A sketch of the life of John Henry Owen Wilcox
ANDREW PETER’S PROMISE
Eleanor P. Madsen
ANDREW PETER’S PROMISE
The day was hot and sultry. Andrew Peter had been up since before daylight coaxing the small stream of water through the sparse alfalfa patch. “Golly, I’m tired! I must be getting’ old,” he said aloud, more to himself than to his nephew who was cutting some weeds out of a ditch nearby. The older man sat down on a clump of grass on the ditch bank to rest a few minutes before resuming his task. The younger man, whose name was also Peter, leaned on the shovel handle as he said, “Old? Why, you’ll outlast me twenty years. I’ll tell you what. If you go first, no matter where I am I’ll be to your funeral. If I go first, you gotta promise me you’ll come to mine no matter where it is.” “It’s a deal,” exclaimed Andrew Peter as he stretched out his arm to shake hands on the bargain. Many years passed. Peter left Sanpete County and moved across the mountain to Ferron, Emery County, where he lived for some time. One day in August 1914, Andrew Peter, who was then 82 years old, was out in his field north of Ephraim harvesting peas. Word was brought to him that his nephew Peter, had died and the funeral would be on Wednesday, just two days away. It was a busy time of year for farmers and that black cloud in the west looked like rain. Andrew Peter had given his word to be to the funeral of his namesake so the farming would have to wait. It rained most of the night but Andrew Peter had no intention of breaking his word. He arose early and said to his wife, “Martha, tell Ali and Minnie they can ride with us and Nels and Lilly can take Suzy with them. We’ll be better off taking the two cars of it’s going to rain. It was 9 a.m. before the Olsens with their two Model T”s were on their way. There was still a fine mist of rain in the air as they left Ephraim and drove south. All went well until the group reached Sumper’s Ranch in Salina Canyon. To their dismay the road leading through the railroad tunnel had been washed out by the heavy rain. “We better go back, Dad, “Ali suggested. “We’ll never get through this.” “We’re not going back!” exclaimed Andrew Peter. “I promised Pete I’d go to this funeral and that’s what we’re going to do.” The boys knew it was no use to try to persuade their father to turn around. They started making their way cautiously over the steep bank. Martha sat motionless hardly daring to breathe as one wheel slipped into a deep gulley made by the flood water. She wanted to get out and walk but knew that was impossible. Just as she thought they were on more sure ground again, the car sank into the sticky mud and stopped.
Andrew Peter climbed out of the car and looked around to see what could be done. As he kicked around in the mud with his toe, he shouted, “Look, here’s a piece of rail! Maybe we can pry the wheels loose with it.” Ali scoffed, “Why you can’t even lift one end of that rail let alone pry the wheels up with it.” “Well, I’m going to try. We’ve got to do something,” answered Andrew Peter. After several tries he found that he couldn’t lift the rail. On closer examination the elderly man found a piece that had broken off which he could use. With this to aid him and the boys and the other car helping to push they were out of the mud hole and on their way again. A second tunnel proved to be less hazardous. There was enough road not covered with mud and water that the cars could get through. Martha kept her eyes focused on the road ahead. Her fingers ached from clasping them together so tight. As they rounded each precarious curve, Martha wondered if the floor board under her feet would last to their destination. The Model T’s made it across the top of the mountain and down Red Creek. Here the boys were ready to turn back again. The complete road had been washed out and floods had piled mud and debris as much as eight feet high. Martha moaned, “What on earth can we do now?” “Now, Martha, don’t get excited.” Andrew Peter tried to reassure her. “We’ll go down in the creek bed.” At once he started driving his car in that direction. Ali said, “Dad, you can’t do that. We’ll never make it through. We can still go back.” Andrew Peter was determined. Martha and the boys knew it was no use to say any more. Martha shut her eyes, held her breath and prayed silently. She was numb all over. As the car lurched forward into a deep gully she wanted to scream but even her jaws were too rigid to move. She was sure they were going to roll down the hill. Somehow the car stayed upright and at last they were on level ground. The mud holes were almost a welcome relief to her. It was getting dark as they drove on to the road again. Martha could barely see the outline of the solid rock wall that towered 100 feet above them. The headlights were so mud-splattered that it was difficult to see where the road was. Martha’s prayers helped and the little party traveled for some time without incident. As they reached the division of the road that led to Emery and to the Pony Mines (the road that now leads to I-70) once more the first car mired in the swampy mud. Ali, peering through the blackness said, “I think the road is full of water.” Andrew Peter replies, “I’ll soon find out. I think it’s just mud.” He got out of the car and found himself wading in water up to his ankles. With the aid of the second car and more pushing and pulling, the men were able to get the cars moving slowly again through mud and water. It was 3 a.m. when the weary travelers reached the town of Emery and made their way to the home of Minnie’s brother, Lou Peterson. After waking the Petersons, they were treated to bowls of bread and milk and sank into bed and exhausted sleep. It was late in the forenoon before the Olsen’s were able to get on their way toward Ferron. Their problems were not over as they encountered roads that had been washed out. The mud and water caused some mechanical problems with their cars. Martha was afraid they would never reach Ferron in time for the funeral. Andrew Peter and the boys were so covered with mud they didn’t look very presentable to be going into a church, she thought. Martha rubbed some of the mud from the bottom of her own black skirt and pushed a stray lock of her gray hair from her face.
It was very quiet as the group stopped their cars by the small adobe church in Ferron. The hearse with its two white horses and several other cars and buggies were standing by the fence where the mud had been scraped away for the mourners to park. As she climbed out of the car, Martha lifted her eyes to a ray of light pushing its way through the clouds. Andrew Peter led the way as they entered the church. They could see the Bishop standing at the pulpit and the rest of the congregation standing. The funeral was over. As the Bishop saw the door open and the Olsen’s enter, he announced to the audience, “Here are the Kesko’s from Sanpete.” There was handshaking, embracing and words of welcome for Andrew Peter, Martha and the others. The body of Peter in the wooden casket was forgotten for a moment. Ali, Nels, and their families never forgot that when Andrew Peter made a promise, he kept it.
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Eleanor Kjar Madsen Ephraim, Utah
Eleanor Dianna Peterson Kjar Madsen, 95, of Ephriam, Utah died July 26, 2008, at the Gunnison Valley Hospital. She was born April 19, 1913 in Mt. Pleasant, Utah the daughter of Mouritz and Mathilda Lund Peterson. She married Ronald Melroy Kjar September 1, 1934 in the Salt Lake Temple. He died August 12, 1946. She married Leslie L. Madsen July 31, 1964 in the Manti temple. He died August 6, 1984. Eleanor graduated from North Sanpete High School and from Snow College. She taught elementary school in Manti and was Deputy Recorder in the Sanpete County Courthouse for 25 years. She served in all auxiliary organizations of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day-Saints in ward and stake capacities. She and her husband, Leslie, served an LDS Church mission in Sacramento, California in 1976-1977. She served in the Family History Mission in Salt Lake City in 1992-1993. She served as an Ordinance Worker in the Manti Temple for 12 years. She was an avid genealogist and served in the Family History Libraries in Manti and Ephraim. She had just completed the genealogy for four family lines as far back as records are available. She was a vice president for the Ladies Guild for the Mormon Miracle Pageant. She was President of the Sanpete PTA, and did tutoring at the Ephraim Elementary School up to age 93. Next to her love for her family was her love of writing. She served as Editor and committee member of the "Saga of the Sanpitch" during all the 30 years of its publication. She was Co-editor of the "Golden Quarter," a 25 year history of Ephraim; and, with her brother Albert C. Peterson, a history of the "Fredrick and Ane M. Peterson family." She also authored other family histories and a volume of poetry. She served as President of the Utah Federation of the Sanpete Poetry Chapter for several years. She wrote local items of news for the Messenger-Enterprise for 42 years. Her 34 grandchildren and 81 great-grandchildren and one great-great-grandchild were the recipients of many of her crocheted afghans and quilts. She was also steadfast in her affection for the Madsen family of three children, six grandchildren, and nine great-grandchildren. She is survived by two sons: R. Bruce (Judy) Kjar, Woods Cross; R. Michael (Janet) Kjar, Salt Lake; one daughter: Janet (R Dee) Hughes, Clinton; two daughters-in-law: Marcia Kjar, Gunnison; Marianne Kjar, Provo; two sisters: Dorothy Blackham, Judith Sperry; one brother: David L. Peterson She was preceded in death by her parents; her two husbands; two sons, David Kjar and Richard Kjar; two brothers, Lyman Peterson and Albert C. Peterson; a sister, Lucile Blackham; three grandchildren; one great-grandchild.
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