Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Amen!” someone grunted. “Glory be!” shouted another.

  Will poked Jiggers. “I’d say every day saved is a blessing ten times over. I’m ready!”

  Jiggers nodded, then turned back to the captain. “Question, Cap’n.”

  “Yes, Jiggers?”

  “What’s the cargo?”

  The captain smiled. “Mormons.”

  Will stiffened as if he had been struck from behind by a loose spar.

  “Mormons?” Jiggers drawled, looking puzzled. “What’s that?”

  “Not ‘What’s that?’ ” Sperryman laughed. “ ‘What’s them?’ It’s some kind of a religious group. We’ll have two hundred passengers—all of them Mormons—and we’ll be carrying them across to America. The whole lot of them are leaving England for good.”

  “But what’s a Mormon?” someone else called out.

  Sperryman shook his head. “Don’t ask me. Ask Steed. He knows what Mormons are all about, don’t you, Steed?”

  But Will wasn’t there. Sperryman turned in surprise. Half running, half stumbling, Will was just reaching the end of the alley. He plunged into the street, not looking back.

  “I don’t understand this, Steed. These are English Mormons. They’ve never been to America. They didn’t have anything to do with the death of your father.”

  Will stood at attention and stared at the bulkhead over the head of the captain. “Sir,” he said again, “I would like to request permission to stay on as crew for the Bostonia.”

  The captain sighed in frustration. “Even though it means staying here a week longer? Maybe more?”

  “Sir, I would like to request permission to—”

  Sperryman slammed his fist down against the desk in his cabin. The inkwell jumped half an inch. So did Will. “Confound it, man! I want to know why.”

  “Sir, I have deep feelings about this religion and the people who are foolish enough to join it. I want nothing to do with them.”

  “And you feel so strongly about it that you are willing to leave this crew?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. I’m sorry, sir.”

  Tipping back in his chair, Sperryman shook his head. “Well, let me tell you something, mister. The captain who’s taking over our ship is fairly new. The company’s worried about me taking all the experienced crewmen away from him, and so—”

  “A good reason for me to stay on with him, sir,” Will cut in.

  “And so,” Sperryman said again, his eyes hardening in warning, “I have agreed to send O’Malley as first mate with the new captain.”

  “You have?” That would be a disappointment for Will if he ended up not getting permission to stay on the Bostonia as well. Will liked O’Malley very much.

  “Yes. That means I’ll be making Jiggers first mate on the North America.”

  “Oh, good.” And then the implications of that hit Will.

  “That’s right,” Sperryman said, almost smiling now. “I’ll be needing a bosun. And you’re it.”

  Will started, gaping at the man. Sperryman had promised him he’d do that someday, but Will hadn’t dreamed it would come this quickly.

  “That’s right, mister. I know people are going to think I’m crazy.” He looked at the ceiling. “A sixteen-year-old as bosun.” He looked back at Will. “But I have no choice. Permission to stay with the Bostonia is denied. Dismissed.”

  Dazed, thrilled, bitterly disappointed, Will turned away. As he reached the door, Sperryman spoke again. “Will?”

  He turned back. “Yes, sir?”

  “These Mormons have booked passage all the way to New Orleans, then they’ll go upriver to wherever the Mormons are. That means we’ll be stopping at Savannah. You won’t have to find your own way down there from New York.”

  “I can find my own way, sir,” he said stubbornly.

  “Will,” Sperryman said, shaking his head, “your mother is waiting for you, son. She’s been waiting nearly two years now. Don’t make me throw you in that storage locker again to get you back to her.”

  Will let his breath come out in a long, slow exhalation. “No, sir,” he finally said. He spun around and reached for the door, but again he stopped, this time not turning around. “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “With your permission, sir, I know the crew is not allowed to mingle with the passengers except for the officers.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Am I considered an officer?”

  “You are, yes.” He smiled. “Younger than most, but yes.”

  “I’ll not be taking that privilege, sir, if it’s all right with you.”

  Sperryman grunted, his face expressionless. “That’s your affair, Steed.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Abigail Pottsworth began to cry as she threw her arms around Derek’s neck and kissed him on the cheek. “Good-bye, Derek. We shall count the minutes until we can see you again.”

  “Good-bye, Sister Pottsworth. Remember now, the moment you step off that boat at Nauvoo, you give Peter a great big hug from me.”

  “I will. I will.”

  Matthew turned to Jenny and started to stick out his hand. He stopped, dumbfounded. Jenny Pottsworth was crying too. Jenny Pottsworth, who was so sure of herself, so controlled. Not sure how to deal with that, he fumbled awkwardly for his handkerchief, then thrust it toward her. She took it with an angry little jerk. “I’m sorry,” she snapped. “I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I never cry.”

  Matthew smiled. “It’s all right, Jenny. You’re leaving your home. You’re leaving your country, probably for the last time. It’s all right to cry.”

  She wiped her eyes, then shoved the handkerchief back at him. “I never cry,” she said again, sniffing away the last of her emotions. Now she stuck out her hand.

  Matthew took it and shook it firmly. “Have a safe voyage.”

  She didn’t let go. The tears were swimming along the bottom of her eyes again. “I know what Brother Brigham says about the practice of kissing the missionaries, but I think one farewell kiss on the cheek would be all right, don’t you?”

  The answer came, but not from Matthew. Brigham Young and Willard Richards were just passing behind them, walking with John and Jane Benbow. Brigham paused, smiling. “The answer is yes, Sister Pottsworth, if the kiss is only on the cheek and of considerable brevity.”

  “Thank you, Brother Brigham,” she murmured. She went up on her toes and brushed Matthew’s cheek with her lips. “Good-bye, Matthew.”

  “Good-bye, Jenny,” Matthew said awkwardly. This had really caught him off guard. He was five years her senior. He raised a hand, blushing somewhat. “Godspeed.”

  “Better get aboard,” Brigham called out, looking down the line of people moving slowly toward the gangplank. “They want all passengers aboard so they can assign them berths.”

  Derek gave Jenny a quick hug. “Good-bye, Jenny. Promise that you’ll give our love to all the family.”

  She picked up her case. “We will,” she cried, getting into line behind her mother and moving off. “We will.”

  Brigham came back down toward them, then stopped. “Derek?”

  “Yes, Brother Brigham?”

  “Willard and I have decided we shall stay on board the ship tonight with our members and then ride out with the steamer tomorrow. We shall be back when the steamer returns.”

  Derek nodded. “Would you like us to wait for you, or go on back to Manchester?”

  “Oh, I think go on back. We won’t be back until late tomorrow afternoon or early evening.”

  “We’ll do it.”

  Will Steed deliberately stayed on the starboard side of the ship, as far away from the dock area and the gangplank as he could. When the first of the passengers came up the gangplank and looked around in bewilderment, he curtly showed them the way to the steerage compartment, then turned his back on them. They were queued up, as the English would say, and would follow each other down to the berths without someone nursemaiding th
em the whole way. He saw the men in suits—obviously some kind of leaders—come aboard and go directly to talk with the captain. One seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he shrugged that off. He had been to Far West enough times, but he knew no Mormons here in England. Backing away, he found something to keep himself occupied.

  As the emigrants streamed aboard, he listened to their mindless chatter with growing irritation. They were so filled with excitement. He heard the word Zion two or three times. A husband and a wife were going on about what they would do when they first saw Joseph Smith. The awe in their voices sent shivers of horror up and down his spine. They were like sheep lined up for the shearer, and rejoicing in being taken.

  Down deep, Will knew he was being irrational and unfair. After all, he had found out in that St. Louis warehouse that it wasn’t the Mormon Danites who had killed his father and burned their house down. But once seeds of hatred got planted in the soul, they easily flourished, and rooting them out wasn’t all that simple. And it was the whole Mormon situation which had led his father to his death. It didn’t much matter who actually pulled the trigger.

  “Hey there, missy, look lively now. Watch your step there.”

  Will half turned. He needn’t have. That honeyed voice could belong to only one person. John Wolsey, barely twenty and one of the younger deckhands, fancied himself to be quite the ladies’ man. He was always off the ship and looking for the nearest brothel before the anchor had fairly settled in whatever harbor they were in. Will didn’t like him and he didn’t like Will. But now Will was the bosun, and directly over John Wolsey in authority.

  He started to turn away again, then stopped. Wolsey had singled out a young woman carrying a small trunk that was obviously heavily loaded. She was staggering slightly with the weight. Wolsey had come to stand beside her. At that moment, she turned to look at her would-be helper. Will couldn’t help himself. He simply stared at her. She was about his own age, maybe a little younger, and very lovely. Long flaxen hair that now, in the sunlight, looked like spun gold. Wide blue eyes that surveyed the ship with open curiosity. A slim waist. Very pleasant features. She smiled and her whole face was transformed into something totally enchanting. With an effort, Will pulled himself away, his brow lowering. She was also a Mormon.

  “Here.” Wolsey was positively oozing now. “Let me help you with that case. What’s your name, missy? John Wolsey at your service, ma’am.”

  Will spun around, the anger exploding inside him. He strode across the deck. Wolsey’s back was to Will as he reached out and took the trunk from the girl’s hand. Coming up right behind him, ignoring the startled look on the girl’s face, Will leaned over until his mouth was right next to the deckhand’s ear. “Drop that trunk, mister!” he snarled.

  Wolsey jumped, and the trunk fell to the deck with a heavy crash.

  “Ow!” The girl fell back, hopping about and holding her leg. The case had caught her a glancing blow, and Will saw that there was a small tear in her dress. He felt a momentary stab of guilt, but bored in on Wolsey. “You’ve got work to do, Mr. Wolsey. Now, hop to it, or take the midnight watch for the next three weeks.”

  Wolsey was backing away, head down in the face of Will’s fury. “Yes, sir. Aye, sir.” He turned and fled.

  Will turned back, and picked up the trunk. He thrust it toward the girl, whose face was twisting with the pain. “Sorry,” he said curtly. Then he couldn’t help but add, “Passengers handle their own baggage on this ship.”

  He saw the shock in her eyes, then the anger. She dropped her hands to her side, refusing to take the case back from him. Her mouth set into a tight line and the blue eyes darkened. An older woman right behind her came up beside her. “Jenny, what’s the matter?”

  Will wasn’t about to play games with her. He set the trunk down heavily and spun on his heel. He got only about four steps away. “I was handling my own baggage,” she snapped. “Thank you very much for getting my trunk back from your crew.”

  He didn’t stop or turn around, just stalked away. Two other members of the crew had watched the whole thing and were staring at him in amazement. He shot them one blistering look and they hurriedly turned back to their work as he walked by.

  The sun was well up in the eastern sky as they finally approached the mouth of the river and the steamer started out into the open sea. The passengers, still bubbling with excitement, were mostly on deck now, lining the rails and pointing things out to one another. With little to do until they got under way on their own power, Will stayed aft, near the back of the ship, trying to keep busy. Now he was re-coiling rope into neat stacks. Let them have their excitement, he thought grimly. The first of the Atlantic swells were already starting the boat slowly rocking. Get out to sea and we’ll see how excited they are.

  His hands stopped moving over the ropes as he saw a figure break away from the railing. It was the girl. She was looking around, as if searching for something. He ducked his head quickly as she saw him. He kept his head down and concentrated on the task, but out of the corner of his eye he saw that she was coming straight for him. He nearly dropped the rope and walked off, but he was already feeling guilty. He had treated her very badly, and he knew it was simply his way of taking out his frustrations. So he straightened slowly and waited.

  She walked right up to him without hesitation. He winced inwardly as he saw that she limped slightly. “May I speak with you, sir?”

  He glanced around, looking in the direction of the captain.

  “It’s all right,” she said dryly, “I’ve already spoken with the first mate and have his permission.” The blue eyes were crackling with a touch of fire now.

  His eyes widened perceptibly. “You have?”

  She nodded, quickly and curtly. “I have.”

  “I . . . I’m sorry about what happened. I didn’t mean to make him drop that case on you.”

  Somewhat mollified by that, her mouth softened. “I see,” she said. Her accent was rich and totally British. “And just what did you mean to do?”

  “Wolsey knows better than to bother the passengers. He was out of line.”

  “And that was all?”

  “Of course. What else would there be?” Will watched her closely, even while his mind was racing to keep up with her, thinking again how absolutely enchanting she was.

  One hand came up and rested on her hip, and she cocked her head slightly. “It had nothing to do with the fact that I am a Mormon?”

  He rocked back.

  Now she went on the attack. “That’s right. I’ve already been told by three different crew members that you’re a Mormon-hater.”

  He swore under his breath. Wolsey probably led the pack on that one.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, very cold now.

  “No, I—”

  “Have we ever even so much as seen each other before?”

  He smiled lamely. “No, I would have remembered that for sure.” It was an attempt at reconciliation, but it was like pouring water on a hot rock.

  “Then I’d suggest you withhold judgment on me until you get to know who and what I am. I don’t like blind prejudice.”

  She turned and stalked away. Irritated by her imperious manner, Will struck back. “I don’t have to know you to know what the Mormons are. And I don’t care much for what you believe in or what you stand for.”

  She whirled around, her eyes blazing. “Oh, really? Well, you know what I think? I think you don’t care much for anything. I think you are a rude young man who acts like his whole world is this sailing ship and doesn’t know the least thing about anything else. I pity anyone who lives in so small and so blind a world.”

  Her skirts twirled around her as she spun and started away again.

  “Steed!”

  Will turned. Behind them, up near the wheelhouse, Jiggers was leaning on the rail watching them. He was grinning wickedly, which told Will he had heard every word.

  “Yes, sir,” Will barked, not amused. It was Jiggers who had told the
girl she could seek him out.

  “Cap’n says we’ll be cutting loose from our escort in about half an hour. I want you to have the men ready to take in the lines and see that they are secure.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Will turned back, burning inside, then stopped short. The girl hadn’t left. She was staring at him, her mouth slightly open.

  “What!” he snapped, in no mood for more of her lashing tongue.

  “He called you Steed?” she said slowly.

  “Yes, that’s my name.”

  She started to say something else, then shook her head, as if dismissing something from her mind.

  “What?” he said, more curious now.

  “What’s your first name?”

  Puzzled by her sudden interest, he shrugged. “Will. Will Steed.”

  Her eyes widened, then again she seemed to shake it off. “You wouldn’t ever happen to be related to a Matthew Steed?”

  Now his mouth dropped open. “Matthew Steed?”

  “Yes, from America. From Illinois?”

  He started to shake his head, surprised at the sudden lurch he had felt. “No, I have an uncle named Matthew Steed, but he is from the state of Missouri.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “No! It couldn’t be!”

  He took two steps toward her. “What? What is it? Do you know Matthew?”

  “Were you sold as a sailor and sent to China?”

  His eyes registered his shock. “Yes, but . . . we’ve just returned from Canton. But how did you know?”

  “Oh, my,” she breathed, her eyes wide.

  He stepped closer and stood directly in front of her now. He almost reached out and took her by the shoulders. “What? Do you know me?”

  Her hand came down from her mouth, and any trace of anger and animosity was gone. “Derek and Peter Ingalls? Do those names mean anything to you?”

  “You know Derek and Peter! How is that possible?”