She reached in her pocket and took out a coin purse. The boy’s eyes widened with expectation. She took out a silver half dime. “Thank you, Thomas. Thank you for bringin’ me the news.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he crowed as his fist clamped over the coin. “Yes, ma’am.”
Lydia McBride Steed closed the Book of Mormon and leaned back, arching her back to lessen the stiffness. She glanced out of the window. It was nearly full dark now, which meant she had been leaning over the table for more than an hour.
She sighed. Dark meant bedtime, and she knew what was waiting for her there. Nothing! Just the emptiness of the mattress beside her and the loneliness pressing in upon her until she thought she would suffocate. There might even be a tear or two, and she hated that. She would lecture herself sternly about being a blubbery wife. During the day, when she was busy and occupied, it worked. At night, she was not so successful.
There was a sound of footsteps on the porch, then a soft knock. Surprised, Lydia looked up. “Come in.”
The wooden latch, attached to the leather thong outside, lifted and the door pushed open. Melissa Steed, Lydia’s sister-in-law, stepped inside. She was carrying a small basket with a cloth laid over the top. Instantly the smell of warm bread touched Lydia’s nose.
“Hello.”
Lydia stood quickly, a sudden gladness dispelling the gloom that had started to settle in on her. Melissa always seemed to sense when Lydia was in need of some company. Her visits had averaged three or four times a week in the two weeks since Nathan had left for Colesville. “Come in, Melissa.”
“Mama baked some rolls. She thought you might like some.”
“They smell wonderful.” She felt a quick burst of gratitude for the whole family. They all rallied around her now, and she never failed to be touched by it. She took the basket, breathed deeply of the aroma, then set it on the table. “Sit down, Melissa. I have a crock of butter out in the smokehouse. Let me fetch it.”
“There’s some in the basket, with a little jar of blackberry preserves too.”
Lydia shook her head as she sat down beside Melissa. “Your mother...”
“Come on,” Melissa said, putting on her little-girl face. “Let’s eat some before they get cold.”
For the next ten minutes they sat that way, shoulder-to-shoulder, eating hot rolls smothered with butter and jam and giggling like two girls playing kissing games with the boys.
Finally, Lydia pushed the basket away. “I’ve got to stop,” she moaned. “Nathan will have to use the hay winch to get me into the wagon when he comes home.”
Melissa looked down, rubbing her stomach. “Don’t you just love it, though?” she laughed. “I hope there’s eatin’ in heaven. If not, maybe I’ll choose to stay in that other place.”
Lydia looked shocked. “Melissa Mary Steed!”
Melissa started to giggle again, pointing her finger at Lydia. “When you say that, you sound just like my father.”
That set them off again, and Lydia had to hold her stomach. When their laughter finally subsided, she rubbed at the tears which had squeezed out of the corner of her eye. “This is your way of punishing me, isn’t it? First you feed me, then you make me laugh so hard it hurts.”
Melissa sobered. “It’s good to hear you laugh, Lydia.”
Instantly Lydia felt the pain again. “I know.” She took Melissa’s hand. “Oh, Melissa, I miss him so much.”
Melissa’s head bobbed momentarily, then she looked away, deciding this was exactly what she had not come over to do. Her eyes fell on the Book of Mormon. “Don’t you just love that book?” she said, forcing her voice back to a lighter tone.
“Yes, I do. I’m nearly finished with it for the second time now.” She reached out and picked it up, caressing the cover. “I thought I had a testimony of it the first time I read it. But this time I feel even more strongly about it.”
“I know. That’s how Mama and I are.” Melissa took the book from her, looking more closely at the cover. One part of the light brown leather had a dark, ugly stain. “What’s this, Lydia? Did you spill something on it?”
“Don’t you know that story?”
Melissa set the book down. The stain bothered her in a strange way. She had strong feelings for the Book of Mormon, and this was like a blot of profanity on it. “What story?”
“This is the book you brought to the store.”
“The one I gave your father?”
“Yes.”
Melissa wrinkled her nose, the impish smile returning now. “I guess I was pretty rude that day when I told you what I thought of you for not responding to Nathan after he went to so much trouble to send the book to you.”
“Oh, Melissa,” Lydia said softly, “when I think what might have happened if you had not come that day...”
She sighed, the memories now bringing their own kind of pain with them. It was partly her father’s cavalier attitude that had led to her conversion. When she found out that he had thrown away her package without telling her, it had made her angry enough that she read the Book of Mormon just for spite. And that had led to her conversion, which had led to her estrangement from her family.
She shook off the somber mood, not wanting to think about the separation from her family right now. “My father threw it in the bottom of a trash barrel. By the time I discovered it, a lot of other trash had been thrown in on it too.” She reached out and rubbed the dark stain with one finger. “Including some coffee grounds.”
“So that’s it.”
“Yes.” She picked the book up and held it to her body. “When he saw it, Nathan wanted to buy me a new one. I wouldn’t let him.”
Melissa looked surprised. “Why not?”
“Because this is the book that saved me,” she answered quietly. “I don’t want another one.”
“Good mornin’, Sister Steed.”
Mary Ann looked up in surprise, then smiled immediately. She hadn’t seen Martin Harris coming towards her across the fields from his house, which lay just south of the Steed farm. “Good morning, Martin.”
“Goin’ after that mornin’ glory, are you?”
Mary Ann leaned on her hoe and looked down the rows of her vegetable garden. She had neglected it lately and it showed. The tendrils of the morning glory, with its dark green leaves and white flowers shaped like small bells, were snaking everywhere.
“I think morning glory is what the good Lord meant when he told Adam about the ground being cursed for his sake.”
She laughed. “I think you’re right. ‘Morning curse’ would be a more fittin’ title, I reckon.”
He chuckled at that, then swept off his hat and wiped at his brow. “Benjamin around?”
“No. He went down to Waterloo to buy a new plow. He’ll be back tomorrow.”
“He gonna get one of them that’s all iron?”
“Yes.” She tossed the hoe over to the edge of the garden, then walked over to join her neighbor. “You know Benjamin,” she said. “He don’t put much stock in old wives’ tales.”
“That’s what makes him a successful farmer.”
Mary Ann nodded. That was true. Just before the turn of the century, a man in New England had invented a plow made entirely of iron. It was a great improvement over the wooden plows in that it could be operated by one man using only one yoke of oxen. Newbold had patented the invention, then found to his disappointment that he could sell only a few of them. Mary Ann could clearly remember that when she was a girl someone had tried to sell one of the newfangled plows to her father. He absolutely refused to consider it. “Iron poisons the soil,” he said flatly. “A wooden plow is the product of the earth. It comes from trees which grow from the soil, so when you put it back into the soil, it has returned to its mother.” The poison-plow delusion was finally dying out now, but there were still a few of the old-timers around who steadfastly refused to believe it wasn’t true. Mary Ann was grateful that Benjamin was not one of them. For all his conservatism in personal and spirit
ual values, he was quite forward thinking when it came to running his farm.
“Got a letter from Brother Joseph on Saturday,” Martin said.
Mary Ann’s head came up. “Oh? Has he seen Nathan yet?”
“No. He said he and Emma were going up to Colesville towards the end of this month. The Knight family are going to be baptized.”
“Wonderful! Mr. Knight and his wife are the salt of the earth.”
“Yes, they’ve been a wonderful support to Joseph from the very beginning.”
“They have indeed.” She brushed back a wisp of hair. “I’ll have to tell Lydia. That will please her to know that Nathan and Joseph will be together again.”
Martin pulled at his suspenders, watching her out of the corner of his eye. “Mind if I ask you a question, Sister Steed?”
She looked up. “Of course not. What is it?”
“How’s Benjamin feeling about the Church by now?”
A frown instantly furrowed her brow.
“If it’s none of my affair—,” he started quickly.
She gave a little shake of her head to cut off his apology. “No, it’s not that, Martin. You know that. You have been a good friend to Ben. If he has made any progress at all, it’s because of you.”
He let out a rueful laugh. “I’m not so sure of that.”
“I am.” She stopped again, searching for the right words. “It’s hard to say, actually. He doesn’t fight me anymore. He never says anything when I read the Book of Mormon to Matthew and Becca. It’s almost like we’ve called a truce for now.”
“Yes. That’s kind of how it is between us too.”
“He’s such a good man. If only he could see...” She left it unfinished. She knew that Benjamin could have made things a lot worse than they were. Though she continued to hope for better circumstances, she needed to be grateful for what she did have. There were a couple of sisters in the growing little group of Saints who weren’t nearly that fortunate.
“I’d like to talk to him about it. Think he’d mind?” She shook her head immediately. “Ben has a great deal of respect for you, Martin. And you know that if he don’t like it, he’ll let you know.”
Martin laughed heartily. “That’s for sure. There’s never any question about where you stand with Benjamin Steed.” His eyes grew more serious. “All right,” he went on. “I’ll wait until the time is right, but then I think I’m going to be a little pushy with him. I think it might do him some good to be challenged.”
Jessica Steed watched her husband through the window of the freight office as he unhitched the last of the teams and turned them over to the stable hands to lead away. It was nearly dark now, but it was like Joshua to stay and see to the work himself. He was the sole owner of the most prosperous freight hauling company along the western border of the United States, and yet he worked right alongside his teamsters, hitching and unhitching teams, lashing down the loads, hammering steel bands around the wagon wheels in the blacksmith shop. He was not even above grabbing a pitchfork from time to time and showing a new stable boy how to clean out a stall and get it fixed up with new straw. Doing all this not only kept him in touch with every aspect of the business but also created a strong loyalty on the part of his help.
He knew she was here. He had seen her in the office when he drove in the yard. There had been a quick nod on his part, a fleeting smile and small wave on hers. Anything more than that would have been an embarrassment to him. Not that it was Jessica’s nature to be showing her emotions openly either. One part of her ached to fling herself into his arms, but it had been a long while since she had given in to such girlish fantasies.
Joshua paused for a moment, the last of the teams gone now, and took a long drink from one of the jugs of beer Thomas Jefferson Thompson had brought from the tavern. A few months earlier the sight of Joshua drinking would have sent chills up and down Jessica’s soul. But happily those dark days seemed to be gone now. The desperate plunges into the bottle as an attempt to find escape seemed to have passed. But she would never forget those times, especially the night Joshua learned that his beloved Lydia, somewhere back in New York, had become engaged to be married to his brother. It was late that night that Joshua had come to her home, a bewildered and frightened preacher in tow, and had asked if Jessica wanted to marry him. Though it had hurt abominably to know he had come more in an attempt to escape the pain he felt over Lydia than out of love for Jessica, Jessica had loved Joshua quietly for a long time. She had accepted immediately.
Then had come the other even more horrible night. In her sixth month of pregnancy the awful cramping and the bleeding began. She could never forget the haunted look in Joshua’s eyes when she woke up, having passed out and lost the baby.
Jessica’s head came up. The final team was on its way to the barn; the last wagonload of freight was gone now. Joshua stood next to Thomas Jefferson Thompson, who was hovering around Joshua like an anxious butler waiting lest his master drop some article of clothing on the floor. Joshua reached in his jacket and pulled out something. Coins, judging from the grin on Thomas’s face as he handed them to him. Joshua slapped him affectionately across the buttocks, sending him off to the small cabin behind the barn where his family lived. Only then did Joshua turn and start toward the freight office.
Jessica moved away from the desk, her hands suddenly fluttering nervously at the buttons on her new dress. With an effort, she forced herself to let them drop to her side. You’re his wife, for heaven’s sake, not some maiden waiting for her first glimpse of a suitor. But if that was meant to calm her, it did little. It took a conscious act of will to make herself stand motionless and wait for the door to open.
“Joshua, tell me. Please!”
They were moving steadily up the main street of Independence, Joshua’s long strides making Jessica have to walk very quickly to keep up.
He shook his head firmly. “I told you it was a surprise.”
“From St. Louis?”
“From St. Louis,” he answered, using a tone that clearly indicated he was not going to give her any more information. Which was almost as shocking as the whole idea of a surprise. This just was not Joshua. Not the Joshua she knew. He was generous in the allowance he gave her, and never asked for an accounting from her. But in all his trips out he had never once brought her back a gift.
Her perplexity only deepened as Joshua led her past the courthouse and then past the only dress shop in the town; he didn’t so much as glance at it as they passed. Then to her further surprise, he finally slowed as they approached the Santa Fe Trail Hotel. It was not much to look at, not by Eastern standards, but it was the best there was in Independence. When Joshua turned in, Jessie broke loose from his grasp. “The hotel?”
He looked at her, grinning like a boy bringing his mother a special present. “I told you it was a surprise.”
The desk clerk looked up and smiled. He was a balding man. Jessie remembered him from the saloon, before she had stopped going. “Evenin’, Mr. Steed.” He looked up at the clock on the wall. It was almost eight o’clock. “Looks like you’re right on time.”
On time? On time for what? She shot a questioning glance at her husband; but he paid it no mind, just grinned even more foolishly at her. This was so unlike Joshua. She was reeling, feeling a little giddy with the strangeness of it all.
“Which room?” Joshua asked.
“Room eight. Upstairs on the right.”
“Thanks.”
As they started up the stairs, Jessica tugged at Joshua’s coat. “Joshua, what is this?” she whispered. “What are we doing here?”
He shook his head. “You just hold on.”
The wooden floors creaked under their weight as they moved down the hall. They stopped in front of the door with a number eight hand-painted on it. Joshua knocked firmly, without hesitation.
There was a short pause, then heavy footsteps. The door opened. To Jessie’s total surprise, the man who stood there was as elegantly dressed as an
y man she had seen since she and her father first came to the frontier in 1826. He was a youngish man, probably no more than thirty, but obviously from the upper classes of society. He was fully dressed, as if for the street, and Jessie realized with a start that he had been waiting for them.
The man stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “Mr. Steed. Welcome.” He spoke with a pronounced New England accent.
“Thank you.” Joshua looked around the room quickly. “Everything here is all right?”
“Yes, in perfect order, thank you.” He stepped back, glancing quickly at Jessica but not speaking to her until Joshua chose to make formal introductions. He motioned them in. “Come, sit down. I have some tea from the boardinghouse next door.”
He wore a jacket with long tails. Beneath that was a ruffled shirt with a high collar that came right up to his chin. A double-breasted vest was complete with gold watch fob and chain. The trouser legs were tightly fitted and went clear to the floor at the back of the heel. Held down by loops under the boots, they made his legs seem longer and more slender than they really were. A black top hat and walking cane, now sitting on the small chest in the corner of the room, rounded out the attire.
Jessie had to fight herself to keep from gawking. She was accustomed to men in simple homespun pants, long woolen shirts, and boots that were for working, not mincing across the street. Mincing. She had once found that word in a book and looked it up in the dictionary. She loved it. It fit a few of the women in town. But she had never thought of it in connection with a man before. No wonder they’re called Eastern dandies.
He poured two cups of tea and brought them to where they sat. Only when he had gotten one for himself and taken the chair facing them did Joshua finally speak. “Jessica, this is Doctor Jonathan Hathaway, from Boston.”
He smiled. “By way of St. Louis.”
Joshua acknowledged that with a nod and went on. “Doctor Hathaway, this is my wife, Jessica—Jessie, I call her.”
Jessie fought to keep her face impassive, but the bewilderment was starting to show in her eyes. Doctor?
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