The Work and the Glory (298 page)

So by late October, there were five missionary parties moving toward New York City in some kind of rough tandem with each other—the Pratt brothers, in the most northerly route; Wilford Woodruff, out ahead of everyone and traveling by himself; John Taylor, recovered enough to be moving again with Derek; George A. and his companions; and Brigham’s group.

In Dayton, Ohio, when George A. and his party arrived they were joyfully surprised to find John Taylor and Derek staying with some of the members there. After a short rest, together they pushed on to Cleveland, their last stop before Kirtland. If they were surprised in Dayton, they were dumbfounded in Cleveland, for Brigham Young, Heber Kimball, and Matthew Steed were already there. Without knowing it, Brigham’s group had passed the others the night before while they were stopped at a tavern for lodging. Only when John Taylor’s party arrived in Cleveland the next day at the hotel where Brigham and the others were staying were the two groups happily reunited.

Derek and Matthew sat on the boardwalk across from the hotel, with their heads close together. The stage for Kirtland was not due to leave for another ten minutes, and they eagerly took the opportunity to catch each other up on the news.

At first, Derek peppered Matthew with questions about how things were at home. Though Matthew’s reports were now almost two months old, they were six weeks fresher than what Derek had. He reported on the store and the school (both nearly ready to open when he left Nauvoo) and on each of the family members, giving particularly detailed reports on Rebecca and baby Christopher. He told him of a second letter from Will, posted from France on the night before he set sail for the long run to China.

After a few minutes of that, Matthew changed the subject. “By the way,” he said, “Caroline and the girls started going to worship services with us the last two weeks before I left.”

Derek’s eyebrows rose. “She did? That’s wonderful.”

“Yes. We were all surprised.”

“And Joshua didn’t mind?”

Matthew shook his head. “Well, Caroline said that he didn’t particularly like the idea, but being with Joseph on that day of healing really affected him. He says he’ll let it be her decision.”

“But he wouldn’t go with her?”

This time Matthew’s head shook back and forth even more emphatically. “Not on your life. He won’t even come over to our cabin for family prayer. That bothers Caroline a lot. She doesn’t expect him to come for the scripture reading—”

“Does Caroline come to that?”

“Every night. Even when we’re reading the Book of Mormon. But anyway, she says that since the prayers are mostly for the family anyway—especially for Will—Joshua could at least come and listen. But he’s always got some excuse or another.”

Derek sat back. He, of all the family, still believed that Joshua would someday have a change of heart and accept the gospel. Joshua’s reaction to watching Joseph use the power of the priesthood to heal had been very encouraging to Derek. After all, Nancy McIntire had joined the Church and she had been staunch Irish Roman Catholic. Who would have predicted that?

“What about Carl?” Matthew asked. “Do you think he’s another Joshua?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t know, but I don’t think his feelings against the Church run nearly as deep.”

“I wish they could come out to Nauvoo.”

“I know,” Derek sighed. In addition to the bitterness of Carl’s father, there was another obstacle, as Derek saw it. Brigham had determined that on their way east they should stop at Kirtland to visit the small group of Saints who had stayed when the rest fled to Missouri. But Brigham had also said that most of the Saints who stayed in Kirtland were either too poor to move or too weak in the faith to follow the Prophet. Those, combined with the apostates who, a couple of years back, had turned against Joseph, didn’t make for a lot of wonderful examples left in Kirtland that would change Carl’s feelings about the Mormons.

Matthew grinned broadly. “I can’t wait to see the look on their faces when we knock on their door this afternoon.”

“Yeah!” Derek answered, with a smile. “Knowing Melissa, I don’t think we’ll be getting to bed very early tonight.”

Melissa sat across the table from Matthew and Derek. “There’s plenty more,” she said, watching Matthew mop up the last of the gravy with a thick hunk of bread.

He looked a little sheepish. “Are you sure?”

She laughed merrily. “Yes. Now I know why Papa said he’d rather have four horses in the barn than you at the supper table.”

He looked hurt. “You’ve got to remember that we haven’t been eating real good since we left Nauvoo.”

“I’m just teasing you. I think it’s wonderful. How about you, Derek?”

He held up his hands to shield off any such suggestion. “No, I’m already hurting. But thank you, Melissa. It was wonderful. It is the best we’ve eaten in some time.”

“I’ll say,” Matthew said, spearing the last piece of steak on his fork.

Melissa took the plate and went to the stove, filling it half up again. When she sat down, she was shaking her head. “I still can’t believe it. Matthew and Derek right here in Kirtland, sitting in my kitchen.”

Matthew flashed her a grin. “We thought you might be a little surprised.”

“Surprised? I thought I was going to fall off the porch when I opened the door yesterday afternoon and saw you two standing there. And it is so good to have some of the Twelve with us in Kirtland again. I didn’t know Brother Young or Brother Smith as well, but to see Brother Kimball and Brother Taylor again—it was just like old times.”

Derek leaned forward slightly. “Are you sure it’s all right with Carl if Brigham and Heber stay here with us? We can find other members of the Church who would take them in.”

Melissa shook her head quickly. “You were there last night. It wasn’t me pushing the idea.”

Carl had surprised her no less than he had surprised Matthew and Derek the previous evening when he insisted that two other missionaries besides their own family members stay with them. Brigham and Heber, who were Matthew’s companions, determined they would be the two. Then this afternoon Carl astounded her even further. When Hezekiah Rogers learned that Mormon missionaries had come to town and that some of them would be staying with his son, he railed bitterly against their return to Kirtland, vowing to go to the town council and drive them on. Carl responded testily. Since when did common citizens of the United States of America have to account to local residents in order to enter a city and take lodging there? The Kirtland residents had driven them out once; wasn’t that enough, for heaven’s sake? It was another sign of the growing tension between Carl and his father.

“I’ve written a letter to Mama and Papa,” Matthew said. There was a shy smile. “And to Jennifer Jo. Could you help me post them tomorrow, Melissa?”

“And I plan to write to Rebecca tonight,” Derek added.

“Yes, yes,” Melissa said. “I want to write Mama a long letter too.”

Derek gave her a sidelong glance. “There’s no way, then, that Carl would ever come west?”

The corners of her mouth pulled down. “No. At first, I was surprised at how willing he was to consider the whole idea. Going into partnership with Joshua really appealed to him. I really got my hopes up. But his father is so absolutely against it. He’s threatened to totally cut Carl off from everything if he leaves. And Carl has worked hard to make the business what it is now.”

“That’s too bad—,” Derek started, but then a knock at the door cut him off.

Young Carl, Melissa’s oldest, was playing in the parlor with his two brothers. “I’ll get it, Mama,” he called, jumping up and running to the door. Melissa arose and stepped to the kitchen door. There was the sound of booming voices and she looked back at Derek and Matthew. “It’s Brother Brigham and Brother Heber,” she explained. Then to them she called, “We’re in here, brethren. Come in.”

As they came in, hats under their arms and cheeks rosy from the cold, Brigham smiled at Matthew. “Are you
still
eating?”

Matthew’s mouth was full, and he began to chew more rapidly so he could answer, but Melissa answered for him. “As far as I’m concerned, he can eat all night long if he likes. And how about you? Would you brethren like some supper?”

“We ate with the Thompsons. Thank you anyway.”

“Well, you know where your room is,” Melissa said. “You must be very tired.”

“Indeed,” Heber said. “Thank you again—and your husband—for such warm hospitality.”

“It is our pleasure. Carl had to do some work at the livery stable. He’ll be back in a half hour or so, but he said not to have you wait up.”

“You have a fine husband, Sister Rogers,” Brigham said. “A fine man.”

“Thank you.” She started toward the door that led down the hall to the bedrooms, then stopped. “Do you know how long you will be staying in Kirtland?” she asked, not wanting to appear too forward, but eager to know. Now that they had visited with some of the Saints, they might have a better idea.

Brigham saw through it immediately and was happy to answer her concerns. “In some ways, this is like returning to our spiritual home, Sister Melissa. I wept as I passed the temple today.”

“Amen,” Heber said quietly.

“And there are still quite a few members here. We’ll stay for a time. At least a week, maybe more.”

She clapped her hands together. “A week! That’s wonderful!”

Brigham looked over at the table at Derek and Matthew. “We talked to some of the brethren—Martin Harris, the Johnsons. I think they’ll agree to let us have a meeting in the temple sometime.”

“Really?” Derek exclaimed. That was more than they had hoped for.

“Good,” Matthew grunted. He lifted another slice of bread, heavy with butter. “Give me a week or ten days, and maybe I can stock up enough on Melissa’s cooking to carry me on to New York City.”

Brigham pulled a face, then looked soberly at Heber. “Then you and I had better tighten our belts, because when this lad is through, the whole of the state of Ohio will be in famine.”

Carl Rogers turned his head. Through the doorway of his bedroom he could hear the soft murmur of voices. Frowning, he pulled the covers back and sat up. Beside him, Melissa was breathing deeply and did not stir. With business prospering, Carl had recently added a wing to their house and they now had four bedrooms. To accommodate their new houseguests, they moved their three sons together into the end bedroom and took baby Sarah—just now a year old—in with them. This left a bedroom for Matthew and Derek, and another for Brigham Young and Heber Kimball. But putting three boys—a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, and a three-year-old—into one room, with the two younger ones sharing the same bed, had proven to have its challenges. Last night it had taken them almost a full hour to finally settle down and get to sleep. Evidently, tonight was going to be a repeat.

Reaching for his robe, Carl quietly opened the door and went out, readying a stern lecture for his sons. The hallway was dark except for a crack of light coming from the second doorway, the bedroom where Young and Kimball were sleeping. There was no sound from the end bedroom. Thinking that his sons had heard him, he padded quietly down the hall, but as he passed the second door, he realized what the problem was. Brigham Young and Heber Kimball were still awake and talking. He turned to start back to his own room, but their voices came clearly through the thin partition of the door and he stopped for a moment to listen.

“Are you sure?”

It was Brigham’s voice.

“I’m positive,” Heber’s voice replied.

“All along I assumed it was you.” Carl heard a soft noise and realized someone was turning the pages of a book or sheets of paper. “All right, let’s start over.” Brigham was clearly perplexed. “When we left Pleasant Garden, how much did we have?”

“Thirteen dollars and fifty cents.”

“Right. That’s what I have marked. And we have come four hundred miles since then by stagecoach, paying eight to ten cents per mile.”

“That is correct.”

“And the three of us have eaten three meals a day during that journey, and for each of those we have been charged fifty cents.”

“Again correct.”

“And we paid fifty cents apiece for each night’s lodging?”

There was some amusement in Heber’s voice. “Yes, that is what I recorded.”

The silence stretched on for some time, and Carl felt a little guilty for eavesdropping. But he was curious about what all of this meant.

Then Brigham spoke again. “But that’s not possible. We started with thirteen-fifty and now have only one York shilling left. And yet we have paid out a total of eighty-seven dollars!”

There was a soft laugh. “Yes, Brigham, we have.”

“Did anyone give you money during that time?”

“Not one soul.”

Carl heard a deep sigh, more of bewilderment than resignation. “All along, I thought you had some secret purse about which you had not told me. I kept thinking that you were slipping money into my pockets or into my trunk each day so that I would not be embarrassed. I was amazed that you had those kinds of resources and had not told me about them.”

“I had not told you about them because I had no such resources.”

“But then . . .”

Now Heber’s voice carried as much sobriety as Brigham’s. “Do you remember the prophet Elijah and the widow of Zarephath? There was only enough flour and oil for one more small meal, yet they ate from it for many days.”

“Yes,” Brigham answered. Now there was wonder in his voice.

“Someone put that money in your trunk or in your clothing,” Heber concluded. “But it wasn’t me. And it certainly wasn’t Matthew.”

For a long time after he climbed back into bed, Carl Rogers lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. The day after the missionaries’ arrival, when his father had jumped on him about taking the Mormons in, Carl had bristled and lashed back at him, defending their right to be here. Not only had he stunned Melissa with that, he had completely surprised himself. Now he was trying to sort out in his own mind why he had defended them so vigorously.

He knew that part of it was that he still rankled over his father’s stubborn refusal to let him go west to work with Joshua. Carl resented it. He was ready for a change. He was ready for a challenge. Kirtland really offered neither anymore. So his father’s rebuff was like a rock in the soft part of a horse’s hoof. The longer it stayed, the more it bothered. The relationship between him and his father had definitely soured.