Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  Benjamin surrendered. “All right, all right,” he grumbled. “I’ll stop complaining.” Then he thought of the picture again. “I guess it’s looking at us in that picture . . .” He let it go, not wanting to carry it further.

  She lay back. “It is a good life, Ben. A good life.”

  He held her hand tightly. “I know.”

  And in fact, with a start, he realized that was exactly what lay at the root of his uneasiness. Life was so good right now. He was happier than at any time in his fifty-six years. He didn’t need, nor did he want, a new age. He just wanted to keep what he had now. He turned toward his wife and kissed her gently on the cheek. “It is a good life, Mary Ann, and you make it so.”

  She laughed softly at him. “I know,” she said.

  The night was warm, so they had nothing but a sheet over them; but with her long cotton nightdress, even that was too much, and Caroline threw the sheet back.

  Joshua turned his head. “It’s really muggy tonight, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, then slid over closer to him. He turned on his side and opened his arms. In a moment, in spite of the heat, she was snuggled up against him, her head cradled in the crook of his arm. This was her favorite position, particularly when she wanted to talk to him.

  “It feels good to have you back,” she murmured. “I never sleep well when you’re gone.”

  “Me neither.”

  She poked him gently. “I’ll bet you never even miss me, you’re so busy with business.”

  “I do miss you,” he responded firmly, turning and kissing her on the forehead. “I always miss you.”

  She smiled. That was the right answer and she wanted more of it. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It’s true. I think about you every day.”

  “At least once, hmm?” she teased. “How nice.”

  He chuckled. “One day I thought about you three different times.”

  She slugged him in the stomach and he jerked back laughing. Then almost instantly he sobered. “Do you know, I’ve always loved traveling, being on the road, being out making this deal or that come to pass. I’ve always liked seeing new places and having a change of scene.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “But this time, it was like I was a homesick kid. We hadn’t even stepped off the boat in St. Louis and all I could think about was how soon we could start back home again.”

  That pleased her, more deeply than he could have imagined. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. I’m coming to realize that there’s nowhere I’d rather be than home with my wife and family.”

  She went up on one elbow and kissed him softly. “I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me, Joshua Steed.”

  “Well, it’s true. I’m dreading having to go to Wisconsin.”

  There was a moment of silence; then she lay slowly back again. “So is Will, Joshua. He doesn’t want to go.”

  Joshua berated himself for being so stupid. He had changed her mood instantly. “I know,” he said wearily.

  “He doesn’t want to be away from Jenny for the whole winter. He’s worried enough about making this work with her.”

  He rolled onto his back, knowing it was too late now to return the conversation to the way it was a moment before. “Well, sometimes we all have to do things we don’t like. We had dinner with the Samuelsons while we were there in St. Louis. Remember their daughter, Alice?”

  “Yes.” And then before he could wax too enthusiastic, she added, “Will told me all about the dinner and what happened. She’s not for him, Joshua.”

  “Oh.” But he wasn’t ready to back down. “And Jenny Pottsworth is?”

  “I’m not saying that. I have questions about that myself. But it’s not for you or me to say. That’s Will’s decision, and he has to come to it himself.”

  “Well, taking him north for the winter will get him away from her.”

  “And what if he won’t go?” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “He’ll go!”

  “He’s a man now, Joshua. What if he just says no?”

  “He’s my son, and he’s a partner in the business. This winter our business is cutting timber. I don’t want to go either, but I’m going. That’s part of growing up.”

  She didn’t answer, and they lay together in silence for almost a minute.

  Finally, he softened a little. “I won’t say anything to him about Jenny.”

  She wanted to cry at that. Will told her there had hardly been a day while they were gone that Joshua hadn’t made some snide comment about Jenny or tried to push him and Alice together. But instead she just said, “You won’t have to.”

  Stung, he jerked around to face her. “This isn’t about Will at all, is it?”

  Surprised, she turned too. “What do you mean by that?”

  “This is just another way you have of digging at me for not letting you be baptized.”

  Instantly there were tears burning at the corners of her eyes. “My being baptized hadn’t even crossed my mind, Joshua.”

  “Oh no? Isn’t that what it always comes back to? You think I’m stubborn and unbending on this. Just like I am about Will marrying Jenny. Well, I’ll say it again. If you want to be baptized, be baptized.”

  Now her voice was low and sorrowful. “And I’ll say it again. I won’t be baptized until you want it for me.”

  There was a soft explosion of air. “Then it’ll never happen.”

  There was a long pause, and then, very quietly, “I know.”

  Totally frustrated and angry now, he sat up on the edge of the bed. “I’m going to go downstairs and read for a while.”

  He got up and found his robe in the darkness. As he reached the door, she started to speak, wanting to take the hurt away, wanting to recapture what they had been feeling only moments before. But she hesitated for a moment too long and he was gone.

  Chapter Notes

  Joseph’s comments about his name being vilified by the nation’s newspapers were made in his journal history under date of 15 July 1841, just three weeks prior to when the scene with him and Will takes place in the novel. Though he does not quote the scripture (John 15:18–20) in its entirety in the journal entry, he does make reference to it. (See HC 4:383.)

  A convert who moved to Nauvoo from New York in 1844 established the first daguerreotype shop in the Mormon city (see Women of Nauvoo, p. 136). Whether any of the many traveling photographers who were immensely popular throughout the United States at this time came to Nauvoo before that is not known.

  Chapter 8

  It was a soft and gentle August rain, more like a mist, and it was almost warm to his skin. Through the night, it had washed the roadside dust from the grass and the trees and left the myriad shades of green all the deeper and the more lustrous. It was at times like this that Nauvoo was at its most beautiful. By comparison, St. Louis seemed like a dismal collection of hovels and soot-belching factories.

  Will tipped his head back and breathed deeply, letting the mist caress his battered face and cool the darkened flesh. There was no smell of salt in the air, but other than that, this morning reminded him of the sea. The air was almost crisp, it was so clean and fresh. Suddenly his longing for the deck of a ship and a hundred yards of canvas cracking and popping in the wind over his head was so sharp it made him wince.

  He shook it off, bringing his attention back to the scene ahead of him. He was just rounding the corner of Granger and Knight Streets. The Steed Family Dry Goods and General Store lay just a block ahead of him now. Even from here though, he could see that there were no wagons or carriages or horses tied up in front of it. Good. It was barely nine o’clock, and he was hoping that it was still too early for customers to be there. And since Jenny more and more was opening the store on her own, he might even strike it lucky and have a few minutes alone with her.

  After he had walked out on his family the previous night, Will had gone to see Jenny, but the cabin had been dark and
no one answered the door. Jenny’s mother was often out gathering up laundry in the evenings, and once the store closed, Jenny would help her. Will waited around for almost half an hour, but they did not return. He hadn’t seen her since returning to Nauvoo and wasn’t even sure if she knew he was back yet. Anxious now, he squared his shoulders and strode out eagerly.

  But as he neared the store, he slowed, and then stopped altogether. There were two people on the porch, and the sound of their laughter carried clearly in the morning air. The woman had her back to him, but that made no difference. Will knew Jenny Pottsworth from every angle, from every viewpoint, and in every shade of light. But he wasn’t sure about the man. He was facing Will, but he was under the porch and in shadow.

  Jenny laughed then, her head tipping back and her shoulders squaring. It was a full laugh. Whatever the man said, it had delighted her. The sound of it was like music on the air—soft, lilting. Will loved that sound. And then, in one instant, his mood was dashed.

  “Oh, Andrew,” Jenny cried. “You are so funny.”

  It was music, all right, Will thought with sudden bitterness. Music that pierced him like a fiery dart because now he knew who the man was. It was Andrew Stokes. Andrew Stokes was twenty-one years old and a full three inches taller than Will. Andrew Stokes was from England. Derek knew the family well and spoke highly of both the family in general and Andrew in particular. Just last night, when Peter had said something about Andrew Stokes to Derek, Lydia and Caroline had jumped in to sing his praises. What a fine young man he was. So helpful. Always willing to carry things for them if Nathan wasn’t around.

  Will stared at the two figures on the porch, absently reaching up and rubbing his damaged shoulder, wanting the ache to go away. It didn’t matter now that he couldn’t see the man’s face clearly. Andrew Stokes had a deep cleft in his chin and a solid jaw line that made him look strong without seeming too arrogant. And when he came in the store, Jenny became a totally different person.

  Sick at heart, Will stood there in the road, fighting with himself. It was clear that Stokes was just leaving. Then she would be alone again. Will wanted to talk to her—needed to talk with her. On the other hand, any euphoria at the thoughts of seeing her again tasted like ashes in his mouth now. With a dejected shake of his head he turned and walked away, head down, eyes dark and brooding.

  “Mother, can I talk with you?”

  Caroline looked up in surprise. She was at the table, peeling potatoes. “Will? What are you doing home so early?”

  “Pa asked me to make sure those five wagons headed for St. Joseph got loaded and off.” He shrugged. “We got finished, so I came home.”

  “Did your father get back?”

  “No. He said he’d be home in time for supper.” He looked around. “Where’s Charles?”

  “Down for his nap. Livvy took Savannah to the store. So I thought I’d start supper early.” She patted the bench beside her. “Come, sit here.”

  He moved over and sat down next to her.

  “So,” she said brightly, “what would you like to talk about?” There was a teasing smile. “Jenny Pottsworth?”

  Instantly he frowned and shook his head. “No.”

  “Oh? Then what?” she asked.

  He shook his head, blowing out his breath in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know.”

  She waited, keeping her face expressionless, but inside she wanted to burrow in beneath that taciturn expression and find out what was going on behind the somber eyes. He was so much like Joshua in that regard, a thousand thoughts boiling beneath the surface, very few of them ever given verbal form. She wanted to take him by the shoulders and shout at him, “Just say it, Will!” But she knew that it was better to let him take this where he wanted.

  After almost a full minute, his brow furrowed. “What do you think Pa will say if I decide to be baptized?”

  She straightened slowly, turning her body so she could face him more directly. “Are you going to be baptized?” she asked gently.

  His shoulders lifted and fell. “I . . . I’m not sure. Maybe.”

  Caroline kept her initial reaction, which was to throw her arms around him and shout for joy, in check. “And this isn’t just for Jenny?” she asked carefully.

  He was silent for a moment, his face concentrating as he turned his thoughts inward, searching his own motives. “Maybe it would be,” he finally admitted.

  She sighed, fighting a mother’s instinctive wish to try and teach him about himself. Caroline well understood Will’s pain. Jenny was frustrating him because she was adamant about marrying a member of the Church. But although he was terribly smitten with this winsome young woman, Will wasn’t ready for marriage yet. He didn’t know that, but Caroline did. The question of his conversion was only part of it.

  There was a sudden irritation pulling at his mouth. “Why can’t she understand that it just takes longer for some than for others?”

  Caroline smiled, wanting to remind him that he didn’t want to talk about Jenny. But instead she just said, “Jenny is one of those who was blessed to know the gospel is true immediately, Will. There are many like that. Nathan. Your grandmother. Jennifer Jo. But it wasn’t like that for Lydia. Or for Grandpa Steed. They struggled just like you. And look at them now.”

  “I’ve thought about that.” He leaned forward. “And so what is Pa going to say if I do decide I want to be a Mormon? We’re already fighting about Jenny. And if I don’t go to Wisconsin for him, it’s only going to be worse.”

  She chose her words very carefully. “It’s not right that you be baptized just to win Jenny,” she said. “Baptism is a covenant with the Lord, and not just a way to influence someone. And so . . .” She bit her lip. “And so it’s not right that you not be baptized just to please someone either.”

  “But then . . .” He stopped. She knew exactly what he was thinking, and she knew he wouldn’t say it, because he didn’t want to hurt her. If what she said was true, why wasn’t she going to be baptized?

  “It’s different when people are married to each other, Will,” she said slowly, answering his unasked question. “Someday you’ll understand that better.”

  “If I am baptized, I want to be baptized with you, Mama.”

  She had to look away. “There is nothing that would please me more, Will. You know that. But when you’re ready, you don’t wait for anyone or anything.” She was suddenly filled with a terrible fierceness. “Do you hear me, Will? Don’t you wait for anything.”

  It was a hot and dirty morning. Heat waves shimmered off the stone floor and walls. The light gray limestone reflected sunlight almost like a mirror. Bodies were sticky and ripe with sweat. Everyone worked more slowly, not expending energy too fast, stopping to drink often lest they faint from heat exhaustion or dehydration. This was summer in the quarry, and it was murderously hard on both man and beast.

  It was Saturday, August seventh. Nathan and Benjamin had last seen duty in the quarry on the twenty-sixth of July, which meant that they were actually a couple of days overdue for their “tithed” labor. It didn’t always work out at exactly one day out of ten, but the building committee encouraged the brethren to come as close as possible so it would be easier to keep records.

  Today Matthew and Derek were also there taking their tithing day as well. On seeing the four of them together, the quarry foreman put them on the task of cutting into blocks the massive slab of stone blasted out the previous evening. The slab was three to four feet high, with about the same thickness, and was fifteen to twenty feet long. Now the task was to cut it into equal-sized blocks.

  Limestone is a fairly soft stone and more easily worked than granite or marble, but it was still back-breaking labor. Up and down the sides and across the top of the slab, a series of holes had to be “drilled” in a precise line about nine to twelve inches apart. This was done by using a point drill—a chisel-like piece of steel with a square point that had four cutting edges. It took two men working together. One would hold
the point drill in place while the other struck it with one of the big eight-pound jack sledges, or “double jacks.” After each blow of the hammer, the one holding the drill would turn it about a half turn so that the cutting edges were in a different position. An experienced team of drillers could cut a hole three to four inches deep about every ten to fifteen minutes.

  At the moment, Derek and Matthew were taking their turn on the hammers, while Benjamin and Nathan held the drills. The one turning the drill bit never looked up to watch the hammer blows coming. Seeing an eight-pound hammerhead coming down at full force to hit a drill head less than an inch in diameter which was being held by one’s hands just below the strike point tended to make one flinch. And with an eight-pound hammerhead coming down at full force in a steady, rhythmic cadence, flinching was not at all a wise thing to do. Wham! Turn. Wham! Turn. The pattern became so habitual that one didn’t even think about it.

  They were working on the last two holes on the top of the great slab—Benjamin with Derek, and Nathan with Matthew—directly across from one another, so Benjamin was looking right into Nathan’s eyes. But when he spoke, he spoke to Derek.

  “You sure love that farm, don’t you?”

  Wham! Turn. Wham! “Sure do.”

  Benjamin held up his hand and Derek let the hammer swing down to the floor of the quarry, straightening. Matthew, seeing that, did the same, reaching up to wipe at his brow with the back of his sleeve. Benjamin and Nathan reached for the “spoons.”

  Drilling a three-quarter-inch-wide hole into solid rock necessarily produced quite a bit of limestone chips and dust. When a hole was being drilled horizontally into the side of the rock slab, the debris emptied itself out and the holes were kept clear. But the top holes, those going down vertically into the rock, didn’t work that way. After a minute or two of hammering, the hole would begin to fill with debris, which would cushion the bite of the drill and slow the cutting efficiency. Thus, every two or three minutes they had to clean out the holes by using a device called a spoon. This was nothing more than a long, thin rod with a tiny scoop fashioned on one end.