So John’s shy proposal of marriage had caught her completely by surprise. She had finally agreed for mostly practical reasons. He was a good man, a hard worker, an honest, decent person. Rachel needed a father. John’s two boys needed a mother. It would mean she wouldn’t be totally dependent on her own resources any longer.
So when love came, it was almost a shock. She thought she had loved Joshua when they were first married. But what developed between her and John was so much richer, so much deeper, so much finer. It had left her filled with wonder. And now all that was gone. John was gone.
The last two weeks had been the worst. In the wild flight from Haun’s Mill and the deadening months of the desperate struggle for survival that followed, there hadn’t been much time for grieving. There had been the recurring nightmares—her on tiptoes, her mouth open in a silent scream; John walking into the blacksmith shop with Amanda Smith’s husband and sons, talking amiably, not seeing the wall of horsemen thundering toward them—but there had been no time to actually sit down and consider her loss, to let the impact of that wash over her. Compelling circumstances simply pushed that luxury aside. But now they were here. There was safety. There was time to sit in the sun and remember the times with John. And it was devastating her.
She reached down and picked up a foot-long stick at her feet. It had been polished clean by the scouring action of the water and bleached almost white by the sun. Some previous flood had deposited it this high on the riverbank to sit alone, waiting its time when the currents would rise once more, snatch it up, and send it on again.
Suddenly her vision blurred anew. Angrily, she leaned back and threw the stick hard away from her. It arched up, catching the sunlight for a moment, then plummeted downward. There was a soft plop and it disappeared. After a moment it bobbed to the surface again. It spun slowly once, caught in one of the swirling eddies. Then, picking up speed as the faster current took it, it moved away from her. Through hooded vision she watched it go, almost wanting to call out to it, to wish it well as it started alone on the long journey to that vast ocean that awaited it.
It came as no surprise at all to Jessica to see Mary Ann sitting on the porch. The sun was down now, but the western sky was still light. How long she had been sitting there, waiting for Jessica to return from her blind flight from the family, Jessica could only guess. Jessica felt a great warmth come over her at the sight. She had lost her own mother when she was a young girl. But no daughter could ever have felt more love for her own mother than Jessica felt for Mary Ann, nor could any daughter and mother have been closer.
Mary Ann stood as Jessica walked slowly up. Nothing was said. She simply opened her arms and Jessica stepped into them. For almost a minute they stood there, content to feel the safety of each other’s affection.
Then finally, without pulling back, Jessica spoke. “Mother Steed?”
“Yes?”
“I think it’s time I occupy myself with something of importance. What would you think if I were to try to get a school started again?”
Mary Ann pulled back to look at her.
“Now that the weather’s turning, we could hold it outside until we find a place to live.”
Mary Ann held her at arm’s length. Her eyes were moist and filled with compassion. “I think that would be a wonderful thing, Jessie. A wonderful thing.”
Chapter Notes
Joseph and the other four prisoners with him were allowed to escape on April fifteenth/sixteenth as they were in the process of being transferred to Boone County, Missouri, on a change of venue. The state of Missouri was under tremendous political pressure because of its handling of the Mormon situation. Many officials also saw that the legal basis for the incarceration of the Church leaders was no more than the thinnest of veneers, and that only further embarrassment could result from pressing the matter. According to Hyrum, one of the guards actually helped them saddle the horses. Two brethren rode while the other three went on foot. And thus, wrote Hyrum, “we took our change of venue for the State of Illinois.” When Sheriff Morgan and his men returned to Daviess County and reported that Joseph Smith had escaped, the citizens were furious. The sheriff was ridden on a rail. William Bowman, a previous sheriff, was also accused of complicity in the prisoners’ escape and was dragged around the main square of Gallatin by the hair of his head. (See HC 3:320–22.)
Brigham’s determination to return to Far West in obedience to the revelation is documented in several places (see American Moses, p. 71, Restoration, p. 434). The five Apostles and Alpheus Cutler (who, as master workman for the Far West Temple, accompanied the Apostles in order to fulfill a commandment relative to that temple) left Quincy on the morning of April eighteenth. This was two days following the escape of Joseph and the other prisoners. The two parties passed each other somewhere en route, but Joseph and his companions stayed off the main roads to escape detection and they did not meet the Apostles as the latter journeyed westward.
Joseph’s “Do it” rule is recorded in his history (see HC 2:170). The conversation in which Joseph tells Brigham of that rule is the author’s device.
Chapter Four
Melissa Steed Rogers walked slowly among the headstones. The guilt was pushing at her, chiding her for not hurrying along, but she wouldn’t give in to it. Not yet, anyway. She knew she would have to very soon. It was nearing four o’clock, and she had promised Carl’s mother that she would be no later than half past three. Her mother-in-law tired of the children more quickly now that she was getting older. And Sarah would be getting hungry. Melissa didn’t need a clock in the store window to tell her that. Her body was making it clear enough. And that meant trouble. For a five-month-old, Sarah Rogers had a lusty appetite, and a pair of lungs that soon let everyone know if she was being badly mistreated.
The sewing club had gone overtime and she had been moving swiftly toward Carl’s parents’ house, thinking only of Sarah. Then she came to the cemetery. Her pace slowed, then stopped altogether. To her own surprise, she turned and went in. Why, she wasn’t sure. She passed this way three or four times a week. Maybe it was having been so recently with her family in Illinois. Maybe it was seeing all those Latter-day Saints again—muddy, hungry, sick, cold. But not beaten. She had seen that in their eyes. They may have been driven out of the state of Missouri, but they were not beaten. Even Carl had commented on it. But for whatever reason, she wandered slowly around the cemetery, looking at the gravestones.
Eight years ago her family had moved to Kirtland from Palmyra. Eight years made for a lot of memories. The grave markers brought them flooding back. There were the two small slate slabs which marked the burial site of Emma Smith’s twin babies, who died within hours of their birth. Melissa suddenly wondered if John Murdock’s wife was also buried here. She had died giving birth to twins the day after Emma gave birth to hers, and John Murdock gave his twins to Emma. Close by, a larger marker stood over the grave of Jerusha Barden Smith, Hyrum’s first wife. And there, there was the marker for Thankful Pratt, Parley’s wife—miraculously healed of consumption by a blessing from Heber Kimball, then dying a year or so later within hours after giving birth to their first child, a son. Melissa had stood very near this spot and wept during the funeral.
Across the street the great temple loomed above her. She remembered weeping that day as well—that day she had so desperately wanted to go to the dedicatory services with her family. But by then Carl was getting bitter about the Mormons and she had stayed home to maintain peace.
Melissa turned slowly until she faced northward. She could see the back end of the second house north of the cemetery. She didn’t know who owned it now. Didn’t care. It had been the home of Joseph Smith, Sr.—Father Smith, Patriarch to the Church. It was the home where Melissa had come five years earlier to attend a “blessing meeting” and get her patriarchal blessing.
Melissa spun around and walked swiftly out of the cemetery. Carl’s mother was waiting. Sarah was waiting. But she had to do something first. Do
wn in the trunk at the foot of her bed, folded neatly in her Book of Mormon, if she remembered correctly, that blessing was waiting. She hadn’t taken it out in nearly two years. Now she felt a great urgency to read it again. And Carl’s mother and little Sarah would just have to wait a few minutes longer.
“Carl?”
Carlton Rogers looked up from where he was poring over a book that contained a description and line drawings of a new line of carriages being manufactured in Pittsburgh. “Yes?”
Melissa had some flax in her lap and was carding it out into long, smooth strands. Her hands stilled. “Carl, I . . .” She smiled, suddenly overwhelmed by love. “I’ve never really told you what it meant to me that you would take me to see my family.”
He seemed a little surprised. “You told me.”
“I did?” she answered, a little sheepishly.
“Yes, several times.”
She laughed, then shook her head. “No,” she replied. “I said thank you. I told you I appreciated your willingness to do that for me. But—” Her voice caught and she had to swallow quickly. “But I never really told you how important it was to me. I know how your parents felt about us going, especially with the baby. But I was worried sick about my family. I didn’t know if they were alive or dead. I—” She took a quick breath; then more steadily, she finished. “It’s the most important thing you’ve ever done for me, Carl. And I love you for it. More than I can say.”
Completely caught off guard by that, he laid the book down and turned to face her squarely. “Well, thank you. What brought this on all of a sudden?”
Her thoughts leaped to the folded paper that now lay in the bottom of her dresser drawer. “I . . . I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about it all day. And I wanted to tell you.”
“Oh.” He was still searching her face, but finally, he turned back to his catalog.
Melissa watched him, the flax forgotten now. His face was in profile, the lamplight behind it. She thought of that summer day when she had seen him for the first time. She was down by the river behind the Newel Whitney store. He had come up on her quietly, taking her by surprise. Her first impression had not been that he was particularly handsome. He was only a few inches taller than her own five feet five inches. His hair was red, his face freckled, his skin sunburned. The grin had been almost impudent and challenging. But she had quickly forgotten that first impression, and after only about two months had passed he had come to her father and asked for her hand in marriage.
And now they had four children.
“Carl?”
“Hmm.” He didn’t look up this time.
“Have you ever . . . ?” She stopped. This could be dangerous ground.
“What?” He still wasn’t looking at her.
“Have you ever wanted to do something different with your life?”
His head jerked up. “What?”
The look on his face completely flustered her. “Nothing,” she stammered, “I was just . . . I was just talking.” She picked up the flax and began stroking the comb through it vigorously.
“No,” he persisted. He closed the catalog and tossed it aside, all thoughts of carriages forgotten now. “I want to know what you said.”
Not quite daring to look at him, she spoke from beneath lowered lashes. “I was just thinking about how you and Joshua got to talking that one night, about some of your ideas. I thought I sensed a little wistfulness in you then, that’s all.” When he just continued to stare at her, she rushed on. “I mean, you’re the oldest son. From the time you were small you’ve worked at the stable with your father. You’ve never known anything else, so . . . I just wondered,” she finished lamely.
He pushed back his chair and turned it around so it faced her directly. “Have you been talking to Pa?”
Now it was she who was surprised. “No. About what?”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” she cried in exasperation. “Talking to him about what?”
“William and David.”
Now she was really baffled. William and David were Carl’s brothers, the two just younger than him. They worked with Carl at the livery stable. “What about them?”
He leaned back, still not sure this was all coincidental. “You know, they were glad to see me go west with you, I think. I think they wish they had more say in running the stable.”
“Oh.” Melissa was stunned.
“Sometimes—” He stopped, then sighed wearily. Hardly conscious of what he was doing, he reached out and took her hand. “Do you think Joshua is happy, Melissa?”
Her eyes widened perceptibly. “Joshua? Why, yes, I do.”
“I do too. What he is doing is really exciting. Freighting, shipping goods by riverboat, bringing in cotton from the South, partners in a textile mill in St. Louis.”
Melissa had to fight not to stare at him. Choosing her words carefully, she went on. “Yes, I think Joshua finds great satisfaction in what he is doing.”
“Yes. And you can tell he’s prospering very much too.”
She looked at him through lowered eyelids. “I think you could be very good at doing something like that, Carl,” she ventured softly.
He looked at her, but made no response. He was lost in his own thoughts. Then abruptly he said, “Well, I’ve got to make a decision on one of these carriages.” He turned back to the table and opened the book again.
For the next two or three minutes, Melissa forced herself to concentrate on carding the flax, but she couldn’t keep her eyes from constantly rising to stare at her husband. Finally she could bear it no longer. She knew that wisdom’s way would be to let it rest for a time, but then, this opportunity might not come again soon. She folded her work up and set it aside, then stood and walked over to stand behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders and began to massage them. He didn’t look up, but she could tell he had stopped reading.
“Carl?”
“What?”
“What if you wrote Joshua?”
Once again his head jerked up. “Write to him? What would I say?”
She shrugged, trying to keep her voice casual. “Oh, I don’t know. Just write to him. Tell him how things are going here.”
He shook his head with quick, abrupt jerks, and she knew instantly that he was right. What was there to say? He would never propose something like what she was thinking.
She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. “Just a thought. Well, I’m going to get ready for bed.”
“All right. I’ll be just a few more minutes here, then I’ll be up.”
She nodded and moved away. As she reached the stairs, she stopped again. Keeping her voice in a half-musing tone, she said, “I’ve got to write Caroline and thank her for all she did for me and Sarah while we were out there.”
He turned to look at her. She took a quick breath. “Would you mind if I just mentioned some of this to her?” She went on hastily. “I’d be very careful about what I said.”
For what seemed like forever, Carl peered at her, his brow half-furrowed. Then, to her amazement and delight, he shrugged. Trying to be as nonchalant as she had been, he said, “No, I suppose that would be all right.”
She could have shouted out loud, but she just nodded. “I’ll do that tomorrow.”
Once inside her bedroom, Melissa shut the door quietly. She went right to the dressing table, opened the drawer, and removed the patriarchal blessing. Moving slowly to the bed, she opened the paper and smoothed it against her leg. Her eyes dropped to the one paragraph she had read so many times earlier that afternoon.
Sister Rogers, one of the great blessings of your life has been the family of your birth. Like Nephi, you have truly been born of goodly parents, and they have been like a shield and a refuge for you. Draw near to them. Do not let those family bonds come undone, and they will prove to be a blessing to you and to your children and to your children’s children. Your father is a noble bearer of the priesthood. Your mother is a woman of great faith. They
have much to give to you and much to give to your children. Stay close to them. Learn from them. Care for them in their needs.
She folded the paper carefully, then dropped to her knees beside the bed. Listening with one ear for Carl’s footsteps in the hall, for the first time in many months she began to pray.
Emma sat back, her heart pounding a little, not daring to hope or believe. “Tell me again, Don Carlos. Start right from the beginning and tell me everything again.”
Joseph’s youngest brother took a deep breath. He was not impatient. He fully understood what this meant to his sister-in-law.
“All right,” he began, talking more slowly now, fighting the temptation to let it all come out in a great rush as he had the first time. “As you know, a while ago my father sent Brother Lamoreaux to Missouri to see if he could get any word of Joseph’s and Hyrum’s whereabouts. Then Mama and young Lucy got very ill.”
Emma nodded. They had not known if Mother Smith was going to live through her bout with cholera. It had been a frightening time for the family.
“Then earlier today, Brother Isaac Morley and Bishop Partridge came to the house to inquire if my parents had had any word from Brother Lamoreaux. They had not, but even as they were speaking with my mother, word came to the house that Brother Lamoreaux had returned but had had no luck in getting any word of our brothers. That, of course, was a great disappointment to everyone. Bishop Partridge was in despair. He said that he would go himself and not return until the information was obtained.”
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