Working on an ending for the 2nd chapter on the Mormon slaughter of 120-145 Americans in the Mountain Meadows Massacre of 1857

 I knew nothing of how these people, many of them cousins of mine, were killed. Researching these chapters required weeks of torture, the discoveries were so horrific. I'm trying here for an ending:

         Meanwhile, denials of Mormon guilt continue. There are both deliberate and unconscious ways of obscuring or obliterating. A century ago, there was a monstrous obscenity in Pomona, California, near San Bernardino (Brigham Young’s way-station between Utah and San Pedro): in 1921 a new and extremely profitable Golf Course was opened as the “Mountain Meadows Golf Course.” In California and elsewhere, what Mountain Meadows means to most people today is a very famous golf course. But the families remember the massacre at Mountain Meadows. Some grieve for the fine stalwart men, caught off guard, and their brave wives, who had time to try to shelter children. Some grieve for the single men and youths. Some cannot bear to think of how some young girls, only prepubescent, were tortured before they were killed. Some grieve for the pile of bones from bodies of ten unidentified boys. Some grieve for the children, those killed at once and those bloody, stunned, made captive for two years until ransomed. For whatever personal reason, I grieve most, some days, for the optimistic “half grown” American boys who did man’s work herding cattle on their great adventure toward a long manhood in the Golden State. As Enobarbus says, I grieve, “that truth should be silent,” that truth should still be silent.