Nathan was amused because this was so like his family. Get supper done, get the children taken care of, then open up a discussion topic and go at it with quiet but friendly tenacity. This was their typical summer evening’s activity. He was astonished because what they were witnessing at this moment was an amazing turnaround. Just four months ago, through the devious half-lies of Robert Foster, Joshua had been convinced that Joseph Smith had tried to take Olivia Steed, not yet seventeen, into plural marriage. Foster also claimed that he had seen Joseph kissing Olivia.
To describe Joshua’s reaction as fury was to seriously understate the case. It was a towering, mindless rage—at the Church, at the family for being part of it, and most especially at Joseph Smith. Nothing penetrated through it. Not Caroline’s explanations. Not Olivia’s denials. Joshua had gone to Joseph and in an ugly confrontation threatened his life if he even so much as spoke to Olivia again. Joseph never did. Within four months of that confrontation, Olivia lay dead of a broken neck in the dusty streets of Warsaw. Two weeks later, Joseph was killed by a mob with painted faces.
So to hear Joshua defending Joseph Smith as he was now was truly an amazing turnaround. Part of that was the guilt. Nathan knew that. Joshua was devastated by the death of his daughter, but knowing that it was his anger and his blind refusal to listen to and accept the truth from his wife and daughter that had contributed to the tragedy was enough to jerk him up short, like a wild horse hitting the end of its first rope. But it was more than that. Joseph Smith had done a remarkable thing that night. When he learned of the accident, he came in the night to Warsaw. He came to the town where the people were howling for his blood. All of the so-called friends of Joshua, who had courted his favor when they thought he would turn against the Church, did not even so much as come to give their condolences. And Joseph, at great personal risk, came to help. And when there could have been just recrimination, when Joseph could so easily have reminded Joshua of his foolishness and of the fact that he had grossly misjudged Joseph, Joseph said nothing about that. He simply took Joshua in his arms and they wept together for the loss of Olivia.
There were many things for which Joshua Steed could be criticized, but loyalty to a trusted friend was not one of those. And now part of Joshua’s mourning, part of this turning that they were witnessing, was Joshua’s way of trying to make things right again, even though Joseph’s death had cut short any attempt to do so with Joseph himself.
Nathan turned to look at Caroline. She had nearly lost her life that day too. A broken arm. A broken ankle. Many bruises, which were mostly gone now. She was recovering nicely, thanks to the blessing Joseph had given her that night, but she still tired easily. She half reclined on a lounge, and Nathan saw that she was not following the conversation. She was looking past the family, out into the darkness, intently, as if watching for someone. Her face was mostly in shadow, but suddenly it was as if it were brightly illuminated for him and he saw the inner sorrow that filled her soul. He looked away, embarrassed to have caught her in such a moment of naked vulnerability.
“Someone will take Joseph’s place,” Solomon Garrett was saying, pulling Nathan back to the conversation.
“Who?” Joshua demanded. “Hyrum—the most logical one—is dead with Joseph. Sidney Rigdon’s in Pittsburgh. That’s all three members of the First Presidency.”
“What about Brigham?” Matthew said.
“Brigham’s a fine man,” Joshua shot right back, “but he’s no Joseph Smith.”
“No one is Joseph Smith,” Mary Ann said quietly, “but that doesn’t mean they can’t lead the Church.”
“Where is Brigham?” Joshua said, not wanting to directly disagree with his mother. “He’s in the East. So is Heber Kimball and the Pratts and John Page and George Albert Smith.”
“Joseph sent a letter before he died calling them back,” Derek volunteered. “They’ll be coming soon.”
Joshua went right on as if Derek hadn’t spoken. “John Taylor’s a fine man, but he’s critically wounded himself. It will be months before he will recover. Willard Richards is still in shock. I don’t think he can take over.” He stopped, pleased to see that his words were registering now. “You’ve got a crisis here. Nauvoo is in an uproar. Governor Ford is surely not going to step in and restore order. And you’re without a leader.”
On they went, Nathan only half listening again. He was thinking about Melissa and Carl now. Had Melissa had the baby yet? Were they going to stay in Kirtland now that Carl’s father had died? How long would it take for news of Joseph’s death to reach them?
Nathan looked up in surprise as someone laid a hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw it was his father.
“I’m going to go check on the babies. Want to come?”
There was something in Benjamin’s eyes that alerted Nathan to the fact that his father had been watching him, had sensed his mood and his thoughts, and decided it was time to intervene. He laughed softly. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Chapter 2
Benjamin and Nathan stood in the bedroom where little Joseph Steed normally slept alone. Now, however, a crib and a small mattress had also been brought in and the bedroom seemed almost crowded. Jessica’s youngest, Miriam, was in the crib, her long dark hair spilling out across the mattress. On a small mattress in the corner, walled with pillows just in case she moved, was the youngest of the Steed clan. Livvy Caroline Steed—the child given the name of her older sister who had died just hours before her birth—was on her tummy, her face to the light, her tiny fists doubled up beside her head.
“It’s a miracle we even have her, isn’t it?” Benjamin said.
“Yes. Joshua is sure that what happened that day with Olivia was his punishment for his being foolish, but if Olivia’s loss was a punishment, the birth of this little angel was a compensating gift.”
“Caroline too,” Benjamin murmured. “It’s a miracle she wasn’t killed. Joshua got a double gift that day in return for his loss.”
“Yes.”
They backed out of the room. As they walked toward the stairs, Benjamin slowed his step. “You went to the graves this morning.”
It wasn’t a question. Nathan turned in surprise.
There was a low chuckle. “I happened to be at the window as you left.”
“So you’re not sleeping much either.”
A brief shake of his head gave Nathan the answer. In silence they went down the stairs and back into the main part of the house. It was dark. Through the open windows they could hear the family out in the yard next door. The conversation had turned from Joseph and Hyrum to the flooding of the Mississippi. Heavy late snows in the Rockies had now melted. That, coupled with almost constant rain for the last two weeks, had created a crisis. The Missouri River was flooding heavily. At St. Louis, where it joined the Mississippi, the waterfront docks were underwater. Thousands of acres of farmland were inundated. Now the high waters were backing upstream. Forty miles downstream, Quincy had been mostly evacuated. The people of Warsaw, just fifteen miles south of Nauvoo, were now moving to higher ground. The rapids at Keokuk were partially blocking the rising waters, but one had only to walk down to the river to see that if it continued, Nauvoo was going to be next. The current ran brown and sluggish and was filled with logs and other debris.
Benjamin stopped as they came to the sitting room. To Nathan’s surprise, he turned into it rather than going back outside. He sat down with a weary sigh. Curious, Nathan moved into the room and sat down across from him. They sat that way for several minutes, half listening to the conversation in the yard next door, half lost in their own thoughts.
“You agree with Joshua?” Benjamin finally asked.
Nathan’s head came up. “You mean about the Church disintegrating? Of course not.”
“But in a way he’s right, you know. What happens now will prove to be very important.”
“Yes, I believe that. But what Jenny said was the perfect answer. This isn’t the Church of Joseph Smith. If it w
ere, then I wouldn’t have much hope.”
For several moments Benjamin watched him. In the darkness of the room it was hard for Nathan to read Benjamin’s expression, but he sensed it was sobered, perhaps even grave. “It is still a crisis. Make no mistake of that. There’s already talk begun.”
“By whom?”
“More than one.”
“What are they saying?”
“That Sidney Rigdon should come back and take over.”
“No!” It came out as a soft explosion.
“Or that Brigham should do it. Joseph was using him more and more there toward the end. Or Heber. Or maybe someone completely new. I hear that one or two are even starting to wonder aloud if they may not be the chosen ones.”
Disgust welled up. “Joseph is barely in the ground and already they’re picking the bones.”
“Not everyone. But a few.” There was a long pause. “It’s a natural concern, Nathan. And the speculation is only going to get worse until something is settled.”
A sudden bleakness swept across Nathan. “I can’t believe Joseph is really gone. As I stood there this morning, looking down at the graves, it didn’t seem real. I felt like I would return to the city and find him and Hyrum stocking shelves at the store, or maybe Joseph out playing stickball with the boys. It was like I was looking at the graves of some strangers. I couldn’t make myself believe they were really down there.”
Benjamin leaned forward, hands on his knees, head down in thought. It lifted now and he gazed at Nathan for several seconds. “They’re not,” he finally said softly.
Startled, Nathan jerked forward. “What did you say?”
“I said they are not down there.”
He was aghast. “What kind of a comment is that?”
Benjamin gazed out the window for a moment. When he turned back, he spoke in a low voice. “What I am about to tell you, you cannot tell anyone else. Not even Mary Ann knows. This isn’t because I don’t trust her, it’s a protection to her.”
“What?” Nathan asked in bewilderment. He couldn’t fathom what his father was suggesting. He had seen the two gaping holes. He had listened to the funeral speech. He had seen the two coffins lowered into the ground. He had felt a sharp jolt with every shovelful of dirt rattling on the wooden boxes.
“Yesterday, do you remember how after the viewing of the bodies the people were asked to clear the Mansion House so the family could have a few final private moments with their husbands and fathers before the funeral?”
“Yes.” He and Lydia had been among the small circle of close friends called in by the family on the night of the twenty-eighth to see Joseph and Hyrum after their bodies were prepared for burial. That was before the public viewing the next day, when thousands lined up to see them. Nathan hadn’t gone on that day, but he knew that his father had been there at the last, when the family ended the viewing and paid their last respects to the loved ones.
“Did you know that some of Joseph’s enemies have talked about getting his body, or at least his head, so they can take it to Missouri and collect a reward offered there for Joseph’s return, dead or alive?”
Nathan blew out his breath in horrified disgust. “I heard that. Is it true?”
Benjamin nodded slowly, letting the implications of that sink in. “And it’s a handsome sum too.”
“But they killed him! Isn’t that enough? Do the moneygrubbers have to try to cash in on it as well?”
“I think it may go beyond just the reward money,” said Benjamin. “Already rumors are starting that Joseph wasn’t really killed, that he was only critically wounded. They’re saying that some of us somehow got him out of town and that he’s in hiding and recovering.”
“But that’s absurd.”
“Of course it is. But some folks thrive on the absurd. Others are even saying that he’s been resurrected and is back in Nauvoo.” There was a soft burst of exasperation. “That might even be coming from a few of our own people.” There was a slow shake of his head, as if this were still difficult for him to believe. “So, some of Joseph’s most bitter enemies are saying the best way to put an end to the absurdity is to produce the head of Joseph Smith for all to see.”
It was so ghastly, so incredibly horrible, that Nathan could barely grasp it.
Benjamin went on more slowly now. “Maybe it’s nothing more than rumor, but we couldn’t take that chance. As you know, for the public viewing, the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum were placed in two matching coffins, then put in wooden boxes that would protect the coffins from the surrounding earth.”
“Yes.”
“Well, yesterday, after everyone was asked to leave, in the utmost secrecy, the coffins were removed from the outer boxes and locked in a small corner bedroom.”
He stopped, seeing Nathan’s astonishment. He went on grimly. “We used bags of sand. We filled up the wooden boxes until they were about the same weight as the bodies. Then the lids were nailed shut.”
“You mean—”
“Yes,” Benjamin said quietly. “We carried the boxes out to the wagon and drove to the temple block for the service. All that was buried out there were boxes of sand. So you weren’t standing at the place they were buried.”
“But . . .” Nathan was having difficulty comprehending this.
“That’s why I was awake when you left this morning. I was just getting ready for bed.”
“Where did you bury them?”
“We waited until after midnight; then the same group who filled the boxes went back to the Mansion House. One man stood guard to make sure there was no one around. We took the bodies across to the Nauvoo House. We buried them in the basement.”
Nathan’s astonishment turned now to wonder, and it was mixed with a strong sense of relief. The Nauvoo House had been under construction for some time now. In recent months, construction on it had halted so that all efforts could be put on finishing the temple. The first floor of what was to be a grand hotel right next to the southern riverboat dock was nearly completed now, but the adjoining basement was still under construction and was only up to the first joists.
“We buried Joseph and Hyrum there in the basement. When we were done, we carefully smoothed the dirt back over the site. We spread wood chips and construction rubbish over the ground to hide any traces of the grave sites.” There was a faint smile. “We needn’t have bothered. Did you hear that storm in the night?”
“I did. It woke both Lydia and me up.”
“It came just after we had finished burying them. By the time the rain stopped, there was no way anyone could tell that there were fresh graves there.”
“I can’t believe it.” Nathan leaned back, identifying the relief for what it was now. “And yet I’m glad. I’m glad they’re safe. It would be terrible if someone got to them.”
“Emma wanted you to know. But no one else.”
“I understand.”
Benjamin began to massage his temples with the tips of his fingers. “Joseph and Hyrum are safe,” he murmured. “Now comes the bigger question. What about the Church?”
“How old is Sister Smith’s boy, Grandma?”
Mary Ann Morgan Steed smiled down at her granddaughter. Savannah’s head was tipped to one side, the red hair fiery in the morning sunlight, the wide, very adult eyes as blue as an alpine lake. “I’m not sure. Probably about thirty-five or so.”
“But that’s old, Grandma.”
She chuckled. “I suppose when you’re seven, it does seem old. When you’re fifty-eight, it seems quite young actually.”
“Then why do you call him a boy?”
“I should have said son, Savannah. Samuel is Mother Smith’s son. He is not a boy.”
“Why is he sick?”
“Because of what happened down in Carthage.”
“When the men chased him?”
Mary Ann was surprised. “Yes. How did you know that?”
“Will told me.”
“Oh.”
“Why were those
bad men chasing him, Grandma?”
For a moment, Mary Ann debated how much to tell this precocious little girl, but then decided that if she was hearing it around town, she might as well know the true story. “Samuel was living in Plymouth, which is quite a ways from here.”
“Is it by where Aunt Jessica lives?”
“Yes, somewhat. It’s a little more south and east than Ramus, but it’s in that same area.”
“Mama says I can go out and see Aunt Jessica sometime. I miss my cousins, now that they’ve gone home again.”
“I know you do, sweetheart. You and the boys are good friends.” Mary Ann missed Jessica too. They had stayed for over a week, but left yesterday. All the family hated to see them go again.
Savannah reached out and took her grandmother’s hand, as though to help her instead of the other way around. They were walking along Water Street, toward Main Street, and they were taking what time they needed. “So,” she said, reminding Mary Ann that she hadn’t forgotten what the conversation was about. “He lived at Plymouth.”
“Yes. Well, that’s not far from Carthage, where Brother Joseph and Brother Hyrum were in jail. When Samuel learned that his brothers were being held there, he decided to go help them.”
“Was this on the day they were killed, Grandma?”
“Yes. He didn’t know it, but the mob had already gone to the jail to kill Joseph and Hyrum.”
“That still makes me sad, Grandma.”
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