Morning Star (3 page)

Chapter 2

Mark stood at the window of his second-floor law office looking down on Springfield's busy main thoroughfare. Accustomed as he was to the brisk passage of buggies and wagons, and the cluster of women visiting on the streets while their parasols and billowing skirts forced a detour upon the male pedestrians, today's unusual activity kept him glued to the window despite the piles of paper on his desk.

When he heard the quick steps on the stairs, Mark turned to face the door. It was Aaron Turnbull, his partner.

Aaron nodded at the case of books on the floor. “You've settled your affairs to the point you must pack law books?”

“Yes.” Mark said with a note of regret in his voice. “The house has been sold and Jennifer has begun to pack our belongings.”

“I still can't quite convince myself you'll really do this. Certainly I can't believe it's a wise decision.” His curious eyes held that wary expression Mark had come to expect since he had admitted his connection with Joseph Smith, the Mormon prophet. Mark sighed and turned toward his desk.

“By the way,” Aaron said, “is there any possibility you're related to the evangelist, Peter Cartwright?”

“Yes, he's a brother of my father. Why do you ask?”

“Well, he's a part of the reason the streets are nearly impassable. He's holed up in the lobby of the Continental Hotel.”

“I should pay him my respects,” Mark murmured, shuffling through the papers on his desk.

“The other reason is that the esteemed prophet is in town. I understand he's the guest of Judge Adams. That makes me question his religion.”

“Joseph's in town?” Mark said in surprise. “I didn't know. I'm sure he'll want to dine with us. You say he's staying with Judge Adams? That really surprises me, although I know little about the man. It's just—”

“Well, let me fill you in.” Aaron said shortly.

“If it's only conjecture—”

“It isn't. You need to know if you intend to make Nauvoo your home and practice law there. Abe Lincoln has circulated a handbill. I'll try to get you a copy of it, but for now, Lincoln's charged him with being a forger and swindler.”

“I wonder what the connection can be?”

“Since he's involved with the Masons, I'd guess it has something to do with that.”

“That's impossible. Joseph is dead set against the Masonic Lodge, always has been. His gold book strongly teaches against secret societies.”

Aaron shrugged and went to his desk. Mark closed his desk drawer and said, “Well, I'll head for the hotel and then try to find Joseph.”

“That won't be difficult,” Aaron replied in a muffled voice. “When I left the hotel they were having a shouting match in the lobby. If you look out the window, you'll notice their audience is streaming inside. I doubt you'll get a ringside seat.”

For a moment Mark weighed speed against dignity and decided that speed was the more important. He headed for the hotel.

Aaron was correct; the lobby was full. Mark elbowed his way through the crowd. Although he hadn't seen his uncle Peter for years, he recognized the man.

Joseph was talking. Both men were seated in comfortable chairs in the lobby, but only Joseph looked the gentleman at ease and sounded—Mark winced—like the same old Joseph. His clothes were costly, elegant and rumpled. Peter Cartwright looked the part of a circuit rider—dusty, threadbare, and careworn. The man leaned forward with hands on knees and gave Joseph his undivided attention.

Joseph's eyes flicked across the crowd, lighted up when he spied Mark, and then returned to the evangelist. He was saying, “I'm convinced, sir, that of all the sects in existence today, we'd find the Methodist to be the closest to being correct.” His broad palm warded off Peter's words as he said, “Now mind me, they are not correct right now, but if the sect would advance in the knowledge, they would take the world.”

Peter moved impatiently and said, “Sir, you see us all wrong; we've no intention or desire to take the world. I'm not spending my life on horseback to preach the gospel of human endeavor. I'm here to preach Jesus Christ as Savior of each individual who comes to Him looking for grace to rescue him from the wrath of God. You, sir, are advertised as living a life of sin. If you would be great in God's eyes, you must repent.”

Joseph's voice rose, overlapping Peter's, and Mark squirmed. When Mark realized it was Joseph's voice spewing out the curses, he began backing away, and then the voice stopped him. Joseph was on his feet, with clenched fist raised he shouted, “I proclaim that I am here to raise up a government in this country of America, these very states, which will overthrow our present form of government! I promise you, I will lift high a religion which shall overcome every form of religion in these United States!”

There was a moment of silence and Peter Cartwright lifted his shaggy head. Slowly he said, “The Bible tells us that bold and deceitful men will not live out half their days. I venture to say that the Lord will send the devil after you one of these days unless you repent.”

“No,” Joseph's voice overlapped Peter's again. Breathing heavily he added, “I prophesy that I shall live and prosper while you die in your sins.”

****

In the weeks that followed, Mark often thought of the exchange between his uncle and Joseph Smith. He hadn't told Jenny of the encounter and didn't intend to. Right now, recalling that incident, Mark looked at their new home and shook his head.

Jenny and Mark stood on the tiny porch of a weatherbeaten house, nestled in the woods halfway between Warsaw and Nauvoo, Illinois. Mark looked at Jenny's dismal face and said, “It could be worse.”

“You mean Missouri. I loved the little cabin.”

“I'm rejoicing right now. After paying off the mortgage, the money we realized from the sale of our home in Springfield completely paid for this little patch of earth and shabby cottage. Besides, the agent promised that when—I say
if
—the railroad comes through here, they'll want to buy our land.”

His toe nudged at the boxes and barrels clustered on the porch. “Frankly, given the condition of the state, it'll be years before that can happen. Right now I'm just happy to be out of debt.”

“Oh yes, I remember the battle cry back home.” Jenny's voice dropped to mock the well-worn refrain. “‘Thirteen hundred citizens and fifty miles of railroad.' And all we've seen are molehill piles of dirt.”

“But given everything, you've had your wish. We are now residents—or nearly so—of Nauvoo, Illinois.”

“Do you suppose we've been wise to choose the country instead of waiting to build in Nauvoo?”

“Are you fond of sleeping in a tent? Few homes are finished, and they're mostly little Missouri-style log cabins. Even Joseph's house is small and cramped. Don't forget, my dear, Nauvoo has been in existence for only one year and a few months.

“Now shall we go inside and see what surprises await a couple who grab up real estate, sight unseen, just in order to have a roof over their heads?” Mark opened the door and led the way.

Jenny sighed and said, “At least it looks as if it has been occupied recently.”

“By folks fleeing the Mormons. No cause, that's certain, but nevertheless—” his voice trailed away.

Jenny ignored him and marched through the rooms. “There's a good kitchen with a decent stove. The floors are clean but terrible. The walls need to be papered, the stairs are in need of repair. Oh, for a clothes press!”

“Unless our furniture arrives before nightfall, we'll be forced to spend the night on the floor.”

“Bless my precious brother for volunteering to drive the wagon so we could ride the stage together.” Jenny's voice was warm. “Since he left long before we did, surely he'll be finding us shortly.”

“Then I'll bring in these barrels and find firewood,” Mark said as he removed his coat and hung it on a nail beside the door. Jenny eyed the coat and shook her head in amusement as she rolled up her sleeves.

Nauvoo, even in late August, was hot—and much different than Jenny had anticipated. True, the mighty Mississippi did wind like a circling arm around that rearing bluff of their land, but she hadn't expected to find forest treading nearly on the toes of Nauvoo's residents.

And the riverport was a disappointment—a rattletrap wharf, a ferry, and a tumble of shabby dinghies. In her mind she had imagined a real port with steamers. In truth, the real port was in Warren, close to Warsaw.

That next week, she had a chance to view the river and town from the high point. The land already showed activity in preparation for building; Jenny looked downstream to the line that was Warsaw. “Why?” she turned on the seat of the wagon to address Mark. “With all this water, why go beyond Warsaw for a port?”

“The river rapids keep the big ships downstream. Joseph plans to build a wing dam which should take care of the problem. But Warsaw has trouble with sandbars.”

Jenny shrugged and turned back to study Nauvoo. Mark said, “Homes are to be built much as Joseph planned in Zion, with large lots and wide streets. I understand some of the poorer Saints have been given land for farming on the outskirts of town. Right now Joseph's selling off parcels of land in town. I hear he's given some of the parcels to the favored ones.”

“Will we be out of favor by buying through the agent instead of going to Joseph?”

Mark shrugged. “Joseph's lots are expensive. There are big interest payments on his land purchases. I've also been investigating this man, Galland, who's sold the land to the Saints. Part of his dealings has involved forged deeds. I preferred not taking any chances, and fortunately I found this little house and land just out of town.”

“Gentile property,” Jenny said. She sighed and continued, “This new place is a poor substitute for what we've given up. But Joseph has reminded us again and again that the Lord expects us to sacrifice for Zion. Also he's promising us something much better than we've left behind. Why does Joseph need another lawyer in Nauvoo? Is it something to do with the land problem?”

Mark shook his head. “He didn't give me any details, just offered me a good position.”

He turned away and Jenny continued, “I wonder where we'll find Tom. I haven't seen him since he left the furniture.”

“He isn't in town,” Mark replied. “I have been doing a little asking around. I know where Andy and Sally Morgan are living. If we hurry, after we visit Joseph's store we'll have time to stop by their place.” He turned the wagon and flicked the reins across the horses' backs.

Slowly they made their way down Nauvoo's main street. Mark pointed out a two-story log house with a white clapboard addition. “That's Joseph's home. I don't know who owns the other houses on this street, but there's evidence of building going on all over town. I've seen brick and limestone buildings going up. From the size of them I'd guess them to be businesses.”

Jenny was still silent as Mark pointed to another building under construction. “I understand that building is to be the
Times and Seasons
office.” At her questioning look he added, “Newspaper and printing office. I just heard Joseph's men made a covert trip back to Missouri to recover the press and type they'd buried in Far West. The next place is Joseph's store. Looks like he has a good-sized office upstairs.”

He looked at her drooping mouth. “Cheer up, dear wife; in another year this little town will compete with the best of them. Just the sheer force of numbers will guarantee that.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jenny asked slowly as she turned to face him.

“Progress. I hear the latest missionary endeavor to England has netted two hundred converts. Right now they're on the way to Nauvoo. And more Canadian converts are coming. It's whispered that the army's being reorganized. That's bound to put heart into the Saints. See that hill? It's been marked out as the spot for the new temple.”

“There was a revelation that the temple in Missouri was to be commenced in 1839. I haven't forgotten that. Has Joseph?”

Mark studied her face. For just a moment he wished his answer could be yes. “Jenny, in April of last year, Brigham Young and several of the other brethren slipped across into Missouri and rolled a log into place at the temple excavations, thus starting construction on it.” She grinned with delight. Mark jumped from the wagon and looped the reins over the hitching post.

As Mark turned to help Jenny from the wagon, he was caught motionless for a second, seeing sharply the contrast between this Jenny and the Jenny he had known in Springfield for the past year. Now neat in her dark calico dress with its demure white collar, serene with smiling lips and neatly coiled dark hair, she was a wife to make any man proud.

He frowned, for a moment caught up with that vivid picture of last year's Jenny. With troubled eyes and drawn face, wearing a frown that seemed to indicate she was miles away in thought, her hair tumbled and her home looking as if she'd forgotten it existed, Jenny had sent signals to Mark which filled him with despair.

Mark now took Jenny's arm and smiled down at her. Her eyes danced with anticipation, and the contentment on her face told him she knew herself at home once again. But that same contentment made Mark sigh. He need not remind himself that his experiment had failed. In Missouri he had been confident that once they moved to Springfield, all Jenny's strange ideas would disappear. Once under the teaching of a Bible-believing church, Jenny would see the truth. Since her early years he had sensed her forthrightness and intelligence, and that had led him to believe in her desire for knowledge and truth. But belief was not enough. His silent waiting for time to right the wrongs wasn't working.

As Mark mulled over the past year, he briefly wondered if moving to Nauvoo represented a decision not to wait for God to act in Jenny's life. Did the decisions he made reflect a lack of trust in his life?