“But . . .” She looked away. It felt as though she had been struck violently in the stomach, and for a moment she thought she was going to gag.
Nathan started to swing down but she grabbed at his arm, digging her fingers into the flesh. “No, Nathan.”
“Don’t you want to talk to him?”
“No. I want to talk with Drusilla. Take me to Drusilla.”
When Drusilla Hendricks looked up and saw them approaching on the horse, she didn’t seem surprised. She removed her apron, put aside the flour she was mixing into dough, and came over to meet them. Neither woman spoke as Nathan helped Lydia down from the horse. Drusilla motioned toward the empty field where they had walked the last time Lydia had come, and they started away.
“I’ll wait here,” Nathan called.
Lydia, only then remembering that he was there, waved gratefully.
“What happened?” Lydia demanded the moment they were away from the wagons. The rawness of her emotions made her voice come out more sharply than she had intended.
Drusilla looked at her and Lydia saw that her eyes were swimming.
“You were so sure the other day,” Lydia went on, more softly. “What happened?”
“This morning William was very depressed. The men had marched away and he was not one of them. He begged me to reconsider. I told him that I couldn’t bear to lose him.”
She looked away, and her voice sounded very far away as she continued. “I was starting to get breakfast. I went to the wagon for some flour. When I stepped up on the tongue to reach inside the wagon, the voice of the Lord whispered in my mind. It was just like a voice had spoken to me, only it was inside me, not outside.”
“What did it say?”
“ ‘Drusilla,’ it said, ‘do you not want the greatest glory?’ ” She finally turned and looked directly at Lydia. “It came so clearly that I answered out loud in my natural voice, as if someone had actually spoken to me. ‘Yes, I do,’ I said. Then the voice said, ‘Then how can you get it without making the greatest sacrifices?’”
“But you have made the greatest sacrifices,” Lydia cried in dismay. “You let James go off to help rescue the brethren at Crooked River and he came back paralyzed. You didn’t turn bitter about that. You stayed faithful. Through all those years when you had to support the family and care for James, you never complained. What more could anyone ask of you?”
Drusilla lifted a hand as though to speak, but Lydia rushed on, wanting to say all that she had been feeling since they had talked last. “And when the call came to go west, you of all people had every right to say no. You had no husband to drive your teams, no man to cut wood and care for your family. But you came anyway. Surely, of all people, you have made the greatest sacrifices.”
Drusilla waited now until she was done, then smiled sadly. “When the voice asked me that question, ‘How can you get it without making the greatest sacrifices,’ all I could think of to say was, ‘Lord, what lack I yet?’ ” She paused, and now the tears could no longer be contained. “ ‘Let your son go in the battalion,’ came the answer.”
At those terrible words, Lydia closed her eyes.
Drusilla watched her, waiting silently until she finally opened her eyes. “There was nothing more to be done,” she said. “I was devastated. All that I had felt welled up in me and I wanted to shout out that I could not accept that. But I knew I had heard the voice of the Spirit. I went back and prepared breakfast, hardly knowing what I was doing. Then, as we were eating, William raised his eyes and looked me in the face, and in that instant I knew as surely as I have ever known anything that he would go. I told him that he had my permission and I was sorry that I had told him he couldn’t go. Now it was too late, for the men had already marched away.”
“And then came the announcement,” Lydia said, her voice hollow and dead.
Drusilla was nodding. “Even as I was speaking to my Billy, a rider came tearing through the camp yelling that the roster was not full and that they needed more men. William shot to his feet and shouted that he was coming.”
The tears were gone now, and she reached up and brushed at the wet streak on her cheek. Her eyes were somber but at peace. “I could not swallow another bite of breakfast, and as he gathered his things I couldn’t help but think that I might never have my family together again. I have no picture of William, so I took one in my mind this morning. I looked at him until I knew I would never forget what he looked like. ‘If I never see you again until the morning of the first resurrection,’ I thought to myself, ‘then at that moment, I shall know you as my child.’ ”
A sob escaped from Lydia, and a shudder shook her body. “Oh, Drusilla,” was all she could manage to say.
“After breakfast, when William went to sign up,” she went on evenly now, as though she were speaking only to herself, “I went out to milk the cows. I thought that perhaps they might give me some shelter. So there I knelt down and told the Lord that if he wanted my child in the battalion he could take him. I only asked that his life be spared. I felt that was all I could do.”
Lydia looked away, and the silence stretched on for several moments.
“There’s one more thing you ought to know,” Drusilla finally said.
“What?”
She turned now to look at Lydia fully. “When I told the Lord he could have my son, the voice in my mind came to me one last time.”
Lydia’s chin lifted. “What did it say?”
Suddenly Drusilla’s eyes were brimming with tears again, only this time they were tears of radiant joy. “The voice said as clearly as I am speaking to you now, ‘Drusilla, my daughter, it shall be done unto you as it was unto Abraham when he offered Isaac on the altar.’ ”
By the time Nathan and Lydia crossed back over the river and reached camp, Tricia was awake again and starting to fuss. Josh and Emily were both caring for her. Elizabeth Mary was playing with the two younger boys behind the wagon.
As Nathan reined up, he half turned in the saddle. “Do you want me to tell him?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. The tears were gone now and there was a cold emptiness inside her, but she had gotten her answer and she wasn’t going to leave it to Nathan to carry it out. Nathan held one arm and helped her slide down to the ground, then dismounted as well. The three little ones had not spied their parents as yet, and Lydia wanted to keep it that way for now. She raised her hand and motioned for Josh to come over.
He did, but Emily thought she was being summoned too and followed right behind him.
“How did the baby do?” Lydia wanted to postpone the moment for as long as possible.
“Good,” Josh said, looking at his baby sister. “She just woke up a few minutes ago.”
“She’s been fine, Mama,” Emily added. “But I think she’s hungry again.”
“Still,I think, is a better word,” Nathan smiled, taking the baby from Emily. Tricia was just over three months old now and smiled up at him as he began to coo to her. On the other side of the wagon, the flap to Mary Ann’s tent opened and she stepped outside. When she saw them she too came over to join them.
Lydia was staring at the ground now, but feeling Nathan’s eyes on her, she lifted her head and turned to Josh. “How long will it take you to pack?”
For a moment, it didn’t register. He gave her a blank look.
She smiled faintly but it was filled with pain. “How long will it take you to pack your things, Josh?”
Mary Ann’s eyes widened. She was just behind Josh, so that he couldn’t see her face. She shot Nathan a questioning look. He nodded with the merest bob of his head and her eyes widened even more. Now she too turned to watch Lydia closely.
“Are we moving back across the river, Mama?” Emily asked eagerly. Solomon and Jessica were still on the eastern bank, which meant that Rachel and Emily were temporarily separated. A move back would be welcomed by her.
“No. I was just asking Josh,” Lydia said softly. Then, to her son, who was still
quite confused, she said, “You’ll have to take everything you need until they issue you your equipment at Fort Leavenworth.”
Now confusion was replaced by astonishment. He took a step forward, his mouth opening slightly. “Me? Do you mean . . . ?”
She nodded slowly.
His eyes became huge and his mouth fell wide open now. “In the battalion?”
“We stopped at the mustering table and signed you on. You’ll be an orderly in D Company.”
Emily squealed aloud and clapped her hands.
Josh gaped at his father, who smiled and nodded as well. He swung to his grandmother in disbelief. She was still watching Lydia carefully. “You’re sure?” Mary Ann asked, speaking to Lydia and not to Josh.
“I’m sure,” Lydia whispered.
For the third time that day—the fifth for Nathan—Lydia stood on the banks of the Missouri River waiting for the ferry to arrive. As the oxen dragged the ferry upstream from the unloading dock, Lydia shook her head. “I’m sorry, Nathan. I know I should be stronger, but I can’t take any more today. If President Young has changed his mind—”
He turned from watching the ferry and pressed his fingers to her lips. “We don’t know that he wants anything yet, Lydia. It’s just a meeting he’s called.”
“Why a meeting now? What if he’s heard about Josh and thinks you ought to go with him? Haven’t we already given enough?”
Nathan was patient. “All Brother Allred said is that there would be a meeting for some of the brethren in the bowery this afternoon. He said nothing about the battalion.” His words sounded hollow, even to himself.
Lydia nodded numbly and didn’t say anything more.
They didn’t speak any further as the ferry pulled up and they led the horse on. They didn’t speak again while the ferry made its way across the river. On the ride up to the bowery Lydia clung to him tightly but still said nothing more. As they approached the low structure which was built to provide shelter from sun and rain, Nathan started to turn the horse toward where Solomon and Jessica were camped. But Lydia grabbed at his arm. “No, Nathan. I don’t want to talk with anyone. I’ll just wait for you there on that little knoll above the bowery.”
He nodded and turned the horse toward the hillside. Careful not to let anything show on his face, he helped her down, handed her the bag of knitting, then bent down and kissed her forehead. “It’ll be all right, Lydia. Please don’t worry.”
She nodded, not looking up.
It turned out to be an alternating rise and fall between sheer relief and renewed anxiety. Elder Heber C. Kimball began the meeting with the announcement that the necessary number of volunteers had been raised and would be leaving shortly to join the other companies at Traders Point downriver a few miles. That brought sheer relief. There was a call for men to help build a road on the west side of the river and an invitation for any who wished to join the Twelve in an exploration for a permanent settlement. Then suddenly the anxiety shot up again when Brigham Young stood and said, “Brethren, we need your help.”
Nathan held his breath, watching intently.
“As you know,” Brigham went on, “we gave our most solemn assurances that if our brethren heeded this call from the army, we would see that their families are cared for and watched over. This is an obligation that we cannot take lightly. One has only to look in any direction from this bowery and see the challenge that lies before us. The prairies are dotted with tents and wagons, and the hillsides are speckled with livestock. In many cases the owners of those tents and wagons and animals are no longer here. We made a covenant with those brethren.” His voice suddenly thundered out. “And that is a covenant we shall keep.”
Nathan felt himself relax. This was a matter of grave concern, but it was not a call for any brethren to leave their families.
The chief Apostle raised a hand as he emphasized his next words. “We have to care for the women and children of those men who have left us to march to Mexico. They must be provided for. They must be protected. They must not be forgotten!”
He paused. Every eye was on him. Every ear listened intently. “We of the Twelve have discussed this matter at length. We would now like to propose to you that we call out ninety of you men to serve as bishops to the families of those who are left behind.”
Nathan leaned forward. Bishops? In Nauvoo there had been a few wards created, with bishops to govern them. But out here there was no city. And ninety? He blew out his breath. It was a stunning concept.
“As you know, the members of the battalion have volunteered to leave a portion of their wages behind with us to help us see our people through the winter. It is not much—only seven dollars a month for a private, but from five hundred men, that can still prove to be substantial. These bishops will be asked to take that money and apportion it out to the families. You will be responsible to see that the money is accounted for and properly distributed. Your calling is to be the shepherd to those who now have no fathers and husbands, to watch over them and see that they are not left as widows and orphans. We cannot have them crying to the Lord that they are being neglected. We simply cannot. We owe these brethren too much.”
He held up a sheet of paper. “Here are the names of the men we have recommended. We shall post it for all to see. Those who find your names upon it shall receive further instructions about your new responsibility.”
He turned and handed the sheet to Elder Kimball, who immediately picked up a small hammer and a nail. He walked to one of the outer posts that held the roof of the bowery and tacked up the paper. Brigham watched until he was done, then nodded in satisfaction. “There it is, brethren. Take a moment to see if your names are there. If they are, we shall meet with you after we return from finding a winter camp.” He turned and called for a closing prayer and sat down.
Nathan was on the far side of the bowery from where the list hung, so he remained seated until the initial crush of men had lessened somewhat, then got up and walked to the post. There were still men four or five deep there, but he could see over their heads and began to read slowly. It said something about how rapidly the Church had grown these past few years that more than half the names on the list were ones that Nathan did not recognize. But there were many that he did, and most were no surprise to him. Priddy Meeks, William Draper, John Murdock, John Benbow, Abraham O. Smoot, Jesse C. Little (who had just returned from Washington, D.C.). These were good, solid men.
And then there it was. Nathan Steed.The two words jumped out at him as though written in gold. He felt a thrill of elation. Now he understood why his father had been so gratified with his call to be a missionary in Tennessee. Such a call was a witness that the Lord valued one’s service, one’s contribution. Nathan was deeply humbled to think that he had been viewed as worthy to serve.
He didn’t look at the rest of the names. With a brief nod, as if to confirm to himself that he had found what he was looking for, he turned and strode out to where the horses were tied. He found his, swung up, and turned the horse toward the knoll which overlooked the bowery.
Lydia stood slowly as he rode up. She was searching his face carefully. He was sure that she would be able to read the joy there, but then he saw from her eyes that her worry was too consuming. Her mouth was drawn tight, her eyes pinched with anxiety.
He jumped down from the horse and walked to her swiftly.
“Nathan, before you tell me what happened, I want to say something.”
He nodded, suspecting what was coming and feeling such a burst of love for this woman that for a moment he couldn’t speak. “All right,” he finally managed.
“I’ll do whatever is asked of us,” she whispered. “I’m better now.”
“I know. I never thought otherwise.”
Then, with joy spilling over into his voice, he took her in his arms and told her what Brigham Young wanted.
She looked a little confused. “A bishop? But what does that mean?”
“It means I’m staying right here with yo
u for the winter,” he answered.
Chapter Notes
The novel’s depiction of events involving Drusilla Hendricks and her son William is based on Drusilla’s own account of her family’s experiences (see Drusilla Dorris Hendricks, “Historical Sketch of James Hendricks and Drusilla Dorris Hendricks,” Archives Division, Church Historical Department, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, Utah).
On the same day that the final company of the Mormon Battalion was raised, Brigham Young called for the selection of ninety bishops to help care for the families of those who were leaving with the army. Some of Brigham’s words on that occasion as presented here come from William Draper’s account of the meeting that day. (See MHBY,pp. 261–63; SW,pp. 35–36.)
Chapter 16
To Mr. James Frazier Reed
From Mr. Edwin Bryant, recently removed from Louisville, Kentucky
July 17, 1846
My dear James,
I am writing this letter by lamplight from within the meager walls of a small stockade known as Fort Bridger, so named for its founder and co-owner Mr. Jim Bridger. We arrived here last night and pitched tents for the first time since leaving Fort Laramie. Through all of the intervening days, we have slept on the ground in the open, come rain, shine, or occasional frost.
There is a matter of utmost urgency that compels me to write this letter. I hope I can find someone going east so that you can receive this letter and be properly informed about the wisest course of action to pursue. But I shall speak of that in a moment. I thought perhaps it might be of some value to give a brief summary of our journey here since we last saw you at Beaver Creek. When we left you, there were twelve of us, along with thirty pack mules and ponies. I suspect that we are now ten or twelve days ahead of you. I think of you coming on more slowly and can picture roughly where you are day by day.
There are nine crossings of the Sweetwater altogether, and while we made our journey without undue hardship, we often thought of the difficulty the wagons would have in some places, especially the great sand hills near Three Crossings. I will be curious as to whether or not you recognize South Pass when you finally reach there. It is such a gentle incline and so broad in its width you hardly realize you have crossed the backbone of the continent. Not until we reached the spring just a mile or so west of the pass (appropriately named Pacific Spring because its waters run to the Pacific Ocean) were we sure we had crossed the Continental Divide. From there to here, as you will quickly see, is a series of hot, dry runs between the rivers—the Little Sandy, the Big Sandy, the Green, Ham’s Fork, and finally Black’s Fork, on which Bridger has built his fort. We calculate that Fort Bridger is 133 miles from the Pacific Spring. If our further calculations are correct, it was 983 miles from Independence, Missouri, to the Pacific Spring, or a total of 1,116 miles from our departure point to Fort Bridger.
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