Morning Star

by Marian Wells

  “I’m campaigning for Congress. I don’t have time to take on a criminal case now.”

  Joseph winced. “What’s your price?”

  “That you make it worth my time to give up campaigning. Ten thousand and the promise of your vote in the election. You gave it to the Democrats last election; the Whigs need it now.”

  Joseph nodded and Cryus got to his feet. “First I’ll file suit for assault and false imprisonment against the Missouri fellas downstairs; then we’ll head for Quincy. Judge Stephen A. Douglas is holding court there. It’s going to be interesting. We’ll have to trail out of here with the sheriffs from Missouri holding you while they’re being held by a Dixon sheriff.” He was chuckling as he left the room.

  “Wouldn’t be so funny if it was his ten thousand,” Tom muttered.

  Joseph grasped his arm and Tom saw the fear on the Prophet’s face. “Tom, head outta here right this minute. I want you in Nauvoo to round up the Legion.” Tom saw the beads of perspiration on Joseph’s face as he paced the room.

  “These fellas are going to do their best to slip me over the river to Missouri. I feel it in my bones. The only hope is to cut them off. First, get Wight and a few others to take the Maid of Iowa to Grafton. They’re to head off any boats coming down the Illinois River. I know they’re not in this alone. I’m too big a fish for just two men. I want the Legion to meet us at Monmouth.”

  “Joseph, that’s nigh impossible!” Tom gasped.

  “My life is at stake,” Joseph said softly. “I feel it by the spirit.”

  Tom sprinted down the stairs. “Old girl, I hate to do this to you,” he muttered as he jumped on the horse and dug in his heels.

  The Legion had just crossed the Fox River when they caught up with the carriage carrying Joseph, Walker, and the two sheriffs. The bewildered sheriff from Dixon was still holding his gun and looking around when Tom reached the carriage.

  He heard the Prophet’s half-sob as he exclaimed, “These are my boys. We’re not heading for Missouri!”

  Tom tried to cover his embarrassment, saying, “There’s more, but they ruined their horses gettin’ here.”

  Within an hour Joseph had talked Walker into holding court in Nauvoo, while the Legion relaxed in the shade. “We need a rest tonight or we’ll never make it,” Taylor said when he heard the verdict, and Tom agreed.

  It was two days before Joseph’s caravan reached the outskirts of Nauvoo, but the Legion band and all the townfolk were there to meet them.

  When Mark arrived home that afternoon, Jenny met him at the door. “Mark, I’ve been hearing guns. What’s happened?”

  “Nothing except the Prophet has come home, complete with Cyrus Walker, attorney and candidate for Congress, two sheriffs from Missouri and one from Dixon, as well as an escort of a hundred and fifty troops from Nauvoo.”

  “The guns?”

  “Just celebration. The people and the band marched through town and the Legion popped off a few rounds. A little exuberance. The Prophet’s to address the folks in the temple grove this afternoon. Put on your party clothes and dress up the little one. I’ll take you in.”

  By the time Mark and Jenny arrived at the temple grove, people were moving in from all directions. “Mark, there are so many—will there be room for all?”

  “Looks like thousands,” Mark admitted. “It’s good they cut those trees out of the grove. It’ll be standing room only.”

  As they worked their way through the crowd, Jenny murmured, “It’s hot already. Oh, look, there’s Eliza Snow and Sarah Pratt. I see Sally and Andy on the other side of the Laws.”

  The crowd began to roar. Standing on her tiptoes, Jenny saw Joseph and several strangers moving toward the platform.

  Joseph took his place and the crowd began to quiet. Jenny shifted the baby on her shoulder as she thought of the last time she had seen him. She found herself wondering, Would he be wearing that happy, confident grin if I were to tell the truth about him?

  She shuddered. The speeches had begun, but Jenny was busy visualizing the horror on people’s faces if she were to make her accusations. She glanced at her husband. Even Mark. Never would he believe that horrible story. She shifted uneasily and Mark took the baby from her.

  Joseph was telling of his arrest. She listened. “The state of Illinois has given Nauvoo her charter. We have rights no one can take away. If our enemies will fight to suppress us or oppress us, they will fight against our rights. If the authorities of state and nation will not defend us, then we’ll claim defense from higher powers.”

  A murmur swept through the crowd as he continued. “The persecution which I have suffered is not condoned by heaven. Before it happens again, I promise you I’ll shed every drop of blood in my veins and, in the end, I’ll see my enemies in hell.”

  “Mark,” Jenny whispered, outraged, “he doesn’t have enemies.”

  There was a hiss and they turned again to listen. Joseph was saying, “To bear the oppression of the enemy any longer is a sin. Shall we put up with sin?” The grove trembled and shook under the No! and Jenny was filled with the memories of Missouri. The Saints and the sad-faced people of Missouri all lined up to march across Jenny’s imagination, and with the memory she felt a cold chill sweep through her.

  She whispered, and Mark bent close to hear, “Will it come again, the fighting?”

  Joseph’s words swept across the crowd, “If Missouri refuses to hold back the hand of revenge, I will restrain you no longer.”

  The chanting was sweeping through the crowd as he said, “In the name of Jesus Christ, with my authority under the holy priesthood, I turn the key! No longer shall the heavens restrain your hands. I will lead you to battle if you are not afraid to die for our cause, or to shed blood. I ask you to pledge your lives and your energy for the cause of freedom. If you will help me, then lift high your hand for the cause.” Bewildered, Jenny looked around at the sea of hands.

  She glanced at Mark’s ashen face and cried, “Oh, Mark, let’s leave! This is Missouri all over again.”

  As she turned to make her way through the crowd, Jenny heard Joseph say, “It does my heart good to see your love and support. It is an honor to lead forth people so virtuous and honest.”

  The next day, July 1, Joseph appeared before the Municipal Court of Nauvoo. When Mark came home that evening, he sank into the rocking chair with a tired sigh. Shaking his head, he said, “Well, unless the courts find a way to challenge it, the matter’s settled.”

  “The trial? What happened?”

  “The sheriff from Missouri, Reynolds, did a lot of protesting, but the court, under the jurisdiction of Chief Justice William Marks, tried Joseph and discharged him.

  “Under the Nauvoo Charter the Missouri charge of treason was dismissed. Testimony—all by Mormons—showed that Joseph suffered at the hands of the Missourians, rather than being, as they claimed, the aggressor.”

  “Mark, will that decision stand?” Jenny whispered.

  He looked up. “Depends. There’s too much of politics in it right now. This is an election year. If the past is any indicator, Joseph’s church voting power will play a role in the outcome of the election. Right now he’s committed to a Whig vote because of the trial.”

  Chapter 28

  With a sigh Mark pulled himself out of bed and went to the window. Dawn was a promise, but as he stood there, feeling as if all the wakeful hours of the past six weeks were pressing upon him, Mark didn’t relish the promise.

  He had heard the baby’s whimper and had known when Jenny slipped out of bed, but that was just one more reminder of the problem heavy upon his mind.

  Bracing his elbow against the window frame, Mark let his memories of that June day capture him again and pull him back into the problem. On the day he rushed into the office with the papers in his hands, Joseph, his brow furrowed with effort, was dictating to Clayton.

  When Mark apologized and began to back out of the room, Joseph waved him to a chair, saying, “Stay. I’m nea
rly finished and I want you to hear this.”

  It was the revelation on marriage—the everlasting covenant of marriage. The words still knocked around in Mark’s head, challenging him to deal with the issue. In the quiet of the night, with the press of Jenny’s body close to him, he found the words a mockery.

  He moved restlessly. He didn’t believe in the revelations, or even in the Prophet’s calling—but Jenny did, and that was the problem. He found himself whispering, “Lord Jesus, a long time ago You helped me realize the only honest way for me to deal with Jenny’s need of You is to keep my mouth shut, never to force my deep desire for her salvation upon her. Lord, it’s been difficult, and it’s getting worse. I know pushing the truth on her makes me no different than Joseph, even when I know my truth is the Bible truth and his is not. Please help.”

  He waited in silence while the words from that revelation welled up in his mind: I the Lord justified my servants Abraham, Isaac, Jacob . . . of their having many wives. . . . All those who have this law revealed to them must obey the same. . . . If ye abide not that covenant, then are ye damned; for no one can reject this covenant and be permitted to enter into my glory.

  Mark muttered, “And under the covenant, all these men will be gods, with power and angels in submission. And it’s by doing the works of Abraham; in other words—as you are so fond of saying, Joseph—it’s plural marriage that saves a man. And any good Mormon who won’t go along with this is to be destroyed.” Mark turned away from the window, once again affirming his commitment. “Lord, I must trust You to work this all out. You know, don’t You? I wake up in a cold sweat thinking of the fearful what ifs.”

  In the kitchen Jenny saw the dawn touching the windows with light. The summer heat was only a misty warmth seeping through the open window.

  She sat in the rocking chair holding John Mark against her breast. Deeply conscious of his warm weight, she pressed her lips to his fist and touched the tear on his cheek.

  In the quiet she heard the beginning rustle of woodland creatures, the call of birds. From the pasture came the plaintive cry of the lambs. Jenny sighed deeply and snuggled the infant against her. “God’s in His heaven and all’s right—” she murmured, even then thinking of the imprint these early morning hours were making upon her.

  “’Tis impossible not to feel it,” she added, looking out the window. “The beauty, the peace. The deeps. It’s like it’s being branded into me, all the goodness of God.” She sat musing on a new fact. These early morning hours seemed to freshen her memory, and the words stored there surfaced.

  “I didn’t realize I was remembering the words while I was reading the Bible. Now if I could only find out the whys of it all.”

  “What why?” Mark was beside her, uttering the question as quietly as if the silence of morning rested in his soul, too. He sat on the woodbox at her feet, and their eyes were on the same level.

  By the dawning light, she was seeing the curious flecks of blue-green in his eyes. Dreamily she thought to make mention that she had noticed John Mark’s eyes changing to the same curious color, but it wasn’t the time. Slowly she pressed out words, designed to fit the morning. “God, wrath, beauty. Jesus speaks of peace. Joseph preaches wrath. Jesus says, “Believe”; Joseph says, “Fear.” Mark, my head whirls trying to remember the do’s. Why does the Bible tell us that if righteousness comes by law, then Christ died for nothing?”

  His eyes were changing, and for a moment she was caught up in the tenderness, wondering. Then he whispered, “Grace, Jenny. Jesus gives salvation as a gracious gift. Here we only glimpse the perfection of God, but we have hints. It’s hinted through the love. He knows there’s no way we can be holy, so He gives it.”

  “It doesn’t seem right—to be ugly with all the sin we do, and then just get it.” Her voice was brooding. “Seems more right to do something for God.”

  “There’s no way we can do enough to be holy. It’s like a coat. Through Jesus Christ’s atonement, we have righteousness thrown about us. Only it isn’t ours until we reach out and accept it.”

  In a moment she sighed and the words welled up: “‘To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that he might be glorified.’” A moment later she quoted, “‘Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? or who shall stand in his holy place? He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart . . .’”

  He gently prodded, “Why, Jenny?” She could only shake her head, whispering, “I don’t know. Sometimes I get so weary for something.” Then she whispered, “I love the phrase, ‘Who is this king of glory?’ It’s a mystery, isn’t it?” She got to her feet and carried the sleeping baby to his cradle. Now the sun was bright and she sighed with regret.

  Mark rode to Nauvoo with sadness as heavy as cold iron resting upon his heart. Just before he left the house Jenny had whispered, “‘Lift up your heads, O ye gates; . . . and the king of glory shall come in.’” Her eyes had been dark pools of yearning.

  He had said Jenny with gladness on his soul, and then he looked at the sleeping boy. With his vow of silence and forgiveness, how could he say Jenny, not until . . . ? With every mile he rode, Mark felt as if his heart was breaking with the desire to urge her confession.

  He straightened in the saddle; once again he must face Joseph and the necessity of forgiving that man.

  ****

  July was slipping away, but Joseph still basked in the glory of the Independence Day celebration. To Mark it seemed that nearly every day the Prophet found occasion to mention the crowds of strangers who had poured into Nauvoo to see the marvels and listen to the man who had bested the Missourians and escaped untainted from their grasp.

  The newspaper articles that issued out of Springfield did little to dampen Joseph’s joy, even though he recognized the heavy hand of Dr. John C. Bennett in them.

  The sheriff from Missouri became the joke of Nauvoo when it was learned he had stomped his way to Springfield, demanding that Governor Ford furnish troops in order that he might march on Nauvoo and drag the Prophet out.

  Today, when Mark reached the office, both Joseph and William Clayton were laughing with glee. Joseph waved the paper under Mark’s nose and said, “See this? The gist of it is that if we vote Democrat, we’ve nothing more to fear from Governor Ford. We’re home free as far as Missouri is concerned.”

  “It’s to Ford’s advantage to cooperate with the Lord,” Joseph added. As for Washington, in the name of the Lord, I deliver unto you the prophecy that within a few years’ time, this government will be overthrown and wasted away. This is judgment from the Lord for their wickedness in supporting the cause of Missouri. We are still an oppressed people, and our rights have not been upheld.”

  Joseph returned to his desk and began sorting through the papers there. As Clayton prepared to leave the room, Joseph said, “By the way, William, did you take care of the deeds?”

  “I did. In June. They’ve been duly filed. Emma’s share is sixty city lots.”

  “Joseph—” Mark paused and tried to control his anger. “I advised you a year ago that this wasn’t to be done. The provisions of the bankruptcy law will not allow you to transfer any property. You’re heading for trouble.”

  “I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it!” Joseph snapped. “I’m not concerned. There are too many other things of first importance.

  “Must I remind you again that it has been prophesied concerning the war which will soon break out? The Lord has given me to understand that the first outbreak with the shedding of blood will take place at South Caroline. Fear not, Mark, only be faithful to the will of the Lord revealed to you.”

  ****

  Jenny sighed and folded the scraps of calico spread across the kitchen table. “Sweet little John Mark; how about going for a ride with Mama?”

  Jenny bent over the cradle. John Mark’s arms a
nd legs pounded out his enthusiasm while he crowed with delight. Jenny scooped him up, saying, “Oh, wet! We’re going to visit that nice Sarah Pratt as soon as I make you presentable. I don’t have a pattern for these quilt blocks.”

  Sarah answered Jenny’s knock. “Oh,” Jenny said in dismay as she looked at the woman’s red eyes and blotched face. “I shouldn’t have come. Are you ill?”

  “No,” Sarah sighed and stepped back to allow Jenny to enter the house. “I’m just feeling sorry for myself today.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Jenny asked timidly.

  Sarah started to shake her head, and the tears began. “I don’t want to dump my troubles on you. Besides, what I’m going through is nothing more or less than what you’ll all be called upon to endure sooner or later if the Prophet calls for the sacrifice.”

  “What do you mean?” Jenny asked.

  “Then Mark hasn’t been tapped to obey the priesthood?” she asked bitterly. “Well, just wait; it’ll be soon.” She glanced sharply at Jenny adding, “You act as if you don’t know. Plural marriage, celestial marriage, the everlasting covenant of marriage which no man is allowed to refuse once it is given to him. To refuse is to be damned, and I assure you, my husband is not going to be damned.”

  Feeling as if she were being backed into a corner, Jenny reminded Sarah, “You know as well as I do that the Prophet’s been preaching against the doctrine. There’s the pamphlet he’s come out against. From the pulpit he’s denied the accusations.”

  “Out of one side of the mouth while he’s promoting it with the other.”

  Jenny remembered that day over a year ago when she had met Dr. Bennett right here in this room. Questions nagged at her, and she had to know. Slowly she said, “Dr. Bennett, that time I met him here, was talking about abortion like it was something happening right here in Nauvoo. Is that true? Was he referring to Saints getting rid of their babies?”

  “Yes, Jenny. Remember? He said he did this to prevent exposure of the parties involved. He meant Saints.”