Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  Joseph nodded and the two of them went outside again.

  Emma was singing softly to the baby now, rocking it back and forth. The tiredness in her eyes was gone and her face was radiant. Lydia watched in amazement, not understanding exactly what was happening here.

  Emma seemed to sense her bewilderment. “It’s Joseph’s idea,” she explained. “This is one of the McIntire twins. Sister McIntire just lives a few blocks from here. Joseph gets little Mary each morning and brings her to me for the day.”

  “She’s a twin?” Lydia asked.

  “Yes, she and her sister Sarah are as alike as two peas lying side by side in a pod.” Emma laughed, and it was filled with joy. “In fact, yesterday morning, when Joseph went to get Mary, Sister McIntire gave Sarah to Joseph by mistake. They’re that much alike. But the moment Joseph picked her up, he knew. ‘I’m sorry, Sister McIntire,’ he said, ‘but this is not my little Mary.’ Sister McIntire was a little embarrassed, actually, that she had made the mistake.”

  “I don’t understand,” Lydia said. “Joseph gets her every day?”

  Emma nodded and smiled. The baby’s eyes were getting heavy, and Emma slowed the rocking into a gentle swaying motion. She hummed softly for another minute or two until Mary was asleep; then she looked toward Lydia. “When my baby was born a silent baby, I was devastated, as you know, especially after losing my little Don Carlos too. I so wanted another . . .” She had to stop and look away.

  “I know,” Lydia said. “I know.”

  “Well, Joseph decided I needed another baby to help comfort me. Sister McIntire had given birth to these adorable twin girls a little before my baby was born. Joseph went to her and asked if he could borrow one of them each day for a while, to help me through this.”

  Lydia sat back, understanding now.

  “Well, as you can imagine, Sister McIntire was somewhat reluctant about the matter, but Joseph promised that he would bring her back each afternoon and that we would never keep her overnight. So she finally relented.”

  “What a wonderful idea.”

  “Oh, yes. She is such a little beauty. And so good. She hardly ever cries.”

  “It has been good for you, Emma. I can see it in your face.”

  “I know. I really am feeling much better now.”

  “I’ll bet it’s good for Joseph too.”

  “Yes,” Emma agreed with some sadness. “Joseph is much stronger than I am, but losing little Don Carlos was very difficult for him too. And then when we lost the baby as well, it was very hard for both of us. And he loves this little one like she was his own.”

  “I could see that when he came in,” Lydia replied.

  “In fact, a few days ago we got Sister McIntire a little upset. Joseph always picks Mary up at the same time each morning and takes her back the same time each afternoon. I thought he had gone to take her home, but then there was a knock on the door and when I went down it was Sister McIntire, wondering where her baby was. A little concerned, I went into the back room. There was Joseph. He had Mary on his knee, trotting her and singing to her, trying to quiet her. She had started to fret just as he was getting ready to leave, and he couldn’t bear to cover her face when she was crying.”

  “And I’ll bet Sister McIntire forgave him immediately, didn’t she?”

  “She did.” Emma’s voice got a little wistful. “Joseph has been wonderful in this whole thing, but . . .” Her voice trailed off and she looked away.

  As Lydia was thinking what to say to that, the door opened and Joseph and Nathan came back in. In a moment they were in with the two wives and the conversation turned to other things.

  Nathan was playing “horse” with his children. Elizabeth Mary, who would be four in May, was “in the saddle” squealing with delight every time the horse lurched this way or that. Josiah—who celebrated his first birthday in January by turning from a chair and taking his first three steps—toddled after them. He giggled and screeched, hanging on to the “reins”—a loose end of Papa’s suspenders—and urging him on.

  When the door opened and Lydia and Mary Ann stepped in, Nathan didn’t even hear them. It was Josiah’s cry of “Mama” that let him know they had company. Laughing, he reached around and helped Lizzie dismount, then stood up.

  Lydia looked around. “Joshua and Emily aren’t home yet?”

  “No, but you’re back sooner than I expected. It’s not yet three. How was the meeting?”

  Mary Ann slipped off her bonnet. Spring was definitely showing its face for the first time, but it was still cold enough to warrant bundling up. “It was wonderful,” she said. “Sarah is such a fine woman.”

  “Such a doer,” Lydia agreed. She reached down and scooped Josiah up, kissing him soundly. “Did you miss Mama?” she cooed.

  Nathan looked offended. “I beg your pardon. I don’t think he even realized you were gone.”

  She walked to Nathan and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “I’m sure he didn’t,” she laughed.

  “I wanna play horse more, Papa,” Elizabeth Mary said.

  “In a while,” he replied. “Papa needs to talk to Mama and Grandma for a minute.” He turned back to his mother. “So what are you?”

  She looked blank.

  “Lydia said you were going to elect officers and everything for your ladies’ society today. I just assumed my mother would be president or something.”

  Mary Ann poked at him playfully. “Oh, we didn’t do anything like that. Today we just talked about what we wanted the society to be.”

  “What are you going to call it?”

  Lydia set Josiah down and began to remove her coat. “We’re not sure yet. Probably just the Ladies’ Society. Eliza Snow is going to write some bylaws up and also draft a constitution to be presented for approval at our next meeting.”

  “Hmm,” Nathan said, nodding.

  Lydia laughed and looked at her mother-in-law. “That little ‘hmm’ of Nathan’s means he approves.”

  Mary Ann laughed too. “I know. He first started using it when he was about Josiah’s age.”

  “Why use a bunch of words when an effective murmur will do the trick?” he asked. “So when is the next meeting of your Ladies’ Society?”

  “We’re not sure,” Lydia said. “Eliza will work on the constitution, and then when she’s ready, Sarah will call us back together.”

  “Hmm,” he said again, winning him a pitying look from both his mother and his wife.

  Jean Claude Marque, now Jean Claude Dubuque, had wise gray eyes hidden beneath heavy eyebrows that had once been black but now were peppered with gray. The wrinkles around the corners of his eyes were deep and made it seem as if he were in a perpetual squint against a bright sun glaring off the snow. Before coming to North America as a young adult, he had been one of eleven children in a family of poor farmers in the Alsace-Lorraine region of northeastern France. When a French Canadian timber baron advertised in the Old Country for young men willing to work two years in the forests of North America for free passage across the ocean, Jean Claude and two of his brothers signed on. But at the end of the two years, as was the case in many lumber camps, not only did the brothers have no money saved, they were deeply in debt to the owner, or rather to the store owned by the owner.

  The youngest of the three brothers was killed when a saw blade in the mill hit a frozen gnarl in the wood and shattered, spraying metal like cannon shot. Shortly after midnight of the day following his burial, Jean Claude and his other brother quietly slipped away, taking only what they could carry, and leaving a burdensome debt that could never be erased. Arguing over what direction to take, they finally split. His brother turned east, determined to return to France. Instead, he made his way down the St. Lawrence River and ended up in New Scotland, or Nova Scotia, working the cod boats. There he married a stout English girl and eventually raised seven strapping fishermen sons.

  Jean Claude realized that while his family’s specific situation back in France had been intolerable, he
had no desire to return to the life of a farmer. Lumbering was what he loved. Fearful that the long arm of the wealthy lumberman extended throughout Canada, he stowed away on a boat, crossed Lake Superior, and entered the territory of the United States of America. Changing his last name to Dubuque, after a childhood friend, he joined one of the lumber camps working the St. Croix River valley of Michigan Territory (a valley which eventually became part of Wisconsin Territory). As the need for good lumber soared and forests became depleted, he moved from place to place, eventually ending up at La Crosse. It was there that someone had pointed him out to Joshua Steed and he signed on for the new mill on the Black River.

  It was the best deal he had yet made. He found Steed to be a hard-driving boss, but fair. Most important, when Joshua Steed found help he liked, he rewarded them well. Jean Claude was now the highest paid employee of the Steed and Son Timber and Lumber Company. And better than that, in Will, Dubuque had found a protégé and a young friend, filling the place of the son he had never had. It had proven to be a profitable choice for him all around.

  He thought about all of that as he sat on the stool outside Joshua’s office waiting to answer Joshua’s summons. The door opened and the cook came out, Joshua just behind him. Joshua was still talking to him. “Get me that list of what you need and I’ll send it down to La Crosse. We may even be able to get some things sent up from Prairie du Chien.”

  “And you want me to plan enough to get us through the first of June?”

  “Yes. At that point, we’ll know better how many are staying on.”

  “All right.” The cook nodded briefly to Jean Claude as he passed.

  Joshua came forward, hand extended. “Ah, Frenchie. There you are. Come in.”

  They moved into the office and sat down, Joshua at the rough table that served him as a desk, the Frenchman directly across from him. “How is the work coming?”

  “Very good,” Jean Claude reported. “I think we can have another fifteen or twenty thousand feet cut before we start downriver.”

  “We only have another week,” Joshua reminded him.

  He shrugged that aside. “We can easily cut five thousand feet a day, and we’ve got enough logs backed up that you won’t run short.”

  “Good.” Joshua slapped his desk in satisfaction. “It’s been a good year, Frenchie. A good year.”

  “Yes. Very good.”

  Joshua watched him narrowly for a moment, then smiled. “I don’t like to beat around the bush, Frenchie, so let me get right to what I’m thinking.”

  “All right.” Jean Claude, who was a man of few words himself, liked Joshua for that.

  “You need to understand how I work. It has been the pattern in all of my endeavors. I hire the best men I can find, then watch them work. You can’t always tell a good man by just looking at him, but you can sure get an idea of what kind of man he is while watching him work.”

  “I agree. It is the measure of a man.”

  “Yes. Well said. Once I find a man that I can trust, I move him up to a position of responsibility. As you know, my son has been assigned to be foreman of the camp.”

  “Will is a fine young man, Monsieur Steed. He learns very quickly and is a diligent worker.”

  “Thank you. I’ve been pleased with what he’s done. But don’t think that I am so blind to things that I do not know that it is you who has really kept the camp together.”

  Jean Claude did not dispute that. But, pleased at the acknowledgment, he inclined his head for a moment. “Thank you. The title is not important. You have been most generous in compensating me for my efforts.”

  “I think the title is important,” Joshua said, “and I’d like to announce to the crew before we leave that you are foreman of the camp.”

  “Ah,” he said softly. “Thank you. That is most kind.”

  “That means that once you get back up here you’ll be in charge throughout the summer. I’m not coming back up here before October. And even then, I don’t plan to stay. You’ll be totally in charge, have full power to make decisions. Keep as many men on as you think is necessary. Order what you need. You do whatever it takes. By the time snow flies again next winter, I want two shifts running at the sawmill.”

  “Yes, monsieur. That is the way to plan. Too many come up just before the cutting season and start their preparations then. This way is better.”

  “Jean Claude,” Joshua said, calling him by his formal name for the first time, “if you prove yourself this next season, come a year from now I’ll make you a full partner. You, me, and Will.”

  Now Jean Claude was dumbfounded. A full partner? An owner? He had never made the mistake of allowing himself to get into financial bondage again, but over the years he had saved little of his earnings. Some of them went back to France; most of it was consumed just living. “Ah, monsieur.”

  “Joshua,” Joshua corrected him firmly. “From now on, it’s just Joshua. All right?”

  “Yes, m— Joshua. But this is far too generous.”

  “It’s how I work, Jean Claude. So far it’s not ever proven me wrong.” Then before Jean Claude could protest further, he changed the subject. “Now, there’s one other thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “I know I need an experienced man to stay in camp, but I’m also very worried about getting those rafts downriver. I’d like you to come with us to Nauvoo.”

  His eyes widened. “But—”

  “You can come back up immediately thereafter. I think the Swede can oversee the camp for that long, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course. But Joshua, this is wonderful. Will has told me so much about Nauvoo, how beautiful a city it is.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “I have wanted to go, but did not dare to ask.”

  “Then it’s done,” Joshua grinned. “Let’s call it settled.”

  “Ah,” Jean Claude sighed, still unable to believe his good fortune. “Will has told me so much about your church and your Joseph Smith.” He pronounced it Yo-sef Smeeth. “I never dreamed that I might actually have the chance to meet him.”

  Joshua’s eyes were suddenly hooded, but in his enthusiasm Jean Claude did not notice the change. “The Mormons in the other camps? I have been much impressed. They are inexperienced lumberjacks, but good men. And they care for one another. That is a strange thing in a lumber camp.”

  “Will’s been talking to you about the Mormons?” Joshua asked, with forced casualness.

  “Ah, yes, we have talked about it many nights.” He looked suddenly ashamed. “My family in France, we were all Roman Catholics, of course. Alsace-Lorraine is strong Catholic country. But since coming to North America, I fear I have not paid much attention to religion. It has been heavy on my mind these past few years. And this church of yours sounds very interesting.”

  “I’m not a Mormon,” Joshua said shortly.

  “Of course, I know that. I didn’t mean to suggest . . .”

  Joshua waved that off, leaning forward, deliberately keeping his voice level. “Will isn’t either. Did he tell you that?”

  “But of course. But now that he has decided, he will become one after you return to Nauvoo, no?”

  “He’s decided?” Joshua asked slowly.

  Something in Joshua’s eyes must have alerted Jean Claude, for the Frenchman was suddenly guarded. “He has not told you this?”

  Joshua started to shake his head, and then snapped his fingers. “Oh, yes. He came to a decision while I was gone, I think.”

  Jean Claude was immediately relieved. “Yes, it happened just before you returned from Nauvoo.”

  Joshua stared at him. He had gone down to La Crosse a week ago. The thought had occurred to Joshua that maybe Will’s decision had come then. They were in a wild race to finish getting the trees they had downed to the mill and ready for the raft. There had hardly been time for him and Will to talk at all. But if Will’s decision had been made while Joshua was in Nauvoo, that was at least two months ago now. Two months!
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  He was aware of Jean Claude’s puzzled expression now. He smiled to cover the tightness in his stomach. “Did my brother talk to you about the Church while he was here? He is a Mormon.”

  “Nathan? No, not at all.”

  “And Will? He’s not been trying to force this religion stuff on you, has he?”

  There was a short bark of laughter. “Ah, no. Just the opposite. I am the one asking questions all the time.”

  Joshua stood abruptly. “Well, I won’t keep you.” He reached across the table and shook the Frenchman’s hand. “Then the foreman thing is settled?”

  “Yes, Joshua. And thank you.”

  “No, thank you, Jean Claude.”

  Jean Claude gave a curt nod and turned on his heel. As he reached the door, Joshua called after him. “By the way, I need to talk to Will. Where is he right now, do you know?”

  “He’s about half a mile up Roaring Creek cutting timber with the Webster brothers.”

  “All right. I’ll send someone for him if I need him.”

  Jean Claude went outside, stopping to breathe deeply in the spring air. As he rounded the corner of the building out of sight of the window to Joshua’s office, he slammed the palm of his hand against his forehead. “Quel dommage!” he exclaimed. “Ah, Will, mon ami, my friend, my friend. What have I done?”

  Will was surprised to see his father striding toward them through the trees. He was making the undercut on a smaller tree, working alone while the two brothers were a dozen or so yards away, working together on a much bigger tree.

  Will lowered his ax and waved. “Pa! I’m over here.”

  Joshua turned in midstride, making a straight line for Will.

  “This is a surprise,” Will said, pulling a large bandanna from his pocket and wiping his forehead.

  There was the briefest of nods, and then Joshua turned toward the other two men. “Hey, you two.” They were working on the back cut with a two-man saw. They stopped and looked in Joshua and Will’s direction. “I’ve got to borrow Will for a while. When you finish with that one, take this one down too.”

  The older brother waved and they went right back to sawing.

  Stepping away from his tree, Will shouldered his ax. “What is it, Pa?”