The Work and the Glory (144 page)

Her instincts had been right. Though these families lived in the most simple—sometimes the most wretched—of conditions, they wanted something better for their children. Upon her solemn promise that there would be no talk of religion, the deal was struck. She had gotten commitments from ten families, usually clustered in groups of two or three cabins. It meant she would be gone four days at a time, twice a month, boarding overnight with the families on a rotating basis, leaving Rachel with neighbors and friends. It would involve a circuit of about sixteen miles, all told. On the even months she would walk it. On the odd months she would borrow a wagon from the Lewises and collect her “payment.” There was very little cash money in these parts, so her salary would be paid in trade—chickens, wheat, corn, perhaps a small hog; whatever she and the particular family settled on as fair payment.

Now she knew why she had felt so compelled to return to Missouri. Jessica Roundy Steed—saloon keeper’s daughter, divorced wife of a mule-skinning teamster, uneducated illiterate who had taught herself how to read and write and do figures—was now a teacher. No, she corrected herself. Not just a teacher. A
paid
teacher! She threw back her head, wanting to laugh right out loud. But of course that was something Jessica rarely did, and so she just smiled up at the greatness of the blue sky. Finally, she hoisted the canvas sack again and started off, walking with long, sure strides.

* * *

Caroline Mendenhall Steed had steeled herself for this moment for seven weeks now, but nothing could have prepared her for what she saw as their carriage moved down the main street of Independence.

Savannah, Georgia, had been laid out with straight streets and pleasant squares and parks placed strategically throughout the city. Independence, Missouri, had been laid out by mountain men and teamsters following buffalo and deer trails. Savannah was street after street of well-designed, neatly built, well-cared-for brick homes. The businesses had attractive, neatly lettered signs, often done with gold-leaf paint. Independence was raw bawdiness. There was no order to the structures that they were passing, just a random tangle of sod huts, tin shanties, Indian tepees, canvas tents, packing-crate lean-tos, and log cabins, with only an occasional frame home. And the businesses, if that was what they were, carried hand-lettered signs at best and barely legible scrawls at worst.

She felt her heart drop.
What have I done?

“Joshua! Joshua! Is that a real Indian?” Will, in the backseat behind his mother, nearly jumped out of the carriage in his eagerness to point at an approaching figure.

The man was tall and dressed in buckskin shirt, pants, and moccasins. His hair was black as fireplace soot and pulled back in a braid. He turned his head slowly and eyed the passing carriage. His eyes were dark and hooded, the expression impassive and unreadable. Caroline felt a little shiver go up and down her back.

“Yes, Will,” Joshua said with a chuckle, “that’s a real Indian. Osage tribe, I would guess. Maybe Choctaw.”

“Really?” Olivia breathed.

“Really,” Joshua said. “Indian Territory is just a few miles west of here. Some of them come into town from time to time.”

Olivia dug her fists into her eyes, and leaned forward so as to see better. She had fallen asleep on her mother’s shoulder during the hour-long carriage ride from Westport, the river landing located a few miles up the Missouri River from Independence. Will’s cry had brought her up with a jerk, and now she looked out on this strange new world, eyes wider than the sand dollars they used to find on the beach when they went down to the ocean.

Suddenly Caroline was aware that Joshua was watching her closely out of the corner of his eye. The grin he had given Will a moment before had faded. His eyes were anxious. He was waiting for her response. She managed a quick smile and reached across and touched his arm. She knew he was hoping for more than that, but she also knew if she spoke now, even to say something halfway encouraging, her voice would give her away.

It had taken them over a month and a half to come from Savannah. They were married the night before Joshua’s shipload of cotton left for New Orleans with them and the children on board ship. They had stayed three days in New Orleans while he arranged riverboat passage for them and the cotton. That had been exciting. The wharves along the riverfront stretched on forever, the hundreds of oceangoing vessels making a veri-table forest with their masts and rigging. And then there were the dozens of great paddle-wheel riverboats, nuzzled up to their berths like a litter of pigs snuggling up to their mother’s belly.

She had been pleasantly surprised at St. Louis. It was definitely not Savannah, but it was a growing, bustling city with row after row of businesses along the river and some very adequate shops on its main streets. They had stayed there for about a month while Joshua worked with his partners to get the mill up and running. They had stayed long enough to see the first bolts of cloth come out of the great looms they had shipped in from New England.

But once they left St. Louis and started up the Missouri River, it quickly became evident they were leaving civilization behind. And the vastness of the prairie both surprised and bothered her. As the great riverboat chugged its way slowly upstream, Joshua seemed to sense her growing despondency. And the closer they got to Independence, the more nervous he became. Yesterday he had been worse than a raccoon in a shed full of hound dogs. She had tried her best to put on a brave face, but she had never been one to gush enthusiastically when she didn’t really feel that way. Now she could tell he was openly worried as he waited for her to say something. She felt a rush of relief when her son burst out again.

“Look!”

“Look at what?” Joshua said, turning to see where Will was looking.

“Is that your wagon?”

A big Conestoga wagon, its canvas top stretched high and tight over metal hoops, was just passing them on the left. Six massive draft horses trotted slowly, their harnessing jingling, their hooves flipping little chunks of dirt into the air. The driver raised a hand as he saw who was in the carriage. “Welcome home, Mr. Steed.” He tipped his hat toward Caroline, trying not to stare. “Congratulations.”

Joshua acknowledged that with a nod, then turned to Will. “Yes, it is. So are the next two.”

Caroline lifted her eyes and saw two more wagons coming, both identical to the first. Then, as the second team passed them, she saw what had triggered Will’s cry. Along the side of the wagon box was neatly stenciled “Joshua Steed, Freight and Portage.” She turned to look at Joshua, this time wanting him to see she was impressed.

He smiled, trying to be casual about it all, but he was obviously pleased. “They’re on their way to Westport. They’ll get our stuff.”

“But how did they know we’re here? We are just now arriving.”

“Remember the man I spoke to briefly when we came off the boat?”

She thought for a moment. “Not really.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s Mr. Cornwell, my yard foreman. He’s met every boat for the last ten days just to be sure he didn’t miss us. He’s the one who brought the carriage. He rode on ahead to let them know we were coming.”

“Oh.” They were into the main part of Independence now, and Caroline noted with some satisfaction that here things looked a little better. Some of the storefronts were actually presentable, one or two even sporting window displays. She also noted that there was a high proportion of saloons for a town of its size.

“Welcome back, Mr. Steed.” Two ladies were on the sidewalk in front of a dress shop. They gawked at Caroline with unabashed curiosity.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Johns. Afternoon, Miss Charity.”

Now Caroline became aware that they were causing no small stir as they passed. Men stopped to wave and call out. Women pointed when they thought she was looking the other way. Word of the arrival of Joshua Steed’s new bride had definitely preceded them.

Will thrust his head between his mother and stepfather. “And you have twenty wagons like that?” he said with suitable awe.

“Actually, I have about thirty wagons. But no, they’re not all like that. Conestogas are very expensive. I have to buy them in Pennsylvania and have them brought out. And those horses. They’re called Conestogas too. They run about a hundred dollars a head.”

“A hundred dollars!” Will echoed. Caroline genuinely smiled at Joshua now.

He smiled back at her, then looked down at Will. “Do you know what we’re gonna do once we get your mother settled?”

“What?”

Joshua looked at Caroline. The nervousness was gone from him now. Without taking his eyes off her he answered Will’s question. “We’re gonna paint a new sign on the side of every one of my wagons. Know what it’s gonna say?”

Will was fairly dancing in his seat. “What?”

“From now on, every wagon I own is going to say ‘Joshua Steed
and Son.’ ”

“Yea!” Will said, punching the air. “Can I learn to drive one?” Joshua looked appropriately grave. “You ever hear of a partner in a freight business who couldn’t drive a team by himself?”

Caroline watched her son nearly explode with joy, and suddenly she felt a lump in her throat. Independence was going to take some getting used to—a whole lot of getting used to!—but Caroline Mendenhall’s children had a father again. And they both adored him. That could make up for a lot of Savannah in her heart. At that moment, she made up her mind about something she had been debating now for over a week.

She reached out and laid her hand on Joshua’s knee. “You may want to wait a little bit before you change those signs.”

“Mama!” Will exploded, not believing she would betray him like that.

But Caroline ignored Will and just kept looking at Joshua, who was looking puzzled. “You may want it to read, ‘Joshua Steed and
Sons.’
” She gave soft emphasis to the plural.

For a moment he stared at her, then he jerked on the reins, stopping the team and carriage right in the middle of the main street of Independence. “Do you mean that?” he said in half a whisper.

“I think so,” she laughed, deeply pleased with his reaction. “It’s still too early to know for sure. Once we’re settled, maybe we can find a doctor.”

“A doctor!” he exploded. “I have a doctor. Not just some horse doctor either. One from the East. I brought him here myself.” He reached out and took both of her hands. “I can’t believe it.”

“What’s the matter, Mama?” Olivia cried in alarm. To an eight-year-old, any talk of a doctor was alarming. “Are you sick?”

Will punched his sister on the arm gently. He was grinning like a kid who had just discovered a tree trunk full of honeycombs and no bees in sight. “No, Olivia,” he beamed, “Mama isn’t sick.”

* * *

Eight hundred miles to the east, in a grove of maple and hickory trees about a mile east of Kirtland, Rebecca and Matthew Steed were enjoying a brief respite from the summer’s heat. Off to the west the first clouds of what would develop into an afternoon thunderstorm were just beginning to build. The air was heavy and still, laden with enough humidity to bring beads of perspiration to Matthew’s brow even in the coolness of the deep shade.

Just beyond the trees lay fifteen acres of chest-high corn. It was one of three farms owned by Benjamin Steed. Normally, Matthew’s brother Nathan took care of this plot and the one just beyond the next woodlot, but Nathan and Benjamin had gone with Joseph and Sidney Rigdon to visit some branches of the Church in the adjoining counties. So Matthew took over in their absence. Rebecca had brought him out some fresh bread and honey and a crock jar of cold milk. They had lunched together, and now Matthew dawdled, postponing the time when he had to go back out into the heat of the sun.

He was stretched out on the matting of leaves, his hands behind his head, his straw hat pulled down over his eyes. Becca surveyed his lankiness, noting how long his legs had become. He had outgrown her somewhere around his fourteenth birthday, almost two years ago. Now he towered a good half a foot above her five feet four inches, and he was still growing. She also noted that all traces of the little-boy softness were gone. He did a man’s work now, and it showed in the lean hardness of his torso and the muscular lines of his upper arms and shoulders. His face was deeply tanned, the hair on his arms bleached almost bone white against the darkness of his skin. Though his hair still had a touch of blond, it had darkened considerably and was now more of a light brown, like Nathan’s.

He turned his head and pushed the hat back slightly with his thumb and looked at her steadily, his blue eyes wide and innocent. She smiled at him with genuine affection. They were only a little more than two years apart in age, and being the youngest children in the family, they had been friends for each other since the time Matthew could walk. She reached out with her foot and nudged him slightly. “A penny for your thoughts.”

“I was thinking of Jessica and Rachel.”

Rebecca sobered. “I think of them often too. I miss little Rachel.”

“Me too.” Matthew laughed softly. “But I don’t think any of us miss her as much as Grandpa does.”

“No,” she agreed, “no one could miss her that much.”

Matthew sat up, reaching out to a nearby elderberry bush. He broke off a small branch and began to methodically strip off the leaves, shredding them neatly as he did so. His face had grown thoughtful. Finally he looked at his sister. “Do you think Jessica still has hopes that she and Joshua will someday get back together?”

Rebecca shook her head.

“You don’t? Why not?”

“Because she doesn’t, that’s why.” She couldn’t tell him about the conversation she and Jessica had about this very subject just before Jessica’s departure from Kirtland.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because I’m sure,” Rebecca said flatly. “They won’t get back together. Not ever. Not after what he did to her.”

Matthew flipped the branch away. “What
did
Joshua do to her? All I ever hear are all these dark hints.”

Rebecca shrugged. “You’ll have to ask her. She asked me not to say.”