The Work and the Glory (273 page)

Instantly several hands shot up. Almost wearily, Brigham nodded at the nearest man. “Yes, Brother Barker.”

The man, sitting two or three rows behind Nathan, rose to his feet. “Are you suggesting that the Twelve ought to consider returning to Far West?” he asked in amazement.

“I think that’s what the revelation specified,” Brigham responded dryly.

“But . . .”

“But what, Brother Barker?”

“That revelation was given almost a year ago now. At that time we were at peace in Far West. At that time we thought we had finally escaped from our enemies and all would be well. We had food, and a militia to protect us. We had no idea that by this April we wouldn’t even still be in the state of Missouri.”

Several heads were bobbing, and Nathan was a little surprised at who was in agreement with Brother Barker’s sentiments. Brigham seemed faintly amused. “You’re right, Brother Karl. It would certainly have been helpful if the Lord could have seen the future when he gave that revelation to us.”

That won him a ripple of laughter and two or three cries of “Hear, hear!”

Barker lowered his head and bulled on. “Surely the Lord can’t expect you to return now. Surely he knows our conditions here. We can’t even find beds for our families! Joseph’s in prison. If you go and are . . .” He stopped, not daring to suggest it. “If we lose the Twelve, who will lead us then?”

The man beside him jumped up, not nearly so reticent. “You know what the reports are. The mob will be waiting for you if you try it. You’ll be murdered if you go back. Haven’t there been enough killings already?”

“Anyone else?” Brigham said, not responding to the warning.

The two men sat down, half angry that Brigham was unmoved. Joseph Smith, Sr., raised his hand.

“Father Smith,” Brigham said with great respect. “Do you have some feelings on the matter?”

Joseph’s father would be celebrating his sixty-eighth birthday in three months. His hair was a majestic white, and his tall frame still moved about with great dignity. But the physical and emotional demands placed upon him since the previous fall had ravaged him. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes sunken. He moved slowly, and sometimes a shadow of pain darkened his eyes. It frightened Nathan in a way, for he saw some of the same signs in his own father. Their minds were still alert and their spirits strong, but some of the old fire had never been rekindled, and Nathan feared that it might never be again.

“Thank you,” Father Smith said, standing with some effort so he could face the group. Brigham sat down. “Thank you for your presence, brethren. It is a grand sight to see this many priesthood holders gathered together again.” He glanced at Brigham, then looked back at the group. “I am well acquainted with that revelation. I remember the day my son first read it to us. And I was thrilled to think that the Lord wanted the Twelve to go to England. We have already seen the fruits of the great work that Brothers Kimball and Richards and others did over there a couple years back.”

Nathan saw that John Taylor was nodding and thought he understood why. John Taylor had been converted in 1836 when Nathan accompanied Parley P. Pratt on a mission to Toronto, in Upper Canada. John Taylor had introduced them to Joseph Fielding and his two sisters Mary and Mercy. They were also converted. Then Joseph Fielding and his sisters wrote to their brother, James, who was a minister in Preston, England, and to other relatives also living in England. Letters coming back to Canada from the island nation expressed desires to learn more about the new religion. So when Heber C. Kimball, Willard Richards, Joseph Fielding, and others arrived in England in 1837—the first missionaries to cross the ocean in the new dispensation—seeds had already been sown for the harvest of converts that took place there over the next several months. Included in that harvest were two English boys, Derek and Peter Ingalls, whose conversion had proved to have such a profound effect upon the lives of the Steed family back in America.

“However,” Father Smith was continuing, “I think these brethren raise important questions. Conditions have changed. Obviously the Lord knew they would, but when conditions change, then the Lord’s requirements change too. I don’t think the Lord expects you brethren”—he had turned now and was looking at the Twelve—“to risk your lives simply so you can say you left from Far West. You can go to England from here. I think the Lord will accept your good will in place of the actual deed.”

“Amen!” someone murmured with great fervency.

Nathan leaned over to his father. “Do you agree with that, Pa?”

Benjamin was chewing on his lower lip. “I’m not sure.”

Nathan nodded. Neither was he. The fact that Brigham and his fellow Apostles were even considering returning to Missouri spoke volumes about their courage. On the other hand, the Church was in desperate need of their leadership.

Father Smith sat down again. The room quieted, everyone waiting to see how Brigham would respond to this old man who was so deeply revered. For several moments, Brigham just looked at him; then he stood again. “What you say has much wisdom, Father Smith.” Again there was a long pause. “However, I feel differently about the matter, as do the others of the Twelve. I should like them to speak now.”

By the time the four Apostles had finished, Nathan no longer had any doubts. Each one spoke quietly and briefly, but with solemn power. There was no boasting about what they could and would do. There was no sense of self-righteousness about them. It was obvious that they found the prospects disheartening. They had been there. They had families too. They knew what awaited them. But with that, they still bore sober testimony that they felt this was what the Lord expected of them. And if that was so, there was little else to discuss.

When the last Apostle sat down again, Brigham was up immediately. Now the group of priesthood holders was quiet. The mood was shifting, and Brigham could sense it. He glanced at Father Smith, then turned back to speak to the full group. “I still remember clearly one day back in Kirtland. I had come to the Prophet’s office on a matter of business. He was weighed down with many problems and responsibilities. The Church, and Joseph personally, was under constant pressure. It seemed like the Lord was making so many demands upon him that he could not possibly bear up under the load.”

There was a fleeting smile. It was just the tiniest bit rueful. “I made a comment to Joseph along those very lines. He looked up in surprise, then chided me a little. ‘Brother Brigham,’ he said, ‘I have learned something in the years since the Lord first called me to be his servant. I want you to remember it.’

“ ‘What?’ I asked him. ‘What lesson have you learned?’ ” Brigham’s voice had gone soft and thoughtful now. “I’ll never forget this. He leaned back in his chair and smiled up at me. ‘I have made this simple rule for myself: When the Lord commands, do it!’ ”

Brigham’s shoulders pulled back. “Brethren, I know not what awaits us in Missouri. But my brethren of the Twelve and I are inclined to follow Brother Joseph’s counsel. The Lord God has spoken. It is our business to obey, and if we do, the Lord will take care of us.” He let his eyes jump from face to face. “All those who feel they can sustain the Twelve in this decision, would you now indicate that by the voice of common consent.”

Nathan felt a thrill as every hand in the room came up along with his own. Some came up a trifle slower than others, but every hand was up.

Brigham was obviously pleased. “Thank you, brethren. We shall take our leave first thing in the morning in order to reach Far West in time for the appointed day.”

“Brother Brigham?”

The senior Apostle was standing by John Taylor. Both were listening to a conversation Wilford Woodruff was having with two of the brethren. Brigham turned, as did Brother Taylor. “Yes, Nathan?”

Nathan took a quick breath. He wished there were time to talk to Lydia about this. But there wasn’t. “I’d like to accompany you, if I could.”

One eyebrow rose.

Nathan rushed on. “I know I’m not one of the Twelve, and I know what you told Matthew about me staying with the family. But you’ll need some help on the trail. And besides, Matthew, Derek, and Peter are out there. Mother is very concerned. We’ll surely find them along the way somewhere, then I can help them on the return trip.”

Brigham gave Brother Taylor a quizzical look. “John, what do you think?”

Brother Taylor pursed his lips. “It would be well to have Nathan along with us, but this trip could be very dangerous.”

Brigham only nodded.

“I—” Nathan took a quick breath. “As you were speaking, I had a strong impression that I should accompany you.”

Brigham considered that, still not speaking. “You’re sure?” he finally asked.

“Only in my heart,” Nathan replied, forcing a weak grin. “It may take a day or two for my head to agree.”

Brigham reached out and clasped Nathan’s hand. “We leave at dawn.”

Jessica sat on the shore of the river, watching the muddy current move slowly by her. Spring runoff had started, and the mighty Mississippi had already risen a couple of feet higher than what it had been when they ferried across a month earlier. The water was dotted with flotsam. Tree limbs, weeds, pieces of wood, and now and then full tree trunks floated slowly by. She stared at them, half-mesmerized, glad for the chance to concentrate on something.

The tears were gone now, though her eyes felt red and swollen. The pain was subsiding too. But the hollowness, the emptiness, the complete desolation had not abated in the slightest. By the world’s standards, John Griffith had not been a particularly notable man. When he had first sent Newel Knight to propose marriage to her, she had been shocked deeply. She knew him slightly—he had stayed for about a month in Haun’s Mill before moving to Far West—but she had given little thought to the fact that he was a widower with two children. And certainly she had not thought about him as a marriage prospect. Jessica was a divorcée, having first been married to Joshua Steed in Independence, Missouri. In America, and especially out in the West, that carried considerable stigma for most women. It didn’t matter that the dissolution of the marriage was neither her fault nor her choice. The stigma remained, and Jessica had resigned herself to the fact that she would likely not marry again.

So John’s shy proposal of marriage had caught her completely by surprise. She had finally agreed for mostly practical reasons. He was a good man, a hard worker, an honest, decent person. Rachel needed a father. John’s two boys needed a mother. It would mean she wouldn’t be totally dependent on her own resources any longer.

So when love came, it was almost a shock. She thought she had loved Joshua when they were first married. But what developed between her and John was so much richer, so much deeper, so much finer. It had left her filled with wonder. And now all that was gone. John was gone.

The last two weeks had been the worst. In the wild flight from Haun’s Mill and the deadening months of the desperate struggle for survival that followed, there hadn’t been much time for grieving. There had been the recurring nightmares—her on tiptoes, her mouth open in a silent scream; John walking into the blacksmith shop with Amanda Smith’s husband and sons, talking amiably, not seeing the wall of horsemen thundering toward them—but there had been no time to actually sit down and consider her loss, to let the impact of that wash over her. Compelling circumstances simply pushed that luxury aside. But now they were here. There was safety. There was time to sit in the sun and remember the times with John. And it was devastating her.

She reached down and picked up a foot-long stick at her feet. It had been polished clean by the scouring action of the water and bleached almost white by the sun. Some previous flood had deposited it this high on the riverbank to sit alone, waiting its time when the currents would rise once more, snatch it up, and send it on again.

Suddenly her vision blurred anew. Angrily, she leaned back and threw the stick hard away from her. It arched up, catching the sunlight for a moment, then plummeted downward. There was a soft plop and it disappeared. After a moment it bobbed to the surface again. It spun slowly once, caught in one of the swirling eddies. Then, picking up speed as the faster current took it, it moved away from her. Through hooded vision she watched it go, almost wanting to call out to it, to wish it well as it started alone on the long journey to that vast ocean that awaited it.

It came as no surprise at all to Jessica to see Mary Ann sitting on the porch. The sun was down now, but the western sky was still light. How long she had been sitting there, waiting for Jessica to return from her blind flight from the family, Jessica could only guess. Jessica felt a great warmth come over her at the sight. She had lost her own mother when she was a young girl. But no daughter could ever have felt more love for her own mother than Jessica felt for Mary Ann, nor could any daughter and mother have been closer.

Mary Ann stood as Jessica walked slowly up. Nothing was said. She simply opened her arms and Jessica stepped into them. For almost a minute they stood there, content to feel the safety of each other’s affection.

Then finally, without pulling back, Jessica spoke. “Mother Steed?”

“Yes?”

“I think it’s time I occupy myself with something of importance. What would you think if I were to try to get a school started again?”

Mary Ann pulled back to look at her.

“Now that the weather’s turning, we could hold it outside until we find a place to live.”

Mary Ann held her at arm’s length. Her eyes were moist and filled with compassion. “I think that would be a wonderful thing, Jessie. A wonderful thing.”

Chapter Notes

  Joseph and the other four prisoners with him were allowed to escape on April fifteenth/sixteenth as they were in the process of being transferred to Boone County, Missouri, on a change of venue. The state of Missouri was under tremendous political pressure because of its handling of the Mormon situation. Many officials also saw that the legal basis for the incarceration of the Church leaders was no more than the thinnest of veneers, and that only further embarrassment could result from pressing the matter. According to Hyrum, one of the guards actually helped them saddle the horses. Two brethren rode while the other three went on foot. And thus, wrote Hyrum, “we took our change of venue for the State of Illinois.” When Sheriff Morgan and his men returned to Daviess County and reported that Joseph Smith had escaped, the citizens were furious. The sheriff was ridden on a rail. William Bowman, a previous sheriff, was also accused of complicity in the prisoners’ escape and was dragged around the main square of Gallatin by the hair of his head. (See
HC
3:320–22.)