Mrs. McIntire looked at the older girl. “Jenny, go fetch Matthew and tell him his brother is awake.”
She murmured a “yes’m” and hurried out.
Matthew? Joshua remembered that Matthew had been out with the horse while they loaded him. But so had Nathan and Derek. He was tiring quickly. “Nathan?”
“Went back home. Him and Derek both.” She looked at the other girl. “Kathryn, fetch Mr. Steed some of that chicken broth.”
“Matthew?” he asked. “Is he here?”
“He’s out attending to some chores.”
A jolt of fear flashed across Joshua’s face. He tried to get up. “Caroline! I must write my wife. She probably thinks I’m dead. She may be in danger.”
Mrs. McIntire dropped to one knee beside him and pushed him gently back down. “You won’t be remembering, I suppose, but you were insisting on writing to your wife before you left your father’s. Nathan said to be sure and tell you that they wrote a letter and sent it.”
He relaxed, stunned at how even that much physical exertion had sapped his strength. Caroline. It was important that she know. There could be trouble.
Mrs. McIntire was shaking him gently. “Now, don’t ya be goin’ back to sleep on us yet, Mr. Steed. You’ve got to have some nourishment or you’ll not ever be gettin’ your strength back.”
He closed his eyes. He tried to say, “Yes, ma’am,” but it came out as an unintelligible mumble.
Mrs. McIntire called out the door. “Hurry, Kathryn, we’re losing him.”
* * *
Jenny brought a large bowl of soup and half a loaf of bread and set it in front of Matthew. Her eyes were large with fear. “We were so afraid when we couldn’t find you.” Her eyelashes dropped a little. “I was praying for you,” she said demurely.
“I’m sorry,” Matthew said. He had not been in the barn when Jenny went looking for him, and it had taken her nearly an hour to find him. He blushed a little, embarrassed by her attention but pleased with her concern. “I didn’t go far. I just wanted to get a feel for the lay of the land in case Joshua and me have to leave real quick.” He turned to Mrs. McIntire. “I should have said something.”
His brow furrowed. There were still a lot of men roaming the countryside looking for Mormons to harass. If someone came here and found him and Joshua . . . It might even put the McIntires at risk, and he didn’t like that thought at all.
“Your brother was awake for a time.”
Matthew blinked and looked at Mrs. McIntire. “He was?”
“Aye. I think he’s passed the crisis. He’s still very weak, but there was a clearness to his eyes, and he took nourishment.”
Matthew started to push back his chair and rise, but Nancy McIntire quickly grabbed his hand and pulled him back down. “He’s still sleeping now. Eat your dinner, then we’ll speak with him.”
* * *
“If we haven’t heard by next week, I’m going down there.”
Matthew was staring at him. “Are you crazy? Up until this morning we weren’t even sure if you were gonna live. And besides that, you’ve already said that Jackson County will be dangerous for you.”
Joshua ignored him. “You’re going to have to help me, Matthew.”
“I will, Joshua, but not before you’re ready.”
“No, I don’t mean that.” He looked at the bedroom door to make sure it was closed. “Even after I’m better, Matthew. You’re going to have to go with me.”
Now Matthew looked more closely at Joshua’s face. It was now nine days since he had been shot. He had more than a week’s whiskers, which were fast becoming a full beard. It only heightened the hollowness of his cheeks and the way his jawline had sunk in. It gave him a bit of a skeletal look, and now, with the hopelessness in his eyes, Matthew found it disconcerting. “What?” he asked slowly. “What are you talking about?”
Joshua closed his eyes, and Matthew saw the fingers of his hands clench together into a fist. “I can’t feel anything in my left leg, Matthew.”
Matthew rocked back. “What!”
“Not anything,” he whispered. “Not in my leg. Not in my foot.” He looked away. “Nothing.”
* * *
Benjamin’s cough started about midafternoon of the day after they arrived in Richmond. By then all of the brethren had been soaked through to the skin and were shivering so violently they could barely walk. The guards let them huddle around their fires for an hour or so to let them partially dry out, then herded them off to their temporary jail.
The courthouse in Richmond was still under construction, and the roof had not been put on it yet. It was really not much more than an open shell with rooms. But there were fifty-six prisoners from Far West and nowhere to put them, so the authorities had to improvise. A few additional blankets were found and passed among them, but they were pitifully few for the numbers who needed them. No fires were allowed inside the courthouse.
By the third night, Benjamin Steed knew he was seriously ill. His eyes burned, and his brow was feverish in spite of the cold air. Whenever a fit of coughing hit him, he had to clutch his arms around his ribs, trying to squeeze back the pain. It was sharp, as if a wood rasp were working up and down inside his lungs. When the coughing finally subsided again, he was spent and exhausted.
“That doesn’t sound good, Brother Ben,” his neighbor said, peering at him in the darkness.
Benjamin didn’t answer. He just huddled down closer, cupping his hands over his mouth to warm the air a little before it went into his lungs.
* * *
“Brother Steed! Benjamin Steed. Can you hear me?”
Through the feverish haze, Benjamin was aware that someone or something was shaking his shoulder. With a tremendous effort, he pulled his head around and opened his eyes. The chills that had racked him violently through the night had now alternated back to the fire that felt like it was going to consume him. He wanted to throw off the blankets and let the cold air rush over him, but he was still in control of his mind enough to know that such a move could prove fatal. Somewhere it vaguely registered with him that it was just coming daylight.
“Benjamin, listen to me!”
He tried to focus on the dark shape leaning over him. Then finally he recognized the kindly face of Bishop Edward Partridge. He murmured an answer, but his ears heard nothing and he realized his lips had not moved.
“Brother Ben, you are very ill. You cannot stay here. It’s too cold.”
“Hot,” Benjamin whispered.
“Yes, I know. You’re burning with fever. We’ve talked to the guards. They’ve agreed to take you to where Brother Joseph and the other prisoners are being kept.”
“Brother Joseph?” Benjamin repeated dully. “Brother Joseph is here?”
“Yes. They brought him and the others here from Jackson County last night.”
Benjamin tried to bring his head around.
Partridge still had his hand on Benjamin’s shoulder. “They’re not right here. They’ve put them in an abandoned house. It’s got one wall missing, but at least it’s got a roof over it. Anything is better than being out in the open air like this.”
“Thank you,” Benjamin said, reaching up to pluck at the bishop’s coat. “But not necessary. Others sick too.”
“Not as sick as you, Ben. Not as sick as you.”
* * *
“Brother Benjamin Steed . . .”
Benjamin felt himself relax under the weight of their combined hands. The chills were back now, and the warmth of their flesh on his head felt good. And Joseph’s voice was like a soothing balm upon his soul.
“In the name of our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ, and by the power of the holy priesthood which we together hold, we lay our hands upon your head and give you a blessing in your hour of need.”
There was a pause, and then Benjamin was aware of a deepening timbre in Joseph’s voice. “We are in desperate times, O Lord. We find ourselves in circumstances wherein we have been driven from our homes a
nd from the bosom of our families and loved ones, and this through the hardness of those who do uphold the hands of Satan and who do carry forth his work.
“Before us lies one of thy choice sons, Benjamin Steed. His heart is full of integrity, O Father. His life has been one of faith and goodness. He has blessed the kingdom and been a pillar of strength to his righteous family. And now he lies stricken before us. Oh, bless him, Holy Father, bless him with the power of thy might. We rebuke the affliction that has come upon him, and we do so by the power of the holy priesthood. We command it to hold its destructive powers from ravaging him further.”
There was the soft clink of chains as Joseph shifted his weight slightly. After being put in the house, the seven men who had been brought from Jackson County had been chained loosely together with two logging chains and several padlocks. They rattled every time one of them moved. Only six were participating in the blessing. Sidney Rigdon was on the far end of the chain and, like Benjamin, was stretched out on the floor, desperately ill and half-delirious.
“Dear friend, Benjamin,” Joseph was continuing, “your mission in this mortal existence is not yet finished. There are things with your family and with others that yet require your able hand. You and they will be tried as the gold in the fire, but remain faithful, for the bounds the Lord has set cannot be crossed by evil men. Do not despair, for this time of sorrow and testing shall pass, and you shall yet be returned to the bosom of your dear family, in the Lord’s due time. And this blessing we give to you in the name of our beloved Savior, even Jesus Christ, our Lord and Master, amen.”
As the six brethren rocked back on their heels, Benjamin opened his eyes. He felt the scalding tears flowing out of the corners of his eyes, but he didn’t care. “Thank you, Joseph. Thank you.”
* * *
By Sunday, Joshua was sitting up in bed and eating solid food. By Monday, he was noticeably stronger—though he still tired easily—and a great sense of relief filled the McIntire home. The worst of the crisis was over. On Tuesday, Mrs. McIntire went to Gallatin. Joshua had dictated a letter, and he was very anxious to see if there was any word from Caroline. He slept through most of the morning after Mrs. McIntire left, but by afternoon he was so restless that he demanded that Matthew and Jenny help him out of bed and into one of the chairs in the kitchen. It had frightened them both a little, for by the time he was seated his face was an ashen gray. But his color gradually returned, and it boosted his spirits tremendously to be out of bed for the first time.
Kathryn was lying in front of the fireplace, reading a book. Matthew was across from her, working with two pieces of wood—whittling them down and trying to fit them together. Jenny sat at the kitchen table, sewing on a piece of needlepoint.
Joshua turned to watch her, for he had quickly sensed the attraction between this girl and Matthew. She would be seventeen in January, Joshua had learned, and, as was the case with many children who were the oldest in the family, she had matured beyond her years. Her hair—light enough brown to be almost blond—now had the sun coming through the window on it, highlighting it with just a touch of auburn, like Caroline’s. Her eyes were a light blue, and though they were often sober and thoughtful, they could also dance with quick amusement or spark with a touch of Irish fire. But the freckles belied all of that maturity and made her look like a young girl. All in all, it was quite a charming combination, and Joshua was pleased with what he saw happening.
She looked up and caught him watching her, so he quickly turned to Matthew. “What is that, anyway?” Joshua asked. “You’ve been carving on it for two days now.”
“Looks good, don’t it?” Matthew took two more cuts with the knife in the notch that would hold the second piece at the top of the longer one, then shoved them together. Reaching across the table, he picked up a long piece of rawhide and dipped it in a small bowl of water. Then he propped the longer stick between his knees and began wrapping the rawhide around the joint holding the shorter crosspiece, as the Indians did when they tied a stone head to a stick handle to make a tomahawk.
Then Joshua’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed. “Is that for me?”
Matthew nodded without looking up. He stretched the wet rawhide tight so that when it dried it would shrink and bind the wood together into a joint strong enough to hold a man’s weight.
Joshua’s eyes were flashing. “I don’t need no crutch.”
Matthew rolled his eyes at Jenny, the way one parent does to another when a petulant child is being difficult. Jenny smiled and gave him a similar look.
“It isn’t funny!” Joshua shouted angrily. “I am not a cripple. My leg just got banged up with all that bouncing on the travois. Now, put that thing away. Or better yet, throw it in the fire.”
Kathryn put her book down, staring at him. She looked a little frightened. Jenny’s smile slowly faded.
Good! Joshua thought. I don’t need any cuteness right now.
Apparently not paying any attention to his brother, Matthew leaned back, examining his handiwork. The stick was not perfectly straight, but it was strong, and the piece that fit under the arm was big enough for a man like Joshua. Satisfied, Matthew set the crutch down on the table, an impish look now on his face. “You know what I think, Jenny?”
“What?”
“I think I may have to use this sooner than I thought.”
One eyebrow came up, and there was a warning in her eyes. Joshua was still glaring at them.
“I think I might even use it tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. I’m going to wait until my brother is asleep, then I’m going to break this over his head. It’s hard enough, don’t you think? His head, I mean.”
A giggle burst out from Kathryn, but she instantly slapped a hand over her mouth. Jenny was staring at Matthew in amazement. Then she too had to suppress a smile.
“Matthew,” Joshua growled ominously. “Stop it. I don’t find this funny at all.”
Matthew went on easily, still talking to Jenny, totally ignoring his brother. “Seems to me, a good hickory stick across the head is just what you give to a patient with such abominable manners. After all, we have been waiting on him hand and foot for over a week now. Not to mention the fact that three of us carried him twenty-five miles in the middle of the night through hostile bands of militia. Not to mention the fact that your mother is out right now risking her own safety to mail his letter and see if there is any mail for him. And what do we get for all that? The manners of a bear kicked in the rump in the middle of hibernatin’ season.”
Joshua had opened his mouth. Now it shut again. Matthew had met his gaze now and held it calmly but steadily. Then finally a fleeting smile appeared on Joshua’s face, a smile that dissolved quickly into mock severity. “You’re getting to be kind of an insolent little pup, aren’t you?” he muttered softly.
“I’m eighteen,” Matthew beamed, relieved that his tactic had worked. “Eighteen-year-olds have a natural gift for insolence.”
* * *
On Tuesday, the thirteenth of November, the Mormon prisoners went on trial. Judge Austin King, one of the Saints’ most bitter and dedicated enemies, was appointed to preside. There is an old Chinese proverb that states: “Where there is a will to condemn, there is evidence at hand.” Judge Austin King may not have known the proverb, but he certainly knew how it worked. Within minutes of the opening gavel, he made it clear how things were to be. Witnesses were called and sworn at the point of a bayonet. Either they would give the testimony the court was looking for or their lives would be forfeit. One man, who dared to testify that it was the Mormons who had been wronged, had to jump out of the witness box, dive out the window, and flee for his life rather than be shot. No papers were read against the prisoners, and no formal charges were outlined.
Ironically, the first witness called for the prosecution was Sampson Avard, the man who had organized the secret society of the Danites in Far West to kill Missourians. Other disaffected brethren came i
n to swear against their former leaders and associates. Colonel George M. Hinkle; Reed Peck, Hinkle’s adjutant and co-conspirator in the betrayal; John Corrill, a former counselor in the Presiding Bishopric—one by one they swore that Joseph and the leaders of the Church were intent on building a worldly kingdom, by conversion if they could, by bloodshed if they must. This was treason, the prosecution argued, if ever there was a case of it.
Benjamin came with the others each day. He moved slowly, and Parley Pratt supported him on one arm. He looked emaciated and drained, but he was walking. And he knew that that was no small thing. In the hours immediately following the blessing, he had stabilized. The fever was gone, as were the violent chills. The cough still felt as if it were ripping his lungs apart and left him trembling and hunched over, but he was alive, and that was nothing short of miraculous.
At one point, after days of false testimony and a continuous stream of invective aimed at them, Benjamin leaned forward to Joseph. “When did we leave the United States of America?” he whispered.
Joseph turned around, shaking his head. “There will be no justice here, Brother Benjamin. No justice at all.”
* * *
On the afternoon of Tuesday, November thirteenth, Mary Fielding Smith had a baby. Still confined to her bed, with a serious illness, and still suffering from the shock of seeing her husband brutally torn from the family circle, she nevertheless gave birth to a healthy, squalling baby boy. Mary had already decided on a name for the baby, pending Hyrum’s approval when she could get a chance to discuss it with him. She wanted to name the boy after her brother who was still in England on a mission.
When anyone asked about his name, Mary would manage a wan smile and say, “If Hyrum approves, we’re going to call him Joseph Fielding Smith.”
Chapter Notes
The two-day snowstorm discussed in this chapter struck while the prisoners from Far West were on the march to Richmond and greatly added to their suffering (see HC 3:204).
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