by Dean Hughes
These had been the hardest words for Will to hear. He had just described the crushing blows he had delivered to his assailants, perhaps with a little satisfaction—or at least relief that he had saved himself. But he wondered now. There had never been much hope of changing George Samples’s mind, but if he had held back, hadn’t fought the man the first time, maybe things never would have gotten so out of hand.
But Will was standing before Liz now, still trying to think what he could say to her.
“What’s happened to you, Will?” she asked. “You have no color in your face. And you won’t look at me—not straight on.”
Will nodded, tried to think of the right words. “I was wounded over there—just slightly.” He tried to laugh. “That’s why I can’t sit down.”
“Oh, Will, what do you mean? What did they do to you?”
“Someone took a shot at me, but he nearly missed. It only took a slice from my backside. It’s nothing serious.”
“What aren’t you telling me, Will? What happened? Was anyone killed?”
He took her in his arms again. “I do need to tell you some things, Liz. I’m not certain what we should do just now. We may need to leave Nauvoo.”
She pulled back. “Leave Nauvoo? Why?”
So Will told her, as simply as he could, what had happened to him on the road back from Carthage.
When he finished his story, Liz asked, “How badly were they hurt?”
“I’m not sure. I know George was alive when I ran past him. But his head was bleeding, and he wasn’t trying to get up.”
“But by now, they must be on their way here.”
“Maybe. Maybe they bled to death. Maybe they’re in no condition to go anywhere. I just don’t know.”
Liz was the one who looked pale now. She was staring at him, her mouth open a little, her eyes full of fear.
“Liz, I had no choice. I begged them; I promised to leave; I tried to reason with them. But I don’t think they were going to let me go. I think they followed me so they could kill me. They just wanted to humiliate me before they did it.”
“I understand that, Will. You didn’t do anything wrong. But if they’re not dead, they’ll never stop until they get revenge. And if they are dead, and someone figures out who did it, you’ll be accused of murder.”
What Will knew, and didn’t say, was that it would not be hard to trace the incident back to him. Socks was lying dead at the scene, and he had left his saddle, too. “I know all that, Liz. Brother Benbow told me to come here and stay here. He’s going to talk to General Rich. He thinks some of the Escort Brigade will be willing to guard the house.”
“For how long? The rest of our lives?”
“That’s why we might have to leave. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t say that.” Liz tucked herself back against him. “You’re alive. You did what you had to do, and you came back to me. If we have to go, we’ll go. I prayed for two days that you would come back to me, and I won’t ask for more than that.”
• • •
The evening was very long. Liz redressed the wound, which looked worse to her than Will had made it sound. She also knew he was in much more pain than he was admitting, but he wouldn’t lie down and rest. He kept watching out the windows, listening, holding a pistol in his hand.
Poor little Jacob kept clinging to him, obviously frightened and nervous. Will finally picked his son up and put his gun down. He talked to the boy, tried to make him laugh. He didn’t have much success at that, but when Jacob finally fell asleep in his arms, Liz could see that Will was exhausted. She took Jacob from him and put him in bed.
It was still not dark outside, but Liz said, “You need to rest, Will. Lie down and go to sleep if you can. I’ll keep watch.”
Will didn’t answer for a time. He kept switching from the east window to the one on the south. But finally he told her, “I think both brothers must have been hurt badly enough that they couldn’t come after me. They may not dare to ride into Nauvoo right now anyway.”
“I think that’s right. Please rest before you faint.”
“I’m not going to faint,” Will said, but he did go to the bed and lie facedown. As he did, he allowed himself a little groan, and Liz knew that every move was hurting him. She quickly checked on her boys, and then she went back to the windows and watched as Will had done, making only a crack in the curtains so she wouldn’t be seen from outside.
After a time, Will was breathing steadily, and she hoped he was asleep. But it didn’t help Liz to have time to think. She had tried to sound brave for Will, but her mind was full of disjointed thoughts. What would happen now? Where would they go? How would they start over somewhere? What would happen to her babies? How could the Lord call them to Zion and then allow everything be taken away from them?
The light was finally fading, and Liz was still watching, beginning to believe that no one was coming, when suddenly she saw a movement outside. “Will,” she whispered, “there’s someone coming on a horse. He—”
Will was suddenly on his feet.
But by then Liz could see that it wasn’t one of the Samples brothers. It was a man she didn’t know. He had ridden directly to the house on a big, dark horse, and now he was dismounting. Will was next to her by then. “It’s Jacob Backenstos,” he said. He went to the door and opened it. “Hello, Mr. Backenstos,” he said. “Come in.”
• • •
Will had met Jacob Backenstos, had talked to him on a couple of occasions. He was the clerk of the county court in Carthage and widely known as a friend to Joseph Smith—and to the Saints. Some of the old citizens called him a Jack Mormon. He was running now for the state legislature, but Will didn’t think this was a campaign visit. He saw how serious the man looked.
“Hello, Mr. Lewis,” he said. “Could I talk to you for just a few minutes?”
“Of course. Come inside.”
Mr. Backenstos was dressed only in his shirtsleeves, no hat, and even at that, his face and his shirt were wet with perspiration. “Hot night,” he said. “Hello, Mrs. Lewis.”
“Sit down,” Will said.
“No, that’s all right. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
Will nodded and waited. Mr. Backenstos was not a sheriff. He wouldn’t be the one to arrest Will, if that was what was coming.
“Do you know Blake and George Samples from down near Warsaw?”
“Yes, I do.” Will made a quick decision to say no more than he had to. He wanted to know what Mr. Backenstos knew.
“How is it you know them?”
“I cut a road down close to their place. They stopped and talked to me a couple of times.”
“Was there any trouble between you?”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Listen, Will, I know what kind of men they are. I’m not here because I think they’re innocent victims. But someone found them out on the Carthage Road this morning, both of them hurt very badly. They were taken back into Carthage. The bigger one, Blake, has a broken skull, and the doc said he may not live. The other one is down for a while, but he should recover in time. He’s the one who’s saying it was you who hit him over the head with a gun. He says you ambushed him and his brother and knocked ’em both out. He says you wanted to steal their horses.”
Will was shaking his head. “So why are you here? Do you believe them?”
“No, I don’t. But George says he’s going to file a charge against you, and if that happens, they’ll be sending Constable Wilson over to arrest you. I had to come to Nauvoo on other matters, but I wanted to let you know what might be coming.”
“Mr. Backenstos, those men followed me and shot my horse out from under me. They threatened to—”
“I don’t want to know anything else. But what you’re saying makes a lot more sense than the story George Samples is telling. I’m going to
talk to the man, when he can think a little better, and warn him that he wouldn’t be wise to file a false complaint. But you know the mood over there in Carthage right now. I’m the only man who’s likely to believe you and not him.”
“What should I do?”
“I’ll talk him out of filing the charge if I can.”
“They wounded me, Mr. Backenstos—tore a hunk of flesh out of me.” He glanced at Liz, who was looking worried, her arms folded tight, her lips pressed together. “Do they want to claim that I shot my own horse, and shot myself in the backside? It was George’s musket I used to—”
“Don’t say anything else. I’ll remind George about the dead horse, and I’ll tell him it looks like maybe he was the one who started the trouble. I’ll warn him that he could be charged himself for trying to kill a man.”
“All right.”
“But if the word gets out, what he’s saying, it might be other folks, not the law, coming after you. I would stay close to home for now.”
“I’m wondering if we should cross the river and get away from here.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going to happen with Joseph and Hyrum in the jail. That’s got everyone’s attention for now. These firebrands down in Warsaw talk about war, but I don’t see them marching into Nauvoo to face the Legion. I saw some men out on the road with guns. They said they’re guarding your place tonight. If I was you, I’d get some rest and stay here in Nauvoo for now. I’ll see if I can get this thing to blow over.”
“But George and Blake Samples will never let it pass.”
“That might be right. But you don’t need to fear them for now. They’re not in any condition for a fight. They may not want to take you on, ever.” Mr. Backenstos laughed. “Someday I want to hear how you took on both of them and did that much damage—but don’t tell me now. I don’t want a judge to ask me what I know.”
So Mr. Backenstos left, and Will breathed a little easier. But he knew he was facing an evil that would never go away. Maybe Brother Benbow was right. The Saints had made their mistakes. But how could Will have placated a man like George Samples? And there were many more like him, most of them gathered in Carthage right now. Will saw little hope for better days ahead.
Will was hurting, but he had had very little sleep in the last three days, and he now knew there were guards outside. So he went ahead and allowed himself to fall asleep. When he awoke in the morning, the pain in his wound had eased a little, but his trip to the privy was awkward and painful, and by the time he returned, the pain was as bad as ever. The trouble was, he couldn’t sit down and he didn’t want to lie on his face all day. He tried to take care of some chores outside but found he couldn’t bend, couldn’t manage to do much of anything. All the while, he was almost frantic to know what was happening in Carthage. Finally he told Liz that he needed to see what he could find out. He walked down through the woods to the Mansion House.
Will felt the strange change in Nauvoo. Here and there, standing in the shade, were little pockets of people, talking, but this place had always been busy, full of building and doing. Now, everyone seemed only to be waiting.
Robert Massengale, a man Will knew from the Legion, hailed Will and asked what he had experienced in Carthage, but Will didn’t have the heart to say very much. Brother Massengale was standing in the shade of a shabby shed, near the edge of his property, and near the street. “I have things to do,” he said, “but there seems no reason to do them. All I can think is that a mob is coming and our weapons are gone. Why hoe our gardens if we’ll never have a chance to harvest them?”
“We’ll just have to trust in the Lord,” Will said. “We can’t pray for the best and expect the worst.”
Brother Massengale nodded. “I know that’s right. But I can’t seem to change how I feel. If they kill Joseph, I don’t know what will become of us.”
“So let’s keep praying,” Will said, and he walked on down the street, but he didn’t claim that Joseph wouldn’t be killed.
Will found Brother Clayton at the Mansion House. “I won’t bother you long,” he said, “but I’m wondering what you’ve heard from Carthage.”
“What’s happened to you, Will?”
Will had tried not to limp as he walked into the room. He stood with his hat in his hand. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Clayton sat back in his chair and looked up at Will. He looked deathly tired. “A rider brought a letter from Joseph. He still trusts Governor Ford. He thinks we should go on about our business and not expect any trouble.”
“Do you think the Lord is guiding Joseph in this?” Will asked.
“I don’t know, Will. He sounded a little as though he wanted to say good-bye. He said he wasn’t worried because he felt justified in his actions. It’s as though he’s answering to a higher power, not to the men who will try him.”
“I know that. It’s the same way he talked to me.”
The two men took a long look at one another, and Will felt the same gloom in Brother Clayton that he had been seeing in everyone else.
Outside the Mansion House, Will spotted General Rich and some of the other men from the Escort Brigade. Will greeted Brother Rich and then asked him what word he had heard from Carthage.
“The brethren are all right so far, last we heard,” he said. “But the governor sent word he’s heading over here.”
“Why?”
“At first he said he was going to search every house in town to find out if we’ve got any counterfeiting equipment, the way all the newspapers have been claiming.”
“So he believes Tom Sharp, I guess.”
“Well, maybe. Mostly, he plays both sides, to convince everyone he’s hearing their complaints. But now he’s changed his mind about the search. He’s decided he only wants our people to gather up so he can ‘address’ us, as he put it.”
“Address us?” Will said. “Why?”
“I’m sure it’s to warn us not to raise an army to go after Joseph. I just hope he didn’t abandon Carthage so he can claim, once it’s all over with, that he wasn’t there when the mob attacked.”
Will had no interest in hearing Ford’s speech, and he didn’t feel well enough to stand around very long—or to walk home and back—so he went home to Liz and stayed away from the flats that afternoon. Later, he learned from Nelly what had happened. Ford had stood where Joseph had, on the floor of Porter Rockwell’s half-built building across the street from the Mansion House, and he had scolded Church members “like naughty schoolchildren,” as Nelly had put it. “He telled us to put up our guns and swords, and not to think about damagin’ the property of those fine Law brothers and all the rest of them that caused all this trouble. To hear him tell it, armies is comin’ in from ev’ry road to stop us if we even think of startin’ a fight. He even made us hold up our hands to promise we won’t start no trouble. We all raised our hands, but I wanted to yell some questions about what the other folks in this county is promisin’.”
Will knew very well what those people were promising. He had heard their evil vows. But he didn’t say that to Nelly.
• • •
That evening, Thursday, June 27, after the little boys were in bed, Will and Liz walked outside. They stood in the clearing and looked out toward the setting sun that was filtering through the trees and turning some feathery clouds yellow and pink.
Liz realized that something was wrong, but it took her some time to name what it was. “Will,” she said, “the birds have stopped singing. And the locusts are quiet.”
“It’s the heat,” he said.
Liz wondered. Birds were not as noisy this time of year, especially late in the day, but she had never heard the woods so silent. The locusts never stopped on summer nights. Somewhere in the distance, a dog began to wail, as though in grief. Will heard it too, and he looked at her. She saw the concern in his face.
“Something’s wrong,” Liz said.
“Maybe not. It’s just ... quiet. And hot.”
But that wasn’t what Liz was feeling. Something had happened, and she thought Will knew it too. Another dog had taken up the howl, and then another, and the plaintive sound continued all through the night.
Liz couldn’t sleep that night. Maybe it was the eerie sound of those dogs—and the weighty feel of the air—but she wondered whether anyone was asleep. The Prophet was in the grasp of an enemy that seemed unwilling to accept anything but the extermination of the Saints. Joseph was putting trust in the law, but what would happen if he and Hyrum went before a jury of Hancock County men, and what if that jury dared to proclaim them innocent? Would the mobs let Joseph and Hyrum walk from the courthouse and return to Nauvoo? Would they let the Saints go on with their lives? There seemed no possibility of that. So what would happen? Would the Saints go west somewhere, as Joseph had talked about lately? How could they survive in a wilderness? If they gathered in Oregon or the Rocky Mountains, how long before populations built up again and all the old hatreds repeated themselves?
Liz thought of Ledbury, thought of her house, her family, her simple life. She had given it all up for Zion, but not for wandering in the desert.
Toward morning, Liz finally slept a little. But she sat up straight in bed when she heard a wild shout at her door: “They’ve killed Joseph and Hyrum!”
Will jumped up and ran from the bedroom and out to the door. But he turned back, shaking his head. “He’s gone, whoever it was,” he said.
Liz had followed Will to the bedroom door and was not far from him, but she couldn’t make out his features in the dim light, couldn’t see his eyes. He limped toward her and took her in his arms. Liz clung to him. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t so, that it was rumor—the kind of thing that might spread around at such a time. But she didn’t believe it. She had heard the assurance in the man’s voice. And the truth was, she had known something terrible had happened the night before, had known it all night. She pressed her head to Will’s chest and began to sob.