Well, you can imagine Mary’s surprise when she learned that. She was somewhat deterred by the thoughts of becoming the stepmother of five children, but she is of great faith and said that if it was the Lord’s will, she would accept it. Joseph married them on Christmas Eve, and so now it is no longer Mary Fielding, but Mary Fielding Smith. So far, she seems very happy.
Be sure and share the following with Peter and Derek. Just last week, Sister Vilate Kimball received a letter from her beloved Heber. The work continues with great success in En-gland. They have baptized upwards of seven or eight hundred people since arriving in July. He said that there are nearly three hundred members now in Preston alone, and branches have been organized in several of the surrounding villages.
On Christmas Day they held a conference in the “Cock Pit,” a large hall in Preston once used for cock fighting (can you imagine anything so horrid?). They preached the Word of Wisdom publicly for the first time there, which was well received. The temperance movement that has swept across England and the United States is strong in Preston, according to Heber. He believes it is an important factor that has helped prepare the people for the coming of the gospel. In fact, I found this interesting. Heber says it was a man in Preston who first coined the word “teetotaller.” Many in the temperance movement called on the people to reduce their drinking, but this man said that they should “totally” abstain from liquor. He wanted them to be tee (for “total”) totallers in swearing off spirits of any kind. It was already well known by then that the Mormons did not use tobacco, liquor of any kind, or tea and coffee. So when the missionaries read the Word of Wisdom to the people, it was really very well received.
In fact, Heber said they are having such great success, the English clergy keep complaining that the missionaries are taking the very best of their flocks. You know Brother Heber. He just smiles and tells them that all we want is the wheat, they can keep the chaff.
Now for news of a blacker sort. With every passing day it becomes more evident that Satan’s opposition is without mercy. The Lord’s Spirit more and more whispers, “Get ye out of this place.” Kirtland has become a madhouse. The dissenters become more and more brazen. Parrish and company have now openly and publicly renounced the Church of the Latter-day Saints. They claim to be the “Old Standard,” and call themselves the Church of Christ, excluding the word “Saints” from their title. Joseph points out that they seem to have forgotten Daniel’s prophecy that in the last days it would be the Saints who possessed the kingdom. They publicly attack Joseph and anyone who remains true to him and the Church. They say we are heretics. Heresy seems a particularly ironic charge since it was reported that in a recent meeting, one of their number even went so far as to say that Moses was a rascal, all the prophets tyrants, Jesus a despot, the Apostle Paul a liar, and all religion fudge.
Such blasphemy would be bad enough, but they have become increasingly violent as well. They have now seized control of the temple, threatening to kill those who had the keys to the building if they did not give them up. And what happened to you, Father Steed, is now almost a daily occurrence. Men are beaten, women terrorized, even children threatened. The streets are no longer safe at night for any sympathetic to our cause.
A recent development has become particularly alarming to us. In just the past few days, several fires have been started in the cellars or basements of various houses—always of the faithful. Nathan believes it is nothing more than a shameless attempt to drive us from our property so the greedy and covetous can get it for little or no cost. So arson has been added to all the other terrors. Four nights ago, we were all awakened from our sleep when we realized it was as light as day outside. We ran to the window and to our horror we saw that someone had set fire to the printing office behind the temple. By then the building was almost totally consumed. Sparks and burning cinders were flying everywhere, and for a moment we thought it would catch the roof of the temple. But fortunately (or was it Providence!) the wind was blowing the flames away from the house of the Lord and it was spared.
Conditions are so terrible that even the leaders are leaving in order to save their lives. Just before Christmas, Brother Brigham stood in a meeting and fearlessly confronted Joseph’s enemies. He bore testimony that he knew by the power of the Holy Ghost that Joseph was God’s prophet. That so infuriated Warren Parrish and his group that Brigham had to flee for his life late that same night. He is now in Indiana. Sidney Rigdon has also been driven out. The powers of darkness truly reign in much of Kirtland now.
Brother Joseph had an especially close brush with death. There was a plot laid to assassinate him and Sidney. A member of the group, one of Joseph’s former friends (probably Luke Johnson) and thankfully someone whose rebellion stopped short of murder, ran to warn Joseph. Before Joseph could escape, however, a mob surrounded the house where he was. Luckily, there was a coffin in the cellar of the house. Those present nailed Joseph inside it and carried him out, saying that someone had died. Because the coffin was sealed, they were able to pass through the mob without Joseph’s being detected. We just received word this morning that he and Sidney are both safe. Emma and the children, along with Sidney’s family, have left to join them. They will spend some time with Brother Brigham, then plan to remove permanently to Far West. I’m sure you, and the rest of the Saints, will greatly rejoice at that news.
Mother Steed, I cannot help but say something of Emma here. Remember when Joseph and Emma came to Kirtland? It was early February. It was the dead of winter. Emma was carrying the twins and was only about three months from delivery. You’ll remember that, I’m sure, Father Steed. You were very critical of Joseph for taking Emma so far in winter weather when she was in that kind of condition. Well, as you know, Emma is with child again. She is now about four or five months along. And once again she is on her way to a new home in the dead of winter. So as she came to Kirtland, now does she leave. Only this time it is not in answer to God’s call, but in response to the howling cries of murderous men who would take the life of her husband. How much shall that marvelous woman be called upon to endure?
Which brings me at last to my real purpose in writing. Nathan and I sorely debated whether to write you in advance or whether to just show up on your doorstep and save you having to worry about us while on our journey. Yes, Mother and Father Steed, we are coming to Missouri. The situation has deteriorated so badly that we feel waiting until the baby comes and I am fit to travel is no longer acceptable.
Though our home is not one of those which the arsonists have struck, last week Nathan was awakened in the middle of the night by some noise. He discovered two men outside the back of our home and drove them off with a rifle. We know not their purpose, but we are certain it was not to our good. Rebecca, myself, and the children have moved in with Carl and Melissa. Nathan still sleeps at the house with two or three other brethren to stand guard, but each night is a terrifying experience, and I barely sleep until I see him safely again each morning. I simply cannot bear the strain of it for another two or three months. I would rather face the arduous journey even with the weather than live with this awful dread that hovers over us.
(By the way, I’m happy to report that while Carl is still very critical of the Church, he has been wonderful in this crisis. He has taken us in—all six of us—cheerfully and without a murmur. Melissa still stands firm on her decision to keep the Church at arm’s length. We shall miss them terribly.)
I can just hear what you are saying by now about the dangers of traveling when I am this far progressed in carrying another child. But if you remember, I too traveled to Kirtland when I was heavy with child, so I think I have an understanding of what this choice means. It will not be easy. But the thought of being with you in a place where there is safety and peace makes it worth whatever price is required to get there. Rebecca concurs fully in this decision. She will be a great blessing to us as we travel.
Our plan is to leave in a day or two. Every day’s postponement now will on
ly add to our challenges, both here and on the journey. Nathan is out today trying to complete the sale of the house. But if we cannot sell it, we shall turn the key in the door and simply walk away. He is also trying to secure some form of transportation for us. We know not how long it may take us, so please be patient and remember us in your daily prayers. We mention you in ours both night and morning.
We long to see you and to stand together in the family circle again. Oh, how excited we are to see Matthew again!
With tenderest affections,
Lydia
Chapter Twenty-Nine
St. Joseph, Missouri, lay about fifty-five miles north of, or upstream from, Independence. Founded in 1826 by a French fur trapper named Joseph Robidoux, it was situated on the east bank of the Missouri River and was the first major settlement one encountered on coming down the river from the rich vastness of the Rocky Mountains. Though John Jacob Astor had established his headquarters for the fur trade in St. Louis, that was another three hundred miles downriver, and many of the mountain men preferred to do their trading in “St. Joe.”
A trapper’s prime time in the high country was in the dead of winter when the snows were deep. This forced the beaver, muskrat, fox, marten, mink, and other furbearing animals to stick to easily discernible trails and runs. Each spring along with the mountain runoff came the fur trappers. The waters flooded the Missouri River plain, and the mountain men flooded St. Joe.
Joshua Steed finished cinching up the girth of his saddle and fished a cigar out of his pocket. He turned to watch a group of three trappers go by as he lighted it. One had a jug of whiskey, the other two an Indian woman on each arm. Their buckskin shirts and breeches were filthy, their hair greasy and matted from months without a bath. Joshua shook his head, fighting back the temptation to grimace. When he had first come to Independence he had seriously flirted with the idea of becoming a mountain man. He had decided against it finally and turned to hauling freight instead. So now he came to St. Joseph every spring to buy the mountain men’s furs and wrinkle his nose at the smell of them.
Garrick Harris, Joshua’s wagon master, came striding up to him, tapping the big bullwhip against his leg as he walked. “All set, Mr. Steed. We’re ready to roll.”
Turning, Joshua surveyed the line of eight wagons. He squinted a little, feeling a great sense of satisfaction. It was still early April, and the Missouri River was at near-flood stage. But once the waters subsided a little, the steamboats would be coming upriver and taking the furs at a cheaper rate than he could haul them. But until then, he would roll them all the way into St. Louis and get a premium price for the first furs of the season. He had learned that trick almost seven years before, and it had been a profitable venture for him every year since.
He puffed on the cigar once, then grabbed the reins of the sorrel stallion that he was riding and swung up. “All right. Get ’em movin’.”
“Yes, sir.”
Joshua reined the horse around, holding him in. He was dancing beneath him, eager to be started. “When you get to Independence, send someone round to my wife and tell her I’ll be no more than a day or two behind you.”
“Yes, sir.” Harris was a man as hard as the rutted roads that stretched out across the prairie before them. He squinted up at his boss with a look of disgust. “You really ridin’ through Mormon country?”
Joshua laughed. “Worried that I won’t be safe?”
The teamster spat out a stream of tobacco juice. “No, that you’ll be converted.” He hooted raucously at his own joke.
“Think they could keep my cigar dry while they baptized me?” Joshua asked straight-faced.
Harris roared, slapping his knee and causing a tiny puff of dust to spurt out from his trouser leg. “Now, there’d be a sight to see. You underwater with just your nose and a cigar sticking up.” He guffawed again, pleased with the image. Then after a moment he sobered a little. “What do you want me to tell your wife if she asks where you are?”
The smile instantly disappeared from Joshua’s face. He considered the question for a moment. He had almost said something to Caroline before he left, but then decided against it. First of all, he hasn’t been sure if circumstances would be such that he would have to accompany the wagons back. Second, he hadn’t been sure exactly what he was going to do, or if he was going to do anything. Even now he wasn’t sure of that. And yet it would please her to know.
He looked down at his wagon master. “Just tell her I’m comin’ home by way of Far West. She’ll understand.”
* * *
“And how’s Lydia doing?”
Nathan smiled in satisfaction. “Fine. She swears she’s big enough to deliver two full-size colts, but all in all, she came through the journey very well. We were really blessed to get steamboat passage most of the way.”
Oliver Cowdery nodded. “That’s good. Give her my regards and Elizabeth’s as well.”
“I will, thank you.”
“By the way, who was that stranger who was looking for your family?”
Nathan had leaned down to pull at a blade of prairie grass. He straightened and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. “What stranger is that?”
Oliver shrugged. “I never saw him. David just said there was a man in town this morning asking questions about several things, but particularly about your family.”
“Your brother-in-law David, or David Patten?” Nathan asked. Oliver had married Elizabeth Ann Whitmer, youngest sister of David Whitmer. David Patten was one of the Twelve Apostles and was in the presidency of the Far West Stake.
Oliver frowned. “Not David Patten,” he said shortly.
Nathan winced a little at his error. David Patten was a very sensitive issue with Oliver right now. In February, just before Nathan and Lydia had arrived in Far West, the high council of the Far West Stake had charged two members of the stake presidency, John Whitmer and W. W. Phelps, with misusing Church funds. According to the charges, they were once again trying to sell Church lands and pocket the profit. David Whitmer was accused of willfully violating the Word of Wisdom. Oliver and others were also cited as being in contempt of Church principles and in opposition to the Prophet Joseph. John Whitmer and W. W. Phelps had been excommunicated and David Patten and Thomas B. Marsh put in as acting presidents until Joseph could arrive from Kirtland. It was also decided to wait until Joseph came to press the charges against Oliver Cowdery and David Whitmer. The Church court date for Oliver had been set for the twelfth of April, which was tomorrow morning; David Whitmer’s case would be considered on the thirteenth. David Patten, a man whom Nathan found to be of the highest integrity, would be pivotal in the proceedings, and Oliver and the Whitmers held intensely bitter feelings against him.
Nathan decided to move on quickly. “What did David say about this man?”
Oliver’s mind had gone elsewhere, probably to David Patten, for his face had now darkened. “What man?”
“The stranger.”
“Oh. Not much. He said he didn’t think he was a Mormon. He was tall, well dressed, wore a full beard. Rode a fine piece of horseflesh. David told him where both you and your father are living. I thought he would have sought you out.”
“No. At least I didn’t see him, and Pa didn’t say anything.”
Oliver nodded absently. After a moment he looked more closely at Nathan. “Are you going to vote against me, old friend?”
Nathan was startled, and yet he knew instantly what he had reference to. He took out the blade of grass and flipped it away. “I’m not on the high council, Oliver. You know that.”
Oliver Cowdery gave him a long and searching look. “I know. But are you going to vote against me?”
For a moment Nathan was puzzled, then he understood. From the first day he and Oliver had met in Harmony, Pennsylvania, back in the late spring of 1829, almost instantly there had developed a strong bond between them. From that time to this, their friendship had never waned. But in the past year it had been strained considerably
as he and Oliver drew farther apart on the issues that were tearing Kirtland asunder. It had sickened Nathan to watch Oliver become more and more disillusioned with the Church and more and more bitter against Joseph Smith. And it had angered Oliver that Nathan would give no serious consideration to the evidence—“as obvious as the whiskers on a raccoon”—that Joseph had lost the prophetic gift and fallen out of favor with God. More than once they had talked late into the night, neither making a dent in the other’s position, but still grateful they could speak honestly.
Now Oliver was asking where Nathan’s vote was—not in priesthood council, but in his heart. Nathan wanted to look away. Oliver’s eyes were like a hot wind across his face. They were challenging, probing, demanding. Nathan decided to probe back a little. “Did you try and sell your land in Jackson County?” he finally asked softly.
“Jackson County is a dead issue anymore. We’re never going to redeem Zion. Not in our lifetime. Maybe never.”
“But in the revelations, God specifically said it was his will that we should hold claim on our properties and not sell them off to our enemies. People are saying that you and Frederick G. Williams and members of the stake presidency here in Far West tried to sell your land. Did you?”
Again Oliver ducked the question. “That’s only one of many charges against me,” he said wearily.
Nathan nodded. He had heard about the charges from Joseph—who was as sick at heart about the whole thing as Nathan was. The Church court was going to investigate Oliver Cowdery on the following accusations: bringing vexatious lawsuits against the brethren, trying to destroy the character of Joseph Smith, not attending his meetings in the Church, refusing to be governed by the revelations, selling his land in Jackson County, sending an insulting letter to the high council, leaving his holy calling to work for filthy lucre, and participating in business ventures of an unsavory nature.
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