The smile was more painful to her than his anger, for Rebecca loved how his whole countenance lightened when he smiled. She couldn’t bear it, and stood quickly, turning away from him to gaze at the temple. She blinked hard, fighting the tears she felt welling up behind her eyelids.
He stood too and stepped to her, taking her gently by the shoulders. “Rebecca, I don’t know all the answers. I guess I’ll just say to him that I don’t believe in all that, but you do, and if he wants to, that’s fine.”
“So at six, he must decide who is right, his father or his mother.”
His fingers were suddenly digging into her arms. “I don’t know, Rebecca!” he exploded. “I can’t see the future. All I know is that I love you and you love me. Isn’t that enough for now?”
She made no move to turn around. The moment had come. There was no escaping it. “No, Arthur,” she whispered. “It is not.”
He stepped back, jerking his hands away from her as though she had turned to fire.
“I’m sorry, Arthur,” she went on, fighting the tremor in her voice. “But there is a future, and there are others in it besides you and me. I can’t just ignore them.”
She could hear his breathing behind her, and turned to face him. His face was mottled and drawn back into an ugly mask. She recoiled a step at the fury she saw there. She reached out a hand, frightened at what she had done. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I don’t want to hurt you. I do love you—”
“No!” He was raging now. “Don’t you say it! Don’t you dare say it.” He started to back away from her, his hands up at waist height, clenching and unclenching, his eyes now like two smoldering coals.
“Please, Arthur, I . . .”
Suddenly the rage was gone and he was more rigid than the huge blocks of ice the men cut from Lake Erie in the dead of winter. “Well, that’s fine. You and your Mormon church can burn in hell, as far as I’m concerned,” he hissed.
His hands dropped to his sides. He spun on his heel and stalked away. As he reached the corner of the temple, he turned his head and spat on the stuccoed surface. He rounded the building without looking back.
Rebecca stared after him. Inside her there was a searing pain, but it was far too great to be contained by the hollowness there. With one terrible, wrenching sob, she dropped to her knees on the grass and buried her face in her hands.
Nathan set his knapsack down and knelt in front of his son. “You’ll be the man of the house now, Joshua,” he said gravely. “I expect you to help your mother with your sister and brother.”
“I will, Papa.”
Nathan reached out and took him by both shoulders, the pride evident on his face. “I know you will, son. ” Suddenly he felt something catch in his throat. He reached out blindly, pulling both young Joshua and Emily to him, and buried his face against them.
Lydia had vowed she would not cry, at least not until later when she was alone, but that nearly did her in. She was holding six-month-old Nathan and turned away quickly, biting her lip. The baby reached up, trying to touch her face.
Finally, Benjamin spoke softly. “Nathan?”
He looked up. His father motioned with his head. “Parley’s ready.”
Looking in the direction his father was indicating, Nathan saw a figure standing alone about a half block up the street, a valise in one hand, a knapsack over his shoulder. He nodded. As usual, Parley was right on time.
Mary Ann stepped to Lydia and took the baby from her. Nathan had already made his good-byes with the rest of his family—a massive bear clasp from Matthew; desperate hugs from Melissa and Rebecca; a long, clinging one with a soft kiss on the cheek from his mother; a quick handshake with Melissa’s husband; a longer, harder one with his father. Now he turned to his wife.
He gathered her into his arms with great tenderness. “Good-bye, my darling. I shall write you often.”
“Good-bye, Nathan,” she whispered. “May God be with you.”
He kissed her long and tenderly, then stepped back and picked up his knapsack. He looked around at each one of them once more, and sighed and smiled at the same time. Then, with one last look at Lydia, he strode down the walk and out the gate.
They watched him as he joined Parley and they both turned and set off, moving north. It was only the eleventh of April, and Lake Erie was not yet open for shipping; so they would walk to Painesville and there catch a series of stagecoaches across Ohio and Pennsylvania to Buffalo, New York.
As they finally moved out of sight, the family turned back to face each other. Mary Ann looked to Melissa’s husband. “Carl, thank you for coming to see Nathan off. I know this is a busy time at the livery stable. That was nice of you.”
He shrugged it off, but seemed pleased at the compliment. Melissa turned to Matthew. “I suppose you’ll be the next Steed to be leaving, off on your own mission somewhere.”
“Him or Papa,” Rebecca said.
Melissa’s jaw dropped “You, Papa? You’re going on a mission?”
He shrugged. “I haven’t been asked yet.” He sounded a little disappointed. “Actually, I’m beginning to wonder if Joseph thinks I am unworthy.”
“You’ve been too busy working on the temple,” Mary Ann said, jumping to his defense. “The Lord needed you there so you—” She stopped. Carl had made a soft sound of disgust and was shaking his head. “What, Carl?”
He looked quickly at Benjamin and shook his head again, more firmly now. “Nothing.”
But Benjamin had caught the look too and wasn’t about to let it pass. “No, Carl, say it. We’ve always been honest with each other.”
Melissa was warning Carl with her eyes, but he was just stubborn enough to speak his mind, no matter what she thought. “That’s right. Let’s call you and Matthew both, then there won’t be a single male left in the Steed family to care for the women and children.”
“Carl!” Melissa said in dismay.
“No,” Benjamin said, waving a hand at his daughter, “it’s all right. I suppose it does look like that to you, Carl. But we feel pretty strongly about answering the call of the Lord.”
“I don’t think the Lord wants men to leave their families.”
Though Carl had not spoken to her, or even looked in her direction, Lydia felt that she had to say something. After all, it was her husband who had just left. She looked at her brother-in-law. “Carl, I would like to say something,” she said. Her voice was even and calm. “I will miss Nathan terribly, but there is nowhere I would rather have him right now. Nowhere.”
He gave a short, derisive laugh. “Sorry, Lydia. I know you’re trying to be brave, but I don’t believe that.”
Melissa’s eyes flashed anger. “I don’t think it’s necessary that you be rude to Lydia, Carl,” she said tightly.
“I’m not being rude. I’m being honest.” His voice was getting snappish. “I know she thinks missionary work is important, but do you really believe Lydia would rather have Nathan gone than here?”
Lydia stepped around to face him more directly. “Why are you asking Melissa, Carl? Why don’t you ask me?”
“Because I think you have convinced yourself to be the noble Mormon wife. I don’t really think you are being honest with yourself.”
“Carl—,” Benjamin started.
“No,” Lydia said, “I want to answer.” She took a deep breath, her eyes steady and determined. “When Nathan came home the other night and told me Heber Kimball had called him to go to Canada, for a moment I was sick. I hate it when he’s gone.”
Carl started to respond to that, but she cut him off quickly. “But . . .” She paused for a moment to gather force. “But almost instantly there came into my mind and heart a feeling of peace, a feeling of great joy. I knew, Carl”—her voice dropped with a sudden intensity—“I knew the Lord wanted him to go. And so I say again, I will miss him terribly, the children will miss him terribly, but there is nowhere I would rather have my husband be at this moment than on the road to Canada.”
“Well,�
�� Carl muttered stubbornly, “I think when a man’s got a wife and kids, his place is with the family.”
Rebecca was only one day past breaking off her relationship with Arthur Wilkinson. And a major reason for her doing so stemmed from watching what was happening between Carl and Melissa over religion. So, surprisingly—for gentle Rebecca—she took him on. “As I remember it,” she said, “when the Savior said, ‘Follow me,’ to Peter, James, and John, he didn’t add, ‘unless, of course, you have a family. Then you’re excused.’ ”
He swung around to her. “Peter, James, and John were Apostles. That’s different.”
“Parley P. Pratt is an Apostle,” Lydia broke in.
He blew out his breath in an explosion of exasperation. “I’m sorry, there are no more Apostles today.”
Rebecca was not about to be deflected. “In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus said that if we love our family more than him, we are not worthy of him. Doesn’t that suggest sometimes God asks us to put him first, even before our families?”
“Of course. We always love God more than anything. But he doesn’t say anything about leaving your family time after time. This is the seventh or eighth time Nathan has left Lydia.”
Before she could answer, Benjamin raised a hand. When he spoke, it was slowly and with kindness. There was no animosity, no irritation. “Carl, you’re right. A man’s family is very important. It is in God’s sight too.”
“Then why would you leave them?”
“May I ask you a question?”
Sensing a possible trap, Carl nodded warily.
“Last month you took a business trip to Cleveland. As I remember, you were gone for almost a week.”
“Yes.”
“So you left your family.”
Now he saw it. He shook his head vigorously. “That’s different. I had to purchase two new carriages. They’re not sold here in Kirtland. Besides, I was only gone for a week, not two or three months.”
“And what if you had to go somewhere else—let’s say, to New York or Boston? Suppose it took you a month. There is no choice. If your business is going to survive, you’ve got to do it. Would you?”
“That’s not a fair comparison. The livery stable is how I support my family. It’s my livelihood, my work.”
“Ah,” Benjamin said sagely. “That’s exactly the point. God has a work also. He has told us it is his work to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man. He calls on us to help him do that work. It would be wonderful if we could do that work without ever leaving Kirtland, but unfortunately we can’t.”
Carl’s jaw was set. “It’s not the same. One’s your occupation, one is religion.”
“I see,” Benjamin said slowly. “So man’s work is more important than God’s work?”
Carl’s mouth opened, then shut again. Melissa watched her husband closely, but said nothing. Mary Ann was looking up at Benjamin, her eyes filled with a little bit of amazement and a considerable amount of love. “And,” she said very softly, not taking her eyes from his face, “if the Lord does decide it’s time for Benjamin to labor somewhere besides here in Kirtland, I want you to know, Carl, I will miss him more fiercely than I can describe to you. But, like Lydia, I will truly say to you, there is nowhere else I would rather have this man be than where the Lord wants him.”
* * *
Joshua kept half turning his head so he could eye Caroline in the moonlight. He was enchanted. Her features were so finely shaped, the nose and mouth in perfect balance, the lips more soft than the velvet surface of a rose petal. He had not had a woman stir him like this since the spring of 1827 when he had fallen wildly in love with Lydia McBride.
Caroline caught him watching her and stopped in the middle of the path. She looked up at him. Her eyes were half in shadow, dark and lustrous and unreadable. “And just what are you thinking about so deeply, Mr. Steed?”
He wanted to laugh, toss off something clever and profoundly witty, but it was not part of his character, so he decided to answer her honestly. “Well,” he began, “I was thinking two things.”
She nodded primly. “Number one?”
“I was thinking that we have been out here with the Montagues for two days now, and this is the first time we have been alone together.”
She laughed lightly. “I think Mr. and Mrs. Wesley felt it was time the situation be remedied.”
He smiled. Richard Wesley, with some obvious nudging by his wife, had come forth with the suggestion that it was a lovely night for a walk. The Montagues had been startled, then jumped in enthusiastically, almost pushing Joshua and Caroline out of the door.
“And number two?”
He hesitated. “I was wondering how many days it will be before it is proper to call you Caroline instead of Mrs. Mendenhall.”
She cocked her head slightly, then turned and started to walk again. “I thought we had passed that point yesterday, but I didn’t want to be forward.”
He felt a little jolt of excitement. “Then Caroline it is.”
“Yes, Joshua,” she said with a winsome smile, “Caroline it is.”
They strolled on for several moments, neither speaking. Without looking at her, he finally spoke. “And just what are you thinking about so deeply?”
Her head came up quickly, and he could see he had startled her. And more surprising, he saw she was blushing. She shook her head quickly.
“I see,” he said with mock disappointment. “So the old saying ‘Turnabout is fair play’ doesn’t apply here?”
She stopped again and looked at him searchingly. “All right,” she murmured. The blush deepened and she had to look away. “I was thinking that you’ve asked me all kinds of questions about myself. You know a lot about me. I know hardly anything about you. What about your family? Are they in Missouri? Have you . . . ?” She couldn’t get it out.
“Ever been married?” he said, trying to keep his voice casual, even though he had felt a sudden chill go through him.
She laughed quickly in embarrassment. “Yes.”
Joshua fought down the turmoil. For the last four years things in the past haunted him, dogged his heels in spite of every attempt to put them behind him. Were they now to intrude upon him again when they could do him the most damage?
He realized she was looking up at him with a sudden concern. He forced a quick smile. “No, my family is not in Missouri. I’m originally from New York. My family is now in Ohio somewhere. I haven’t seen them for several years.”
“Oh.” After a moment, she looked away, and he realized that her other question still hung in the air between them. But she was too much a lady to push him further. Once again she turned and started walking slowly. He watched her for a moment, torn with conflicting feelings: tell her everything; tell her nothing. He knew that neither of those was a workable option. Not if he wanted to have the relationship continue its favorable progress.
He moved quickly to her side and, after a moment, took her by the elbow. She slipped her arm easily through his. He took a quick breath and plunged in. “I was married once.” He was choosing his words carefully. “About five years ago.”
She looked up, and this time her smile was broad and filled with amusement. “Good,” she said. “For a moment there I thought you were trying to work up enough nerve to tell me you are married now.”
He laughed, more easily now. “No. I’m not married now. I . . . well, to be honest, I married on impulse one night. We had known each other for some time, but . . .” He pushed down a stab of guilt, glad that Jessica wasn’t hearing this. “But there weren’t a lot of single women in Independence at that time.” He went on more quickly now, trying not to let his emotions reach his face. “It was never wonderful. After a couple of years, she joined a group of religious fanatics. I tried to talk some sense into her, but she . . . she ran off with them. I divorced her a short time later.”
“Oh,” Caroline said again, this time quietly, letting the information digest.
“Are you
getting chilly?” he asked before she could ask anything further. They were approaching the big main house.
She nodded, pulling the shawl around her a little more tightly. “Just a bit.”
He squeezed her arm and smiled. “Well, I’m sure everyone inside is dying to know if this walk could mark the beginning of a formal courtship.”
She looked up. At the angle she was standing, the moonlight caught her face in full light. He could see that her eyes were filled with both amusement and questioning. “And what shall you tell them?”
He laughed easily, then instantly sobered. “I shall tell them that I do not know what the beautiful Caroline Mendenhall thinks, but as for Joshua Steed, he’s hoping the answer is yes.”
Her lips softened and parted slightly as she smiled up at him. At that moment he could not remember ever seeing anything more beautiful than her face. “I think you could tell them that Caroline Mendenhall was hoping the handsome Joshua Steed would say something exactly like what he just said.”
Chapter Six
Parley Pratt stopped and turned back. For a long moment he stared at the courthouse whence they had just come. His heavy brows lowered until they almost touched. “I don’t understand it, Nathan. The prophecy Brother Kimball pronounced upon my head back in Kirtland was so clear, so definite.”
Nathan sighed. He was as despondent as his companion. He didn’t have the answers.
“ ‘You shall go to Toronto,’ ” Parley quoted softly, “ ‘and you shall find a people prepared for the fulness of the gospel, and many shall come to the knowledge of the truth.’ ” He sighed. “If it hadn’t been so definite.”
Nathan nodded wearily. They had come with such high hopes. It had been a tedious and hard journey, taking just over a week, but their expectations were such that their spirits did not lag. They had stopped briefly at the mighty falls of Niagara, awed by the thunderous majesty of the torrent. By the time they crossed into Canada, spring had come in full force, and the roads were muddy and nearly impassable.
As they approached Hamilton on the western tip of Lake Ontario, cold, dirty, hungry, and exhausted, residents told them the steamer service between Hamilton and Toronto had just opened again. It would save them four or five hard days of traveling. Unfortunately, neither of them had enough money to purchase the two-dollar fare required. Undaunted, Parley pulled them off into a grove of trees, and they knelt in prayer and asked the Lord to help speed them on their journey. They rose and continued on. Barely had they entered Hamilton when a man accosted them on the street, saying he felt impressed they were in need of money. He slipped ten dollars into Parley’s hand and a letter of introduction to one John Taylor, a resident of Toronto. Needless to say, their spirits had been buoyed up tremendously by that event.
The Work and the Glory Page 102