Immediately after the celebration, Joshua and Caroline started back for Quincy. Olivia begged to stay behind with her cousins, but Caroline insisted that she needed Olivia to help with Savannah. They were still getting their home in Quincy established, and Joshua was working day and night to get the business started. So promises of a quick return had to do for now.
That evening a little before sundown, Benjamin and Mary Ann had the first visitors to their new home. When they saw who it was, they immediately sent out back for Matthew to join them.
There were four visitors in all, and each one of them an ordained Apostle.
Brigham Young and Heber Kimball sat side by side. This was not surprising, for they had been close friends since Brigham had moved to Mendon, New York, in 1828 and become neighbors with the Kimballs. Both were thirty-eight, their birthdays not two weeks apart, which made them both about four years older than Joseph. They were a sharp contrast, these two. Both were laborers, craftsmen—Brigham a carpenter, joiner, and glazier, Heber a potter. But beyond that, the similarities ended. Brigham was about five feet ten inches tall and stocky in his physique. But when he stood, he tended to be stoop-shouldered, which made him seem shorter than he was. Heber, only slightly taller in actual inches, stood erect, almost stately and majestic. He was powerful of frame—his torso thick and strong from early years blacksmithing with his father—and beside him, Brigham looked almost slight of build. Heber’s eyes were nearly black and could pin a person with their flashing intensity. Brigham’s were a blue-gray and were most often mild—except when his temper was aroused, at which time they could darken into thundering storm clouds. Brigham’s hair was a reddish brown. It was full and straight, worn almost to the neck, where it turned under slightly. Heber was mostly bald. What hair he did have was black and worn thick. He let it grow down in thick sideburns that reached to the jawline. But different as they might seem, Mary Ann knew of no other two men who shared bonds as close as these two.
John Taylor and Wilford Woodruff were contrasts of a different sort, and considerably different from the two senior Apostles. They were only now becoming friends through their association in the Quorum, but before that they had barely known each other. Both were younger than Joseph Smith—Wilford by a little over a year, John Taylor by three years. They came from widely differing backgrounds. John Taylor had been born in England. He had emigrated to Canada when he was about twenty, and a few years later he married Leonora Cannon. It was there in Canada that Parley Pratt and Nathan Steed found the Taylors and brought them into the Church. John Taylor was almost regal in stature, with strong facial features, and he had a love for fine clothing. Brigham affectionately referred to him as their “dandy,” or sometimes called him “Prince John,” all of which Brother Taylor took in good humor. Together these qualities combined to give him an air of great dignity and respect. He spoke slowly and deliberately with a British accent that was softened little by his years in North America. Like Brigham, he was clean shaven and had a full head of hair, but his hair had a slight wave to it and was nearly silver now, even though he was barely over thirty. Basically quiet and more reserved by nature, John was a skilled wood turner and cabinetmaker, but he was also well educated and loved to read.
Wilford Woodruff was the shortest of the four, not more than five feet eight inches tall, but, like Heber, was powerful of build and a strong worker. His eyes were light blue and were the most arresting feature of the man. They were piercing, almost alive with power, and when he spoke, one could barely pull away from being drawn into their depths. His dark hair was thinning, and he was the only one of the four who wore a beard. He wore it Greek style, going around the bottom of his jaw and chin but leaving his face clean shaven. He had prominent cheekbones, and that, along with the beard, had a tendency to make his face look gaunt at times, especially when he was more somber. Mary Ann did not know him well, but in the few times she had been around him, she learned that this look was deceiving. His temperament was gentle and naturally cheerful. He easily forgave and was free of jealousy or misgivings about others. He dressed simply and lived simply. Both she and Benjamin were very impressed by the man and by his manner.
They visited briefly about the family and the new homes, then Brigham cleared his throat. He looked at Matthew. “Brother Joseph and the First Presidency came across the river the other day and had a meeting with the Twelve and some of the Seventies. Joseph is anxious that we prepare for our departure.”
“How soon?”
“As soon as possible. John and Wilford may get off right away. Heber wants to finish his cabin so his family can get out of that leaky lean-to they’re living in now. And I have to get my Mary Ann and the children settled as well. So he and I may be a little longer.”
Heber leaned forward. “But we are hoping to get away before the month is through.”
Good. Matthew understood full well what it meant for these married men to leave their families for a year or more, but he was ready, chomping at the bit, as they said.
“It was a wonderful meeting,” Brigham went on. “Joseph and the First Presidency blessed the new members of the Quorum, Brother Wilford and Brother George, as well as Brother Turley and some of our wives.”
The others were nodding in agreement with that. “It was indeed wonderful,” Wilford spoke up. “They promised us that if we are faithful we shall return to the bosom of our families again and that they will be cared for in our absence.”
Mary Ann reached out and laid a hand on Matthew’s arm. “I am pleased to hear that.”
“They also promised us,” Wilford continued, “that we should have great success on our missions and see many souls enter the Church as a seal on our ministry.”
Brigham was excited all over again in the remembering of it. He stood and began to pace as he spoke. “Joseph spoke to us. He gave us a key. That’s what he called it. A key! He said that no matter what befalls us—persecutions, afflictions, bonds, imprisonments, even death—we must see to it that we do not betray heaven, that we do not betray Jesus Christ, that we do not betray the brethren, that we do not betray the revelations found in the Bible, the Book of Mormon, or the Doctrine and Covenants. No matter what, we must remain faithful. That is the key.”
The room fell silent as the power of Joseph’s words flowed through his senior Apostle and into the room. Then suddenly Brigham straightened. “What are we doing? We should have Derek here to hear all this too. That was why we came.” He looked at Matthew. “We need to plan for our departure, and we also wanted to share some of Joseph’s instructions with those who are going to accompany us.”
“Then let’s go,” Matthew said. “Derek is just across the street. He’ll be pleased to see you.”
Brigham reached out and shook Benjamin’s hand. “It is good to visit with old friends.” Then to Mary Ann, “Have Nathan bring you and Lydia across the river sometime. My Mary Ann would love to see you again.”
“Phoebe as well,” Wilford spoke up.
“I will.”
It was several moments before the door opened to reveal Rebecca standing there. Matthew was surprised. It was barely dusk now, but Rebecca was in her nightdress, and there was no lamp or candles burning inside. With the one small window facing west, it was quite dark inside.
At the sight of the men with Matthew, Rebecca looked startled. “Oh,” she blurted. She pushed quickly at a strand of hair, then tucked another one back in place. “Good evening, Brother Brigham. Brother Heber.”
“Good evening, Sister Rebecca. Is your good husband at home?”
Matthew was still peering inside the cabin, puzzled at what he saw. “Is everything all right, Becca?”
There was movement in the corner and a faint moan. “Come in, brethren. It’s all right. Come in.”
Rebecca looked first at Matthew, then to Brigham, and finally to Heber. It was Heber who had converted and baptized Derek and Peter while he was on his first mission to England. He was almost like a father to the two boys
and considered Rebecca as if she were one of his own flesh and blood too. “He’s got the shakes,” she whispered.
“What?” Matthew blurted. He and Derek had been digging ditches until just a few hours ago. Derek had looked a little more tired than usual, but had said nothing.
Heber nodded solemnly, then stepped forward and laid his hand on Rebecca’s forehead. “You’ve got the fever too,” he declared.
She looked away, and then in a weak, barely audible voice, she answered. “Yes, I’m afraid I do.”
On Sunday, July seventh, three days following the visit of Brigham Young and his fellow Apostles to the Steeds, a meeting was called. Joseph’s charge and blessing to the Twelve five days earlier had stirred their hearts and strengthened their determination to leave as soon as possible. With Joseph’s blessing, they determined they would formally bid farewell to the Saints before departing for England.
The meeting lasted until about five-thirty that afternoon, and those present went away rejoicing. When Matthew and Jenny returned and reported on the meeting to Derek, now too weak to even rise from his bed, he was terribly depressed. He was certain the Twelve would have to leave without him. In reality, there was no need for him to worry about that, for the ague had begun its deadly work on both sides of the river. Brigham fell sick shortly after his return to Montrose. Wilford Woodruff returned to find his wife and baby critically ill. Within a few days of the meeting, virtually every member of the Twelve either was sick himself or had serious sickness rampaging through the family. Any plans for an immediate departure were forgotten.
Nor was the little Steed homesite and its four cabins spared. Derek was too weak to raise his head off the pillow. Rebecca was worsening and Lydia had to take baby Christopher and nurse him for her. The day after the Sabbath, Benjamin broke out in a cold sweat. By late afternoon he was huddled in bed, shaking violently. Then it moved to Nathan’s home. Their third child, little Nathan, was hit particularly hard and was gravely ill. Next, their own baby, Elizabeth Mary, started in with it and so Lydia had to pass Christopher on to Jessica. He would have to drink milk from a bottle as best he could. So far Jessica was spared, but Mark, her younger stepson, was in bed and barely moving, and what was a blow to everyone, Jenny and Kathryn McIntire came down with it next and could no longer help with the children.
By mid-July it had become an epidemic. It was as though the legions from some dark, foul place had been unleashed on the community, moving from house to house, from tent to tent, from open bedroll to open bedroll, touching old and young alike with their accursed plague. First it was dozens, then hundreds, then literally thousands who were stricken. The demons of the plague selected member and nonmember alike, but the Saints were particularly hard hit. There had been too many months of malnourishment, too many winter nights without heat, too many trips to polluted wells and dirty streams. Nauvoo, Montrose, Quincy—all up and down the Mississippi, the desolating sickness swept across the land.
Lydia stopped and peered at the scene that lay before them. She brushed a hand across her eyes, thinking that her vision was betraying her.
“Oh my heavens . . . ,” Jessica breathed.
They had heard that Joseph and Emma were taking some of the sickest of the Latter-day Saints into their home to care for them, but nothing had prepared them for what they were seeing now. The Old Homestead had a large yard, with grass that swept right down to the reeds along the riverbank. Now the yard had disappeared under a sea of sick humanity. This was what stopped Jessica and Lydia so abruptly. The house was surrounded by small tents, makeshift lean-tos, a few carts, and one or two wagons without covers. They took considerable space, but every inch not occupied by those temporary shelters was filled with blankets and quilts, bedrolls, sheets—anything that could provide some cover over the ground. There was hardly room to step between them. And on every bed, in every tent, stretched out in every wagon and lean-to were the sick of Nauvoo. It was like a vast, open-air hospital ward. People lay huddled together, cloths or towels pulled over their faces to ward off the sun. Some slept fitfully; others moaned softly; a few thrashed back and forth as the fever raged in their bodies. Here and there someone knelt beside the sickest ones, spooning broth into their mouths, or mopping a clammy brow with a wet cloth.
“I had no idea it was this bad,” Jessica murmured, her voice filled with a horrified awe as they walked slowly toward the cabin. Lydia just shook her head. The sight of all the suffering around her made her nauseated, and she reached out for Jessica’s arm.
“Are you all right?” Jessica asked anxiously, peering at the paleness of her face.
Lydia started to nod her head, but then she knew that bravery alone wasn’t going to do it. “I need to sit for just a moment,” she stammered.
Jessica took her by the elbow. “Let’s get you into the shade there by the house,” she said. Then as she started steering Lydia around and through the people, she saw Emma Smith. “Oh, there’s Emma. Over by the well.”
Emma was drawing up a pail from the well just east of the house. She saw them at the same moment they saw her, and one hand lifted in greeting. She immediately set the bucket down and came toward them.
“Come,” Jessica said to Lydia. “A drink will do you good.”
“Lydia,” Emma said as she came up to them, “are you all right?”
“It’s just the heat,” Lydia said, forcing a wan smile. Her head turned in spite of herself, and she feebly waved one hand toward the surrounding scene. “And . . . this.”
“Yes,” Emma said, brushing at a trickle of sweat just below the line of her hair. “It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?”
“There are so many,” Jessica said as they reached the step of the house and she helped Lydia sit down.
Emma walked quickly to the pail of water she had drawn. She got a dipper that was sitting on the edge of the well and filled it. When she came back, she handed it to Lydia and sunk wearily down on the step beside her.
Lydia drank deeply from the dipper, savoring every swallow. The water was cool and sweet and tasted wonderful. She felt herself begin to steady almost immediately. “Oh,” she sighed luxuriously, “that is good!”
“Yes, it’s a wonderful well.” Emma untied her bonnet, pulled it off, and let it drop to her lap. Jessica watched her with a little anxiety. Emma normally wore her lustrous black hair in thick ringlets at the back of her head. Now they were limp and almost shapeless in the heat and humidity. Her eyes were missing that vibrancy that was part of her natural beauty, and there were large dark circles beneath them. She looked exhausted.
“Here,” Emma said, taking the dipper and starting to rise, “let me get you one too, Jessica.”
Jessica snatched the dipper from her hand. “You sit right there,” she commanded. “I’ll get a drink for myself.”
A young sister whom Lydia recognized but couldn’t name came up beside them. She hung back, not wanting to interrupt. “What is it, Mary Beth?” Emma asked.
“Are there any more wet cloths?” she asked. “My husband says he is burning up.”
“I haven’t been inside for a while,” was the response. “See if there are any left in the kitchen. On the table.”
“Thank you.”
Jessica drained the dipper, then returned. She sat down on the grass in front of Lydia. “Where’s Joseph?” she asked Emma.
A shadow crossed Emma’s face and she looked away.
“Not Joseph too!” Lydia cried.
“Yes, last night. He can barely move.”
“We heard that it was Father Smith that was ill,” Jessica said.
Now Emma’s despair was almost total. “Him too,” she whispered. “We thought we had lost him yesterday.”
“And now?” Jessica asked.
“A little better, but still very bad. We are praying very hard for him. Thankfully, Mother Smith is doing better.” Lucy Mack Smith and her youngest daughter, also named Lucy, had come down with cholera shortly after arriving in Quincy, and b
oth had been very seriously ill for some time.
“What about your children?” Lydia inquired.
Emma bit her lower lip. “Young Joseph is just starting in with it. Little Frederick has been quite bad for two days now.” She looked out across the chaos around her, and then to no one said, “Sister Zina Huntington died last week.”
“No,” Jessica exclaimed. With their own illness consuming them, she had not heard that. So the deaths had begun.
“Will it never end?” Lydia burst out, feeling Emma’s burden as if it were her own.
Emma reached out instantly and laid a hand over Lydia’s. “It’s all right, Lydia. I’m doing all right.”
“Is Joseph in the house?” Jessica asked.
Emma smiled briefly, half in sadness, half in great love. “No, he’s in one of the tents out back. The two boys are with him.”
Jessica merely nodded. A woman had told her that Joseph had moved his family out into a tent to make room inside the house for the more desperately ill. Every bed, and most of the floor space, inside the house was quickly filled once the sickness began. Then they started putting the overflow in the yard around the house. It was not surprising to Jessica that Joseph would not reclaim his rights to his own house even though he himself was ill.
“Sister Smith! Sister Smith!”
They looked up. A man was near the corner of the house, beckoning frantically. “Come quick. It’s my wife.”
Emma nodded and lifted a hand. “I’ll be right there, Brother Barker.” She stood slowly, as if it cost her a tremendous effort of will. She looked down at Lydia. “It is so good to see you two. How are things with your families?”
Lydia looked away.
Jessica answered for her. “Nathan is down now. Little Nathan is very bad. The baby too.”
“What about Father Steed? Joseph heard that he was ill now too.”
“Very,” Lydia managed, fighting hard not to cry now. “He’s so weak. Mother Steed is down also. Even Matthew. But it’s Father Steed and little Nathan we are most worried about.” There was a pause and she looked away again. “We were hoping Joseph might come and give them a blessing.”
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