“Who I hire is my business and—”
“Oh, no, Pa,” Joshua shot back. “You’re worried about stink. Well, Joseph Smith and all these wild ideas about angels and his gold Bible make him stink to high heaven. You don’t care about that, then you’d better stop caring who I choose as my friends.”
Somewhere, far back in some corner of his mind, the ridiculousness of the situation hit Joshua. He was not really taken with Will Murdock and his brother. They were loud and dirty, coarse in both language and demeanor. But that was neither here nor there. He wasn’t about to let this bullheaded, narrow-minded man run his life any longer. He let his voice drop to a hoarse whisper. “Pa, you understand one thing. I’m a man now. I decide who my friends are and who they are not. I don’t need your help.” He lifted his chin in defiance. “And I don’t need your permission.”
Benjamin Steed leaned forward slowly, his eyes baleful and dark with fury, and Joshua felt a sudden prickle of fear. “Now you listen to me, mister,” he said, his voice low and ugly, as full of menace as Joshua could ever recollect hearing. “As long as you live in this house and eat at this table, you need my permission to blow your nose! And if you don’t like that, then maybe it’s time you just find out what kind of man you really are.”
Joshua stared back into the depths of his father’s dark eyes, then suddenly he laughed, partly in anger and defiance, but mostly in sudden relief. That was it. There was the solution. A way to get out from under it. A way to get clear to visit Lydia on Wednesday. A way to stop the constant hassle and the battles.
He stepped back. “Fine. I’ll be getting my things and moving into town.”
Mary Ann shot to her feet. “Joshua, no.”
Melissa was up and rushed to his side. “No, Joshua, no.”
His father was staring at him, not sure he had heard correctly.
Joshua rushed on, his resolution solidifying even as he spoke. “Yes.” He patted Melissa’s arm, then looked to his mother. “I’ll come each day to help with the farm work, but I’ll be staying in town from now on.”
The emotions on his father’s face were a study in complexity—shock, bewilderment, anger, betrayal, hurt. Finally he stepped back and turned away. “Don’t be doing us any favors,” he growled. “We can manage without you.”
Joshua smiled sadly, amazed at the calm which had come over him. “I won’t be coming for you, Pa. I’ll be coming for Ma and the family. I won’t be letting them go hungry next winter because of me.”
He turned to his mother and took her hands in his. Her eyes were shining with wetness. “It’ll be all right, Ma.” He took a deep breath. “It’s time.”
Her lips trembled and then she suddenly threw her arms around him, and he could feel her body shake convulsively. Joshua pulled her close and hugged her tight.
From behind them there was a gruff bark. “I’ll be going into town.” Benjamin swung around, grabbed his hat from the peg, and disappeared out of the door, slamming it hard behind him.
“It’s time, Ma,” Joshua said again softly, patting her shoulder. “It’ll be for the best.”
It was after dark when Benjamin Steed came out of the front door of Phelp’s tavern in Palmyra Village. He stopped, torn with conflicting emotions. He had been born and bred to the idea that a man’s private life was his own business and that when it came to religion, a man’s heart was his own affair. It had always been his way, as Mary Ann had said, to give short shrift to gossip and rumor making.
He sighed. The Smiths had been good, solid workers. More than that. He had liked them. Even Joseph.
He shook his head with his usual unflinching honesty. Especially Joseph!
But the stories had been even worse than Joshua had intimated. His first inquiries in the tavern met with suspicion or open contempt, but when the men found out he was new to the area and had only hired the Smiths as day labor, the mood quickly changed. He was inundated with tales of wild doings in the night, fantastic accounts of bizarre and frightening behavior. Joshua had been right. The people were talking, and already Benjamin Steed’s name was being linked unfavorably with that of Joseph Smith’s. He was strongly advised again and again to break off any relationship as soon as possible.
Not that he believed it all. Benjamin well knew how stories could get started and then multiply like a litter of mice in a grain silo. But he also knew that in many cases stories usually had at least some basis in fact. And that troubled him deeply.
Part of what troubled him lay in his natural suspiciousness about any kind of open spiritualism. He had seen too many handwringers, people on fire with the “Spirit.” Religion was like a lifeline cast at them in a dark and stormy sea, and they clung to it with wild desperation. That Joseph turned out to be one of these kind was a surprise to him, for he had not seemed that way in the fields.
He sighed again, his thoughts turning to Joshua and the events of the afternoon. But he brushed it aside quickly. Thoughts in that direction were too painful, and he straightened abruptly, making up his mind. He walked over to where the horses and buckboards were tied. An older teenage boy was lounging in one of the wagons, just as his father had said he would be. Benjamin fished a coin from his pocket and motioned to the boy.
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you know where the Smith farm is, down on Stafford Road?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Here’s two bits. Will you take a message to young Joseph Smith for me?”
The boy glanced at the money, his eyes suddenly interested. “Yes, sir!”
“This is Joseph Smith, Junior, the son, not the father.”
“Yes, I know.”
Benjamin hesitated, then with a shake of his head, handed the boy the money. “Tell him Benjamin Steed has finished up the work he has for them. I won’t be needin’ him and his brother anymore.”
Chapter Seven
Using the heel of a loaf of bread, Benjamin Steed mopped up the last of the gravy from the squirrel stew and put it in his mouth. Mary Ann watched him, feeling her heart sink a little. It was the midday meal on Thursday, and there had been no word from Joshua since he had left the previous Sunday with a few of his things stuffed into a burlap bag. In that time Benjamin had not once spoken of the events of that terrible Easter Sunday nor had he even once mentioned his oldest son. Late that same evening he had come back from town with the smell of ale on his breath and had gone to bed without a word to either her or the children. The next morning, when Becca had slipped at breakfast and made a comment about Joshua, Benjamin had shot her such a look that no one of the family had dared bring up the subject again. She had borne it in silence to this point, but she could bear it no more, and confrontation or not, she was ready to take action.
Melissa was taking the dishes to the small table where Becca was starting to wash the dishes in the iron kettle. Nathan, who was sitting across the table from his mother, started to get up, but she reached out and grabbed his hand. “Nathan?”
“Yes, Mother?”
Mary Ann took a quick breath. “I’d like you to go into town for me.”
Benjamin was licking the gravy from his fingers. He stopped and his hand lowered slowly to the table as he turned and gave her a sharp look. “Nathan and me have got to finish harrowing the southeast corner before dark.”
Mary Ann didn’t look at her husband, just rushed on quickly. “I want you to go into the village. See if you can find where Joshua is staying.”
Melissa stopped in mid-stride and turned back around slowly. Becca froze in the act of slipping one of the plates into the water, but she didn’t turn around. Matthew was lying on the floor playing with the dog. He looked up, eyes suddenly anxious. Even the dog raised its head and cocked an ear, sensing the sudden change of atmosphere in the room.
Benjamin stood up slowly. He looked down at Nathan, studiously avoiding his wife’s face. “You get the mules hitched up and bring ‘em on down to the field.”
“Ben!” The sharpness in her voic
e surprised her as well as him.
He turned, his eyes challenging. Don’t press this, woman, was clearly written across his face. But Mary Ann Morgan Steed, normally a quiet and gentle person, couldn’t stop now. She had lain awake the previous four nights brooding over what had happened. For nearly twenty-two years she had lived with this man. She knew the unbendable stubbornness of which he was capable. She also knew that Joshua had pushed him beyond any limits previously reached and that his forced silence covered a deep sense of betrayal and hurt.
“I’ll not be asking him to come back, Ben,” she said quietly. “But I can’t go on not knowing if he’s all right.”
“Isn’t this the same son who promised he’d be back to help with the farming?” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “More of his big talk, I suppose.”
Melissa came back to the table to stand by her mother. “Pa, it takes time to find a place to stay.”
Her father looked at her, and Mary Ann could see the hurt in his eyes. The whole family was lining up against him, or so it must seem to him.
Mary Ann stood and came around the table to lay a hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Ben, I know Joshua did wrong. No one is sayin’ he didn’t. But I can’t go on acting like he never was our son.”
“He ain’t been actin’ like our son.” It was said low, almost grumbled, but Mary Ann felt a quick leap of hope. Benjamin, too, wanted to know where Joshua was. His pride wouldn’t let him admit to that, but she knew him well enough to read the concern beneath the outer gruffness.
She decided to take a chance that she had read him correctly. “If you say so, I won’t send Nathan. But I think we need to try and at least find him.”
He searched her face, then finally turned to Nathan. “I’ve got some work I can do on the fence along the creek. We’ll finish the harrowing tomorrow.”
Nathan nodded soberly.
“You could ride one of the mules, I suppose.”
Nathan nodded again. “That would be good. I’ll go saddle up.
Mary Ann watched her second son leave the cabin, then spoke. “I’ll get some bread and things together.” She smiled up at her husband, her eyes suddenly moist. “Thank you, Ben.”
He brushed it aside gruffly, a little embarrassed, and moved to the door to get his hat. Melissa on a sudden impulse went to his side. She went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Pa,” she whispered.
Five minutes later Mary Ann came out of the cabin. She had two warm loaves of bread wrapped in a cloth. There was also a crock of pickles and some crab apple preserves. All were carefully placed in a flour sack. Nathan was at the head of the mule, which was now saddled and flicking its ears lazily back and forth. Matthew and Becca stood next to him, Matthew patting the mule’s neck absently. Melissa followed her mother out with Joshua’s jacket and a brush he had missed when he had packed so hurriedly.
Nathan helped them put the things into his saddlebags, then he swung up onto the mule’s back.
“You’ll just have to ask in town if anyone knows where he is,” his mother said, touching his leg.
Melissa stepped forward, looking grave. “I’d start with Lydia McBride. Joshua won’t admit it, but he’s got it pretty strong for her. I’ll bet she’s at least seen him.”
“I thought about that,” Nathan nodded.
She smiled and waved. “I’m going down to see if I can help Pa with the fence. Matthew, Becca, why don’t you come with me?”
“That’s a good idea,” Mary Ann said. “You go on along. I’ll finish the dishes.”
As the three of them trooped away, Nathan watched them go. Then he looked down at his mother. “I’ll find him, Ma. You know Joshua. He’ll be all right.”
Mary Ann felt a sudden lump in her throat. “I know. It’s just that…” She stopped and sighed. “If we don’t do something now, he may never come back.”
A look of surprise crossed Nathan’s face, but almost immediately he nodded, sensing she was right. “I’ll find him.”
He picked up the reins, but stopped again. “Ma?”
“Yes, son?”
“I asked Pa why Joseph and Hyrum didn’t come to work this week.”
She nodded. “I know. I asked him too.”
“Did he tell you what he did?”
“Yes.”
“I’m afraid Joseph will think it’s because I told Pa about the—” He stopped, not sure of what word to use. “About what happened to him when he prayed.”
“Joseph is a good boy,” she said, shaking her head. “I think he’ll understand.”
Nathan considered it, then nodded, a little relieved.
Mary Ann smiled up at him. What a good heart this one had, she thought. Not so filled with intensity. Not so insecure that he had to prove his worth to himself. “Nathan?”
“Yes?”
“Have you given any more thought to what Joseph told you?”
His brow furrowed. “Yes.”
“And?”
“I don’t know, Ma.” He stared at his hands, which were toying with the hair on the mule’s mane. Finally he looked down at her. “What about you? Have you given it more thought?”
“Yes. A great deal.”
“Well?” he prompted when she said nothing more.
She turned and gazed out across the field, watching her three children disappear into a small stand of trees and brush. Finally she looked up at her second son. “I think it’s true, Nathan. I’m not for sure positive, but the feelings just keep coming. I think it’s true.”
For a moment Nathan looked envious. “That will please Joseph.”
A fleeting, wistful smile touched the corners of her mouth. “I suppose it will. But your father will not take to it kindly. Not now.”
Nathan exhaled slowly. “I know.”
She brightened, patting his leg. “Go find Joshua, Nathan. Let him know we still care.”
“I will, Ma. I will.”
Nathan knocked twice on the door, then knocked again a little louder. There was a rustle of noise, then a floorboard creaked and he heard a woman’s footsteps approaching. He took off his hat.
The woman who opened the door was plump and grand-motherly. The first streaks of gray were noticeable in what hair was visible beneath a white linen bonnet, and the eyes were lined with crinkles which gave her a pleasant air even before she smiled. Nathan had seen Lydia’s mother only one time in the store, but the resemblance between this woman and Mrs. McBride was immediately evident, even though Lydia’s mother was probably a good ten years younger than her sister.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Johnson?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Nathan Steed. I was told your niece, Miss Lydia McBride, might be staying with you.”
“Yes. Yes, she is.”
“Good. Actually, I’m trying to find my brother, Joshua. I’ve been looking all over in town for him, and someone said Miss Lydia might know where he’s staying. They suggested I might find her here.”
Her head bobbed up and down, and her smile deepened. “Actually, your brother was here for a time last evening.”
“Oh, good. So Lydia might know where I could find him.”
“Quite likely. Go on around out back of the barn. You’ll find her in the orchard.” The grandmotherly eyes twinkled. “The apple trees are in blossom.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She squinted up at him. “You’re not quite as stocky as your brother. How much older is he than you?”
He smiled. “I’m eighteen. Joshua’s twenty.”
“Hmmmm.” She looked at him again, sizing him up, then wiped her hands on her apron. “Well, you can tie your mount on the side of the house there. She’s out there somewhere.”
“Thank you.”
As Nathan tied the mule and started across the yard, he took a quick appraisal of the Johnson farm. The home was a spacious, two-story white frame building with well-kept yard. A large red barn stood behind it, surrounded with other o
utbuildings—forge, smokehouse, a vegetable cellar, carriage shed, and icehouse. A matched team of Belgian workhorses were in the corral along with a sleek-looking sorrel mare. The rail fences were neat and in excellent repair, and as he passed the barn’s open door, Nathan saw everything was in its place.
As he came around the barn, his opinion of Lydia’s uncle as a farmer climbed even higher. The rows of apple trees had been carefully pruned to keep them low enough so come fall the pickers would not need high ladders to harvest the crop. It was now well into April, and it had been an unseasonably warm spring. The buds were just opening, providing a veritable explosion of pink blossoms for as far as the eye could pierce into the orchard. The air was filled with a soft fragrance as well as with the pleasant hum of ten thousand bees moving from blossom to blossom, their legs and round bodies heavy with pollen.
He passed a cider press with its huge double wheels. Turned by horse or ox power, the wheels would crush the apples into pulp. The juice would be drained off for making apple cider and vinegar. The pulp, or pomace, as it was called, would be left out in the air for twelve hours, then pressed between layers of straw to form “apple cheese.” That was a favorite of the Steeds, including Nathan, and he realized perhaps some of the apple cheese they had bought in town during the winter had come from this very orchard.
He slowed his step to look more closely at the cider press. It was small but modern and well maintained. He nodded to himself. Someday he would have a farm like this. So many farmers, especially on the frontier, did all right. They survived, and not much more than that. But with effort and care one could do more than just raise crops and cattle. One could build something lasting, something which bore witness to the labor and love of the husbandman.
The clusters of blossoms were too thick to allow him to see more than a few yards beyond where he stood, so Nathan bent down now and then to try and see below the branches of the trees. Now he understood the aunt’s simple declaration about the trees being in blossom. That was explanation enough as to why a young woman might be found out here. The sun was dropping low in the sky now, and the air still. It was a moment of serenity and peace.
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