“Oh,” Benjamin said, the light starting to dawn in his eyes.
“That’s not all. Each family hopes Elijah will come to their home, so they always set a place at the table and leave an empty chair. It’s called Elijah’s chair.”
Melissa still seemed puzzled, but beside her Rebecca was nodding excitedly. “So,” she said, her voice rising, “Elijah came during Passover.”
“Yes,” Nathan finished, “but he came to the house of the Lord.” He looked momentarily sheepish. “Sidney Rigdon told me all this, that’s how I know.”
Mary Ann looked at her son. “That’s not the only significance of what happened today.”
“It’s not?” Benjamin said.
“No. It is Easter Sunday. This is the day Jesus rose from the tomb. This is the day he was resurrected. What more appropriate day for him to appear on earth again?”
Nathan felt an overwhelming rush of gratitude and awe. He looked around at his family. “I think we ought to kneel in prayer and thank God for what has happened today.”
“Yes,” Benjamin said, “an excellent suggestion. Nathan, will you lead us?”
He nodded and they got up, then knelt down at their places. A hush fell over the room as Nathan took a moment to collect his thoughts. Then in a low voice he began.
“Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. On this very special day, we kneel together as a family to thank thee for what has transpired. We know that it was on this day many years ago that thy Beloved Son rose from the grave and broke the bands of death for us. Oh, how glorious was his life, and oh, how wondrous was his rising in the Resurrection! We thank thee from the deepest longings of our souls that thou didst so love the world that thou gavest him for us that we might be saved.
“We know that others in our family have preceded us in death—our sisters and our brother who were taken home to thee while still in their youth.” He paused, sensing his mother’s pain as she remembered the children she had lost. “Oh, how grateful we are to know that because of thine Only Begotten Son they shall live again and we shall see them in the flesh!”
He took a deep breath. “Dear Father, we are humbled to have been in thy holy house this day, when thy Beloved Son, in whom thou art well pleased, chose to return to earth and reaffirm to all the world that he does live! That he still reigns in power and glory over his church and kingdom!”
Suddenly Nathan found it difficult to speak. There was so much he wanted to say, to express—their gratitude that angels had again come to earth, that prophecy was being fulfilled, that God spoke to men again. But the thoughts of the resurrected Lord being there—just feet away—in all his majesty and glory, completely overwhelmed him.
“O God,” he finally choked out, “how we thank thee! Oh, how we thank thee! And this prayer we give to thee in the name of our beloved Savior and Redeemer, amen.”
Chapter Two
Mmm, Mama, this pie is wonderful.” Rebecca was finishing the last bite. There were instant murmurs of assent from the others.
“Thank you, Rebecca.” Mary Ann was justly proud of her apple pie. It too had become part of their Sunday evening tradition. They would talk for a while; then, as the time drew closer for the ones who lived elsewhere to return to their homes, she would bring out the apple pie and large glasses of cold milk.
Jessica, finally satisfied that her young daughter was asleep, had joined them about a half hour earlier. She stood and began collecting the dishes. Melissa speared the last piece of her pie with her fork, made short work of it, then finished her glass of milk. As she handed the dishes to Jessica, she turned to her younger sister, who still sat by her on the sofa. “By the way, Miss Rebecca Steed, I want to hear more about this young man everyone is telling me about.”
Rebecca started, then instantly color touched her cheeks. She ducked her head as Nathan laughed aloud at her discomfort. For a moment she seemed twelve again and the shy little Becca they all had loved to tease. The dimple in her one cheek showed prominently now.
“Come on,” Melissa urged. “Everyone in town is talking about what a handsome couple you make. Am I going to be the last to know?”
“There’s nothing to tell,” Rebecca murmured.
Benjamin snorted in derision. “Nothing besides the fact that we have an extra houseguest about half the time now.”
Rebecca’s head snapped up at the betrayal. “Papa, that’s not true. He’s only been here two or three times.”
Now it was Mary Ann’s turn to look incredulous. “How many times?”
Rebecca was blushing furiously now. “All right, maybe four or five times.”
“Arthur . . . what’s his name?” Melissa said, more gently now.
“Wilkinson.”
“He’s a nice boy,” Lydia said. “We like him.”
Nathan hooted. “Like him?” Lydia had had Rebecca and her beau to their house for dinner on three different occasions. Lydia was definitely playing matchmaker on this one.
Jessica had come back from taking the dishes to the kitchen and stood in the doorway. “I like him too,” she said.
Nathan’s eyes turned mischievous. “You are eighteen now, Rebecca. Until Arthur came along, Pa and me were thinking we’d have to go up to Cleveland or somewhere and hog-tie some young man and drag him home for you.”
Lydia slapped his arm. “Nathan!”
Rebecca sniffed disdainfully at her brother. “Don’t you have to go help Matthew put the kids to bed or build a fence or something?”
But Melissa didn’t want to get thrown off course by Nathan’s banter. “So,” she said, leaning forward, “how serious is it?”
Rebecca shrugged.
“He’s talking marriage,” Mary Ann said softly, watching Rebecca closely.
Melissa clapped her hands. “Really?”
Rebecca finally looked up and met Melissa’s eyes. “He’s talking marriage,” she said slowly.
That took both Melissa and Lydia by surprise. Melissa, with her characteristic bluntness, blurted out, “But you’re not?”
Rebecca was studying her hands carefully now. “I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure!” Lydia cried in dismay. “But why not, Rebecca? Arthur is a fine young man.”
Watching Rebecca carefully, Nathan had a quick flash of discernment. The time for teasing—and for pushing her on this—had passed. “Honey,” he said, patting his wife’s knee. “Rebecca’s got to make up her own mind.”
Lydia gave him a sharp look, but Melissa totally ignored his attempt to deflect the questions. “Why aren’t you sure?” she bored in.
Rebecca glanced quickly at Lydia, then at Melissa. Then she turned to her mother. An unseen something passed between them, and Mary Ann gave an almost imperceptible nod. Rebecca turned back. There was a quiet determination in her eyes. “I’m not sure he’s the right one.”
Melissa’s lips tightened. “It’s because he’s not a Mormon, isn’t it?” She was not quite able to keep the stiffness out of her voice.
The question hung in the air. No one moved. Though she was frustrated by Carl’s stubbornness on the subject of religion, Melissa was fiercely defensive of him. Nathan watched his little sister—not so little anymore—out of the corner of his eye. He knew what was going through Rebecca’s mind. She didn’t want to hurt Melissa, but the fact that Arthur was not a member was exactly what was troubling Rebecca. She had watched what was happening in Melissa’s marriage, and it troubled her.
Surprisingly, it was Benjamin who finally spoke. He too had been watching Rebecca closely. “I think Arthur is a fine young man. But if Rebecca hasn’t made up her mind yet, let’s not be pushing her on it.”
Melissa nodded and forced a quick smile. She started to speak, then thought better of it and stood up. “Well, I’d better be getting home. Carl will think I’m staying for the night.”
Lydia got to her feet quickly. “We’d better go too, Nathan, and see if Matthew has finally gotten the children to sleep.”
Jessica was still standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen. She straightened. “Before you go there’s something I need to say.”
They all turned in surprise. There was a fleeting smile, then she gave a deprecating little laugh, looking at Melissa and Lydia. “Maybe you ought to sit down again.”
As Lydia and Melissa sat back down, Lydia shot Nathan a questioning look. He shrugged. This had caught him by surprise as much as anyone. Nathan’s mind flashed back to the first day he had seen Jessica. It had been in a little sod hut in Kaw Township, in Jackson County, Missouri. He had been shocked by her appearance: a left eye badly discolored, lower lip cracked and puffy, the whole side of her jaw swollen and dark—all the marks of Joshua’s fury at her refusal to aid his scheme to cheat in a game of poker. But Nathan had been almost as surprised at her plainness. He hadn’t consciously thought about it much; he just assumed Joshua would have chosen a handsome woman. And Jessica Roundy was not a handsome woman. She was plain—that had been the first word that came to Nathan’s mind that day. Her hair was straight and cut square across the back at the neck. The slimness of her body was hidden beneath the folds of a heavy, homespun dress. Her eyes were unusually large and perhaps her best feature, but they had been so filled with sadness, they were almost haunting.
Now, as he watched her move across the room to stand where she could better see them all, Nathan marveled a little that he had once thought she was plain. Handsome was probably still not the best word for her, but somehow over the past five years she had become a lovely woman. She had an inner serenity that seemed to soften her features and fill her with grace. And she had grown very close to her adopted family.
But there was little serenity in her deportment now. Her hands were nearly fluttering as she faced them. She took a deep breath. Her shoulders lifted, then fell again as she expelled the air slowly. “I . . .” She shook her head, blinking rapidly.
Nathan stared. She was on the verge of tears! He had to fight not to outright gape at her. Nathan had seen her cry only once, when he had blessed her and promised her she would have children. Jessica just never showed emotion. Not even in the toughest of circumstances.
Mary Ann leaned forward. “What is it, Jessie?” she asked gently.
She took another deep breath, then her head came up. “I don’t want you to take this wrong. You have been wonderful to me and Rachel.”
Benjamin’s head came up slowly. Nathan heard Lydia’s intake of breath next to him. Melissa and Rebecca were both staring. “Have been?” Benjamin echoed.
Now it came out in a rush, her words tumbling over each other, those large dark eyes pleading for their understanding. “Ever since the temple dedication last week I’ve not been able to get it out of my mind. It just keeps coming back and coming back. I can hardly sleep at night for thinkin’ about it.”
“Thinkin’ about what?” Lydia asked.
Jessica seemed not to hear. “I’ve tried to tell myself it’s crazy. But it won’t leave me be. Not until I made up my mind last night. Now I know it’s right. I don’t necessarily like it, but I know it’s right.”
“Know what is right?” Benjamin exploded. “What are you talkin’ about, Jessie?”
Her chin came up. Her eyes were shining now, and she bit softly on her lower lip. “I’m talkin’ about my decision to go back to Missouri.”
Chapter Three
That there’s the Tybee Island lighthouse. Way off there.”
Joshua Steed turned, looking in the direction the young man indicated. For a moment there was nothing in the thick darkness, then two or three miles to the right of the ship—the starboard side, Joshua reminded himself—he saw a thin beam of light swing slowly toward them. It flashed directly at them for a moment, then disappeared again.
“That means we’re almost to the mouth of the river.”
Joshua stifled an involuntary yawn. “So how much longer?”
The lad was not yet sixteen, maybe a year or two less. He spoke with a heavy British accent, as did most of the crew. “Savannah’s another fifteen, maybe twenty miles upriver.” He squinted at the eastern sky, where the first streaks of dawn were just starting to lighten the sky. It was going to be a beautiful April day along the Atlantic seaboard. “Three hours, maybe four. Be there by ten o’clock sure, mate.”
“Good.” Joshua stretched, working out the kinks in his body. In addition to getting back on solid ground again, he looked forward to sleeping in a man-size bed. Even the first-class cabins on the big packet ship were a full two handspans shorter than Joshua’s six-foot height. He had not had a decent night’s sleep since he had boarded four days earlier.
It had surprised Joshua a little when they sailed from New Orleans with him as the only passenger, but this was a British packet ship. Up until 1818, ships waited in port for a full load of cargo and passengers and generally refused to sail until good weather prevailed. Then one of the British lines had come up with the idea of the packet ships. Running on regular schedules, the packets sailed empty or full, good weather and bad. The service had become so popular that there were now several shipping lines regularly crisscrossing the Atlantic and hopping between the islands of the Caribbean.
Joshua moved away, threading his way between the barrels and crates lashed down to the deck. He went all the way back to the stern before he stopped. He had come here often during the voyage. It was his favorite spot. He liked to hear the soft hiss of the water slipping past the wooden hull and to watch the soft phosphorescence of the ship’s wake in the darkness.
He reached in his coat pocket and took out a cigar. Without thinking, he got his knife out, cut off the end, and stuck the cigar in his mouth. There was nothing out here with which to light it, but he didn’t really care. His mind was already focusing on the day ahead. He was a little surprised at the eagerness in him. He didn’t know one thing about cotton, and yet before the week was out, if all went right, he would be purchasing a shipload of it, maybe more. He took the cigar from his mouth and laughed inwardly. If things turned out as planned, he could very likely end up a really wealthy man, and not just by Jackson County standards either. For a man who would turn twenty-nine in another week, that wasn’t bad. Not bad at all.
He found the prospect exhilarating. He liked nice things. He liked the look in men’s eyes when he passed by. He liked the power that accompanied wealth. Most of all, he liked knowing life had not beaten him. Considering that he had lost more than ninety percent of his freight business in a poker game nearly five years earlier, the fact that he was about to start negotiations for an entire shipload of Georgia cotton proved it without a doubt: Life had not beaten him. Jessica had not beaten him.
He jammed the cigar back in his mouth and chomped down hard on it. Fool woman! It still sent his blood boiling when he thought about how close he had come to taking the slick gambler from Pittsburgh for the whole pile of money on the table. Instead, his wife had brought him within a muskrat’s whisker of losing everything he owned, everything he had worked for. All he had asked of her was to stand behind the bedroom door and signal him as to who had the better hand, Joshua or the Pittsburgh man. But she had walked away. If she had even let him know she was leaving . . . But she hadn’t. And he had lost.
But he had brought his business back, inch by sweat-fought inch. Half of America was on the move. Independence was the trailhead for both the Oregon and the Santa Fe trails. The population along America’s western frontier was burgeoning and needed increasing numbers of goods from the East. More and more the East was becoming a lucrative market for the wheat, corn, and furs of the West. And Joshua’s natural aggressiveness and growing shrewdness gave him a larger and larger share of the wheels that kept the merchandise moving in both directions.
And for a time the freight business had kept him satisfied. He paid off his gambling debts, bought new stock and equipment—more than thirty wagons now had his name stenciled on their sides. But then the restlessness had started. Things took on a stultify
ing sameness—bale the furs, crate the goods, load the wagons, crack the whip over the teams, tote up the returns in the big ledger books. He began to crave something more, like a man satiated with food but still hungering for some elusive dish.
Frowning, he took the cigar out of his mouth and fished for a fleck of tobacco that had stuck on the tip of his tongue. He knew it wasn’t just business that brought him here. This last-minute decision to come to Savannah was just one more manifestation of the growing sense of discontent he had been feeling for the past couple of years.
Eighteen months ago he had opened a second stable and warehouse center in St. Louis. It prospered quickly, and soon he tired of it too. He had more and more money and less and less satisfaction. When four St. Louis businessmen approached him, he was ripe for listening. They were thinking of bringing a textile mill to St. Louis. The expanding West was paying a premium price for cloth goods exported from the East. It was time to break the tight monopoly on textiles held by the New En-gland mills. They were looking for a partner. One with capital. One who could freight in the heavy machinery from Pittsburgh. Someone who could keep a supply of cotton coming up the Mississippi so that the machines wouldn’t stay idle. Someone who could then get the finished cloth to widely scattered markets.
Joshua had agreed almost instantly.
He could have bought the cotton in New Orleans. That had been the original plan. But there had been a friendly poker game during the riverboat trip to that city. One of the cotton brokers let it slip that he got the best of his cotton from Savannah. At the mention of Savannah, another man burst into rapturous praise of the city’s beauty and charm. He told of huge plantations with cotton fields stretching farther than a man could walk in half a day. That night Joshua sent off a quick letter to his partners. Two days later he was on a ship headed for Great Britain, with intermediate stops at Savannah, Georgia; Charleston, South Carolina; and New York City.
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