The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Yes’m.” There was not the slightest hesitation in her voice.

  “There are some who are saying the Lord has abandoned us.”

  Mary Elizabeth tossed something and there was a soft plop. “I know,” she said matter-of-factly. “They’re some of the same ones who refused to humble themselves when Joseph told us that we in Zion would have to repent or suffer.”

  She walked another few feet down the riverbank, Jessica following, and looked for a proper spot. Again she leaned over, tied a line to a tree, then tossed the hook and bait out into the river. She stepped back, wiping off her hands on her dress.

  Jessica had a sudden thought. “Would you mind if we prayed together? Before we go to bed?”

  Mary Elizabeth nodded emphatically. “I wanted to pray anyway. We need some fish if we’re goin’ to get across this river tomorrow.”

  Jessica reached out gratefully and touched her hand. It was so refreshing to stand in the presence of such simple and direct faith. They both bowed their heads, unmindful of the rain, and Mary Elizabeth began to pray.

  “Sister Steed! Sister Steed! Come quick! Come quick!”

  Jessica stooped down to glance out through the low opening to their shelter. Mary Elizabeth Rollins was coming on the dead run, pigtails flying, hands waving frantically.

  Sister Lewis gave Jessica a questioning look, but Jessica could only shrug.

  “Watch the children, Jeremy,” Sister Lewis said. Then she and Jessica both ducked through the door and went outside. Brother Lewis was out chopping wood. He moved over to join them as Mary Elizabeth came running up.

  “What is it?” Jessica asked.

  “You’ve got to see this. Come on.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and hurried back in the direction from which she had come. Still puzzled, the three of them fell in behind her.

  Suddenly Jessica understood. “Did you catch some fish?” she asked eagerly, catching up to the girl now.

  Mary Elizabeth just smiled and shook her head. “You’ve got to see it.”

  They came to the lean-to where the Higbee family was staying. Brother Higbee was standing with a huge catfish in his hands. It was easily two feet long, and Jessica guessed it weighed close to fifteen pounds. She had never seen one quite that big.

  As they came up to Brother Higbee, Jessica was awestruck. “You did it!” she said to Mary Elizabeth. “It’s a miracle.”

  Mary Elizabeth’s eyes were wide as she shook her head slowly. She stepped to Brother Higbee, who lifted the fish higher as she did so. Now Jessica could see that the fish had been slit up the gut. Brother Higbee had started to clean it. Curious, she and the Lewises stepped closer too.

  Mary Elizabeth reached out and put her hand on the fish’s stomach where it had been slit. “No, Sister Steed,” she said triumphantly, “this is the miracle!” She lifted the skin.

  For several seconds Jessica just gaped, not believing what her eyes were seeing. She heard a gasp behind her and realized that Sister Lewis was staring too, as dumbfounded as she was. There in the midst of the blood and entrails, lying in what had been the stomach sack, were three bright, shiny silver half-dollars. At fifty cents per family, it was exactly enough to get the Lewises, the Higbees, and the Rollinses across the river to join the rest of the Saints.

  Joshua Steed looked up as Clinton Roundy entered the saloon. Roundy gave him a quick glance and motioned with his head. Joshua took a drink from his glass, then stretched. He laid down his poker hand. “Count me out of this one,” he said to the others seated at the table.

  Casually he got up and walked to the bar. After a moment, Roundy sidled over to join him.

  “Well?” Joshua asked.

  “They’re gone.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. The ferryman said he took the last three families across this afternoon.”

  “And Jessica was with them?”

  Roundy shrugged. “He said there was a single woman with a little dark-haired girl.”

  Joshua nodded, finally satisfied. For a long moment they stood there in silence. Then Joshua looked at Roundy, his eyes darkly bitter. “I hope I live long enough,” he said softly.

  “Long enough for what?” Roundy asked.

  “Long enough to see every Mormon rotting in hell.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  On the twenty-fourth day of February, 1834, three things took place almost simultaneously, though at the time none of those involved were aware of the other happenings.

  In Missouri, Governor Dunklin finally agreed to prosecute those who had perpetrated the lawlessness against the Saints. Charges were sworn and twelve of the Church leaders living in and around Liberty in Clay County were subpoenaed as witnesses for the state and called to come to Jackson County to testify. The governor agreed to provide military protection to assure that the Saints would not be harmed. W. W. Phelps, John Corrill, Bishop Edward Partridge, and others crossed the river from Clay County under the escort of Captain David Atchison and fifty men from the “Liberty Blues.” By the time the group arrived, the citizens of Jackson County, fueled by considerable stores of whiskey, were in an ugly and violent mood. Attorneys, judges, law officers—anyone associated in any way with the trial—were threatened with the direst of personal consequences if they took the Mormon side. Lacking the courage to stand up against such opposition, the court dismissed the case and ordered the witnesses and their escort to march out of town at quick time to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.”

  Conditions in Kirtland were, at this time, not particularly wonderful either. There was much that was positive to be reported—continuing success in the missionary work, the building of the temple moving ahead, the Saints sacrificing their time and goods to help the poor and move the work forward. But the construction of the temple and taking in hundreds of newcomers had also left the Church deeply in debt. The poor continued to flock to Ohio, bringing little more than additional hungry mouths and a desperate need for immediate shelter. Opposition from the enemies of the Church was on the rise. Feelings were running so high that it became necessary to put a guard on the temple site during the night. In early January, an unknown group had fired thirteen rounds of cannon shell at the site one night. Because of threats to his life, Joseph now had appointed some of the brethren to serve as his bodyguards around the clock.

  Within the Church, petty jealousies, selfishness, and general disregard for the commandments were cropping up. Some of these things were not much more than minor annoyances, but reflected a spirit not compatible with the requirements of discipleship. Joseph was arrested on a writ sworn out by a salesman who tried to get Joseph to try out a newfangled cooking stove and then convince the Saints to purchase them as well. When Joseph refused, the man used the writ as a ploy to make Joseph change his mind.

  On another occasion, Joseph finally had to put a public notice in the newspaper that he could no longer accept COD mail. Postage in America was very expensive at this time—twenty-five cents for a letter, or about half a day’s wage for some folks. Usually that was paid by the sender, but it was permissible to send a letter COD and have the postage paid by the receiver. People began to flood Joseph with mail, much of it filled with the most trivial questions, some of it sharply critical of him. Of course, they sent it COD.

  But there were things of much greater consequence. With increasing frequency the members fell into squabbling with one another or began to transgress the laws of the Church. One man brought charges against Bishop Newel K. Whitney because, according to him, he had been treated rudely by Bishop Whitney while in his store. Another man was charged with selling “revelations” to the members. Some bitterly criticized the Prophet for not doing enough for the poor, others because he was doing too much for them. Even Martin Harris was brought before a council for claiming that Joseph was drunk while he translated the Book of Mormon. He apologized and admitted the charges were not true and was forgiven, but this case was indicative of some of the challenges facing the Churc
h in Ohio.

  That was the climate in Kirtland when Parley P. Pratt and Lyman Wight arrived from Missouri on the twenty-second day of February. Commissioned by the leadership in Zion to go to Ohio and report on the condition of the scattered and destitute exiles, the two men had traveled eight hundred miles in the dead of winter, with virtually no money and little food. When they arrived, they were emaciated and exhausted, their clothes ragged and their boots in tatters. Joseph called for a meeting of the Kirtland high council, formed just the week previous, along with other priesthood holders to hear Parley and Lyman’s report.

  So it was on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth that a most somber group of priesthood brethren gathered in Joseph Smith’s home and heard the full extent of the tragedy that had befallen the Saints in Missouri. It was a disturbing report they brought, and it caused much consternation among the Church leadership. What could and should be done to restore Zion and get redress for her children? When the two men had finished their report, Joseph inquired of the Lord: What is thy will concerning Zion?

  In a previous revelation received in December, the Lord had given a parable in which he compared Zion to the vineyard of a nobleman. The nobleman, the lord of the vineyard, instructed his servants to build a tower so they could be prepared for the time when the enemies came to spoil the vineyard. But the servants fell into discord and did not heed the warning of their master. While they were thus contending amongst themselves, the enemies overran the vineyard. After rebuking the servants for their slothfulness, the nobleman called on one of his servants to gather all “the strength” of his house and return to the vineyard and redeem it.

  Now, on this afternoon of the twenty-fourth, a second revelation came. “Verily I say unto you, my friends,” it began, “behold, I will give unto you a revelation and commandment, that you may know how to act in the discharge of your duties concerning the salvation and redemption of your brethren, who have been scattered on the land of Zion.” What followed was electrifying. Joseph Smith was specifically identified as the “servant” in the parable who was to rally the strength of God’s house and redeem Zion. The call was to go out to the “young men and the middle aged” of the Church and ask them to volunteer to go to Zion and support the governor of Missouri in restoring the Saints to their lands. Joseph and seven others were instructed to leave immediately and extend the call throughout the various branches of the Church in the East. If five hundred could not be found, then four hundred; if not four, then three. But in no case, the Lord said, should there be less than a hundred men go up to Zion.

  When Joseph finished reading the revelation to the assembled body, he gazed at them for several moments, then said solemnly: “Governor Dunklin of Missouri has promised to reinstate the Saints if they can find a way to protect themselves once they are back. God has called upon us to lead an army of righteous priesthood holders back to Zion for that purpose. I am going to Zion to help redeem it. Are there others present who will volunteer to join me in this?”

  Thirty to forty men raised their hands. One of the first hands up belonged to Nathan Steed.

  The third event that unfolded that afternoon took place in a cabin out on the Isaac Morley farm. Earlier that morning, Lydia Steed had given in to Nathan’s suggestion that she stay in bed and not worry about fixing breakfast. She was heavy with child now, the baby being due in less than two weeks, and had had a difficult night. He would feed himself, he promised. He would also see that little Joshua and Emily were dressed and fed before he took them to a neighbor who had volunteered to tend them so Lydia could get some rest. Then he left for town to join in the meeting at Joseph’s home.

  Shortly after noon, the neighbor, worried that she had not heard any word from Lydia, went to the cabin. She found Lydia collapsed on the floor just inside the door, hemorrhaging badly. Lydia reported later that she had awakened with severe stomach cramps, managed to get out of bed and pull herself to the doorway, but there fainted with the pain. As the word went out and sisters rushed to Lydia’s aid, one of the brethren was sent to town to find Nathan. Unfortunately it was mistakenly reported that he was working at the temple site. So it took the messenger almost an hour to finally locate him at the Prophet’s home.

  By the time Nathan rushed back home, Lydia had already delivered a six-pound baby boy. He was perfectly formed in every respect, with a thin sheen of dark hair, dark eyelashes, and tiny little fingernails. But it was not enough. He never took a breath; his eyes never opened. The boy they had planned to call Nathan Morgan Steed was stillborn.

  Mary Ann looked around the table with pride. It was the afternoon of the last Sabbath in April, and she had every one of her children with her. Except for Joshua, of course, she reminded herself. It had been so long, sometimes it seemed he wasn’t part of the family anymore. Even though her children lived in the Kirtland area, this was the first time they had all been together in almost three months. Lydia’s pregnancy, then near death and the loss of the baby had precluded any big family get-togethers until now, and so Mary Ann was grateful to have everyone finally gathered around her again.

  The smell of roast turkey, sweet potatoes, fresh bread, and half a dozen other foods still lingered in the kitchen, but few were mindful of it. They were nearly finished with supper now, and were satiated and content. They were listening to Melissa’s husband, Carl, report on how things were going at the livery stable. His father had pretty well turned the business over to him now, and Melissa watched him proudly as he talked.

  Mary Ann smiled as she watched Carl and Melissa’s son, little Carl, now two, working diligently to get the last of some peas onto his spoon. His eyes were grave and his mouth was pulled into a little frown of concentration. He could have done it easily if he used his other hand to hold the peas in place, but he was determined to do it with the spoon alone. Melissa and Carl lived only a few houses away from Benjamin and Mary Ann, and little Carl was a common visitor to Grandma’s house. Mary Ann always loved to watch him. He was so serious, and looked so much like his mother. He had not favored his father’s red hair and freckled complexion as everyone had predicted. He was Melissa from head to toe—dark hair; dark, somber eyes; the bewitching little smile when he was secretly pleased.

  Finally he succeeded and the peas were captured. Triumphantly he put them in his mouth; then, when he saw that his grandmother had witnessed his success and was nodding her approval, his face split into a wide grin.

  Lydia and Nathan sat beside Melissa. Lydia still looked pale and drawn, though she seemed more like her normal self today than she had since that terrible February afternoon. Young Joshua was between his parents, propped up on two pillows so he could reach the table. Lydia held baby Emily on her lap. Mary Ann felt a little pull of sadness as she glanced at her granddaughter—Emily would be two in July and was really past the age at which she would normally be called “baby Emily.” But her mother continued to use the term, and no one had the heart to suggest otherwise.

  There was no mistaking that Joshua and Emily were siblings, for both had inherited their mother’s fine-cut features and thick, black hair. Emily, just a couple of months younger than little Carl, had large dark eyes much like her mother’s, and was already such a beautiful child that whenever Lydia took her out, people invariably stopped to ooh and aah. Young Joshua, not quite three yet, had the same qualities, except that his eyes were a disarmingly light blue. He was full of fun, and mischievousness constantly danced across his face. Both children were completely and irrevocably adored by their father and grandfather.

  Mary Ann turned slightly and watched her own youngest children with a special glow of affection in her eyes. Matthew, now close to fourteen, sat straight and tall next to his father. His blond hair was finally darkening, and the first hint of stubble was starting to darken his upper lip. His maturing had not lessened the striking resemblance between him and Nathan, however, and it was like looking at the past all over again whenever she watched him.

  On Mary Ann’s left,
Rebecca was primly finishing off the last of her potatoes. How like her, Mary Ann thought. Though she loved to have a good time and often still romped with Matthew when they were alone, Rebecca was quite serious minded by nature and loved to have things in order. She had turned into a young woman in the last two years and was now as lovely in her own way as Melissa and Lydia were in theirs. Mary Ann had noted on more than one occasion lately that the eyes of young men turned to follow Rebecca as she passed. Two more years and she would be eighteen. Mary Ann suspected that it wouldn’t be much longer than that before she lost another of her children from the home. An inexplicable sadness suddenly swept over her. Then there would only be Matthew. And then, in a few more years, she and Benjamin would be alone in the house.

  The conversation had lagged and Mary Ann came back to the present. She looked over at Nathan. “Has Joseph said how many men have volunteered for Zion’s Camp by now?” she asked.

  Nathan shrugged. “I haven’t seen Joseph for a couple of weeks.”

  Benjamin spoke. “As of a few days ago, he had approximately one hundred men.”

  “Is that all?” Mary Ann said in surprise. “What about from the branches in the East?”

  “A very disappointing response. There are some who have promised to join the company soon, but so far only about a hundred total are actually committed.”

  “Soon!” Melissa cried. “I heard that the first wagons are to leave on Thursday. Isn’t it about time they made up their minds?”

  Mary Ann saw Nathan’s eyes drop to his plate. He began to saw at the last of his turkey with his knife. Lydia was watching him closely, her eyes wide and filled with sorrow. Mary Ann instantly regretted bringing up the subject. It was a poor choice on her part.

  But matters instantly got worse. Because Melissa’s husband was not a Church member, the family often avoided talking about Church subjects in his presence, so that he wouldn’t feel left out of conversations. Clearly Melissa had not told him of the situation between Nathan and Lydia, because he turned to Nathan and asked, innocently enough, “Are you going, Nathan?”