Through Cloud and Sunshine

by Dean Hughes

  • • •

  It was February 26, early on a Monday morning, when Liz knew the pains she had been feeling were the real thing and that her baby would be born that day. She was glad that Will was with her and that Nelly was nearby. Patty Sessions came again, and all was much as before, except her labor was more difficult. This was a bigger baby, she knew from the beginning, and she wondered, before the ordeal was over, whether she could stand the pain. But her joy was greater, too, when she saw a big, healthy boy. He cried louder, nursed demandingly almost from the first, was more wide-eyed and aware, and, fortunately, also slept better than Mary Ann had done.

  Jacob seemed a little unsure about what was happening. He liked to touch the baby’s face and say, “Baby. Baby.” But he also wanted to be held more often himself, especially when Liz nursed the little one. And he seemed to get into more things—as though he knew that being naughty would get his mother’s attention. Liz hadn’t realized how much more challenging her life would be now. But Will was at home more this time of year, and he was much more willing to help her than most men she knew. He gave Jacob more time than usual, and Jacob loved that.

  As busy as she felt—and tired—she loved to think that they really were a family now. They chose the name Daniel for the baby, naming him after Will’s brother but also after Daniel of old—a visionary man. It was Will’s choice, but one that Liz liked very much. And she liked having her “three boys,” as she called Will and the babies. As she recovered from the birth, she felt stronger than ever, and she was happy to think that she really was becoming a woman of strength.

  • • •

  In March, Jake and Faith Winthrop arrived in Nauvoo with their son and two little daughters. Will had plowed some ground for Jake in the Big Field the previous fall, just as he had promised, but the Winthrops had been able to sell their farm, so they came with enough cash to buy a lot in town and a small farm, already established, near Hyrum Smith’s farm on the eastern edge of Nauvoo. For three weeks they stayed with Will and Liz and slept on the floors. But Jake and Will felled more trees and then, with the help of other men in the neighborhood, hewed the logs, hauled them to the town lot, and raised a cabin. Will and Jake talked a good deal about working together to build brick homes the following year. Jake had given up something much better for what he now had, but he was happy and optimistic, and the first time he and Faith heard Joseph Smith speak—and shook his hand afterwards—they were certain that they had done the right thing.

  Will was pleased that the city was looking better all the time, and Jake and Faith seemed impressed. A rope manufactory had opened near the lumber mill on Water Street, and Lucius Scovil had opened a new bakery on Main Street. In fact, all sorts of businesses had been starting up: a comb factory and a brewery on the bluffs, along with new brickyards, and another drugstore and two more general stores on the flats. More brick houses were going up all the time, and Nauvoo University was offering more classes each year. Even though the university had not yet constructed its own building, the new Seventies Hall, with its museum and library, and the almost completed Masonic Lodge, with its cultural hall, offered places for classes to be held. Orson Pratt, Orson Spencer, and Sidney Rigdon taught classes in mathematics, philosophy, and English literature—and many other subjects—and Will had read the announcements for classes in Hebrew and other languages. Will often felt his lack of education, and he longed to find time to change that. He and Jake Winthrop talked about helping each other free up time to attend some of the classes. All that seemed to excite Jake. He had come to Zion for religious reasons, but he was surprised that it was also becoming a business center and a place of culture and learning.

  Late in March, just as Will began to hope for a good spring, wet weather settled in again. Still, better days had to be ahead, and planting couldn’t be too far off. He hoped there would be plenty of new immigrants who would want to open their newly purchased fields as soon as the weather broke. He decided this might be the year to advertise in the Nauvoo Neighbor, as the Wasp had been renamed, that he had oxen and could plow through deep prairie grass. So he rode Socks down to the flats and stopped at the print shop on the corner of Water and Bain Streets, across from the brick store. When he walked inside, a young man was operating a press toward the back of the shop. “Good day,” he said. “A moment, please, an’ oi’ll see to yor needs.”

  He was English, Will knew immediately, although he sounded northern, not from the midlands. The young man had been daubing ink on the printing type, and now he was using a handle to tighten a blank sheet of paper against the type. When he released it again, he picked up the sheet at the corners and carried it to a line where he could hang it up to dry. As he pinned it up, he said, “Now, then, what is it I can do to serve ye, sir?”

  “I hope to print a notice in the Nauvoo Neighbor.”

  “If you will kindly write out what—”

  But from a desk in the back corner of the room, Will heard, “Is that the mother tongue I hear spoken in my office?” The man stood from his desk, and Will realized it was John Taylor himself. He was an Apostle—had served in England at the same time Wilford Woodruff had been there—and Will had heard him preach many times here in Nauvoo. Will had greeted him and shaken his hand from time to time, but the two had never become well acquainted. Apostle Taylor was tall and handsome, with carefully trimmed whiskers that ran down the side of his face and under his chin. To Will, he seemed the best-dressed man in Nauvoo, with tailed frock coats that were better cut, better brushed than the ones most men wore, and a shirt collar so white it gleamed.

  “The purest languitch be spoken on’y in Herefordshire, England,” Will said, “so aye, you heerd right.”

  Brother Taylor laughed and then walked forward. He always moved with a natural uprightness that seemed foreign here on the frontier. “I would claim Westmoreland for that honor, perhaps,” he said, “but my own speech was no doubt corrupted by my years in Canada.”

  “Not a bit,” Will said. “I love to hear your voice. You have the sound of a scholar.”

  “Not so. Not so,” Brother Taylor said. “In spite of the editorial position I now hold, I was trained as a cooper and a carpenter, not as a man of letters.” Then he added, “I know you’re Brother Lewis. Is it William Lewis?”

  “Aye. Or plain Will. But thank you, Brother Taylor. I didn’t know whether you would remember me.”

  “There are good stories told about you. President Smith likes to tell about the time you fought and defeated a giant of a man on board a riverboat—a man who attacked you with a knife.”

  “I’m afraid the story has grown a little. The big fellow gave up the knife—handed it over to another fellow—before I took him on. And he almost killed me before I finally knocked him down.”

  “In any case, Joseph likes to joke that you’re one man he doesn’t plan to wrestle. But he also tells about your quelling the storm on the ship, and says you’re destined to be a leader in the Church.”

  Will was taken aback. He had no idea that Joseph had said such things. He actually had to catch his breath for a moment. “I don’t know about that, Brother Taylor, but as for now, like most of us, I’m a plowman. I want to advertise that my oxen and my two good arms—and one bad hand—are for rent.”

  Will no longer thought much about his damaged hand, but he was self-conscious now when he saw both Elder Taylor and the pressman looking at it. He found himself pressing it against his hip, flattening it a little, as he often did when he realized someone was noticing.

  Elder Taylor motioned for Will to follow him. “Come back to my desk and write out what you want to post in the newspaper.”

  So Will walked with him, proved that he could use a pencil, in spite of his bad hand, and wrote out a little statement about his oxen and the plowing he could do for $2.00 an acre. He was waiting for Brother Taylor to review what he had written when he glanced up to see the sheets that
the young man had been printing. “General Smith’s VIEWS” was printed across the top. Will was trying to read the smaller print when Brother Taylor said, “That seems fine, Brother Will. We can print that in our next issue. The price is 25 cents.”

  Will nodded and reached in his pocket for a two-bit piece, but at the same time he asked, “What’s this you’re printing, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “It’s President Smith’s views on government. It’s a pamphlet he plans to distribute across the country. You know he’s running for president of the United States, don’t you?”

  “I heard a man at the quarry say it, but frankly, I thought it was another rumor. It is true, then?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that so many people seem to hate us. I’m not sure who would vote for him.”

  Brother Taylor leaned across the desk, looking serious, as though he were about to begin a sermon. Will had seen that expression before when he was ready to proclaim what he believed. But instead, he asked, “Brother Lewis, did you read my editorial in the Times and Seasons last fall—the one entitled Who Shall Be Our Next President?”

  Will had caught up on the Times and Seasons during the winter, but he was having trouble remembering that particular piece. “I believe I did,” he said, rather hesitantly.

  That brought a smile back to Brother Taylor’s face. “I probably editorialize more than I should,” he said, “but that one was important. I raised the question as to whether any man lives in this country who would give us redress for the way we were treated in Missouri. I said that we should elect a man, if such an one could be found, who would assist us in receiving the rights we have under the Constitution.”

  “Aye. I do remember now.”

  “Joseph Smith sat down with President Van Buren and pleaded our case for redress, and he saw nothing from the man but fear and trembling that he might lose votes in Missouri. Since last fall Joseph has written to the leading men in this country—those who style themselves as likely candidates for the presidency. He’s asked them who will stand up for us, and all we have heard from them—if anything—is timid arguments about states’ rights and the will of the people. We were driven off lands we owned and farmed, driven away from a temple lot we had dedicated. That should never happen in these United States, and every right-thinking man knows it. But no one stands up for us. The federal government is far too weak, and governors have no courage.”

  Will was nodding, convinced not only by Brother Taylor’s words but by the power of his voice.

  “So we are taking action,” Brother Taylor continued. “We have nominated Joseph Smith, the finest man this country has produced since the days of the Founding Fathers themselves. If no one cares about the rights of the downtrodden and the abused, he does. And that is exactly what he will stand for.”

  Will liked that idea very much. He remembered the abuse he had taken in England—with no one to stand behind him.

  “So what do you think, Brother Will. Can he win?”

  Will felt his face grow warm. “It does seem unlikely to me, Brother Taylor. I must admit that. But if it’s the will of the Lord, I suppose—”

  “The Lord certainly will approve. He’s depending on the truth. I’m going to give you one of these pamphlets we’re printing, and I want you to read it. Ask yourself whether men across this land won’t read it and pronounce it the best document ever written on the subject. And then get ready. Missionaries will be called before long, and young men like you will be sent to all corners of the land to preach the truth about government and about the gospel. I’m certain you will want to be one of them.”

  Will’s first thought was that he couldn’t leave in the spring. He would have nothing to live on if he did. But he had thought he couldn’t serve before, and the Lord had opened a way. Who knew what might happen now?

  “Brother Lewis, we all have to expand our vision and think the way our Prophet does. These are the last days, and a government must be set up that will be ready for the Second Coming of the Lord. Joseph speaks of a theo-democracy, with a man at the head of the country who is also a man of God—a man who can lead us to be something much grander than we’ve been. Prophets of old led their people not only by wisdom but by revelation. Joseph Smith is the man who can prepare us for the times ahead, when Christ Himself will reign as King and Lord.”

  Will nodded. “I understand what you’re saying, Brother Taylor. I’ve been trying to take a larger view since I joined this Church. But I still think about my crops and my family and the things of the world. I don’t know how to do otherwise.”

  “Nor should you. You look after that good wife of yours, and you provide for your family. Those are your God-given responsibilities. But whether you accumulate wealth on earth will not matter when you receive your true reward on high.”

  Will was nodding again. And he accepted the pamphlet from Brother Taylor. He even read it as he rode his horse back along Water Street and on up to the bluffs. He was amazed at the things Joseph Smith had said. When he stepped through the door at home, he said to Liz, “Did you know that the Prophet is running for president of the United States?”

  She was busy at the table, pressing butter into a mold. She looked up. “Speak softly,” she whispered. “Daniel and Jacob are both asleep at the same time—for once.” But then she asked, “President? Are you sure?”

  “I was as surprised as you are, but Brother Taylor is confident that once people hear what he’s saying, they’ll rally behind him.”

  “What is he saying?”

  “I have the pamphlet—all his views. Here, read it.”

  “I can’t right now, Will.” She held up her hands to show that they were covered with butter. “Come over and tell me what the pamphlet says, but do keep your voice down. If you wake up Jacob, I’ll expect you to look after him.”

  Will felt a little deflated after all the excitement he had brought with him into the house. He didn’t want to whisper these ideas; they needed to be proclaimed. All the same, he went to her and spoke in a soft voice. “Should I read this whole thing to you? It might be good to hear it in the Prophet’s own words.”

  “No, just tell me a little about it now, and later on, I’ll read it.”

  “All right.” Will looked at the first pages of the pamphlet, wondering where to start. “Now, remember, these are the things he believes are right, but it actually doesn’t say he’s running for president. The title is ‘General Smith’s Views of the Powers and Policy of the Government of the United States.’ Missionaries are going to go out and declare these ideas and teach that the nation needs a man of God as well as a man of government.”

  “Why call himself ‘General,’ then? That doesn’t sound like a man of God.”

  “A man of God and government, Liz. He’s Lieutenant General of the Nauvoo Legion—the only Lieutenant General in the United States. People are more likely to listen to him when they hear a title like that.”

  Liz didn’t respond, but she looked skeptical. Will decided not to argue the point. Instead, he said, “One of the main things he makes clear is that the national government should have protected us against the mobs in Missouri—and it should stand up the same way for all people who are mistreated.”

  “I agree with that,” Liz said.

  “Listen to this one. He says we ought to reduce the number in Congress by half.’”

  “Why?” Liz asked without looking up from her butter.

  “Because Congress would accomplish more if there weren’t so many men to fight with each other. And here’s the best part. He says we should only pay congressmen $2.00 a day. It’s more than a farmer earns, so it ought to be good enough for congressmen. I think everyone would agree with that.”

  “Probably so. But isn’t he swimming upstream? Men in Congress won’t reduce their own pay, will they?”

&
nbsp; “I’m sure they won’t. But it’s the right thing, and that’s what he stands for. Listen to this one: ‘Petition your state legislatures to pardon every convict in their several penitentiaries, blessing them as they go, and saying to them, in the name of the Lord, go thy way and sin no more.’”

  “Is he serious?”

  “Of course he is. It’s the way Jesus Christ would rule. He doesn’t want to put people in prison for stealing. He’d rather give them jobs to do on roads and public works, and that would teach them wisdom and virtue. He thinks only murderers ought to be imprisoned.”

  “I don’t know, Will. Joseph thinks everyone is just waiting to repent. Maybe some people ought to be kept where they can do no harm.”

  “But he’s asking people to be as good as they ought to be. He has the same attitude about slavery. He comes right out and says it’s wrong. He wants slaves to be purchased from owners—so slaveholders don’t feel cheated of their property—but then he says slaves should be set free to work for fair pay.”

  “He’s right about that, but no Southerner will vote for him.”

  “Maybe they will. They must know it’s not right to own a human being, and so long as they get paid for their slaves, maybe they could hire the same people and then treat them better.”

  “It seems a little too hopeful to me. It’s not that easy to change the way people think.”

  “Still, we have to try. And some things just make good sense. He says we ought to use more economy in state governments and ask for fewer taxes, and we ought to create a national bank, so money will be the same all across the nation. And here’s the one that matters the most. He says, ‘Give every man his constitutional freedom, and the president full power to send an army to suppress mobs.’ He even says that sometimes the governor himself may be a mobber, and the national government ought to be able to stop him. If we’d had that policy sooner, the Saints never would have been driven out of Missouri. The president of the United States shouldn’t fear to do what’s right just because he’s afraid of the power of one state.”