There was little doubt in Nathan’s mind that some of the charges were unsubstantiated and probably the result of the heated emotions over Oliver’s defection. There was also little question but what there was sufficient truth to several of the accusations. By tomorrow at this time, Oliver Cowdery would very likely be excommunicated from the Church.
Nathan reached out and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “No matter what happens, Oliver,” he said softly, “I want you to know that your friendship is still important to me. Even if you leave the Church, I want it to continue.”
Touched, Oliver reached up and gripped Nathan’s arm. “Thank you, Nathan. That means a great deal to me as well.”
Nathan straightened. There was not much more to say after that. “Well, I’d better be getting on.”
“Thank you for stopping.” Oliver smiled warmly but ruefully. “Not many people stop by to say hello anymore.”
“Well, I will.” Nathan clapped him on the shoulder, then lifted a hand in farewell. “Good luck tomorrow.”
Oliver’s eyes were hooded, but he nodded, and Nathan turned and walked to the gate. “Nathan?”
He turned back around. “Yes?”
“The truth of modern revelation is not the issue here, Nathan. I want you to know that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m challenging what Joseph is now, what he has become of late. But I have never questioned the reality of what he did in restoring the Church. I stood on the banks of the Susquehanna River and saw John the Baptist in broad daylight. I know that Peter, James, and John restored the priesthood of Melchizedek to Joseph. I saw the angel Moroni and heard the voice of God declare that the Book of Mormon was translated by the gift and power of God. Some people are saying I’m denying my testimony of those things. I want you to know that it absolutely is not true.”
Nathan started to speak, but Oliver’s mouth softened and his eyes got a faraway look in them. “I stood on the pulpits there in the Kirtland Temple and saw the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.” He held out one hand. “He was no further than this from me. It was an experience which words cannot describe.” He took a deep breath, then looked directly at Nathan. “I cannot now, nor will I ever, deny those experiences, Nathan.”
Nathan couldn’t help what he blurted out next. This was at the very core of his frustration with his friend. “Then how can you now turn against Joseph?” he cried.
Instantly Oliver’s face hardened and the light went out of his eyes. “Because Joseph Smith is a fallen prophet,” Oliver said. “I have no choice.”
* * *
Matthew Steed heaved the last gunnysack of wheat seed up into the wagon with a grunt. He pushed it into position, then stepped back, taking off the straw hat he wore. He dragged a piece of muslin from his pocket and mopped his brow. “Well, that’s it.”
Derek Ingalls eyed the wagonload of sacks dubiously. He was sweating as heavily as Matthew. “Is that really enough to plant five acres?”
“It is,” Matthew replied. “Probably with some to spare.” He walked around to the front of the wagon and climbed up onto the seat. Derek followed and climbed up beside him. As Matthew took the reins, he stopped and looked at Derek. “I was thinkin’.”
“What?”
“I’ll bet young Joshua would love to go to Haun’s Mill with us. He and Rachel are very close.”
“Rachel is your sister-in-law’s daughter?”
Matthew nodded. “Yes. Joshua also gets along very well with his two little stepcousins, Brother Griffith’s two boys.”
“Fine,” Derek said. “Let’s go see if Lydia will let him go with us.” He turned and looked around. Peter Ingalls was just inside the barn, still talking animatedly with the man who had sold them the wheat seed. “Peter,” Derek called. “Let’s go.”
As Peter came trotting out, Matthew grinned mischievously at Derek. “I’ll bet if we asked Lydia real nice she’d let Rebecca come with us too.”
Derek blushed instantly and furiously. There was only about three years’ difference between him and Matthew in age. Derek would be twenty-one in October; Matthew would turn eighteen in July. Physically they were in no way alike. Matthew was now an inch or two over six feet and lean as a weathered fence post. Derek was three or four inches shorter and heavier through the shoulders and body—the legacy of four years as a shoveler in the boiler rooms. Matthew was fair of skin, his hair was a lighter brown, and his eyes were blue and clear. Derek was darker in complexion, with almost black hair, and though his eyes were also blue, they were darker than Matthew’s, deeper and harder to fathom. They were just as different in their temperament and personality. Matthew had a natural cheerfulness and optimism that lifted all around him. He loved people and was open and friendly with everyone. Children adored him. Derek was of a more sober and reserved nature. In groups he usually sat back, speaking only when called upon or on those rare occasions when he felt that he had something to say.
But the differences between them made no difference. From the day Derek and Peter had arrived in Far West—cold, hungry, tattered, and with a letter from Nathan and Lydia—Derek and Matthew had become fast friends. The two brothers from En-gland were staying with Benjamin and Mary Ann, and Derek and Matthew shared a bedroom. Rebecca had opted to stay with Nathan and Lydia to help with the children and the housework until the baby was born. By then, Nathan would have his new cabin nearly completed. With it would be a smaller cabin out back where the two English boys would stay.
Matthew laughed and slugged Derek on the shoulder. “Is that all right with you, mate?”
Peter had climbed into the back of the wagon and was following the conversation now. “I’ll bet it’s all right with Rebecca,” he exclaimed.
Derek grinned, feeling foolish. “Yes,” he said, “I think that’s all right with me too.”
* * *
“Look, Matthew,” Rebecca said in a low voice. “It’s that man who passed us a while back.”
Matthew had already seen the man and the horse in the road about a hundred yards or so in front of them. The man had dismounted and was looking in their direction. He seemed to be waiting for them.
“Yep, it sure is,” Matthew said. He flipped the reins gently, keeping the team moving steadily toward the man. Peter and Joshua got up from their makeshift bed on the wheat sacks and stood behind the seat where Matthew, Derek, and Rebecca rode, peering over their shoulders at the stranger. Since they had left Far West they had not passed another person on the wide expanse of rolling grasslands, and so this provided a break in the monotony.
As they drew a little closer, Rebecca looked more closely at the man. “That’s the man who was in town yesterday. I saw him at the dry goods store trying to buy some tobacco.”
Young Joshua hooted. “I’ll bet he was surprised.”
“Shh,” Matthew said. They were nearly to the man now, and he was watching their approach with a steady gaze. He was dressed warmly for the weather, with a full coat on and a long-sleeved white shirt with a fancy collar. His beard was thick and black. His eyes were shaded by the brim of his hat, but Matthew guessed they were dark also.
Matthew reined in the horses as they came up to him. “Good mornin’,” he said cheerfully.
“Mornin’,” came the reply. His eyes moved from Matthew to Derek and the two boys, then lingered longer on Rebecca. There was a flash of recognition, then a quick look of surprise. “Good mornin’,” he said to her. “You were in the store yesterday.”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, almost as though in disbelief. Then he quickly turned back to Matthew. “You know your way around here? I seem to be lost.”
“What are you lookin’ for?”
“I’m headed back down to—” There was a quick hesitation, then he went on smoothly. “Down Richmond and Liberty way. They said in town I’d find a road that turned south about five or six miles out. Have I come far enough?”
“No. It’s another mile or so furthe
r on from here.”
He nodded. “Well, that’s probably why I haven’t found it yet.” He put one finger to his hat. “Much obliged.” As he swung up on his horse, his eyes still kept coming back to stare, first at Rebecca, then at Matthew.
“We’re going right past there,” Matthew volunteered. “It’s not much of a road. It’s easy to miss. We’ll be happy to show you where it is.”
Again there was the briefest moment of hesitation, then he made up his mind. “All right. If you don’t mind, I’ll ride along behind you.”
* * *
“This is it,” Matthew said, pointing to the faint wagon track that went off at a right angle. He swung around to the east. “This goes on to Haun’s Mill, but if you follow that one it will take you right into Liberty. Ain’t much between here and there, either.”
The man on the horse turned his head and looked south. “I can find it. Again, much obliged for the help.” He reined his horse around but did not move it forward. He seemed reluctant to leave them.
Matthew had a sudden idea. “We’ve got some dinner. Ain’t much. Cold chicken and some hard rolls and a block of cheese. But we’ve got plenty.”
For the first time, the man seemed caught off guard. “I . . .” He shook his head quickly. “That’s very nice of you, but no, thank you.”
Rebecca felt a quick sense of relief. Matthew’s invitation had caught her by surprise as well. There was something about this man that left her feeling strangely uncomfortable. His eyes kept coming back to her, searching her face. It was not a flirtatious thing, like the looks she got from some men—she sensed that somehow—but there was something in his eyes that still left her vaguely disturbed. She was glad they had reached the crossroads.
But Matthew was Matthew. He jumped down from the wagon seat, as if the issue were already decided. “It’s a long ride to Liberty. Won’t hurt you none to start it with a full belly.”
For a long moment the man looked down at Matthew, who grinned up at him with open invitation. Then he seemed to make up his mind. “Well, maybe just for a few minutes, then I really have to be on my way.”
“Good,” Matthew said. “Rebecca, you get the blanket. We can eat right over there.” He looked up at the boys in the wagon. “Peter, you fetch the jug of water. Derek, pull the wagon over so the horses can graze while we eat. Joshua, get that basket your mother packed for us.”
The man had started to swing down off his horse. He froze, one foot still in the stirrup. He was staring at the two boys. Matthew looked up in surprise. Rebecca was also caught by the expression on the man’s face. It was as though he had been struck from behind by an unseen hand. He saw their faces and recovered quickly, stepping down. Ignoring their questioning looks, he turned to his saddlebag, quickly took out a set of hobbles, and fastened the devices to his horse’s two front legs. Then he gave the animal a soft whack on the rump and sent it into the tall grass. Without another word he stepped back, watching quietly as the lunch preparations were completed.
When all was ready, Matthew suggested that Derek offer grace, which he did. The stranger seemed uncomfortable for a moment, but immediately as Derek finished he asked if Derek was from England. They laughed. Almost everyone teased the two boys about their accent. That led to a brisk conversation between the man and Derek. He was particularly interested in the English textile mills and questioned Derek at length about the industry there.
As they finished the last piece of chicken and washed it down with mugs of tepid water, the man looked at young Joshua, then turned to Matthew. “This your brother?”
Matthew shook his head. “No. Becca and I are brother and sister, but this is our nephew. He’ll be seven in just over a month from now.”
The man nodded thoughtfully. “Yes.” He turned. “And did they say your name was Joshua?”
“Yes. Joshua Benjamin Steed.”
Again Rebecca was surprised at the look that crossed the man’s face. He seemed taken aback, puzzled, and, in a way, filled with a quiet sadness, and she couldn’t fathom why. Her sense of disquiet, that all was not quite right with this mysterious stranger, went up another notch. “We’re mostly Steeds,” she said, wanting to know whom they were talking to. “My name is Rebecca. This is Matthew. And Joshua, of course. Our friends are Derek and Peter Ingalls.”
He nodded at each in turn. It was a perfect opening for him to introduce himself, but instead he looked to Matthew. “And do you have family in Haun’s Mill?”
“Kind of. We have a sister-in-law. Or she used to be our sister-in-law. She was divorced from her husband and has remarried.”
The man looked down at his plate, then with studied casualness he said, “Oh, and does she have any children?”
Joshua spoke up. “There’s my cousin Rachel. She’s six. And two boys, Luke and Mark Griffith. They’re five and three. They’re my stepcousins.”
“Our sister-in-law, her name is Jessica,” Matthew said, “she just had a baby about a month ago. A little boy.”
“Really?” The man nodded, seeming pleased. “And is everything well with her and the baby?” he asked, still as though he were only making light conversation.
“Well, he was a whopper—weighed nearly ten pounds. But both are fine.”
“That’s good.” He seemed to really mean it. Then before anyone could say anything more, he abruptly stood. “Well, I’d better be going. Thank you again. You’ve been very kind.”
They all stood and followed him as he went to his horse and unhobbled it. As he gathered up the reins, he turned to Rebecca. He stuck out his hand. “It’s been very much a pleasure to meet you, Miss Rebecca.” She took it and was surprised at the softness of his touch and the pain she saw in his eyes. He turned quickly to Matthew. “And you as well, Matthew Steed. You are a fine young man now.”
Before either could answer, he nodded briskly to Derek and Peter. “A pleasure to meet you as well.” He put a foot in the stirrup and swung up into the saddle. Now he was looking intently at the youngest Steed. “Good-bye, young Joshua,” he said softly.
“Good-bye, sir.”
He lifted the reins, then let them drop again. There was indecision in his eyes for a moment. Then, still looking at the boy, he asked, “Were you named for your father?”
Joshua shook his head. “My father’s name is Nathan.”
Matthew looked up. “He was partly named for his grandfather Benjamin Steed.”
“Ah,” the stranger said, as if it didn’t really matter. Then as an afterthought, “And Joshua, where did you get that name?”
For a moment Rebecca was inclined not to answer, then she decided she wanted him to know. “You’re not a Mormon, are you?” she asked.
There was a momentary flash of anger, instantly followed by a small smile. “No, hardly.”
“Well,” she went on, “in the Mormon church we give names to our babies in a special blessing ceremony. Our brother Nathan had planned to give their first boy his own name, but when he stood up to bless him, suddenly the Spirit whispered that he should change that and name the boy Joshua.” Her voice went suddenly quiet. “It’s the name of our oldest brother.”
She stopped for a moment, surprised at how intensely the man was listening to her story now. “It was a shock to all of us. Our brother Joshua ran away from home almost eleven years ago now.”
The man stared at her for what seemed like the longest time. “And what ever happened to him?” he finally asked in a voice so low it was barely discernible.
Rebecca looked away. “We don’t know. He came to Missouri for a while. Then he went to Georgia, we heard. He never answered our letters.”
Again the silence stretched out for a long moment, then the man nodded, his eyes hooded and unreadable. “That must have been hard for your parents,” he finally said slowly.
Rebecca’s eyes were suddenly filled with tears. “Mama still prays for him every night and every morning.” Her voice caught. “So do I.”
The man stiffened,
then quickly reached up and pulled the hat down lower over his eyes. “Well,” he said brusquely, “I’ve got to go. Thanks again for the food.” Without waiting for a reply, he reined the horse around sharply, put the spurs to it, and loped off, cutting across a corner of the prairie, then turning south on the road that led to Liberty and on across the river to Jackson County.
* * *
Olivia Mendenhall Steed was the envy of every girl in the small two-room schoolhouse in Independence. She was beautiful; she was poised and confident; she was the smartest in the class; her father was one of the richest men, if not the richest man, in Jackson County; and she had the most stunning hair of anyone in the school.
For a ten-year-old, it was pretty difficult not to have one’s head turned by such things, but fortunately Olivia’s mother and her brother, Will, constantly worked with her to convince her that while she might be more blessed than others, she was no better than they were. For the most part it was working, and unlike some favored children, Olivia had not triggered the jealousy of her classmates.
When Joshua rode into the school yard, it was recess time. Some of the boys were off against the wall of the school building playing “huzzlecap,” a game in which pennies were pitched at a mark and the one coming closest won points. But most of the children, including almost all of the girls, were involved in a game of “blindman’s buff.” Olivia had been chosen as first one “it,” and was moving about slowly, arms outstretched, a cloth tied around her eyes, trying to catch someone. The children were darting in and out, coming within inches of her grasp, shrieking in alarm as they barely eluded her clutches.
Joshua swung down and tied his horse, then put a finger to his lips as the children turned and recognized him. Now they squealed all the more, thrilled to be in on this new conspiracy.
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