to read two.’

‘I’ll presume the Bible is one of them.’ Ben sipped his coffee. ‘And what’s the other?’

Sam shook his head. ‘No, not that, not the Bible! Preston says it’s full of mistakes and has been corrupted by the Jews and the Popes. We read the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Book of New Instruction.’

Ben looked puzzled. ‘Never heard of those.’

‘The Doctrine and Covenants and the Book of New Instruction are the only texts we’re allowed to read any more. We’re not even allowed to read the Book of Mormon.’

‘Eh? But you’re Mormons, surely . . .’

‘No,’ Sam replied quietly. ‘Not any more. Preston won’t have us call ourselves that now.’

‘Why?’

‘He believes the faith has gone wrong, been taken over by greedy men. He says that’s what always happens with faith - over and over. That it’s men who take God’s message and change it to what they want to hear.’

Ben shrugged. ‘I think maybe he’s right.’

Sam glanced at the distant glow coming from the other campfire. ‘Maybe. But it meant we had to leave Iowa and come out here.’

‘Why?’

‘The church, other Mormons, wouldn’t allow Preston to preach the faith. And we had to go because he wanted to—’ Sam hesitated a moment, a confused anxiety spreading across his face.

‘What is it, Sam?’ asked Ben.

‘I shouldn’t say. I’ll get in trouble.’

‘Then don’t. I wouldn’t want that.’

Sam was silent for a while before quietly turning to Ben. ‘He wants to write a new Book of Mormon.’

‘Really? Won’t there be a lot of people upset by that? Angry?’

Sam was silent, his eyes wide. ‘It’s our secret.’

‘Because it’ll anger other Mormons?’

Sam nodded. ‘That’s why he’s taking us all to the west.’

‘Away from the Mormon church?’

Sam nodded again and then reached out, grabbing Ben’s arm. Ben noticed the boy’s hand was trembling. ‘I . . . I told you something I shouldn’t have. You mustn’t tell anyone, please.’

Ben shook his head. ‘Sam, it’s okay. I won’t.’

‘If they found out I t-told anyone . . .’

‘They?’

‘The Elders. Preston, Mr Vander, Mr Hearst, Mr Zimmerman, my momma, Mr—’

‘Sam, I promise, I won’t tell anyone.’

‘You swear?’

Ben rested a hand on his. ‘I promise. Listen, I’m not that much of a Christian, Sam. I’m not that much of a believer in anything, to tell you the truth. If someone wants to mess around with a religious text, then that’s their business.’

Ben felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see Emily standing beside him. She showed him a wooden-peg doll. ‘It’s Anne-Marie’s, ’ she explained, pointing across the fire at McIntyre’s daughter. ‘She said I could keep her for the journey. Do you like her, Benjamin?’

He took it off her and looked it over with an appreciative frown. ‘She’s lovely. Do you have many dolls in your wagon, Emily?’

Emily shook her head. ‘Not really.’

‘None,’ said Sam. ‘Momma doesn’t approve of the dresses they wear. Says they look like dirty ladies.’

‘Can I keep her, Sam?’

Sam looked down sadly at his sister. ‘Sorry, Em . . . if Momma sees it in the wagon, she’ll know we’ve been over.’

Emily nodded sadly, and turned to take it back.

‘I can look after her,’ said Ben. ‘I could keep her in my saddle bag. When we stop over for noon break, I could pull her out and let you play with her for a short while. Your mother needn’t know.’

Emily swung a small arm around his neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you very much.’

At that moment, they heard the collective murmur of prayers coming through the still night.

‘Prayer meeting will be finishing up soon,’ said Sam. ‘We should go back now.’

Emily reluctantly passed Ben the doll.

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ll keep her safe. You can play with her tomorrow.’

Sam smiled gratefully at him. ‘And thank you for the coffee, Benjamin.’ He grabbed his sister’s hand and they set off a few steps towards the other wagons before he stopped and turned. ‘Can I bring Emily over again?’

‘If you like. As long as you both don’t end up getting in trouble.’

Sam nodded, and then they were gone.

Ben finished his coffee as he watched them go, quickly fading into the darkness, soon no more than a flickering silhouette against the distant glow of the other campfire. He bid goodnight to those still gathered around theirs for warmth, and headed back to where his two ponies were tethered and his bedroll lay. He unscrewed the lid of his inkpot and dipped his pen carefully in.

And what a hold he appears to have on them. That he can throw away the Bible and their Mormon book and start over . . . and they will take whatever he decides to write, as gospel?