The Work and the Glory (435 page)

It was shortly after noon when Jenny returned to the house. Matthew had taken Betsy Jo to his mother’s to start helping with the cooking. Jenny went immediately into Kathryn’s room. Her first glance was to the chair. With relief, she saw the crutches were exactly as they had left them. Kathryn looked a little pale, but was sitting up in bed, reading a book.

She looked up and smiled. “How was the worship service?”

“Good. The brethren talked to us about remaining calm and not seeking revenge for Joseph’s death.”

“Oh.”

Jenny moved over to sit beside her. “Are you okay?” she asked, looking at her more closely.

“I’m fine. I . . . I’m still not feeling quite well, but I’ll be all right.”

Jenny placed a hand on her forehead. “You feel cold and clammy. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yes. I’m fine. I am tired, though. Perhaps I’ll sleep a little before going over to Mother Steed’s.”

Jenny nodded, still looking concerned.

Kathryn forced her brightest smile. “Did Jessica and Solomon come yet?”

“No, the family who told us they were coming said they couldn’t leave before this morning, so it will be three or four o’clock before they get here, I imagine.”

“It’s too bad they had to miss the funeral yesterday.”

“Yes, well, the man said that Solomon was out visiting the settlements when the word came. But anyway, they’ll be here soon.”

“Good. Will you come get me when they arrive?”

“Of course.” She leaned forward a little. “Are you sure you are all right?”

“Yes. I’ll sleep a little, and then I’ll be fine.”

Jenny stood, still reluctant, and kissed Kathryn on the cheek. “All right, we’ll be back in a little while.”

“Thank you for caring, Jenny.”

Surprised, Jenny nodded, still eyeing her sister with suspicion. But after a moment, she turned and left the room, giving her a little wave of farewell.

Peter had come, book under his arm, about an hour before, to help Kathryn pass the time until Jessica’s family arrived. When the door opened and Kathryn saw him standing there, she felt her heart drop. She hadn’t expected this, didn’t want it. Not today. The pain in her right side was growing with each passing hour. Nothing was broken—she had proven that during the agony of getting herself back to the bed and into it—but she was going to be one mass of black and blue on that right side. She had been lying here worrying about how she was going to explain all of that the next time Jenny helped her bathe. But the thought of having to smile and be pleasant to Peter when she hurt as keenly as she did was almost more than she could face.

But she did smile. She did manage a forced cheerfulness at his presence. She even was able to convince him she was thrilled that he had brought a book of Shakespeare to read to her. Normally she loved that. She loved to hear Peter’s British voice, reading the great bard as though Peter himself had written the lines. She loved to watch the earnestness in his face, the light in his eyes. But not today. It was almost more effort than she could muster. She was so weary, so tired of it all.

Her eyes opened with a jerk when she realized that his voice had stopped. He was watching her, his eyes wide and filled with concern. He smiled now, a little embarrassed. “Would you like to rest, Kathryn? I shouldn’t go on so.”

She waved a hand and managed a soft laugh. “No, I wasn’t sleeping. I was listening to your voice. I like to hear your voice, Peter.”

“Thank you.” He closed the book and set it on the bed beside her feet. He clasped his hands together in his lap and started to examine them closely. For a moment, she thought his acting this way might be because of her closing her eyes, but then she sensed it was something else. He was growing increasingly nervous even as she watched him. He shifted positions in his chair. His eyes rose to hers, then instantly darted away again when he saw she was looking at him.

“Do you have another appointment, Peter?” she finally asked with her characteristic bluntness.

That startled him. “No, why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s like you can barely wait to get out of here.”

His face flushed and he dropped his eyes to stare at his hands. “No, don’t be silly.”

“Then what is it?” she demanded, the irritation and anger at herself suddenly taking focus on him.

His shoulders lifted and fell as he took a quick breath. “Kathryn, I . . .”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been thinking about . . . well, about us.”

She gaped at him. “Us?” she echoed dumbly.

“Yes, you and me.”

She was too dumbfounded to know what to say.

His face was flaming all the brighter now, but his head came up. He swallowed hard twice, then plunged in. “I suppose this is not the most ideal time, but . . . Well, you know that we’ve always been good friends, Kathryn.”

“Yes.” She heard herself say it as though from a great distance. Waves of panic were washing over her.
No, Peter. Not today. On any other day this would be hard enough, but not today, Peter. Please! Please! Not now!

“Well, my feelings are more than just friendship now, Kathryn. These past few months, I’ve come to realize that you mean a—”

“Peter?”

He looked up, surprised by the curtness in her voice. “Yes?”

“Don’t!” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

His eyes were large and wounded. “But—”

“Peter, you are very sweet and I like you as a friend, but it could never be anything more than that for me. I just—” Her voice nearly broke and she reached out and touched his hand to cover herself. “I just don’t care for you in that way. I never could.”

“Oh.”

She looked away, not able to bear the pain she had brought to his eyes. Then finally, very softly, she heard, “I understand.”

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

“No, it’s all right. I appreciate you being honest.”

She winced at that, and not because of the pain. Honesty was the last thing she was willing to give right now. “Can we still be friends?”

He looked up, as though he hadn’t quite heard right. Then there was a sickly smile. “Yeah, sure. Who else would try to read Shakespeare to you?”

Tears sprang to her eyes.
Yes! Who else?
But Shakespeare was not enough. How fully she had proved that on this day. “Thank you, Peter. Thank you for being so understanding.”

He stood. “Well, maybe I’d better go.”

“Yes,” she said softly. Her lips parted, wanting to say more, wanting to take away the hurt from his face, but she couldn’t. She was as crippled in that regard as she was in her body.

He nodded, lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her cheek, then let it drop again. “Good-bye, Kathryn.”

“Good-bye, Peter.”

He nodded and left the room, walking very slowly. As the door shut quietly behind him, Kathryn turned her head toward the wall and began to weep.

Joshua leaned forward, his dark eyes earnest. “Look, I’m not being critical of the Church. I’m just telling you, Joseph Smith was the force that made the Church what it is. Joseph is gone now. All I’m saying is that we need to start thinking about what that means.”

Matthew’s Jenny was shaking her head even before he finished. “But that’s exactly the point, Joshua. It’s not ‘The Church of Joseph Smith of Latter-day Saints.’ It’s ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ We believe the Savior is the head of the Church and the real power that makes it live.”

Nathan had to smile. Spunk. That was the word for this Irish girl whom his younger brother had married. She was so gentle and so sweet of disposition, but cross her—especially on something that related to the gospel—and she stood right up and let herself be heard.

Beside him, his own wife jumped in. “We all know what a loss this will be for us,” Lydia said. “No one disagrees with you on that. Joseph was a remarkable man but—”

“Joseph was more than that,” Joshua cut in. “I know this sounds odd coming from me, but Joseph was more than just remarkable. He was the kind of man that comes along once in a lifetime. Maybe not even that often. If it weren’t for Joseph Smith, you would have no Church.”

Jessica turned to him and smiled. “You are right, Joshua. Coming from you that does sound odd.” They all laughed at that, Joshua included. Then immediately several started answering him, all speaking at once—Caroline, Derek, Solomon. Jenny again.

Jenny’s sister, Kathryn, sat in her wheelchair, hands folded in her lap. She followed the conversation, but so far had said nothing. Sitting somewhat apart from the others, Peter was equally quiet, not looking at Kathryn at all. Nathan watched the two of them with wonder. The rest of the family hadn’t noticed, but there was no mistaking it. Something had happened between Peter and Kathryn. He made a mental note to ask Lydia about it later.

He turned to watch the other members of the family. He was half-amused, half-astonished. Jessica and Solomon had finally arrived shortly after four o’clock. Immediately all the family gathered to Grandma and Grandpa Steed’s home. Now it was dark. They were seated in the yard. Supper was over. The dishes were done. The three youngest—Caroline’s Livvy, who was not even a month old yet, Jessica’s Miriam, not quite a year, and Lydia’s little Joseph, just a year—were asleep next door in one bedroom of Nathan’s home. The window of that room was open so they could hear the babies if they cried. The rest of the children had gone down to Miller’s pasture to play night games. The night was soft and warm around them. Here and there a firefly winked in the darkness. The harmony of crickets and cicadas provided a droning, barely noticed background for their conversation.

Nathan was amused because this was so like his family. Get supper done, get the children taken care of, then open up a discussion topic and go at it with quiet but friendly tenacity. This was their typical summer evening’s activity. He was astonished because what they were witnessing at this moment was an amazing turnaround. Just four months ago, through the devious half-lies of Robert Foster, Joshua had been convinced that Joseph Smith had tried to take Olivia Steed, not yet seventeen, into plural marriage. Foster also claimed that he had seen Joseph kissing Olivia.

To describe Joshua’s reaction as fury was to seriously understate the case. It was a towering, mindless rage—at the Church, at the family for being part of it, and most especially at Joseph Smith. Nothing penetrated through it. Not Caroline’s explanations. Not Olivia’s denials. Joshua had gone to Joseph and in an ugly confrontation threatened his life if he even so much as spoke to Olivia again. Joseph never did. Within four months of that confrontation, Olivia lay dead of a broken neck in the dusty streets of Warsaw. Two weeks later, Joseph was killed by a mob with painted faces.

So to hear Joshua defending Joseph Smith as he was now was truly an amazing turnaround. Part of that was the guilt. Nathan knew that. Joshua was devastated by the death of his daughter, but knowing that it was his anger and his blind refusal to listen to and accept the truth from his wife and daughter that had contributed to the tragedy was enough to jerk him up short, like a wild horse hitting the end of its first rope. But it was more than that. Joseph Smith had done a remarkable thing that night. When he learned of the accident, he came in the night to Warsaw. He came to the town where the people were howling for his blood. All of the so-called friends of Joshua, who had courted his favor when they thought he would turn against the Church, did not even so much as come to give their condolences. And Joseph, at great personal risk, came to help. And when there could have been just recrimination, when Joseph could so easily have reminded Joshua of his foolishness and of the fact that he had grossly misjudged Joseph, Joseph said nothing about that. He simply took Joshua in his arms and they wept together for the loss of Olivia.

There were many things for which Joshua Steed could be criticized, but loyalty to a trusted friend was not one of those. And now part of Joshua’s mourning, part of this turning that they were witnessing, was Joshua’s way of trying to make things right again, even though Joseph’s death had cut short any attempt to do so with Joseph himself.

Nathan turned to look at Caroline. She had nearly lost her life that day too. A broken arm. A broken ankle. Many bruises, which were mostly gone now. She was recovering nicely, thanks to the blessing Joseph had given her that night, but she still tired easily. She half reclined on a lounge, and Nathan saw that she was not following the conversation. She was looking past the family, out into the darkness, intently, as if watching for someone. Her face was mostly in shadow, but suddenly it was as if it were brightly illuminated for him and he saw the inner sorrow that filled her soul. He looked away, embarrassed to have caught her in such a moment of naked vulnerability.

“Someone will take Joseph’s place,” Solomon Garrett was saying, pulling Nathan back to the conversation.

“Who?” Joshua demanded. “Hyrum—the most logical one—is dead with Joseph. Sidney Rigdon’s in Pittsburgh. That’s all three members of the First Presidency.”

“What about Brigham?” Matthew said.

“Brigham’s a fine man,” Joshua shot right back, “but he’s no Joseph Smith.”

“No one is Joseph Smith,” Mary Ann said quietly, “but that doesn’t mean they can’t lead the Church.”

“Where is Brigham?” Joshua said, not wanting to directly disagree with his mother. “He’s in the East. So is Heber Kimball and the Pratts and John Page and George Albert Smith.”

“Joseph sent a letter before he died calling them back,” Derek volunteered. “They’ll be coming soon.”

Joshua went right on as if Derek hadn’t spoken. “John Taylor’s a fine man, but he’s critically wounded himself. It will be months before he will recover. Willard Richards is still in shock. I don’t think he can take over.” He stopped, pleased to see that his words were registering now. “You’ve got a crisis here. Nauvoo is in an uproar. Governor Ford is surely not going to step in and restore order. And you’re without a leader.”

On they went, Nathan only half listening again. He was thinking about Melissa and Carl now. Had Melissa had the baby yet? Were they going to stay in Kirtland now that Carl’s father had died? How long would it take for news of Joseph’s death to reach them?