I. In His Midst: Doctrine and Covenants 61:36
II. Hearts Knit Together: Mosiah 18:21
III. A Paiute Princess: Proverbs 3:15
IV. A New Name: Revelation 2:17
V. Crown of Rejoicing: 1 Thessalonians 2:19
In His Midst
Hearts Knit Together
A Paiute Princess
A New Name
Crown of Rejoicing
Summary
“A Paiute Princess” follows the story of Florence, a young pioneer girl who, while traveling west with her family, is unexpectedly taken by a Native American tribe. Mourning the loss of their own daughter, the tribe’s chief and his wife embrace Florence as their own, dressing her in ceremonial clothes and giving her a new name. She becomes their cherished “princess,” learning their ways and forming a deep bond with her adoptive family.
Though Florence comes to love her new life, she misses her biological family. Seeing her quiet longing, the chief and his wife return her to them, believing she now belongs to both worlds. Inspired by true family history, “A Paiute Princess” is a story of resilience, cultural connection, and the power of family bonds. Florence’s legacy lives on, her story grounding her descendants as a reminder of her journey across two worlds.
A Paiute Princess
Author and Illustrator: Amberlea Erekson
Dedication: To my children.
Long ago, a family left their home and journeyed west in search of a new life. They joined a wagon train, bringing only what they could carry, with their two children, Jim and Florence, who clutched their tiny bundles of belongings as they set off toward the unknown.
Though still small, Jim and Florence walked beside the wagon most of the way, their legs pumping and faces flushed with determination. When they grew too tired, they clambered into the wagon, feet dangling over the side as the vast prairie rolled on endlessly. Along the journey, they collected wildflowers as bright as the sunset and stones that glittered like tiny stars, each a small, secret treasure that made the long days feel like an adventure.
The wagon train stopped to rest every evening, forming a protective circle. Each evening, after the wagon train stopped and the fire crackled to life, their mother would remind them to choose just one stone to keep—a rule that always made Florence hesitate. She’d sift through her treasures, fingers brushing over each rough edge and smooth surface, searching for the one that felt right. When she finally chose, she’d hold it tight in her tiny hands, the weight of it grounding her as she sat by the fire, its cool surface pressing into her palm like a promise.
One afternoon, a cloud of dust appeared on the horizon, shimmering like a mirage in the heat. The pioneers stopped, shielding their eyes, squinting against the sunlight as shapes began to emerge—horsemen, swift and silent, riding like shadows across the plains. Stories of friendly tribes whispered through the wagon train, yet an unspoken fear hung in the air, thick and inescapable, like the dust stirred by the approaching riders.
A young warrior swept through the protective circle in a heartbeat, swift and silent as a shadow. Florence barely had time to gasp before solid arms lifted her. Suddenly, the world was a blur of wind and hooves as he carried her away, her cries swallowed by the pounding of the horse’s gallop. Her family’s voices faded behind her, and all she could see was the vast open land stretching endlessly in every direction.
Florence’s family was devastated as if a piece of their hearts had been wrenched away. Day after day, they searched the horizon, straining for any sign of her or word of her whereabouts, but the prairie remained silent and endless. Each night by the campfire, they gathered close, their prayers woven with tears, hoping against hope that somewhere out there, she was safe—protected by hands they could not see. Even Jim, clutching the stones they’d gathered together, whispered his own small prayers, unwilling to let go of the sister he missed with all his heart.
After hours of travel, Florence arrived in a village unlike anything she had ever seen. The air was filled with the scent of woodsmoke and fresh pine, and everywhere she looked, faces turned toward her—not with anger or fear, but with warm, curious eyes. Children peeked out from behind their mothers, laughing and whispering, while the adults offered her gentle smiles. Though Florence’s heart ached with homesickness, a strange sense of safety settled within her as if these strangers had been waiting for her all along. She felt it in the gentle smiles, the soft murmurs, and the chief and his wife’s watchful, tender gaze—a gaze that seemed to say, "You are home."
The chief and his wife, who had recently lost their only daughter, took Florence into their hearts with a quiet, aching desperation. She was a stranger, yet her presence softened the edges of their grief, a balm for wounds that felt impossible to heal. From the moment she arrived, they embraced her as their own, hoping that by giving her love, they could somehow mend their broken hearts. They guided her to the river’s edge, where the water sparkled in the sun like liquid glass. One by one, the women surrounded her, their hands soft as they washed away the dust of the journey. They murmured in low voices, words she couldn’t understand but somehow felt deep within her bones, as if each word— a blessing and a thread weaving her into their world. When they anointed her forehead with sweet-smelling oil, she closed her eyes, feeling the coolness settle into her skin— soft and gentle, assuring her that she belonged here, if only for a little while.
Later, the chief’s wife dressed her in ceremonial clothes of soft leather embroidered with bright colors—garments that had once belonged to their daughter, the tribe’s princess. As they wove feathers into her hair and adorned her with jewelry that sparkled in the sunlight, Florence felt herself becoming part of something larger, chosen to carry the spirit of their lost child and the hope of their people. That night, they gathered around the fire, its flickering light casting long shadows across their faces. The chief, seated across from Florence, spoke in a low, rhythmic voice, his words flowing like the river. She didn’t understand the language, but the warmth in his gaze and the solemnity of his tone reached her like a song sung in a dream.
At last, he placed his hand gently over her heart and whispered a name—a sacred word she couldn’t pronounce at first but felt resonate deep within her, like a heartbeat. This was the name of their princess, passed down to her now, a symbol of the tribe’s love and faith in her. Florence had come to them as a stranger, but in the circle of firelight, she became one of their own—a cherished daughter, honored and revered, the bearer of a legacy of hope.
The days she spent with the tribe were filled with love and learning. Her new family taught her the land’s ways, how to gather food, and shared stories of their ancestors. Florence grew to understand the profound beauty of the world around her and felt connected to something much more significant than herself.
Though she was wrapped in warmth and kindness, a quiet ache grew in Florence’s heart. Some nights, as she lay beneath the stars, she would close her eyes and picture her mother’s gentle hands, her father’s warm laughter, and Jim’s small, eager face framed by the familiar glow of the campfire. She remembered her mother’s voice telling stories as they sorted through the stones they’d gathered. She missed the feel of those tiny treasures in her hands, each carrying a memory of the journey she’d left behind. The chief and his wife saw this longing in her eyes and knew what it meant. Though it brought them sorrow, they decided to return Florence to her family. She had been a gift to them, but her journey was not yet complete.
One morning, they placed her on a beautiful horse and rode with her back toward the wagon train’s path. When the riders appeared on the horizon, the pioneers held their breath, eyes widening as the figures came into focus. And then they saw her—Florence, radiant and almost unrecognizable, clothed in soft leather stitched with intricate designs, feathers braided into her hair, and jewelry that caught the sunlight, gleaming like embers. Her face held a serene strength, her eyes reflecting the wisdom of all she had experienced. She looked both familiar and transformed, carrying a knowledge beyond her years. She was the same little girl, yet changed in a way her family could scarcely understand.
The chief approached with slow, deliberate steps, his gaze steady as he lifted Florence from the horse. Tenderly and solemnly, he placed her in her mother’s waiting arms. Turning to her family, he spoke softly, his words translated by another. He explained that Florence had been a gift in their darkest time, filling a void left by the loss of their daughter, whose spirit they believed had returned to them through Florence. In her laughter and innocence, they found a glimmer of the light they thought was gone forever. "She is a light,” he said softly, “a precious gift that has mended our hearts in ways we could not have imagined. Though she now walks between two worlds, she will forever be bound to our people. She carries our honor, love, and the spirit of a princess who will never be forgotten." He bowed his head, his voice low and reverent, murmuring words of gratitude that hung in the air like smoke, drifting up toward the dawn-lit sky. And though she had briefly been with them, they would always remember her.
Florence returned to her family— changed in ways only those closest to her could see. The world around her seemed richer, filled with beauty and meaning she hadn’t noticed before. Within her heart, she knew she was a princess—a legacy of honor, wisdom, and love passed down to her by the tribe. Her time with them became a quiet flame, a source of strength that would guide her all her life—a reminder of the kindness and resilience that connect us all. She had journeyed into the unknown, embraced by love in two worlds, and returned home—forever changed, with a silent promise, like the weight of a stone, to honor the sacred trust placed in her.
Many years later, on Florence’s wedding day, members of the Paiute tribe joined her family in celebration. Their laughter and songs filled the air, blending two worlds for a day, honoring her as their princess once more. Whenever she told stories to her children, she spoke of that time with reverence, sharing the love, strength, and wisdom she had been given. She taught them to see the beauty in every stone, every sunrise, and every whisper of the wind—a legacy of a princess passed down like a sacred story, a reminder that love could bridge even the most expansive distances.
To this day, Florence’s stones sit in a bowl, each a quiet testament to her journey, marking a day across the plains. Their weight grounds her descendants as if whispering of the Paiute Princess who once lived—a girl who traveled far from home, embraced by two worlds, and left her spirit woven among them.
Author's Note:
This story is inspired by an oral history passed down from the author’s third great-grandmother, Florence Deborah Leavitt. Florence and her family were Latter-day Saint pioneers who journeyed westward, establishing towns across Utah and Nevada. Along the way, she had a profound experience with an unknown First Nation tribe—a bond that would leave a lasting mark on her life. Eventually, her family settled in Kanosh, Utah, where Florence and her husband, Joseph Hans Christensen, developed a close friendship with the Paiute Tribe.
This was a beloved bedtime tale that the author’s father shared throughout her childhood, a treasured memory filled with wisdom and adventure. As the author grew older, she saw deeper meanings in Florence’s story, understanding its lessons of love, courage, and respect across cultures. This retelling is a tribute to Florence’s legacy, a reminder of the power of kindness, the importance of understanding different cultures, and the enduring strength of family bonds.