Will considered that, then nodded. “Aye, sir. I’ll let you know, sir.” He opened the door and stepped out, closing it behind him. For a moment he stood there; then he walked slowly down the passageway and out into the thick fog that hung over the ship.
Will looked out of the tiny porthole, the only source of light in the small room that served as the crew’s living area. The sky was definitely lighter. The fog was lifting. He dipped the pen in the inkwell, and wrote even more quickly than before.
I hope you can understand, Mother. Even if I had a choice, I would probably still choose to go with the captain. When Pa was alive, I thought I would be happy being in the freight business with him. But now that he’s gone, I couldn’t bear to go back to it. I have wondered what to do with my life. I know Mr. Montague has offered to bring me in with him on the plantation, but I find the thought of that not at all to my liking. I really do love the sea, and to be a ship’s captain by the time I am thirty. Where else could I get such an opportunity?
He looked up sharply. The sound of a boat’s whistle pierced the air. The steamer that would tow them up the Mersey River and into Liverpool was approaching. Writing furiously now, he finished:
Don’t hate me. I still miss Father terribly, and this may help me get it from my mind. I shall be returning in the fall of next year. Then, even if I choose to remain a sailor, I shall get shore leave and come and see you. I am excited about China. I can still remember back when we were living in Savannah. I heard sailors talk about China and dreamed that I might go there someday. Now I shall. Kiss Olivia and Savannah for me. I miss them terribly, as I do you. Be safe.
Your loving son,
Will
He picked up the blotter, rolled it across the page, folded the new sheet in with the other one, then stood up. The string was gone. He would have to leave that to the captain.
As he came out on deck, he saw immediately that the fog was thinned out to the point that he could see a hundred yards or more of water. Jiggers was standing right above him, beside Mr. O’Malley and Captain Sperryman at the wheel. Off the bow, the steamer from Liverpool was swinging around, coming in close enough to throw them her lines.
At the sight of Will, the bosun’s head jerked forward, his jaw jutting out. “Steed,” he screamed, “who told you you could spend the day getting your beauty sleep? Your ugly face is beyond help. Now, get amidships and help those men with the lines.”
“Aye, sir,” Will answered cheerfully. He stepped forward, reaching up toward the captain, holding out the letter with its latest additions. “Sir, could you mail this for me?”
The captain took it, his eyes narrowing. “I could.”
Will kept his face expressionless. “Could you read it and check my spelling?”
There was the tiniest flicker of understanding behind the somber countenance. “I could,” he said again.
“Thank you.”
Jiggers watched for a moment; then, satisfied they were done, he leaned forward. “You got pilings in your ear, Steed?” he roared. “Get yourself amidships, mister, or you’ll have midnight watch until the good Lord sees fit to make the sun shine in England again.”
“Aye, sir!” Will shouted back at him, then turned and trotted away.
Chapter Eight
As the Saints gathered for the third day of the conference on Monday morning, Joseph Smith was watching the incoming people. When he saw the Steeds, he motioned to his daughter and whispered something to her, pointing in their direction. She nodded, then walked quickly toward them. “Good morning,” she called as she came up to the family.
“Good morning, Miss Julia,” Mary Ann said warmly. “And how are you this morning?”
“Very well, thank you.” Julia was just barely eight. The Steeds had been part of the large assembly that gathered at the river to see her baptized by her father a few days before. She turned to Derek. “Brother Ingalls?”
“Yes?”
“Father would like to speak with you for a moment.” Then she looked at Matthew. “And you too.”
Derek looked at Rebecca in surprise, then shrugged. “All right.” He and Matthew fell in behind Julia as she trotted back to her father.
Joseph immediately pulled away from the people with him and came over to shake their hands. “Thank you, brethren. I’d like to visit with you for a moment, if we could.”
“Certainly, Brother Joseph,” Matthew said. “Is there something you need?”
He smiled, the blue eyes crinkling around the corners. “Well, actually it’s not me who needs it.”
“Who, then?” Derek said, thinking there might be a family in difficulty.
“The Lord.”
“The Lord?” Matthew blurted.
Joseph nodded soberly. He reached out and laid a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t have to leave until after the baby is born.”
Suddenly Matthew guessed what this was about. “Do you need us to go help some more people come to Quincy?” he asked.
Joseph laughed right out loud at that. “Well, in a manner of speaking.” Then slowly the smile died away. He turned his head and looked to where the family was waiting. All of them were looking in their direction with open curiosity. Joseph still had his hand on Derek’s shoulder. He squeezed it gently. “And dear Rebecca. Will she ever forgive me?”
“For what?” Derek asked. “Where do you need us to go?”
“Back to your native land.”
Derek’s jaw went slack and he gaped at the Prophet.
“What?” Matthew gasped. “To England?”
Joseph nodded slowly. “We’re going to ask a few brethren to accompany the Twelve. And who better, Derek, than a native Englishman who is as faithful as you?”
Derek was finding it difficult to catch his breath. “England?” he said softly.
“Yes. I feel quite strongly that you should go. Wait for the baby to come, then get your affairs in order and prepare to go with the brethren.”
“England!” Matthew breathed. “That’s wonderful, Derek! We’ll watch over Rebecca and the baby.”
A tiny smile played around the corners of Joseph’s mouth. “Not we, Matthew, they. They will take care of Rebecca and the baby.” As Matthew’s eyes widened, Joseph peered at him. “Normally we do not send brethren out on foreign missions until they have had a chance to preach locally first. And you are younger than normal. But Brother Brigham is insistent. He says he wants Matthew Steed ordained an elder and sent along with the Twelve.”
“I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
Again Joseph turned and looked toward where their family was waiting. He shook his head and frowned. “Not only am I going to have Rebecca angry with me, but now there’s going to be a pretty Irish lass who may never speak to me again either.”
He straightened, looking pleased. “Brethren, it’s time for us to begin the meeting. If you are of a mind to accept this call from the Lord, we’ll propose your names to the assembly.” A wry look stole across his face as they both nodded numbly. “You may wish to break the news to your family. That might be easier than hearing your names read out from the pulpit.”
They both just looked at him, their minds still sluggish with shock. He slapped them both on the shoulder and gave them a little shove. “Thank you, brethren,” he laughed. “I knew I could count on you.”
After supper, Jenny and Matthew excused themselves from the family and walked down along the river. At first, the conversation had steered away from the mission call, but it was inevitable that it would turn back to that. So finally Matthew looked at her. “I know it’s going to be difficult for you.”
She stopped, her chin coming up defiantly. “Is that what you think?” she exclaimed.
Matthew stopped now too, totally surprised. “What?”
She kicked a rock, sending it splashing into the water. “You think my testimony is that weak? I’m not one of those giddy girls that can’t bear to have her beau leave her.”
Matthew w
as amazed at her reaction. “Jenny, I . . . I was only trying to say it’s going to be hard for us—”
“No, not us,” she snapped. The Irish temper was getting a full head of steam now. “You said it would be hard for me.”
He couldn’t believe what he had triggered. “I’m sorry. What I meant was—” He shook his head. “Since Brother Joseph talked to us today, my head has been spinning. I’m not sure what I’m saying anymore.”
She rode right over it. “You really think I would try and talk you out of going?” There was a little explosion of disgust. “Don’t you know me better than that by now?”
He was in full retreat, frantically waving the white flag. “Jenny, I said I’m sorry.”
“You’re just saying that because I’m angry.”
Matthew stared at her for a moment, then threw up his hands in exasperation. “Of course I am! If you weren’t angry, there wouldn’t be anything to be sorry about.”
“Oh.” The simplicity of the logic took the wind right out of her sails.
Tentatively, he reached out and took her hand, and though she gave it to him reluctantly, she didn’t pull away. They walked on, past the ferry that was still shuttling across the river, past the last of the houses, and toward a spot where the willows and brush grew thick along the riverbank. Someone had cut a path through the tangle, and Matthew turned into it. It was narrow, and the overhanging growth was low enough that they had to bend over to pass.
About a hundred feet through the thicket, the path opened up onto a small clearing. Fifty feet across and surrounded on all but the river side with the thick undergrowth, it was as private as if they had the whole world to themselves. A huge cottonwood tree, uprooted by some long-ago flood, lay nearly parallel to the water. Matthew hopped up onto it, then reached down and pulled Jenny up beside him. He found a place where the bark had peeled off, leaving smooth, aging wood beneath it, and with a grand flourish motioned for her to sit down. “There you go, Miss McIntire. Your very own seat for what promises to be a spectacular sunset.”
She looked at the sky. He was right. There were long fingers of high clouds, the kind that were tinged with orange and then red as the sun went down. She curtsied. “Why, thank you, Mr. Steed.” She sat down. “What a pretty place,” she said, wrapping her arms around her knees.
“Thank you, madam.” He plopped down beside her and took her hand again.
Suddenly her eyes narrowed. “Is this where you bring all the girls?” She started to withdraw her hand.
He groaned inwardly. “You know better than that. You’re the first one.”
She jerked away. “The first? How many others will there be?”
He rolled his eyes, seeking mercy. “How come you keep setting a bear trap for me every time I say something?”
She looked at him for several moments, her eyes nearly hidden beneath the dark lashes. Then she dropped her head, her cheeks reddening. “Because I can’t believe every girl in Quincy isn’t chasing after Matthew Steed.”
“Really?” he laughed. “Shows how little you know. If they chase, I run.”
The light sprinkling of freckles darkened in contrast as her blush deepened. “You’re not running now.”
Are you chasing me? he nearly quipped, but his better judgment intervened in time. “No,” he said instead, “I’m not running now.”
She sighed and laid her head against his shoulder. “This really is a beautiful place. It reminds me of Ireland.”
“You can remember Ireland?” he asked in surprise. “I thought you came to America when you were still a little girl.”
“I was five. I don’t remember much, but I remember how green and beautiful everything was. You know, Ireland is just across the Irish Sea from England. Mother is so excited. She’s going to make a list of family members and give it to Brother Brigham in case some of the missionaries go there. She’s already written to her sister about the Church.”
A breeze stirred her hair and one lock fell down across her forehead. He hesitated, then reached up and pushed it back into its place. A sudden intensity came over him. “I’m going to miss you, Jennifer McIntire.”
Her eyes were suddenly glistening. “And I’ll miss you, Matthew Steed.” Embarrassed, she looked away. “Don’t you know that’s why I was angry with you?” she whispered.
“It was?”
“Of course. I have to be faithful and support you when you do what the Lord asks of you, but down deep, I already hurt so badly I want to double over and cry. So when you talked about it being difficult for me, I got angry with you.”
That slow grin that was so Matthew stole across his face. “Yes, that makes sense.”
She slapped playfully at him. Then they both grew serious again. Matthew reached out in wonder and laid his hand against her cheek. “Jenny, I’ve been thinking a lot about you.”
“Yes?”
“This isn’t just because of what happened today.”
“What were you thinking, Matthew?”
He searched her eyes, then slowly, shyly, almost so hesitantly that for a moment Jenny thought he was going to lose his courage, he leaned over and kissed her gently on the lips. She reached up and laid her hand over his and kissed him back.
“About what, Matthew?” she asked again, a little breathlessly.
His shoulders straightened. “There’s a lot of young men that might take a fancy to a beautiful Irish girl.”
“Go on!” she said, truly startled by the unexpected compliment.
“Well, you are beautiful. And a year is a long time.”
“Will it be only a year?” she asked plaintively.
“Brigham thinks so. But that doesn’t count the time coming and going.”
“I don’t know if I can bear it.”
“Well, I can’t bear the thought of coming back and finding someone else has stolen you away from me.”
She shook her head emphatically. “You can stop worrying about that right now.”
“Well, what if we were . . .” He stopped, groping for the right word.
“What if we were what?” she asked, her eyes wide.
“Well, suppose we were promised. Then when I returned, well, we could . . . I mean . . . But that would only be if you wanted to be. If you’d rather be free, I’ll understand. It’s just that—”
She clamped her hand over his mouth. “In Scotland they have a word. We use it in Ireland too.”
“What is it?”
“Jo.”
“Jo?”
“Yes, jo. J-O. Jo.”
“What does it mean?”
Again her cheeks flamed and she had to look away. “It is used only of a woman. Here you talk about being promised. Over there, a boy asks a girl if she would be his jo.”
“So what does it mean?” he asked again.
Now she looked at him squarely. “It means sweetheart, darling, a woman who is beloved.”
“Really?” he asked.
She took his hand again. “Do you remember what my full name is?”
He hadn’t thought of it for some time, but he did remember. “Jennifer Jo McIntire,” he said in wonder.
“Yes.”
Now very sober, he took both of her hands. “So will you be my jo, Jennifer Jo?”
There was a demure lowering of her chin. “Yes, Matthew. I would like that very much.”
For a long moment he just stared at her, his eyes grave. Then to her surprise he got slowly to his feet. He turned to face the river, tipped his head way back, cupped his hands to his mouth, and hollered, “Ya-hoooo!”
From somewhere behind them a flock of birds exploded upwards, screeching angrily. When he turned back, Jennifer was laughing up at him. “You’re crazy,” she said.
“I am,” he admitted. He reached down and pulled her up to face him. He kissed her soundly once, then again. “Come on, Jennifer Jo,” he grinned. “We’d better get back.”
Matthew and Derek were carrying things out to the wagon. They weren’t lea
ving for Commerce until the next day, but the packing was under way. The older children streamed in and out of the house, bringing the lighter items. Not that moving was going to be much of a challenge. Most of their belongings had been either ruined or plundered during the fall of Far West. All but one or two pieces of the furniture they were using now came with the rented house.
“Uncle Matthew?”
He looked down. Six-year-old Emily had a pile of dish towels and was holding it up toward him. Her dark eyes were troubled. “How can you make the wagon go without horses?”
He smiled as he took the towels. “The team is still in the pasture, Emmy. We’re not leaving until tomorrow.”
“Oh.” It was as if he had taken a great worry from her shoulders. Noticeably brighter, she turned and ran back into the house.
Her cousin Rachel watched her go and then handed up a small box filled with a few of her mother’s dishes. Originally the full set of dinnerware had been purchased by John Griffith for his first wife. When she died and he remarried Jessica Roundy Steed, he had given it to her. Now John was dead, and only a few pieces had been spared by the mob at Haun’s Mill. Derek took the box and stowed it carefully between a pile of bedding. Jessica had precious little. It wouldn’t do to break any of it. When he turned back, Rachel was still watching him. Though she was Jessica’s daughter in temperament—quiet, thoughtful, sensitive—her ties to her natural father, Joshua Steed, were evident. Her hair was long and dark brown, almost black except in full light. It hung down in natural ringlets which only recently were gradually starting to straighten somewhat. “Derek?”
“Yes, Rachel?”
“Will we have a house up in Commerce?”
He laughed lightly. “There won’t be one waiting for us, but yes, we’ll build homes once we get there. We will—”
He straightened, staring down the street. Rachel turned, lifting a hand to shade her eyes. Matthew saw them and turned as well. “What?” he said. Three wagons were rumbling up the road toward them. It was the lead driver they were all looking at.
“Well, I’ll be!” Derek exclaimed.
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