Through Cloud and Sunshine

by Dean Hughes

  “I think I know my Mary Ann already,” Liz said. But she didn’t say the rest. She simply couldn’t bear to lose her baby. She didn’t know how Mother Sessions had given up five children; she only knew that if Mary Ann didn’t live, she would want to follow her into the grave.

  “I know, Sister Lewis,” Patty said. “I understand what mothers feel.” She smoothed Liz’s hair with some gentle strokes, then rested her hand on her shoulder. “I see all these lovely babies born in Nauvoo, but I also see the ones that mothers lose, and I’ve never known a woman who didn’t suffer as though she would die herself when it happens. We have the canker rash in in the city right now, and black canker, too. Sister Healey lost her daughter last week—the poor child’s mouth and jaw all eaten away. And the chill fever is still taking lots of us. There’s hardly a family that hasn’t suffered with it.”

  “How do people get through it all?”

  “We just go on. We do it for our husbands and for our other children—and for other babies still to come.”

  But Liz was not going to think that way. She pulled her baby closer and said, “I’m going to keep my Mary Ann alive, Mother Sessions. I’ll love her so much, she won’t want to leave me. I’ll hold her so close, she’ll not let anything pull her away—not even heaven.” But Liz broke down at that point, and Patty said no more, only stroked her hair again, and finally bent and touched her cheek to Liz’s forehead.

  • • •

  Day after day, things got worse. Liz exerted all her effort to let her baby know how loved she was, tried over and over to feed her, but gradually Mary Ann cried less, ate less, and seemed more peaceful—and weak. The quieter Mary Ann became, the more it was Liz who cried.

  Will was Liz’s greatest blessing now that Nelly wasn’t staying through the night. He was patient with her and tender with Mary Ann. She saw in his eyes how worried he was for both of them. But she also heard at times, in his voice, that he wasn’t expecting Mary Ann to live. She finally asked him to bless the baby again, and he did, but after, she saw no hope in his face. “The Lord heard my blessing,” he told Liz. “Now we have to leave things in His hands.”

  But Liz didn’t want to accept that. Why couldn’t the Lord let her have this one thing she wanted?

  Will was working every day and awake much of the night helping Liz, and she knew he was exhausted. One morning he said he wouldn’t work that day, and she knew what he was saying: that Mary Ann was almost gone and he needed to be there when she took her last breath. But Liz was not ready to accept that. She almost forced him to leave. “She’s doing a little better this morning. I’m sure of it. Her breathing is better.”

  “I’ll help Jesse get started,” Will told her. “Dan Johns should be there. They can manage without me. I’ll be back before noon.”

  “All right then,” Liz said. “But you don’t need to worry quite so much. She’s making a turn for the better.”

  But it wasn’t true. They both knew it. All that day Liz watched her little sweetheart dwindle, her breath so shallow that her chest hardly moved. Liz would panic at times and try to wake her, try to make her nurse, but it was no use, and gradually Liz was beginning to admit to herself what was coming.

  Late that morning she heard a little rap on the door. It was likely one of the sisters, coming to console her, but Liz didn’t want that now. Still, she opened the door and found Emma Smith standing before her—the great lady herself. Liz had met her, chatted politely with her on several occasions, but she thought of Emma as too important to befriend, and a little too aloof to draw close to anyway. But there she was, tall and firm and pretty.

  “Sister Smith, please come in. I heard that you were sick. I’m surprised to see you.”

  Emma stepped inside. “I have been sick, but I’m on the mend now.” She smiled. “Or at least that’s what I tell myself. The ague has a way of coming back for another visit or two even after we think it’s gone.”

  “How do you manage everything with Joseph gone?”

  “Eliza Snow lives with us now. She teaches the children and keeps them busy all day. She’s been a great help to me, too.”

  Liz had never lit the Betty lamp in the main room, although the day was overcast. The firelight had been enough, early, and Liz hated the smell of coal oil when she burned the lamp. Now she was self-conscious about the dim light and the humble furniture she had to offer. But even in this light, Liz was seeing something. She hadn’t known that Sister Smith was in a family way.

  Emma smiled. “I see what you’re noticing. It’s a condition I know very well. That alone never slows me down very much.”

  “It must be difficult to be so sick at the same time.”

  “It hasn’t been easy. But Joseph stayed with me. He was in danger every minute, but he wouldn’t leave my side while I was down. He’s had to hide away again now, so it’s good I’m doing better.”

  Liz was filled with admiration. Sister Emma had the look of someone who had been deepened by her life’s experience—like Joseph—and yet, her smile was gentle and her touch remarkably soft as she grasped Liz’s forearm and then drew her close and embraced her. “Sister Sessions told me that your baby has had a hard time of it,” she said. “I wanted to visit you sooner. I hope the little one is doing better by now.”

  Liz was crying too hard to answer. She had wanted her mother all these months—since the day she had set sail from England, but especially this week—and Emma was now embracing her the way her mum had once done. Liz’s body seemed to know these arms, this voice in her ear. “I’m so sorry,” Emma was saying. “Is she getting worse?”

  Liz held on to Emma for quite some time—so long she was embarrassed, and then she knew she had to show more strength. She stepped back. “She’s dying, Sister Smith,” she said. It was the first time she had said the words, even to herself. She led Emma into the bedroom and to the bed where Mary Ann was sleeping.

  Liz picked up her baby, in her blanket, and handed her to Emma. “Oh my, she’s so beautiful,” Emma said. “She has your lovely face.”

  “I know that I have to be stronger, Sister Smith. I—”

  “Call me Emma, and, if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Elizabeth.”

  “Even better, call me Liz.”

  “I’ll do that.” Emma handed Mary Ann back to Liz.

  The two walked back to the main room. Liz pulled a straight-backed chair away from the table and motioned for Emma to sit down, and then she sat in front of Emma and held her baby close to her, her cheek against her little head. “I know you’ve lost some of your babies, Sister Emma. I often think how strong you’ve had to be.”

  Emma nodded, her eyes cast down. “Joseph and I have lost four of our newborns, and we lost a little boy we had taken in as our own—Julia’s twin brother. He was our son, too, so it’s been five that have left us.”

  “It seems too much to bear.”

  “What choice do we have?” Liz saw that tears had come to Emma’s eyes. “But that’s not what I came to say to you, Liz. The day was fair, and I wanted to walk a little, and I thought of you, away from your family, and facing this trouble. I have a little advice for you, I suppose.”

  “It’s what I need, Sister Emma. I’m missing my mother so much right now.”

  “I suppose the Lord sent me, then.” Emma seemed to think for a time, and then she said, “Each time one of our little spirits left this world, women would say to me, ‘My baby died too. I know how you feel.’ And I would always wonder why they thought that it might help me to know how much grief there is in this world. When death visits us, we don’t feel the world’s pain; we only feel our own. We can grieve with others, and they can grieve with us, but we cannot take away one another’s pain.”

  “But I’ve been feeling too much pity for myself.”

  “No, Liz. Don’t tell yourself that. That’s what I wanted to say to you. Words of that
kind only add to the ache you already have to go through. It’s not wrong to feel sorrow for your loss.”

  “Maybe once it is a loss, I can school my feelings. But all I can think is that I still have my baby and God doesn’t have to take her away. He can restore her if He wants to.”

  Emma smiled softly. She was wearing a loose dress. It was a print in shades of tan and brown, and she was wearing a dark brown knitted shawl over her shoulders. Her black hair had begun to gray just a little, but the curls by her ears were dark against her skin. The light from the west window was emitting just enough light across her face that Liz could see the creases that were starting to form at the corners of her eyes. She was nearing forty, Liz knew, and she was still one of the best-looking women in Nauvoo, but she looked weary—and too thin for a woman expecting a baby.

  “Think of me, Liz. I’m married to a prophet of God—and over and over the Lord has blessed me with babies, only to take them back. I told Joseph more than once that he should demand better treatment.” She smiled. “But Joseph tells me that he and I have to know pain, too, no matter what his calling is.”

  “It all seems so clear to me,” Liz said, “that pain is part of life and all will be made right. But I look at this sweet little thing and I don’t want to let her go. Right now, I can’t think of anything else.” She watched Mary Ann, who hardly moved at all now, finally beyond pain.

  “That’s what you should feel. You’re a mother.”

  “She could still get better, don’t you think? Miracles do happen.”

  “They do,” Emma said. “I’ve seen it happen. I’ll ask the Lord to help her, and you keep asking too.”

  “Why do we have to beg the Lord for what only seems right?”

  Emma nodded, as if to acknowledge the irony. “In Missouri,” she said, “the mob took Joseph and put him in a stinking little dungeon of a jail in Liberty. I begged the Lord every day to let him live, and I promised I would never complain again if I could just have him back. And then he did return. But by the time he did, I knew one thing.” She looked down at her hands, which she had gripped together, and then she looked back up, now with tears in her eyes again. “I knew that my dark days were not over, that more grief would come. So many of the prophets have had to suffer. It almost seems to be part of the covenant they make. It’s what softens them and hardens them at the same time. They learn to listen to God in humility, and to listen to the cries of their own people.”

  “And now he’s having to hide again—the same people still chasing him.”

  “Yes.”

  “The suffering never seems to stop.”

  “No, dear. That’s not true. Joseph is with me at times, and we appreciate our blessings more than ever. So I feel comforted. But the testing never ends. And it’s the same for all of us—both the pain and the joys. I don’t doubt that the illness you suffered in crossing the ocean brought on this baby’s weakness. But you came to Zion all the same, knowing what it might cost you. I hope you believe it was worth it.”

  “I do. At least most of the time, I do.”

  It was an honest answer. Liz had been thinking lately that she might have stayed in England and the baby might have been all right. She and Will could have lived in a better house, and they could have had an easier life. She had told herself all summer that the effort had been worth it—that Zion was worth it—but these last few days she had not been so sure.

  “God is still with you, Sister Liz. It’s what I wanted you to know. I didn’t come to give you false hope. I merely want you to know that God will get you through.”

  “Thank you. I do believe that.” She looked down at little Mary Ann again. She told herself she had to prepare—had to accept—and not let herself fall apart.

  Before Emma left, she took Mary Ann in her arms again, and she prayed for her. She asked that Liz might have the faith and strength to accept whatever came.

  • • •

  Will arrived home before noon, just as he had promised. But when he stepped through the door, he could tell that something had changed. His first thought was that Mary Ann had died, but Liz was holding her and crying softly. She wasn’t upset the way she had sometimes been the past few days.

  “Come and hold her for a little while and I’ll fix us something to eat.”

  “Is she any better, or—”

  “Will, she’s almost gone.”

  “I could bless her again. I could—”

  Liz shook her head.

  But Will wasn’t sure he was ready to give up. He had worried so much about Liz that he hadn’t thought enough about what this loss was going to do to him. All he could think was that when Mary Ann was gone, there would be an emptiness in their lives, and he had no idea what would happen to Liz. He had brought her here, put her on that miserable ship that had almost killed her. Everything he had done since they had married seemed to have worked against her. He had wanted her more than anything—for himself—and she had given herself to him, but what was the result going to be?

  The rest of that day they took turns holding Mary Ann. Her breathing was ever more shallow, and finally, late in the night—without Will or Liz ever knowing the moment when it actually happened—she was gone. Mary Ann didn’t seem different when her spirit left her. Her face was still as delicate as a newly opened rose.

  Chapter 5

  Abby had stayed at the hospital every day—and most nights—since William’s birth more than a week earlier. Because of Jeff’s work, he couldn’t stay all day, but he drove to Quincy each evening, and twice he had stayed overnight so that Abby could drive home, shower, and get a better night’s sleep. In the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, parents could sleep on a little pull-out bed when they chose to stay, but the trouble was, activity at night slowed but never really stopped. Sleep was difficult. Doug Vincent, Jeff’s boss, had been understanding about Jeff’s absences at the time of the surgery, but others at the company were not patient when their computers acted up. That meant on nights when he stayed at the hospital he had to leave early to make it back to Fort Madison, Iowa, across the river from Nauvoo, by the time people came to work. Abby knew Jeff was running on the last fumes left in his tank, but he didn’t complain. He seemed to worry more about Abby and how tired she had to be.

  Friends in Abby and Jeff’s Nauvoo ward had rallied around them. Kayla had shown up at the hospital every other day or so. She had brought Abby things she needed and usually stayed a few hours to help Abby pass the time. On those days, Lois McClelland, an older woman in their ward, had taken Kayla’s children for her. When Jeff got home at night, a meal was always in the oven. Sister Lawrence, the Relief Society president, had borrowed the extra garage-door opener, and she used it each day to get into the house with a hot meal.

  What Abby learned was that Sister Caldwell, the senior missionary from Idaho who had become Abby’s friend, had been making some of the meals and had also involved other senior missionaries. They were busy people, Abby knew, so she was touched to think of them finding time to help her.

  As Jeff was getting ready to leave on a Monday afternoon, Dr. Hunt happened to come by. He told Jeff and Abby that William was doing all right and they both ought to go home for a good night of sleep. Abby was reluctant, but Jeff told her the baby was in good hands, that she had to give herself a break. And then he didn’t take no for an answer. He got her coat and walked her out to the car. It would be good to have a little time alone, to talk—except that the conversation turned to the usual subject. Abby could never stop thinking about William’s heart, and she was always trying to interpret even the subtlest of words the doctor or nurses used, even their body language. She knew she did too much of that, but it was what filled her head all day, and when she finally had a few minutes with Jeff, it was what she always felt a need to discuss.

  When they got home, before Abby even had time to sit down, the phone rang. When Abby answered, i
t was Sister Caldwell who said, “Oh, Abby, it’s you. I was expecting Jeff.”

  “We both came home tonight,” Abby said. “It’s the first time we’ve done that.”

  “That’s wonderful. You two need that. The only thing I wanted to ask was how William is doing. Everyone wants to know.”

  “I think he’s all right, Sister Caldwell,” Abby said. “But I really don’t know. The doctor just says he’s ‘holding his own,’ whatever that means. They did close his chest, so I guess that means they aren’t so worried about him as they were right at first.”

  “Can you hold him and nurse him and—”

  “No. Not right now. He’s got lots of tubes and wires running in and out of him. But I rub his little head and talk to him. They say he’s not in pain, but I watch him and I wish I could just ...” Abby stopped. She had had a long day.

  “I’m so sorry,” Sister Caldwell was saying. “You need to get to bed. I’ll bet you’re jist worn to a frazzle.”

  “I’m fine. I just wish we’d start to see ...” She fought against her tears. “I’d like to see some progress. That’s all.”

  “I can jist imagine. But honey, I pray every day for him—so do all the missionaries—and I jist know he’s going to be all right.”

  Maybe. But so many people said such things. Abby was weary of looking for evidence of God’s will. “Sister Caldwell,” she said, “thanks so much for the food, and thanks for calling.”

  “Did your meal come today?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, that’s good. Sister Rosewater said she’d do it, but jist between you and I, she’s gittin’ a little forgetful. She forgits her schedule and don’t show up where she’s s’posed to be. And you oughtta hear her version of the scripts. I heard her start the Lucy Smith script in the bakery one day and I had to cough like I had the pneumonia to git her to stop and think.”

  Abby laughed. “Well, she remembered the meal. Jeff’s getting it out right now, and it smells really good. Thank her for me—and all the sisters who’ve been helping.”