“I’ve got some goods down in my wagon. I can cover it.”
Joshua pulled at his lip thoughtfully. Gently now!
“What?” the man demanded.
But Joshua took his time. He poured another drink and sipped at it carefully. Finally, he set his cards down, face to the table. “Shall we really make this interesting, Mr. Farnsworth?”
Again there was a sudden gleam in the man’s face, half desperate hope, half fear.
“You know I’m in the freight business too,” Joshua continued. “Just getting a good start. I’ve got two wagons, six oxen, eight head of good horseflesh, plus a small barn and stable. The men here can vouch for me.”
Several of those surrounding the table nodded vigorously or said, “Yeah, that’s right. It’s a good outfit. Worth a lot.”
Joshua touched the pile of money in front of him. “I’d guess I’ve got close to five hundred dollars here. There’s another two hundred or so in the middle there.”
“Yes.” It was a hoarse whisper.
“You’ve got what in your outfit?” He kept his voice bored, almost sleepy. It took real effort, for this was the moment on which all his careful planning hung.
“Three wagons, eighteen Conestagas to pull them, and about three thousand dollars’ worth of freight on board.”
Joshua took another drink, then shook his head, slowly, hesitantly.
The teamster leaned forward, his breath coming in short bursts now, reeking of whiskey even across the table. “What are you suggestin’, Mr. Steed?”
Again Joshua shook his head. “This is crazy,” he said, half to himself. “I put every dime I own into my company and it’s just starting to pay off.” He stopped and fingered the money, counting it slowly and deliberately. “And I’ve got enough here to buy me another full rig or more.”
“Your company and everything on the table against my stock and wagons,” the man cried, almost pathetic in his eagerness to get out of the hole he had dug for himself.
Joshua stared at the money before him, letting the moment draw out to the fullest. The other two men quickly slid their money off the table so as to make it clear they were out of the game. Finally, Joshua shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
The man shot halfway out of his chair. “Yes, Steed. That’s my call. I see your fifty dollars and raise you with my outfit. Winner take all.”
The crowd erupted, unable to bear the tension. “Do it, Joshua!” one man shouted from the back. “He’s crazy,” blurted another, not indicating whether he was speaking of the teamster or Joshua. Having moved back behind the bar, Jessica was watching Joshua, her eyes wide and frightened, hands deathly still on the counter.
Still Joshua hesitated.
“What will it be, mister?” Farnsworth shouted, sensing victory. “I’ve raised and called. Are you gonna play or fold?”
Joshua’s mouth tightened. “All right,” he said angrily, “I call. My outfit and what’s on the table against your wagons and teams. Winner takes all.”
A murmur of stunned shock swept through the room. Farnsworth leaped to his feet. Grinning widely, revealing uneven, discolored teeth, he spread his cards out on the table. “Full house, aces and queens.” He stepped back. The breath went out of the crowd in a whoosh. It was better than they had thought. It was a powerful hand.
Joshua sighed, feigning a tremendous relief. Then, slowly, letting the drama work its magic, he laid his cards down. They were all spades, starting with a seven and going up from there. “Straight flush, jack high.”
The tavern exploded with a roar. The teamster just stared, his jaw slack, bloodshot eyes unblinking in stupefaction. Then with a moan, he dropped back hard into his chair, slumped down, and threw his hands over his eyes.
Nine hundred miles to the east, at about the same time of day, Nathan Steed looked up from his plate of lamb stew. “Word in town is, Joseph is back.”
His father looked up sharply, grunted something, then continued eating.
Mary Ann looked at her son. “Where did you hear that?”
“One of the Johnson boys was at the blacksmith shop. They live just a quarter mile up the road from the Smiths. He got back last night.”
Melissa, Becca, and Matthew had also stopped eating now. Their heads swung back and forth between Nathan and their father, sensing the sudden tension.
Laying his fork down, Benjamin turned to his wife. “We have an agreement. There’ll be no more talk of Joseph around this table.”
Nathan took a deep breath, looking straight at his father. “Mr. Harris lost the manuscript.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from his mother, but Nathan kept his eyes riveted on his father. He took some satisfaction in noting that at least the news had startled him. It had been two weeks earlier when his father had come home and recounted his conversation with Martin Harris.
“That’s why Joseph came back. Mr. Harris was supposed to have brought the copy back to Harmony some time ago, but he never came. This morning Joseph sent word for Mr. Harris to bring it to the house. When Mr. Harris went to get the manuscript from where he had hidden it, it was gone.”
Nathan’s mother shook her head slowly. “How terrible!”
Benjamin was looking closely at his son. “How do you know all this?”
There was a moment’s pause, then Nathan shrugged. “I saw Hyrum in town.”
Before her husband could respond, Mary Ann asked quickly, “Is there another copy of the manuscript?”
His eyes dropped, reflecting the sick feeling inside him. “No. There was only the one Mr. Harris took.”
“What’s a manuscript, Nathan?” Matthew was following along intently, his seven-year-old face looking thoroughly puzzled.
“It’s the paper Mr. Harris used to write Joseph’s translation of the gold plates,” Nathan said.
“Supposed translation,” Benjamin muttered sarcastically.
Nathan felt a quick irritation. “You heard what Mr. Harris said, Pa. Joseph is translating. You think Mr. Harris would lie, Pa?”
His father glared at him for a moment. “Martin Harris is a fine man, but sometimes even a fine man can be a fool.”
“But he was there, Benjamin,” Mary Ann jumped in. “He actually was there while Joseph translated. And that experience with the professor, how can you just…?”
The look he shot her was so wintry that she let the sentence trail off and looked away.
Melissa, filled with curiosity and uncowed by her father, turned to Nathan. “I’ll bet it was Mrs. Harris who took it.”
“Melissa!”
She turned to her mother. “Well, I bet it was. You heard her here the other day, Mama. She bragged about seeing the manuscript. And she is still angry that Joseph wouldn’t show her the gold plates.”
“Melissa, that’s enough,” her father said sharply.
“Her daughter told me that, Pa. She said her mother offered Joseph a big sum of money if he would show them to her. When he said no, she—”
The sharp crack of Benjamin’s hand against the table made them all jump. “I will not have any more of this,” he barked. “Is that clear?”
Nathan and Melissa nodded quickly. Matthew and Becca dropped their eyes and began to eat again hastily. Mary Ann sighed, winning another warning glance from her husband, and a heavy silence fell over the family.
Nathan ate slowly, watching his father out of the corner of his eye. He cursed himself for bringing up the subject of Joseph again now. The matter he had to discuss with his father would be tough enough, but he had been so upset with the news Hyrum had shared with him, it had burst out of him.
He let the silence run on for several minutes, then took a quick breath. He saw his mother was watching him. As he usually did, Nathan had taken this matter up with his mother first, to try it out. She nodded at him now, smiling her encouragement.
He pushed his plate aside. “Pa?”
The steady mopping of the gravy stopped, but his father did not look u
p. “I’ll have no more talk of Joseph or the manuscript, Nathan.”
“I know.” He waited, then when nothing more was said, he went on. “Asael Carlson has put his land up for sale.”
“Yes?” The bread was laid down slowly onto the plate.
“He’s asking three hundred dollars for thirty acres.”
“I know that.” It snapped out, curt and impatient. “Not even half of it is cleared. And some of it is bottomland.”
Nathan groaned inwardly. His father wasn’t going to make this easy. “This farm’s not big enough for two families, Pa.”
For a moment his father just stared at him, then said, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His mother shook her head in exasperation. “It’s supposed to mean Nathan’s thinking about starting his own family.”
Melissa’s and Rebecca’s heads swung around as though pulled by the same string. Matthew looked up too, but his face had a little of the confusion that now swept across his father’s face.
“You’re gonna marry Lydia?” Melissa shrieked.
Nathan grinned. “If she’ll have me. I haven’t asked her yet.” He became instantly stern. “And don’t none of you be going and saying anything to anyone.”
“That’s right,” Mary Ann chided. “Not a word.”
“Oh, Nathan,” Becca crowed, with all the romance a tenyear-old girl was capable of, “I think Lydia is so pretty.”
“And she’s nice too,” Matthew said soberly.
Nathan’s father sat back, still a little dazed. “I didn’t know it was that far along.”
“Pa, I can’t ask her to marry me until I have a way to care for her. I know our farm isn’t big enough”—his words were tumbling out now—“but the Carlson land is just up the road. I could still help you farm this. Between the two of us we’d be all right, I think.”
“Where you gonna get three hundred dollars?”
“Benjamin!” Mary Ann said sharply. “Can’t you even congratulate him? This is an important day.”
“You’ll have your hands full trying to keep her happy,” he half grumbled, “but she seems like a good woman. Be good to get her away from her mother,” he added as an afterthought.
Nathan smiled, realizing that from his father that was about as good as he would get.
“There’s still the matter of the three hundred dollars.”
“I know, Pa. All he’s asking is fifty dollars down, and the rest within two years.”
“We’ve still got more than fifty in cash from the farm in Vermont and last year’s harvest,” Mary Ann said.
“I’d pay you back, Pa.”
He brushed it aside. “That leaves two hundred fifty more.”
And there it was. The moment had come. He straightened his shoulders. “Do you remember Mr. Knight, the farmer from down Colesville way? He was at the Smith home that night we were there?”
His father was suddenly wary. “Yes?”
“He’s looking for some help to build some barns and clear some more land this fall. He said he’d pay top wages.”
“How did you hear about that?”
“He wrote to Hyrum Smith. Hyrum recommended me.”
“So you’re just gonna up and leave me to do the harvest alone?”
“I’ll help you, Pa?” Matthew cried.
Everyone turned and smiled at Matthew except his father. He was still watching Nathan, his jaw set.
“No, Pa. I told Mr. Knight I couldn’t come before the end of September. I’d stay through the winter and be back in time to start clearing some of my land—” He stopped, struck by the feel of that. “I’d be back to help with spring planting.”
There was a grunt, then Benjamin turned back to his plate, picking up the bread again. Every eye was on him. He mopped along the edge of his plate, then popped it into his mouth. He looked up, as though surprised at the attention he was getting. “Well,” he growled, “I suppose every man’s got to make his own way sometime.”
Nathan felt relief shoot through him.
Mary Ann reached across the table and touched her husband’s hand. Matthew clapped his hands. Becca was smiling as if she had just found a litter of kittens. Melissa was looking at Nathan, her eyes suddenly shiny. “I wish I could be there when you ask Lydia,” she whispered.
If his father took note of those reactions, he didn’t show it. “Does Lydia know you’ll be leavin’ her for six months?”
Nathan shook his head. “I’m going to tell her tonight.”
His father nodded, stood up, and walked swiftly to the corner where the curtain divided off the sleeping area from the rest of the cabin. In a moment he returned, a small leather bag in his hand. “If you left right now, you could go by Mr. Carlson’s and pay him the fifty dollars before someone else gets a mind to take that land.”
Nathan stood slowly. For a moment he was tempted to reach out and embrace his father. But his father was counting the money. He dropped it into Nathan’s hand, watching him closely. Nathan finally stuck out his other hand. His father looked at it for a moment, as if not sure what it meant. Then he grinned slowly and reached out and took it, gripping it hard. “Congratulations, son,” he said softly.
“Thank you, Pa.”
Chapter Seventeen
Lydia’s not here.” Mrs. McBride made little effort to hide the fact it gave her pleasure to be able to say that. “She didn’t expect you until eight o’clock, you know.”
“I know,” Nathan said quickly, “but I had to come into town early and thought I’d see if she might be here.”
Mr. McBride came up to stand behind his wife. “She hasn’t forgotten you’re coming, Nathan. You can come in and wait, if you’d like.” He was hardly effusive with warmth, but at least there was some measure of cordiality—something that could not be said of Lydia’s mother.
Nathan shook his head quickly. “Thank you, no. I’ve got some other things I can do.” It was barely six o’clock. Mr. Carlson had not been at home and so Nathan had come straight into town, too elated to return home. He stepped back off the porch and waved. “I’ll be back by eight.”
As he moved away, a sudden thought came. If all went as planned, these two people would soon be his in-laws. He grinned ruefully. Over the past several months Lydia’s mother had become civil with him, but barely. She still had great difficulty accepting the fact her only child had rejected far more eligible suitors and placed her affections on Nathan. In time, Nathan was sure he could win her over, but for now each visit always brought a marked coolness. On the other hand, the Steeds’ reputation as hardworking, honest farmers was part of the softening he had seen on the part of her father. There were miles to go yet, but at least the signs were hopeful.
He stopped and looked around. He had said he had things to do, but that was just an excuse not to have to wait in the house for two hours, which would have been unbearable. For a moment he thought about going down to the docks to see if any of Joshua’s old associates had heard anything more of him, but as he turned in that direction, he had another thought. Hyrum had confirmed that Joseph had indeed returned to Palmyra. Nathan had not seen him since last September, the night Joshua left. He had gotten one letter in the meantime, but he was anxious to hear how things were progressing. The Smith homestead was only a mile or so south of town. He turned on his heel and headed for Stafford Road.
“At first I thought my soul was lost.” Joseph was playing with a two-foot length of stick, flexing it to the breaking point, then letting it snap back. He barely seemed aware it was in his hand.
Nathan simply waited. They had walked west from the house, out near the grove of trees beyond the cornfields. Now they sat in a patch of shade to escape the July heat. It would be another half hour before the evening began to cool the air a little.
“Twice the Lord told me no when I inquired if Martin could take the manuscript. Martin was heartbroken. He begged me, telling me how his wife and friends were making his life most miserable.”
J
oseph began to draw figure eights in the dirt in front of him, using the edge of the stick as a point. “You must remember, Nathan, Martin has been one of the few friends and supporters I have had through all this. You can’t imagine what that has meant to me. He believed me. He even gave Emma and me fifty dollars to help us make the trip to Harmony.” He sighed. “Maybe that was what set Mrs. Harris off. She became very hateful when I refused to show her the plates.”
He fell silent for a time, the memories weighing heavily upon him. “Well, with Martin pressing me, I finally went to the Lord one more time.” The stick had come up in both hands again. Suddenly, Joseph snapped it in two and flung the one half away. “Oh, why didn’t I listen? Why did I insist on tempting the Lord God by not accepting his first answer?”
“But Joseph,” Nathan protested, “how could you have known? Martin told my father he promised most solemnly not to show them to anyone except a selected few, and he admitted he had already broken that promise.”
Joseph shook his head stubbornly. “No, the angel warned me wicked men would try to stop the work. I should have listened.”
Nathan didn’t know what to say. Joseph refused to be comforted and he was not about to shift the blame to Martin Harris to relieve his guilt.
“I should have gone after him immediately,” Joseph continued, not looking up. “But shortly after Martin left, Emma went into labor.” His voice caught and he quickly turned his head. “The baby was born shortly afterwards.”
“Oh,” Nathan said, brightening. “That’s right. What did you have?”
“A boy.” It was said so softly that Nathan barely heard.
“Wonderful. What have you named him?”
If there was anguish before, now it was open pain that Nathan saw when Joseph turned back to him. “We called him Alvin.” He stopped, took a quick breath, let it out slowly. “He died a few hours after he was born.”
Nathan’s face dropped. “Oh no, Joseph, I hadn’t heard that. I’m so sorry.”
He smiled a brief, wan smile of thanks, then let out his breath slowly. “Emma nearly died too. She was emotionally and physically shattered. For a time I had to nurse her day and night. I had no time to worry about the manuscript or Martin or what he was doing. But finally, when Emma began to recover, I started to worry. There had been no word from Martin in almost three weeks. That’s when I decided I had to come back.”
Pillar of Light Page 28