The Work and the Glory (459 page)

Emma never did surrender the manuscript of Joseph’s work on the Bible to the Twelve. This work is known now by the RLDS Church as the “Inspired Version” of the Bible and by the LDS Church as the “Joseph Smith Translation” of the Bible. Emma married Lewis Bidamon, a non-Mormon, in December 1847 and lived with him until her death in 1879. At her death, the manuscript passed to the Reorganized Church through Joseph Smith III, who was the first president and prophet of that church. That manuscript is still held by the Reorganized Church today.

In a similar manner, the properties which belonged to Joseph’s family—namely, the Homestead, the Red Brick Store, the Mansion House, and the Nauvoo House—eventually became the property of the Reorganized Church. These buildings—with the exception of the Nauvoo House, which is not open to the public—are preserved and maintained in an excellent fashion and are available to visitors today. Most of the other restored sites in Nauvoo are the property of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Lucy Mack Smith turned sixty-nine less than two weeks after her two sons were killed in Carthage. She remained faithful to the Church throughout her life and publicly declared that she was satisfied with how the Twelve were carrying out its affairs.

Chapter 12

Matthew Steed was cold. The rain had stopped now, but there was a stiffening breeze blowing out of the west straight into their faces. The rain had not been heavy enough to soak them through, but he could feel the damp clamminess even down to his long johns. He pulled his coat more tightly around him, letting his eyes sweep the thick forest and undergrowth around them. They were in a range of mountains known as the Ouachitas, a range south of the Ozarks. There was not even a flicker of a light to break the darkness on every side. They could barely see the wagon track they were following, and had it not been for the break it made through the thickness of the forest on either side they could easily have lost it.

“How cold do you suppose it is?” he finally asked, simply to break the monotonous silence.

Derek looked up. The stubble of his beard in the darkness made him look as if he had only half a face, two eyes and a nose hanging there eerily, without chin or neck or body. There was a slight movement in the darkness as he shrugged. “Forty degrees, maybe forty-two.”

“Is it possible to freeze to death when it isn’t really freezing?”

“Yeah,” was all Derek said.

“Thanks.” Matthew trudged on, suddenly filled with gloom. He hadn’t asked because he didn’t know. There were plenty of stories about men caught out in the cold who had died of exposure when the temperature was warmer than this. If the body’s core got too cold, a wonderful sense of warmth and euphoria swept over you, and if it was not fought vigorously, you would just lie down and die. He knew that there was a very good chance of that happening tonight if they didn’t find shelter soon. During a break in the clouds earlier that day, they had seen a dusting of snow on some of the higher ridges. It was going to be cold tonight.

“They said that Caddo Gap was only fifteen miles or so from Bonnerdale,” Derek muttered. “It feels like we’ve come twice that.”

Matthew didn’t say anything. There was no need to. In the past nearly four months, the two missionaries had learned that if the people of Arkansas knew anything about the Mormons, they had mostly learned it from their neighbors to the north, the Missourians. That was like asking a Democrat to give you an honest opinion about a Whig. Though the woman in Bonnerdale had seemed cordial enough, she clearly wanted no part of the Mormon missionaries. Perhaps she had lied to them about Caddo Gap. Perhaps she had sent them off on some nameless road that led to nowhere.

Instantly he pushed that thought away, angry at himself. It was not a heavily traveled road, but neither was it giving out. They had not passed anyone since before dark, but with the weather and the temperature being what they were, it was not surprising that people were not out and about.

His mind next tried to evaluate the wisdom of coming out this way, but once again he pushed the thought aside. It had been a week ago—February tenth—that John Taylor’s letter arrived general delivery at the post office in Little Rock. The Twelve were releasing them from their mission, they were informed. They should continue on no later than the first of March and then return home. It had been tempting to both of them to just start homeward then, but when someone told them there were two or three families of Mormons in a small town up in the mountains, they reluctantly determined to try and find them as their last official act as missionaries. So here they were, moving farther and farther away from any hope of a warm fire and food.

They walked on in silence, the gloom of the night now made worse by the despondency they both were feeling. After five full minutes, Derek cleared his throat. “Matthew, have you ever wondered why the Savior asked missionaries to go without purse or scrip?”

Matthew turned his head curiously. “Can’t say that I have. Why?”

“No, I want you to think about it. Joshua offered to pay our way and send us money when we needed it. What would we have missed if we had accepted his offer?”

There was a soft, rueful laugh. “We would have missed being cold and hungry. We wouldn’t have boots with newspapers in them to plug the holes in the bottom. We could have had a nice room, a warm bed, breakfast each morning.”

Over Derek’s nodding he went on, warming to the question now. “Uh, let’s see. What else? Oh yeah. We wouldn’t have gotten to spend the night in that jail in Searcy because we didn’t have any money and couldn’t prove we weren’t vagrants. Have I missed anything?”

Derek grunted. “How about that moldy bread and clabbered milk we had last night?”

“That’s right. We would never have been able to buy something like that with money.”

“So why would the Lord want us to do it this way?”

After a long pause came the answer from Matthew. “I once heard a rumor that there is a direct relationship between being cold and hungry and being humble.”

There was a half laugh, filled with longing. “I think you’re right, and I can’t ever remember being quite so humble as right at this moment.”

“Same here.” Then Matthew got more serious. “We’ve been together too long, Brother Ingalls, sir, for me not to know that you’ve got something else on your mind with that question. What is it?”

“What time do you suppose it is?” Derek said, looking up at the sky above, only barely discernible from the land around them. The sky was overcast and no stars were visible.

“I don’t know. Nine-thirty. Maybe ten o’clock. Why?”

“How much longer do you think there’s gonna be people up with a lamp on this far out away from nowhere?”

There was a long silence; then in a low voice Matthew responded. “We could be passing by houses all the time right now and not even know it.”

“Yeah,” Derek said glumly. “That’s what I was thinking. And that could go on until morning. So, what I’m wondering is, are we humble enough yet?”

Matthew stopped, understanding now. “I’m feeling pretty humble, actually.”

“Humble enough to stop and ask the Lord for his help?”

“At least that humble.”

Without a word they both turned off the road to the weed-choked shoulder. They dropped to their knees, shoulder to shoulder, and in a moment, Derek began to pray.

Fifteen minutes later, as they stumbled along, shivering in the darkness, Matthew’s hand shot out and grabbed Derek’s arm. “Look!” he said, pointing off to their left.

“What?”

“Watch! Through the trees. ’Bout a hundred yards off.”

“Yes.” The one word was spoken in a long, drawn-out sigh of relief. A flicker of light glimmered momentarily, then disappeared again as the wind blew branches across their view. Then it was there again. Derek gripped Matthew’s arm. “Yes, I see it too.”

“We’re much obliged, ma’am. That was a fine breakfast.”

The woman turned from the stone fireplace and looked at the two missionaries sitting at her table. “You’re welcome. Wish we had a bed for you too, but we’re simple folk here.”

“Believe me, ma’am,” Matthew said, and he said it with deep fervor, “your barn was an answer to a prayer. I can’t think of a finer night’s sleep I’ve had since we left home.”

That seemed to please her. She looked to be in her early forties, but judging from the ages of her seven children, and knowing that the hill-country people typically married quite early, she was maybe thirty-two or thirty-three, possibly less than that.

“We are truly grateful,” Derek said, standing now and reaching for his hat. “As the Lord says in the Bible, ‘And whosoever shall give a cup of cold water to my little ones shall in no wise lose their reward.’”

There was a sad smile that briefly played around her mouth. “We can use all the blessings we can get,” she finally said.

Derek smiled at the children, lined up in a row along one wall, oldest to youngest. They were ragged, thin, smudged with grime that bespoke long weeks between baths. Their eyes watched the two strangers with great solemnity. “Bye, y’all,” Derek said with a smile.

The oldest raised one hand and waved briefly. The others did not stir.

“Ma’am,” Matthew said, standing now too. “We’ve come out this way trying to find Caddo Gap. Are we far from it?”

“About two miles.” She pointed.

“Oh, good. So—” And then suddenly it registered which way her hand was pointing. “It’s that way?”

For the first time she laughed. It was a pleasant sound, like hearing the first bird on a beautiful morning. “You passed it in the night.”

“Really?” Derek said. “Is there a sign on the road? We were watching real close.”

“Yep!”

At that the children started to giggle.

“What?” Matthew asked, suspecting he and Derek were being teased now.

The oldest boy, still chortling, said, “There’s a sign, all right, but it’s been knocked down now for nigh onto a year.”

“Arrow points right to Caddo Gap,” the mother said, still enjoying their little joke.

The two missionaries exchanged looks and then Derek had another idea. “Ma’am, we came out looking for a couple of families we were told about. Name of Webster and Scadlock. You wouldn’t know them by any chance?”

“Know them both.”

“Could you tell us how to find either one of them?”

“Find one, find them both. They live just a stone’s throw away from each other.”

“Oh. Could you tell us how to get there, please?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “Go back out to the road. Keep moving north. Go two sees and a holler and you’ll find a path that leads off to the right into the woods. Goes right to the Scadlock place.”

Matthew looked puzzled. The “holler” was no problem. In this country, a holler was a hollow or a small valley. “Two ‘sees,’ ma’am,” he asked politely, “what does that mean?”

She looked a little surprised. “When you get to the road, go to the next ridge. From there, look as far as you can see down the road to the next ridge. That will be one see. Go to the second ridge. Look down the road again as far as you can see.”

Matthew was nodding. “That’ll be two sees, I take it.”

“Yep. Then go to the next holler and you’re there.”

“Much obliged, ma’am,” Derek said, suppressing a grin.

“You preachers?” she suddenly asked, catching them both by surprise.

“Yes,” Derek replied.

“Mormons?”

For some reason Derek felt a little chill. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Best be careful, then,” she said. “Circuit rider went through here day before yesterday. Said two men might be coming. Warned folks about you.”

“I see,” Derek responded, keeping his face impassive.

“Scadlocks and Websters Mormons?” she asked, startling them again.

“That’s what we heard, ma’am,” Matthew answered after a moment.

“’Tain’t no more,” she said shortly.

“What do you mean?” Derek asked.

“Heard Pulsipher Scadlock was madder than a hound dog stepping in a hornet’s nest when he came home from a trip one day and found his missus had become a Mormon.”

“Oh.” Again the two men exchanged looks, this time with evident dismay.

“Best watch your step. Scadlock’s got a mean temper. ’Specially when he’s been nipping at his own moonshine.”

“Much obliged, ma’am,” Derek said once again, only this time it came out with more genuine gratitude than before. “We’ll be careful.”

Two sees and a holler proved to be about three miles farther on from where they had stayed the night. The rain was gone now and the sky clear. By nine o’clock, they took off their jackets and walked along in their shirtsleeves. As they reached the bottom of the small, narrow valley after the second “see,” Matthew stopped and pointed. Ahead about thirty yards there was a footpath going off to the right. “That must be it,” he said.

Derek nodded and they walked on until they reached it. There was nothing more than a slight track where the grass had been trampled down into bare dirt. It couldn’t have taken even the smallest cart, let alone a wagon. The dirt, peppered clean by last night’s rain, showed only one set of tracks from an unshod horse. There was no sign, no markings of any kind. Derek studied it for a moment, looked up and down the road, and when he saw nothing else, he nodded. “Let’s go find out.”

The first house—or better, the first shanty—was about a quarter of a mile through the trees. It was set near the far edge of a clearing that was maybe fifty yards across in either direction. Matthew and Derek stopped near the edge of the trees to take stock of what lay before them. The house—no more than one or two rooms—was on brick stilts which lifted it about a foot and a half above the ground. The walls were of clapboard and rough-cut lumber, patched here and there with newer-looking pieces of board. One of the two windows had glass. The other was covered with a cloth. From a tin chimney that seemed more like a stick jammed into a hole in the roof rose a wisp of white smoke. A small garden patch, filled with the first of the season’s weeds and a few stalks from last year’s corn patch, was partly visible behind the house. To the right of that was the outhouse, door partly open, and a small rabbit hutch or chicken pen farther on from there. A sow pig with three little ones was rooting in the grass behind the garden, and a half dozen chickens scratched and pecked in the hardened ground directly around the house.