The rain of the previous two days had gone now, the clouds scudding on eastward, leaving the skies over Missouri and Illinois so clear and clean it almost took the breath away. The coolness of the morning was dissipating rapidly, and the sun was warm on the faces of the Steed women.
They had brought their chairs outside to sit in the sun. Like the children, the women were unable to bear the crowded cabin a moment longer. The breakfast dishes were done. The men were gone—Derek, Matthew, and Peter to Missouri, Benjamin and Nathan to a meeting called that morning by Brigham Young. The children were up on the small bluff behind the house. After two days of being confined to the house, they were frolicking like day-old lambs.
Mary Ann raised her head. “Listen!”
They turned, cocking their heads to better catch the sound of the children. They were out of sight, just over the brow of the hill, but their voices carried clearly. Lydia smiled. “It’s ‘London Bridge.’ I wonder whose idea that was.”
They all laughed at that. Emily, Lydia’s little mirror image of herself, had been pushing hard for that particular game even before the children left the cabin. Her brother Joshua felt they needed something more active—“red rover” or maybe a good tug-o’-war. He had even found a stout piece of rope. But obviously, and as usual, Emily had carried the day.
“I don’t know about that girl,” Lydia said ruefully. No one missed the obvious touch of pride in her voice.
“Now, now,” Mary Ann shushed, “I think it’s delightful that she knows her mind.”
“She does that,” Rebecca agreed. She patted her stomach twice. “And if this one’s a girl, I hope she’s just like her.”
“Hello!”
The call of greeting pulled all their heads around. Coming up the road from the direction of the main part of town were Jenny and Kathryn McIntire. The women’s faces were immediately wreathed in welcoming smiles, and they raised their arms and waved.
“Good morning,” Jessica called out, truly happy to see these two young women. The McIntire girls had become almost a part of the family after living with them in Far West for several weeks. Sister McIntire had found a place for them with a family in Quincy, but the girls were out to the Steed house frequently. Jenny was seventeen, Kathryn four years younger. She would be thirteen in less than two weeks.
There were quick hugs all around and clasped hands. “How’s your mother?” Mary Ann asked Jenny.
“Fine, fine. She almost came, but Sister Poulsen, who lives with us, is feeling poorly this morning, so Mama thought it best to stay and help.”
“That’s just like your mother,” Lydia said.
“I guess you haven’t heard anything from Matthew and Derek yet?” Jenny asked Mary Ann. Her eyes had lowered and she blushed slightly.
Jessica watched her, fully understanding her anxiety. Until every Latter-day Saint was out of the state of Missouri, there was good reason for concern. If anyone understood the cost of hatred, it was Jessica.
“No,” Mary Ann answered. “But it’s just barely a week tomorrow since they left. I suspect it will still be another week at least, maybe ten days, before we hear anything.”
Jenny looked crestfallen. “I know. I just keep hoping.”
Rebecca nodded. Like the others, she had little doubt that before this year was over, Jennifer McIntire would be Jennifer Steed. They were already treating her as if she were their sister. “I don’t blame you for being worried,” Rebecca said. “I’ve been miserable since Derek left. I miss him terribly.”
Jessica’s head came up slowly, and suddenly her eyes were glistening, but no one seemed to notice. They were all watching Rebecca and Jenny.
Lydia nodded somberly. “It is hard, isn’t it? Whenever Nathan’s gone, it’s like half my life has been cut away from me. And the children, too. We’re so happy when he returns again. It’s like—”
Jessica was shocked to find herself on her feet, her fists clenching and unclenching. The world was swimming before her eyes and she blinked quickly, surprised at how hot the tears were. She was barely aware that the book that had been lying on her lap had now tumbled to the ground. The only thing of which she was fully conscious was the searing pain, so pointed and so intense that she felt her knees trembling.
Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Jessica,” she gasped. “I . . . I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking . . .”
Jessica shook her head blindly, waving a hand to try and show she wasn’t blaming them.
Rebecca was stricken now too. “Oh, Jessie, I didn’t mean . . .” She couldn’t finish either, the enormity of their blunder hitting her fully now.
“No,” Jessica stammered. “It’s all right. I just . . .” There was one half-strangled cry of agony, then she turned and plunged away.
They were all on their feet now, watching Jessica’s stumbling flight down the same road that Jenny and Kathryn had just come up. “Oh, Mama,” Rebecca said, her own tears coming. “I wasn’t even thinking about her losing John. I’m so sorry.”
Lydia too was ready to weep. “How thoughtless of me. Shall I go after her?”
After a moment, Mary Ann shook her head. “No. I think it’s best to give her some time alone.”
Brigham Young raised his hands. “Brethren, could we settle down again now and deal with the next item of business?”
He got what he asked for almost instantly. The hush which swept across the meeting was total. Nathan turned and gave his father a questioning look, but Benjamin merely shrugged. To this point the meeting had been lively, but nothing really out of the ordinary. Several items of business had been handled, matters having to do with getting the last of the Saints out of Missouri and with meeting the needs of the thousands now gathering in Illinois. One important item had been the sustaining of George Albert Smith to fill one of the vacancies in the Quorum of Twelve. George A., as almost everyone called him, was Joseph Smith’s cousin. He was not yet twenty-two years old, but he had proven himself faithful on Zion’s Camp and throughout the troubles in Kirtland and Missouri. He was sustained unanimously by those present.
There were only four other members of the Twelve present. Brigham, as senior Apostle, presided. He was joined by John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Orson Pratt. Others of the Twelve were not available. David W. Patten was dead, martyred at the Battle of Crooked River. Parley P. Pratt was still in jail in Richmond, Missouri. Heber C. Kimball was supervising the Church in Far West. Willard Richards, who had been named to the Quorum the previous July by the voice of the Lord, was serving as a counselor to Joseph Fielding in presiding over the mission in England and had not yet been ordained. John E. Page was somewhere between Far West and Quincy, trying to get his family out of the state of Missouri. Thomas B. Marsh and Orson Hyde had committed acts of apostasy (Marsh being excommunicated the month before as a result of his actions), and William Smith was disaffected.
Joseph Smith, Sr.—Father Smith—still looking very frail after the wagon ride from Far West, was there as Patriarch to the Church. Many other leaders were also in attendance.
Satisfied that he had their total attention, Brigham reached down to the table and picked up a piece of paper. He opened it up, studied it for a moment, then set it down again. “Brethren, I think you know what I have before me.” Even if they didn’t, he didn’t wait for them to say so. “I have here the revelation given by the Lord on the eighth of July last, given to Brother Joseph in response to the request, ‘Show us thy will, O Lord, concerning the Twelve.’ ”
He picked it up again. “As you know, in this revelation the Lord said that the Twelve were to set out the following spring—which would be now—on a mission to England. The Lord further directed that we take our leave from the city of Far West, from the temple site, on the twenty-sixth day of April next, which is now just nine days away.”
He laid the paper down, then took the spectacles from his nose and began to rub them with the corner of his vest. A buzz of whispering and murmuring had exploded around him.
Father Smith was looking at him, dumbfounded. Only the other members of the Twelve were not surprised. Brigham finally replaced the spectacles and looked up. “Brethren, we are here to determine what your feelings are concerning this revelation.”
Instantly several hands shot up. Almost wearily, Brigham nodded at the nearest man. “Yes, Brother Barker.”
The man, sitting two or three rows behind Nathan, rose to his feet. “Are you suggesting that the Twelve ought to consider returning to Far West?” he asked in amazement.
“I think that’s what the revelation specified,” Brigham responded dryly.
“But . . .”
“But what, Brother Barker?”
“That revelation was given almost a year ago now. At that time we were at peace in Far West. At that time we thought we had finally escaped from our enemies and all would be well. We had food, and a militia to protect us. We had no idea that by this April we wouldn’t even still be in the state of Missouri.”
Several heads were bobbing, and Nathan was a little surprised at who was in agreement with Brother Barker’s sentiments. Brigham seemed faintly amused. “You’re right, Brother Karl. It would certainly have been helpful if the Lord could have seen the future when he gave that revelation to us.”
That won him a ripple of laughter and two or three cries of “Hear, hear!”
Barker lowered his head and bulled on. “Surely the Lord can’t expect you to return now. Surely he knows our conditions here. We can’t even find beds for our families! Joseph’s in prison. If you go and are . . .” He stopped, not daring to suggest it. “If we lose the Twelve, who will lead us then?”
The man beside him jumped up, not nearly so reticent. “You know what the reports are. The mob will be waiting for you if you try it. You’ll be murdered if you go back. Haven’t there been enough killings already?”
“Anyone else?” Brigham said, not responding to the warning.
The two men sat down, half angry that Brigham was unmoved. Joseph Smith, Sr., raised his hand.
“Father Smith,” Brigham said with great respect. “Do you have some feelings on the matter?”
Joseph’s father would be celebrating his sixty-eighth birthday in three months. His hair was a majestic white, and his tall frame still moved about with great dignity. But the physical and emotional demands placed upon him since the previous fall had ravaged him. His cheeks were gaunt, his eyes sunken. He moved slowly, and sometimes a shadow of pain darkened his eyes. It frightened Nathan in a way, for he saw some of the same signs in his own father. Their minds were still alert and their spirits strong, but some of the old fire had never been rekindled, and Nathan feared that it might never be again.
“Thank you,” Father Smith said, standing with some effort so he could face the group. Brigham sat down. “Thank you for your presence, brethren. It is a grand sight to see this many priesthood holders gathered together again.” He glanced at Brigham, then looked back at the group. “I am well acquainted with that revelation. I remember the day my son first read it to us. And I was thrilled to think that the Lord wanted the Twelve to go to England. We have already seen the fruits of the great work that Brothers Kimball and Richards and others did over there a couple years back.”
Nathan saw that John Taylor was nodding and thought he understood why. John Taylor had been converted in 1836 when Nathan accompanied Parley P. Pratt on a mission to Toronto, in Upper Canada. John Taylor had introduced them to Joseph Fielding and his two sisters Mary and Mercy. They were also converted. Then Joseph Fielding and his sisters wrote to their brother, James, who was a minister in Preston, England, and to other relatives also living in England. Letters coming back to Canada from the island nation expressed desires to learn more about the new religion. So when Heber C. Kimball, Willard Richards, Joseph Fielding, and others arrived in England in 1837—the first missionaries to cross the ocean in the new dispensation—seeds had already been sown for the harvest of converts that took place there over the next several months. Included in that harvest were two English boys, Derek and Peter Ingalls, whose conversion had proved to have such a profound effect upon the lives of the Steed family back in America.
“However,” Father Smith was continuing, “I think these brethren raise important questions. Conditions have changed. Obviously the Lord knew they would, but when conditions change, then the Lord’s requirements change too. I don’t think the Lord expects you brethren”—he had turned now and was looking at the Twelve—“to risk your lives simply so you can say you left from Far West. You can go to England from here. I think the Lord will accept your good will in place of the actual deed.”
“Amen!” someone murmured with great fervency.
Nathan leaned over to his father. “Do you agree with that, Pa?”
Benjamin was chewing on his lower lip. “I’m not sure.”
Nathan nodded. Neither was he. The fact that Brigham and his fellow Apostles were even considering returning to Missouri spoke volumes about their courage. On the other hand, the Church was in desperate need of their leadership.
Father Smith sat down again. The room quieted, everyone waiting to see how Brigham would respond to this old man who was so deeply revered. For several moments, Brigham just looked at him; then he stood again. “What you say has much wisdom, Father Smith.” Again there was a long pause. “However, I feel differently about the matter, as do the others of the Twelve. I should like them to speak now.”
By the time the four Apostles had finished, Nathan no longer had any doubts. Each one spoke quietly and briefly, but with solemn power. There was no boasting about what they could and would do. There was no sense of self-righteousness about them. It was obvious that they found the prospects disheartening. They had been there. They had families too. They knew what awaited them. But with that, they still bore sober testimony that they felt this was what the Lord expected of them. And if that was so, there was little else to discuss.
When the last Apostle sat down again, Brigham was up immediately. Now the group of priesthood holders was quiet. The mood was shifting, and Brigham could sense it. He glanced at Father Smith, then turned back to speak to the full group. “I still remember clearly one day back in Kirtland. I had come to the Prophet’s office on a matter of business. He was weighed down with many problems and responsibilities. The Church, and Joseph personally, was under constant pressure. It seemed like the Lord was making so many demands upon him that he could not possibly bear up under the load.”
There was a fleeting smile. It was just the tiniest bit rueful. “I made a comment to Joseph along those very lines. He looked up in surprise, then chided me a little. ‘Brother Brigham,’ he said, ‘I have learned something in the years since the Lord first called me to be his servant. I want you to remember it.’
“ ‘What?’ I asked him. ‘What lesson have you learned?’ ” Brigham’s voice had gone soft and thoughtful now. “I’ll never forget this. He leaned back in his chair and smiled up at me. ‘I have made this simple rule for myself: When the Lord commands, do it!’ ”
Brigham’s shoulders pulled back. “Brethren, I know not what awaits us in Missouri. But my brethren of the Twelve and I are inclined to follow Brother Joseph’s counsel. The Lord God has spoken. It is our business to obey, and if we do, the Lord will take care of us.” He let his eyes jump from face to face. “All those who feel they can sustain the Twelve in this decision, would you now indicate that by the voice of common consent.”
Nathan felt a thrill as every hand in the room came up along with his own. Some came up a trifle slower than others, but every hand was up.
Brigham was obviously pleased. “Thank you, brethren. We shall take our leave first thing in the morning in order to reach Far West in time for the appointed day.”
“Brother Brigham?”
The senior Apostle was standing by John Taylor. Both were listening to a conversation Wilford Woodruff was having with two of the brethren. Brigham turned, as did Brother Taylor. “Yes, Nathan?”<
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Nathan took a quick breath. He wished there were time to talk to Lydia about this. But there wasn’t. “I’d like to accompany you, if I could.”
One eyebrow rose.
Nathan rushed on. “I know I’m not one of the Twelve, and I know what you told Matthew about me staying with the family. But you’ll need some help on the trail. And besides, Matthew, Derek, and Peter are out there. Mother is very concerned. We’ll surely find them along the way somewhere, then I can help them on the return trip.”
Brigham gave Brother Taylor a quizzical look. “John, what do you think?”
Brother Taylor pursed his lips. “It would be well to have Nathan along with us, but this trip could be very dangerous.”
Brigham only nodded.
“I—” Nathan took a quick breath. “As you were speaking, I had a strong impression that I should accompany you.”
Brigham considered that, still not speaking. “You’re sure?” he finally asked.
“Only in my heart,” Nathan replied, forcing a weak grin. “It may take a day or two for my head to agree.”
Brigham reached out and clasped Nathan’s hand. “We leave at dawn.”
Jessica sat on the shore of the river, watching the muddy current move slowly by her. Spring runoff had started, and the mighty Mississippi had already risen a couple of feet higher than what it had been when they ferried across a month earlier. The water was dotted with flotsam. Tree limbs, weeds, pieces of wood, and now and then full tree trunks floated slowly by. She stared at them, half-mesmerized, glad for the chance to concentrate on something.
The tears were gone now, though her eyes felt red and swollen. The pain was subsiding too. But the hollowness, the emptiness, the complete desolation had not abated in the slightest. By the world’s standards, John Griffith had not been a particularly notable man. When he had first sent Newel Knight to propose marriage to her, she had been shocked deeply. She knew him slightly—he had stayed for about a month in Haun’s Mill before moving to Far West—but she had given little thought to the fact that he was a widower with two children. And certainly she had not thought about him as a marriage prospect. Jessica was a divorcée, having first been married to Joshua Steed in Independence, Missouri. In America, and especially out in the West, that carried considerable stigma for most women. It didn’t matter that the dissolution of the marriage was neither her fault nor her choice. The stigma remained, and Jessica had resigned herself to the fact that she would likely not marry again.
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