“We’re gonna have to rent a livery barn to have our family dinners when we get to that point,” Benjamin said dryly.
“Yes,” Nathan said, as the others laughed. “And then instead of having twenty-three mouths to feed and five different families to house, we’ll have eight or ten families and forty or fifty people to keep fed and clothed.”
Mary Ann looked suddenly depressed. Nathan noticed it immediately. “Mother, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I was just thinking that there should be six more added to the count. What about Melissa?”
That sobered them all. Melissa and her husband, Carl Rogers, were still in Kirtland. There was very little chance they would ever see them again. Mary Ann looked at Nathan. “I’m sorry. There’s nothing we can do, of course. I was just thinking about them.”
Nathan nodded. Then, brightening again, he turned to his wife. “Lydia, tell them what we’ve been thinking.”
As she stood up, he moved over and sat in her chair. Lydia plunged right in, her dark eyes sparkling with excitement, her black hair bouncing on her shoulders as she began to pace back and forth while she talked. “Nathan read the Lord’s commandment that we not be idle. We are very fortunate that no one in this family is lazy. We don’t have any idlers. John and Jessica are running a good farm in Haun’s Mill, and Jessica teaches school. Derek and Rebecca and Peter are under way with another fine piece of land. Father Steed has wheat and corn. Matthew’s working with Brigham Young. We are all working hard. But . . .” She paused for effect, then lowered her voice. “But are we working as wisely as we could?”
“How do you mean that?” John Griffith asked.
“Well, Benjamin Franklin once said of the American colonies, ‘We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.’ I think the same principle applies to our family. As the children and then the grandchildren grow up and marry and form their own families, we can hang together, or we can go our separate ways.”
“So,” Jessica spoke up, “what are you suggesting?”
“We’re suggesting that we organize ourselves as a family, just like the Lord counseled us to do. Maybe that way we can become independent and care for our own even if hard times do come. Instead of each of us going our separate ways, what if we decided to work together?”
Nathan couldn’t stand it. He was up beside his wife now, his hands waving back and forth as he spoke. “What if we made a covenant as a family, just as we do in the law of consecration, that we will stick together and help each other no matter what? What if we planned out everything?”
“Like what?” Peter said.
Lydia whirled to face him. “Planned to do just what you and Jessica are doing now. Jessica has a wonderful ability to be a teacher. So what if we let her teach all of our children?” She spun to face Benjamin. “Father Steed, I know you’ve farmed much of your life, but in Kirtland we saw another side of you. You have a natural ability for business, for managing things. Brother Joseph saw that in you. That’s why he asked you to be on the building committee for the temple.”
“Are you saying I should stop farming?”
“Not at first, Pa?” Nathan answered for her. “Not right away. But John is a natural farmer. I like to farm. Derek, you say you’re thrilled to have your own land to farm. So what if the three of us farm, and Pa, you manage the business end of things for all of us?”
Nathan was getting even more excited now. He turned to Matthew. “As our family keeps growing, we’re going to need houses, furniture, tools. And right here in Matthew we have a natural carpenter. A fine builder. So let’s not only encourage him to take his apprenticeship under Brother Brigham; maybe in a few years we can pool our money and help him start his own carpenter shop. Then not only could he make a living for his family, but he would be a great blessing to all of us.”
“I see what you’re saying,” Mary Ann said. “It’s not just helping each other when there’s a need; it’s planning how to work together as a family to help everyone.”
“That’s right, Mother Steed,” Lydia said. “We decide now what some of our needs will be, and then we go to work to meet those needs in a long-range way.” She stopped to get her breath. Her eyes were alive with excitement. “For example, right now Joshua is probably the best off financially of any of us.”
“That’s for sure,” Rachel sang out. “He’s rich.”
“Yes, he is,” Lydia agreed. “And what if he puts up enough money for us to start our own dry goods store here in Far West?”
As Rebecca made a soft sound of surprise, Lydia turned to face her. “Yes. I grew up in my father’s dry goods store in Palmyra. I worked in Newel Whitney’s store in Kirtland. I know how to run a store. Rebecca has a very quick mind. She could help. Peter is wonderful with books and learning. He could do a lot. Joshua and Will could freight in all our goods and build up their freight business in this part of the state as well.”
Nathan looked at his mother. “I’d be willing to write to Melissa and Carl and tell them what we’re doing, see if they would ever be interested in joining with us. But . . .” He didn’t finish.
“But there’s not much chance of that,” his father finished for him.
“I know,” Mary Ann said, “but I think we need to at least try.”
Emily raised her hand. Lydia turned and smiled down at her daughter. “Yes, sweetheart?”
“Me and Joshua could tend baby Elizabeth while you’re at the store.”
Mary Ann reached over and hugged her granddaughter. “How sweet, Emmy.”
“Emmy’s got the idea,” Lydia rushed on. “Everyone helps. We pull together as a family. We cooperate with each other. We help each other.”
Nathan jumped in again. “Eventually it might mean that we would all move here, so we are closer together.”
“I would like that,” Mary Ann piped in, bringing a smile from her children.
“That doesn’t mean someone gets stuck doing something they don’t want to do,” Nathan continued. “We don’t say to Peter, ‘Peter, you’ll be a cooper because we need someone to make barrels for us.’ We let Peter decide what he wants to do, but then once he decides, we let it bless the whole family and not just his own wife and children.”
Derek punched his brother on the arm. “Congratulations, mate. It’s a fine family you have now already.”
Peter pulled a face at him, but then he turned back to Nathan. “Could I ever do something with writing, Nathan?”
Nathan stopped, thinking quickly. “If that’s what you like. What about a printing shop? Or better yet, how about something like a newspaper? How’d you like to run a newspaper someday, Peter?”
Peter didn’t have to answer that. His face said it all.
Benjamin was slowly nodding. “We organize rather than just let things happen.”
“Exactly.”
Mary Ann looked up at her son and daughter-in-law, her eyes filled with admiration. “I think this is the most wonderful idea. What are families for, if not to help one another?”
“When would all this start?” Rebecca asked.
Nathan and Lydia had talked about that a great deal. Nathan looked first at his wife; then, when she smiled her support, he turned to his sister. “It may take years to get it fully under way, but I think we ought to start right now—by making a covenant and a promise with one another that we are a family, and that we will always work together for the good of the family.”
Benjamin stood and walked over to stand beside his son. To everyone’s surprise, he put an arm on Nathan’s shoulder, then reached out and took Lydia’s hand, drawing her to him as well. “As the patriarch of this clan”—he looked around, smiling wryly—“which seems to grow larger every time we get together, I’d like to thank Nathan and Lydia for what they’ve suggested to us today.”
He stopped, and for a long moment the room was silent. When he finally spoke, he spoke in a low voice. “I, for one, think it is an inspired idea. And as patriarc
h I would like to be the first to make that covenant with all of you.”
* * *
By early October, the situation for the Latter-day Saints was becoming increasingly grim. In DeWitt—a small Missouri river town located about seventy miles southeast of Far West and sixty miles downriver from Independence—the influx of Mormon emigrants began to tip the balance of power in favor of the Mormons. The old settlers reacted with typical alarm. On the twentieth of September, somewhere between a hundred and a hundred and fifty armed men rode into DeWitt and told the Mormons to leave or be killed. The Mormons begged for some semblance of reason. They had property, homes, livestock, and crops. After some discussion, the mob relented and gave them until the first of October—a full ten days to put their affairs in order and be gone. But George M. Hinkle, the leader of the Saints in DeWitt, who was himself a colonel in the Missouri militia, defiantly refused to leave and promised to resist any attempts to force them out. He and the other leaders wrote a hasty letter to the governor, explaining the situation and asking him to intervene.
There was no reply.
With the Mormons refusing to run, the mob element gathered at DeWitt sent out a call for help. The timing could not have been worse. General Atchison had dispersed a whole body of armed Missourians in Daviess County when he found out the Mormons were not in uprising. Now those men were lusting for action. They immediately headed south to join the forces surrounding DeWitt. Terrified now, the Mormons dug in and began to build barricades.
In a matter of days, the mobs ringed the Mormon portion of town. The Saints in DeWitt were under siege.
* * *
In Far West, things also began to deteriorate. Some months earlier Joseph had sent out a call, saying it came by the word of the Lord, for those living in isolated settlements and the smaller communities to come into Far West and Di-Ahman where there were larger bodies of Saints living. When all seemed peaceful, few paid attention to the counsel. But now, as the “Mormon War” began to escalate and reports of depredations against isolated Mormon families circulated almost daily, family after family decided perhaps it was time to heed the voice of their prophet. Refugees poured into Far West, usually fleeing their homes and bringing only the scantiest of provisions—if that—with them. In a short time the resources of the Saints were taxed to the limit. Every home was filled to capacity. Tents and wagons and lean-tos and open campsites lined every street.
And as if that weren’t enough, on October second the Kirtland Camp rolled into Far West.
When Kirtland fell into the control of the enemies of the Church in late 1837 and early 1838, many of the Saints, like the Steeds, immediately left for Missouri. But there were hundreds who were too poor to make the journey on their own. Rather than just leave them to their own devices, the leadership of the First Quorum of the Seventy covenanted to pool what little resources they had and to leave no one behind who wanted to go. On July sixth, the Kirtland Camp, as these Saints called themselves, started west. The roster said there were over five hundred people, twenty-seven tents, fifty-nine wagons, ninety-seven horses, twenty-two oxen, sixty-nine cows, and one bull in the company. Some stopped along the way. One group had pulled out at Haun’s Mill to fix their wagons and let their teams rest. But after nearly three months on the trail, the main body arrived in Far West, exhausted, sick, destitute, and frightened. And suddenly Joseph and the brethren had several hundred additional people requiring food, housing, and medical attention.
* * *
“Brother Joseph!” Benjamin raised his hand and waved to the horseman cantering toward him.
The man on the horse was about thirty or forty yards from where Benjamin was digging the last of the carrots from the garden. He reined up, peering at Benjamin. Then as recognition came, he waved, turned the horse’s head, and trotted forward to where Benjamin was.
Joseph Smith swung down from the saddle. “Brother Benjamin, how are you?” He laughed easily. “I was so preoccupied, I didn’t even see you here.”
The day was sunny, but the temperature was hovering in the mid-forties, and both men wore coats against the chill. Joseph’s cheeks were touched with color, but as usual his eyes were filled with cheer and good humor.
He stamped his feet for a moment, then looked down. “You got a good crop of carrots this year, Ben.”
“I did. And some fine potatoes as well. Maybe not all we need to get us through the winter, but every bit helps.”
A quick shadow passed over Joseph’s face. “I fear that with all the mouths we have to feed now none of us are going to have enough to see us through the winter.”
Benjamin’s face was grave. “Was that what you were preoccupied with?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then a long sigh. “I ride a lot these days, Brother Ben. It seems like that is the only time I have to myself to wrestle with the problems that beset us like flies around spoiled meat.”
Benjamin laughed. “Who are the flies and who is the spoiled meat?”
Joseph looked startled for just a moment, then laughed heartily. “Ah, Ben, it is good to be with a man who can make me laugh. You are a good friend.”
“And I treasure your friendship, Brother Joseph.”
There was a sound behind them, and they both turned. Mary Ann was coming from the house, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. “Hello, Brother Joseph.”
“Good afternoon, Mary Ann. How good to see you.”
“I saw you ride up. We just finished some soup and there’s hot bread out of the oven. Would you come in and partake?”
He shook his head. “No, thank you kindly anyway. But I promised Emma I’d be coming home hungry.” He shook his head again, looking duly contrite. “My wife says every time I go out, someone invites me in to eat. She never knows when I’ll be home for supper. So I promised her today—no food except at Emma’s table.”
Mary Ann smiled. Emma was a wonderfully patient wife. She had to be. Joseph was beloved of his people, but that worked considerable hardship on his wife. When he was not gone off to supervise this task or that, or visit some branch of the Church here or there, his home was the center of constant activity: people with problems, newcomers wanting to meet the Prophet, priesthood leaders seeking counsel, overnight guests—there were few times when Joseph and Emma had the luxury of time alone.
“Are these problems we can help with?” Benjamin asked. “We’d be happy to do whatever we can.”
“How thoughtful of you to ask,” Joseph said warmly. “But no. I’m afraid with some of these things, there’s not much that anyone can do.”
“Well, we stand ready if you need us.”
Joseph reached out and laid a hand on Benjamin’s arm. “I know, Brother Ben. I know.” As his hand dropped to his side again, he got a faraway look in his eyes. “You know, it’s not the huge problems that trouble me as much. It’s when . . .” He shrugged. “Sometimes it’s the little things which prove to be of greatest consequence.”
“How true,” Mary Ann said. “Even in our own lives.”
Joseph had seemed about to change the subject, but Mary Ann’s response spurred him on. “The writer of Proverbs summed up one of the most common of human weaknesses. ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.’ ” There was a soft sound of discouragement. “Human nature can be a thing of such tenderness—and a thing of such unbending toughness! And pride has a way of nursing the totally unimportant into something unbearably significant.”
Benjamin was watching him closely, listening, yet was not sure what Joseph meant. But with that natural intuition which was part of her gift, Mary Ann took a shrewd guess. “Thomas B. Marsh?” she asked softly.
Joseph nodded, the pain now darkening the clearness of those blue eyes. And then Benjamin understood. While the fires of war were raging across the countryside, a smaller battle had erupted in Far West. At first it went unnoticed by any except the principals involved. Two women were neighbors to each other. One was a Sister Harris. Ben
jamin knew her only very slightly. The other was the wife of Thomas B. Marsh, who was President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. She and Sister Harris were desirous of making cheese, but since neither of them possessed the requisite number of cows, they agreed to exchange milk. To be sure to have justice done, it was agreed that they should not save the strippings—the milk that comes at the end of a milking and that is richer in cream—but that the milk and strippings should all go together. Small matters to talk about in a time of war, to be sure, two women’s exchanging milk to make cheese. But things don’t often work as reason would suggest.
Sister Harris, it appeared from the reports Benjamin had heard, was faithful to the agreement and carried to Sister Marsh the milk and strippings; but Sister Marsh, wishing to make some extra-good cheese, saved a pint of strippings from each cow and sent Sister Harris the milk without the strippings. Understandably upset, Sister Harris confronted her neighbor and asked that she stop the practice. Sister Marsh angrily and haughtily denied the accusations and refused to make any change or reparation.
Sister Harris decided to follow the counsel given by the Lord. She went to the priesthood quorum where her husband was a member and asked them to help her settle the matter. By now, of course, the matter had become public knowledge, and people began to take sides. But after a careful examination of the matter, it was determined that Sister Marsh had saved the strippings, contrary to her promise not to do so, and consequently had cheated Sister Harris. Thomas B. Marsh’s wife was asked to make restitution.
“Is that matter still not settled?” Benjamin asked Joseph.
There was a slow shake of his head.
“I spoke with Sister Marsh last week,” Mary Ann said. “She is a proud woman. She absolutely refused to admit that she had done anything wrong and said she will not pay Sister Harris anything. And she was really angry at the quorum leaders. She said she is the wife of the President of the Twelve. As Aaronic Priesthood holders, she says, they have no right to rule on her actions.”
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