I barely knew Kim then. Had I known him better, I would have seen that treating such an important idea so lightly was not something that he would easily accept. He asked if he could fly out to Utah with his wife, Jane, and meet with me and my wife. Lynn and I agreed, though again I must confess that I tried to discourage him from coming, telling him that it might prove to be a waste of his time and money. They came anyway, and it was our privilege to meet Kim and Jane Moe. We were warmed and charmed by their grace, their testimony, and their devotion to the Church. I also quickly learned that this was not just a passing idea for Kim. He had deep and powerful feelings about the importance of this work and a driving sense of mission to see that it was accomplished. Only later did I learn that he had had an unusual spiritual experience which filled him with a great sense of urgency to become the catalyst in getting the novel written. As I look back on that now, and the fact that he did not tell me everything on that first visit, I am impressed with his wisdom. He did not try to unduly influence me through claiming a “spiritual directive” in the matter. He saw the importance of letting me come to this on my own without feeling excessive pressure.
He was, however, very persuasive in convincing me that this was more than just a whim. When he and Jane returned to North Carolina a few days later, they had my verbal commitment—not to write the book but to give it serious consideration and to make it a matter of pondering and prayer. The rest of the story can be easily guessed. After several days, including a day alone in the mountains, I called Kim and told him I was convinced that he was right—this was something that needed to be done and other projects would have to wait.
Note that to this point I have referred to the project in the singular—“the novel,” “the book.” How naive we were back then in the initial stages! We envisioned one long volume of about a thousand pages which would cover the history from 1827 when Joseph received the gold plates up to modern times. When I finally began to write, after several months of research and plotting, it quickly became evident that this story was far too great in scope to be adequately told in one volume. Thus was born The Work and the Glory “series,” which nine years later is still not completed.
Through all of those years, Kim and Jane were an integral part of the project. Their vision of what it should be never flagged. They were converted to the Church at a later point in their lives, and so they brought not only strong testimonies to the project but also the perspective of the nonmember. Kim pored over the manuscripts and illustrations and made hundreds of suggestions on each volume. He constantly reminded me to avoid LDS cliches and to be sensitive to those who do not know our vocabulary and our way of seeing the world. Retired from active business life by the time all of this began, he devoted almost his full time to the series. His influence, though not specifically marked, is felt throughout each of the various volumes. Without Kim Moe, the series as it has now developed would not be in existence at this time.
It was with shock and sorrow that I learned in the late summer of 1996 that Kim had been diagnosed with lung cancer. Gratefully, he lived long enough to read and critique the complete manuscript of volume 7 and to see it published and on the shelf. How he wanted to see the Saints—and the Steeds—reach the Valley of the Great Salt Lake! But it was not to be. He passed away in October 1996. His presence and influence will be sorely missed. The Work and the Glory continues as a monument to his vision, his determination, and his great desire to be of service in the Lord’s kingdom.
Gerald N. Lund
>Bountiful, Utah
September 1997
I would like to express my gratitude to the many generous friends who have stepped in to help me carry on my responsibilities in the production of this historical saga, The Work and the Glory.
It has been a most fulfilling project for both Kim and me for these many years. Since Kim died in October 1996 I have tried to carry on for both of us. It is a project in which I still find great fulfillment. Since the onset of macular degeneration my vision has been reduced to “legal blindness,” so that I now have a select group of friends who read the manuscript to me. It is to them I want to express my deep gratitude. Their names are not in any particular order, but my love and appreciation for each of them is deep and enduring: To Julia and William Ince, Robert and Susannah Winston, Kay Wilson, Dianne and George Elges, Cheri Henderson, and our son, Terry Moe, who makes frequent visits from Florida. Also to Janet Anderson, who not only reads manuscript pages but also has taken over the computer side of this endeavor, and to her wonderfully thoughtful husband and compassionate children. Last but never least, to Sandy and Tim Vos and their three delightful children, who have all been willing—and available—right hands for me.
A special expression of gratitude to Jerry and Lynn Lund for their thoughtful understanding of my situation.
Jane Moe
Highlands, North Carolina
September 1997
Characters of Note in This Book
The Steed Family
•Mary Ann Morgan, widow of Benjamin Steed, and mother and grandmother; not quite sixty as the story opens.
•Joshua, the oldest son (almost thirty-nine), and his wife, Caroline Mendenhall (almost forty).
William (“Will”), from Caroline’s first marriage (nearing twenty-two), and his wife, Alice Samuelson (nineteen).
Savannah; almost nine.
Charles Benjamin; six.
Livvy Caroline; not quite two years old as the book opens.
•Jessica Roundy Garrett (forty-one), Joshua’s first wife, widow of John Griffith, and her husband, Solomon Garrett (almost forty-one).
Rachel, from marriage to Joshua; fourteen.
Luke and Mark, sons from John Griffith’s first marriage; thirteen and eleven, respectively.
John Benjamin, from marriage to John; about eight.
Miriam Jessica, from marriage to Solomon; two and a half.
Solomon Clinton; eleven months.
•Nathan, the second son (almost thirty-seven), and his wife, Lydia McBride (about the same age).
Joshua Benjamin (“Josh”); nearing fifteen.
Emily; not quite fourteen.
Elizabeth Mary; not quite eight.
Josiah Nathan; five.
Nathan Joseph (called Joseph); nearly three.
•Melissa, the older daughter (thirty-five), and her husband, Carlton (“Carl”) Rogers (thirty-six).
Carlton Hezekiah; almost fourteen.
David Benjamin; eleven and a half.
Caleb John; not yet ten.
Sarah; seven.
Mary Melissa; a year and a half.
•Rebecca, the younger daughter (twenty-eight), and her husband, Derek Ingalls (twenty-eight).
Christopher Joseph; almost seven.
Benjamin Derek; almost four.
Leah Rebecca; eleven months.
•Matthew, the youngest son (twenty-five), and his wife, Jennifer Jo McIntire (twenty-four).
Betsy Jo; not quite four.
Emmeline; eleven months.
•Peter Ingalls, Derek’s younger brother (almost twenty-two), and his wife, Kathryn Marie McIntire, Jennifer Jo’s sister (nearly twenty).
Note: Deceased children are not included in the above listing.
The Smiths
* Lucy Mack, the mother.
* Mary Fielding, Hyrum’s wife.
* Emma Hale, Joseph Smith’s wife.
* William, Joseph’s youngest living brother; age thirty-five.
Others
* William Clayton, an English convert; clerk to Brigham Young and an accomplished musician.
* George and Jacob Donner, well-to-do farmers from Springfield, Illinois, who decide to go to California in 1846.
* Heber C. Kimball, friend of Brigham Young’s and a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
* Jesse C. Little, president of the Eastern States Mission and President Young’s envoy to President James K. Polk.
* Orson Pratt, member of the Quoru
m of the Twelve Apostles.
* Parley P. Pratt, member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
* James Reed, wealthy businessman who heads for California with the Donner brothers and his own family.
* Willard Richards, member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
* George A. Smith, member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
* John Taylor, member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
* Wilford Woodruff, member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.
* Brigham Young, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and head of the Church; three months short of his forty-fifth birthday as the novel opens.
Though too numerous to list here, there are many other actual people from the pages of history who are mentioned by name in the novel. James and Drusilla Hendricks, Eliza R. Snow, Ezra T. Benson, George Miller, Stephen Markham, Orson and Catharine Spencer, and many others mentioned in the book were real people who lived and participated in the events described in this work.
Key to Abbreviations Used in Chapter Notes
Throughout the chapter notes, abbreviated references are given. The following key gives the full bibliographic data for those references.
CN Church News
Iowa Trail Susan Easton Black and William G. Hartley, eds., The Iowa Mormon Trail: Legacy of Faith and Courage (Orem, Utah: Helix Publishing, 1997.)
LDSBE Andrew Jenson, comp., Latter-day Saint Biographical Encyclopedia, 4 vols. (1901–36; reprint, Salt Lake City: Western Epics, 1971.)
MHBY Elden J. Watson, ed., Manuscript History of Brigham Young, 1846–1847 (Salt Lake City: Elden J. Watson, 1971.)
“Voyage” Lorin K. Hansen, “Voyage of the Brooklyn,” Dialogue 21 (Fall 1988): 47–72.
Brethren, shall we not go on in so great a cause? Go forward and not backward. Courage, brethren; and on, on to the victory!
—Joseph Smith, 1842
Doctrine and Covenants 128:22
Chapter 1
They were out in the open, gathered around the common fire the men had built within the tight circle of their wagons. Supper was over—plates of beans with slivers of bacon to give them flavor, hard biscuits—and the dishes had been scrubbed out in the frigid waters of Sugar Creek. Now, while the women bedded down the youngest in the tents, the others stood around the fire, talking quietly or just staring into the flickering flames.
The air that had turned cold enough to make an ice bridge across the mighty Mississippi still held them in its grip. Small clouds of mist burst from their mouths, gleamed momentarily gold from the fire, then dissipated into nothingness. Three days ago, when they had arisen and started their preparations to depart, the thermometer on Joshua’s barn registered six degrees above zero. The night before that, it had been twelve below. It was a miracle, of that Nathan had no doubt. The miracle was not that the mighty river had frozen solid—it had done that before—but that it had done so this late in the season and at just the right time. Probably two hundred wagons had crossed with them that day, something that would have taken a week or two had they waited for the ferries. Hundreds more had come since then. If the weather continued to hold—unlikely, since this was the last day of February—perhaps everyone who was ready to go could cross. So in that sense the cold was a blessing. But as he pulled his coat around him more tightly, feeling the chill seeping through his clothing, Nathan realized the blessing was not without its drawbacks.
He glanced around, taking note of his family. The children, except for the oldest three—Rachel, Emily, and young Joshua—were in the tents or the wagons. The babies were asleep. Inside Matthew and Jenny’s wagon, the other children were playing some game in the dark. There would be an occasional burst of giggles, a soft cry of dismay, some protest over unfairness, followed instantly by the hushing of others lest it bring the parents over to mediate. But for tonight at least, these three who were in their teens were content to be adults rather than children.
There were twenty-five of them here in their little portion of the Sugar Creek Camp now. A frown pulled at the corners of Nathan’s mouth. There should have been eleven more. If you counted Carl and Melissa and their five children and Caroline and her three children, there would be eleven more. It saddened him to think of that. Carl and Melissa refusing to come. Caroline aching to but Joshua steadfastly refusing.
His face suddenly twisted. Not eleven more! Twelve! It was as if the bitter cold had suddenly coalesced into a single blade and pierced his heart. There should be another Steed at the fire this night. But Benjamin Steed had seen the flash of Savannah’s blue dress in the murky waters and dove in without hesitation. Savannah now lived, but Benjamin lay in a frozen grave overlooking a frozen river. That had been almost three weeks ago now. How long before the pain became bearable?
His eyes pulled away from the fire. He glanced at his mother to see if she was thinking the same dark thoughts that he was, but her head was down, and he looked away again. He couldn’t make himself watch her for more than a moment. That was a major source of his hurt—knowing her pain and feeling her loneliness. Benjamin Steed—beloved husband, esteemed father, adored grandfather, patriarch to the Steed clan—should have been sitting right there at the head of the circle beside Mary Ann. But he was not and never would be again—not in this life—and the circle seemed only half of what it should be because of it.
He forced his thoughts away to other things, too tired to hold the pain so close to him. There were now close to three thousand people in the Sugar Creek Camp, but without stars or moon, the blackness hid all but the dull glow of campfires. Around the nearest ones he could see shadowy figures moving about or sitting motionless as he was. How many fires now? he thought. A hundred? No, three hundred, at least. Maybe more. He shook his head. Just as well he couldn’t see more. Morning’s light would reveal the ugliness that was Sugar Creek Camp now. The ground would be chocolate brown, churned by thousands of boots and shoes and hooves. Scattered among the wagons, like the aftermath of a children’s party, would be the tents and the makeshift shelters and, in too many cases, the bedrolls laid out on the open ground. On the perimeter, the stock—an insane mix of beef and milk cows, oxen, mules, horses—would be seen and heard and smelled. Smoke from the fires would hang in the still, cold air, filling the trees and brush along the creek with its own fog that stung the eyes and irritated the throat.
He felt a touch of guilt. The camp was a muddle of disarray, but for the Steeds this would be only their fourth night here. Some had been here for over three weeks now. Three weeks! He could barely imagine that. Had the tragedy with Benjamin not occurred, they would have come here on the ninth and been here ever since. So they had no reason to complain.
Beside him, Lydia straightened and stretched, rubbing her hands as she held them out toward the fire. She took one look at his face and reached up and took his hand. Her hand was cold, but he welcomed it and what it said to him.
Seeing the movement, Mary Ann looked up, clearly brought out of her own reverie. “William Clayton came by a while ago.”
Nathan turned to his mother in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes, while you and Joshua were out seeing to the stock.”
Lydia, who had gone with them to help milk the cow, was also surprised. “So he’s out of Nauvoo?”
“Yes. He arrived yesterday afternoon. He came to pay his respects for Benjamin.”
Jessica spoke up. “That’s a good sign, don’t you think?” She sat alone tonight. Their baby was asleep in the tent and she made Solomon stay with him. Solomon was still recovering from pneumonia resulting from his plunge in the river to help save Savannah.
Derek and Rebecca were seated on a log beside Joshua, Rebecca leaning back against her husband to keep warm. “A very good sign,” she agreed.
Joshua looked a little puzzled. “William Clayton? Wasn’t he one of Joseph’s clerks?”
Mary Ann nodded. “Yes. He is also a clerk for Brother Brigham and the Twelve.”
“So
why is that a good sign?” Joshua, Nathan’s eldest son, spoke up.
Jessica turned to him. “Well, young Joshua, if I am correct, that means—”
Young Joshua’s hand came up. Jessica stopped in surprise. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Aunt Jessica, but may I say something?”
Lydia was a little surprised. It was not like her oldest child to break in like that. He of all her children was always the most polite. “What is it, Joshua?”
“Why does everyone keep calling me ‘young Joshua’? I’ll be fifteen in May.”
Nathan laughed. That seemed like a strange thing, coming out just like that right now. “We do it so we can distinguish between you and your uncle.”
“So should we call Uncle Joshua ‘old Joshua’?”
Joshua hooted aloud at that one. “I think not.”
“Why not just call me Josh? That’s what all the younger children call me anyway.” Now a little bit embarrassed, he turned back to Jessica. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. But I’ve been thinking about this a lot.”
“I’m glad you said something,” Jessica said warmly. “Josh is a good solution, I think.”
The other adults were all nodding. “Josh it is,” his father said.
“Anyway,” Jessica went on, “Solomon heard that one of the things Brother Brigham has been waiting for is for Brother Clayton to bring the Church property across so we can leave.”
Derek spoke up now. “Heber C. Kimball brought the first of it across in some of his wagons. We heard that Brother Clayton and others were to make sure the rest was brought out.”
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