The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Is your house finished?” Jessica asked.

  “No. We’re living in it now, but we’ve spent a lot of time getting the land ready for planting. Grandpa Steed says he thinks we ought to put in winter wheat so we’ll have an earlier crop next summer.”

  She nodded and they talked on, Peter enthusiastically describing the work they were doing and the joy he and Derek had in owning land in America. Jessica was surprised at how much affection she felt for this lad with the wonderful British accent. He was truly part of their family.

  Finally, in a lull in the conversation, Peter began to fidget again. “May I ask you a question, Jessica?” he asked after a few moments.

  “Of course, Peter. What is it?”

  “Matthew says you teach school.”

  “Yes. Well, actually I go around to people’s homes and teach their children. We don’t have a schoolhouse in Haun’s Mill yet.”

  “Oh.” He took a quick breath and let it out slowly. “We have a school in Di-Ahman.”

  “Yes, I heard. I heard that Sister Brownley is teaching it.”

  “Yes, but it’s only for the younger children.”

  Then Jessica understood. “Would you like to go to school, Peter?”

  “Oh, yes,” he breathed. “I went to the factory school in England until Derek and me were fired.”

  “And you loved to learn, didn’t you.” Jessica didn’t make it a question. The answer was too obvious.

  “Yes.” He looked down, rubbing a smooth place in the dirt with the toe of his boot. “I . . . I was wondering . . .” He shook his head, and she could see that color had filled his cheeks.

  “You were wondering if I might teach you, Peter?”

  His head jerked up. “Yes,” he burst out. “I know we won’t get to see each other very much, but if you could tell me what to do, I’d study real hard at night, after the work is done.”

  “I would very much like that, Peter. Very much.”

  “Really?” His eyes were wide, almost disbelieving.

  “Yes, really. I wish I had brought some of my books with me, but let me put the baby down and we’ll talk about some things you can do until we see each other again.”

  He nodded happily as she carefully stood and took the baby in the house. She laid him down and covered him with a light blanket. After she was sure he wasn’t going to awaken, she stepped to the other cradle. Elizabeth Mary had been born to Lydia and Nathan just six weeks after Jessica’s baby. She too was still sleeping soundly, so Jessica turned and went quietly back out.

  As she came out on the porch again, Peter jerked up. He had been reading the paper. Now he lowered it, looking embarrassed.

  “Have you written something, Peter?”

  “I . . .” Impulsively he held it out toward her. “I’ve written a poem.”

  Jessica nodded, taking it from him with the same amount of gravity in her face as he showed. “A poem? That’s wonderful, Peter. May I read it?”

  He nodded, the shyness making him seem more like he was ten than fourteen.

  She brought the paper up. Two things struck her almost immediately. He had written it in cursive, but it was neat and clearly legible. More impressive, the words were correctly spelled. In frontier America, even many adults spelled out things as they sounded when spoken rather than as they were properly written—whare for where, Missuri for Missouri, mooveing for moving, and so on.

  And then as Jessica began to read what Peter had written, she forgot all about the handwriting and the spelling.

  Home

  Softer than a kitten’s step,

  Dawn steals across Diahman’s plain;

  Wondrous as a secret kept,

  A new day paints the broad terrain.

  Tree and flower, fox and fawn,

  All now share in Adam’s home;

  Fish in crystal waters spawn,

  Geese and duck the heavens roam.

  England had its beauties fair:

  Meadow, river, glade, and tree,

  And misty morns with frosty air;

  But man and boy were never free.

  ’Tis no surprise that Adam came

  And built these altars with his hand.

  Now English lads kneel at the same

  And call this place their motherland.

  She lowered the paper slowly, looking at him with wide eyes. Peter was watching her anxiously. “Is it all right, Jessica? You can tell me true.” Before she could answer, he went on in a rush. “There are some things I don’t like. The second line, about dawn stealing across the plain, the rhythm isn’t exactly right. It sounds funny and . . .”

  He faltered as Jessica stepped up to him. She was still staring at him in wonder. She laid her hand on his shoulder. “Peter, I would consider it a very special honor to be your schoolteacher.”

  * * *

  Olivia Mendenhall would turn eleven years old in November. She still had the look of a young girl, but even now there were things in her appearance that held out the promise of what she would look like when adolescence passed and she matured. She was going to be tall and slender like her mother. And she also had her mother’s hair—inside in dim light it looked dark brown, almost brunette, but when she was out in the sun, the reddish highlights gleamed like burnished copper. Olivia knew her hair was the envy of many of her friends, so she wore it long and straight and brushed it every morning till it glowed. She refused to wear a bonnet except on the hottest of days. She also had her mother’s eyes. They were large and round and green as a field of new corn, but flecked with light brown in spots.

  It would have been easy for her to take pride in her appearance, for she keenly sensed that she was a very pretty girl. She loved to stand before the full-length mirror Joshua had bought for her and examine how her clothes fit, or make sure her hair was just right. But Caroline constantly reminded her that outer beauty was a gift of God, for which she should be ever thankful, but that what mattered most was to be beautiful inside. Olivia accepted that, and believed it. But she was also very glad God had chosen to make her pretty on the outside too. What she did not yet fully appreciate was the fact that once womanhood came, she was going to be remarkably beautiful.

  She was outside the dry goods store waiting for the others to finish. Surprisingly, she had tired quickly of the shopping, something not in character for her, and had come outside and sat down on a barrel of dried cod that sat on the porch. For a girl of not quite eleven, there were heavy things weighing on her mind.

  She looked up as the door opened and Lydia came out. She had a small bag with some material for a dress for Emily. She smiled at Olivia. “They’re still not finished in there, but I’m afraid Elizabeth Mary is going to be waking up. I’m going to go on back.”

  Olivia felt a little jump of excitement. She needed to talk with someone, but was very much concerned that if she shared her problem with the wrong person, that person might misunderstand, and that would be devastating. She stood up quickly. She felt a special bond with Lydia. “Can I go with you, Aunt Lydia?”

  Lydia was tying the ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin. She turned. “Don’t you want to stay with the others? I think they’re going to go to a couple of other stores as well.”

  Olivia shook her head. “No, I’m ready to go home.”

  Lydia eyed her sharply. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just”—she shrugged—“bored. Please?”

  Lydia laughed. “That’s fine. Stick your head inside and tell your mother. I’d love to have some company.”

  It was only about a ten-minute walk back to the house, so Olivia plunged in as soon as they were away from the store. “Aunt Lydia?”

  “Yes, Livvy?”

  “I would like to speak with you about something.”

  Surprised at the adultness of Olivia’s tone, Lydia looked down at her in surprise. “All right.”

  “You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone.”

  Lydia suppressed a smile.
“All right, I promise.”

  Suddenly the adult was gone and it was all little girl again. Her hand flashed back and forth across her chest. “Cross your heart and hope to die, poke a stick in your eye?”

  Lydia laughed aloud. She emulated Olivia’s movement with her hand. “Yes, cross my heart and hope to die. I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Good.” Olivia’s chest rose and fell. Now that the moment had come, she wasn’t sure she had the courage. Lydia walked more slowly, watching Olivia out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to push but fully curious now.

  “Is it all right . . . I mean, can a person . . .” Olivia shook her head, her cheeks coloring.

  “What, Livvy? It’s all right. Just ask me straight out.”

  Olivia swallowed once, then blurted it out. “Can relatives ever marry each other?”

  Lydia stopped walking, staring at her in surprise.

  “I mean, I know they can, but is it all right? Sometimes people say they shouldn’t and . . .”

  Lydia was smiling broadly now. “Are you thinking about Matthew?” she asked softly.

  Olivia blushed even more deeply and looked away quickly. But there was a quick bob of her head.

  Lydia was sorely tempted to laugh right out loud at that. The whole family had noticed that Olivia was totally smitten with Matthew. She followed him around, hung upon his every word, watched him with sad, longing eyes, and tried not to act hurt when he seemed not to notice any of those things. But Lydia knew this was not a laughing matter to Olivia, so she kept her face impassive and spoke gravely. “Some people say it’s not a wise thing to do, Livvy. Especially for close relatives, like first cousins.”

  Olivia turned back. “First cousins? What’s that?”

  “When brothers and sisters in a family have children, the children are first cousins to each other. So Emily and Rachel are first cousins.”

  “What about others?”

  Lydia reached out and took Olivia’s hand and began to walk again, moving slowly now. “Most people would consider it improper for an uncle to marry his niece or for an aunt to marry her nephew.”

  Olivia’s face fell. “Oh.”

  Lydia squeezed her hand. “However, in your case Matthew is only your stepuncle.”

  Olivia’s head snapped up. “My stepuncle?”

  “Yes. That means you’re related only through marriage. Like Joshua is your stepfather. If Joshua were your real father, then Matthew would be your real uncle, but he’s not. Actually you’re not really related to each other at all. Not by blood.”

  “Really? Then it would be all right?” Olivia nearly shouted it.

  Again keeping her voice very serious, Lydia nodded. “In that way it would. But there might be other problems.”

  It barely registered. Olivia’s face was infused with joy. An insolvable problem had just been resolved.

  “Matthew’s seven years older than you, Olivia.”

  “I know,” Olivia said defensively, “but I’ll wait for him until I’m old enough to marry. That’s only a little over five years away.”

  Lydia nodded sagely. “I see. You plan to marry at sixteen, then?”

  There was not a moment’s hesitation. “Yes.”

  Lydia smiled. How simple was life to a child!

  The weight had been lifted from Olivia’s shoulders. She began to walk more swiftly now, moving out ahead of Lydia. There was almost a skip to her step. Then she turned around, walking backwards so she could face her aunt. “You promised not to tell.”

  “I did. And I won’t tell a soul.”

  “Not even Mama?”

  “Not even your mother.”

  Olivia’s lips pulled into a pout. “I told Will the other night and he laughed at me. He said Matthew would be married long before I turn sixteen.”

  “That’s possible, Livvy,” Lydia said gently. “He’s nearly eighteen now. Some young men are married by his age already.”

  Olivia frowned, brushing that aside. “But some don’t get married until they’re old. Like twenty-five or twenty-six.”

  “That’s true,” Lydia chuckled.

  “Will said I was being stupid. Do you think I’m being stupid, Aunt Lydia?”

  “No, Olivia, I think you are being wise beyond your years. And very, very sweet.”

  * * *

  By three o’clock that afternoon, the last of the roof planking was put into place and fastened with wooden tenons and mortises. The roof shingles and some of the finish work—framing in the windows and hanging the doors—would have to wait until Thursday, after the Independence Day celebrations, but the heavy work was done.

  The Steed men stood together, eyeing their handiwork and relaxing for a moment before they started home. Matthew and Will Mendenhall were off to one side talking quietly. John Griffith had seen a family from Haun’s Mill and gone over to say hello. Benjamin, Joshua, and Nathan stood around the water bucket, their tools in their hands or at their feet. Brother Alexander Cope, whose barn it was, was shaking hands all around, thanking everyone profusely for their assistance.

  As Cope moved on to the other men, Joseph and Hyrum Smith appeared from around one corner of the barn. They had been working a two-man saw out back cutting the planks. It seemed like that was the job they always drew. Brigham Young said they were the best sawing team west of New York City. Joseph had the long blade balanced on one shoulder, and it bounced up and down with a soft, metallic hum as he walked. When he saw the Steeds they changed direction and came over.

  “A good day’s work, I’d say,” Joseph said, looking at the barn.

  “Agreed,” said Benjamin. “Brother Cope should have it finished in plenty of time to get some meadow hay in before winter.”

  “We especially appreciate your help, Joshua,” Hyrum said with a laugh. “Hardly seems fair that a man comes north to see his family and gets put to work building someone else’s barn.”

  Joshua was shaking his head even before Hyrum finished. “Don’t apologize. It’s been almost a dozen years since I had the chance to work alongside my father and brother.” He looked at Benjamin. “It feels good again.”

  Benjamin nodded, meeting and holding his gaze. “Very good,” he murmured.

  Then Joshua shot a quick glance at Nathan. “Besides, things haven’t changed much. Nathan still doesn’t pull his full weight unless I’m there to see to it.”

  “Oh ho!” Nathan cried. He slapped his stomach, which was flat and hard. “It’s not the little brother who’s become a rich businessman and gone soft in the belly from too little grunt work.”

  Joshua sucked in his gut with exaggerated effort. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Will and Matthew came over to join them. Will was grinning. He jabbed playfully, touching his father’s waist. “Want some help, Pa?”

  Joshua whirled and took a swipe at him, missing by a yard as Will jumped back with a yelp and a laugh.

  “My own son, even,” Joshua grumbled. “It’s bad enough to have your brother insult you, but my own son . . .”

  As the laughter subsided, Joseph turned to Joshua. “Ben says you’re going to stay over for the celebration tomorrow.”

  “Yes. We won’t leave until Thursday morning.”

  “Good. How would you and your wife like to come over to our house for supper tonight?”

  Joshua’s jaw dropped slightly. “I . . .”

  “Emma would like to meet you again. She was thrilled when I told her all that has happened with your family and you.”

  “Uh . . .” He didn’t know what to say. Joseph had completely stunned him.

  “If you’re worrying about old times in Palmyra, don’t give it a second thought. Neither Emma nor I hold a grudge.”

  That took him aback even more. Back in Palmyra, in 1827, Joshua had turned quite sour about Joseph Smith and his so-called “experiences.” He had not been too reticent about expressing those feelings to Joseph. One day in the village there had been a confrontation with Emma—so
me of the local toughs trying to give her a bad time. Joshua had been there, not really taking the lead but not doing anything to stop it either. And then there had been the night when Joseph had gone for the golden plates. Joshua had been waiting in the woods for him, and there had been an exchange of blows. That was the same night Joshua had left Palmyra, but he was pretty sure that Emma knew that it had been him who had jumped Joseph in the woods.

  Joshua wasn’t worried now about Joseph’s feelings. When he and Nathan had come to Far West from Independence the day previous, with the intent to reunite Joshua with his family for the first time in eleven years, Nathan had gone straight to Joseph for help. And Joseph had been amazing. There wasn’t the slightest hint of any bad feelings. Instead, Joseph had made them wait while he called the Steed family together and talked with them about forgiveness and acceptance. Then he had called Joshua in. It had made all the difference and paved the way for the marvelous reunion which had taken place between Joshua and his father.

  But Emma. Joshua was embarrassed at the thoughts of having to face her again after how he had treated her.

  “It’s true, Joshua,” Nathan said softly. “There aren’t any bad feelings. Emma is a wonderful woman. She and Lydia have become the best of friends.”

  “That’s right,” Joseph boomed. “Shall we say seven o’clock, then?”

  “Well, I . . . I’ll have to talk with Caroline.”

  “She’ll come,” Joseph said with confidence. He turned to Will. “You tell your mother to bring you and your sisters too. Emma especially wants to meet this little red-headed girl who has Benjamin Steed bragging about her all over town.”

  Holding on to the saw with one hand to steady it, Joseph reached out and clapped Joshua on the arm. “Till seven, then.” And he and Hyrum strode away, leaving Joshua to stare after them.

  Chapter 2

  Grandpa! Make them hurry. We’re gonna miss the Fourth of July parade.”

  Benjamin looked down at Emily and smiled, pulling away from his thoughts. “What was that, Emmy?”

  “We’re gonna be late. Go in and tell Mama to hurry up.” Her hands were on her hips, and her head was cocked to one side. She would celebrate her sixth birthday on the morrow, but sometimes she seemed much older than that. Her dark eyes were crackling with impatience, and her mouth was drawn into a pout. At times like this she looked so much like Lydia, with her jet black hair and her large brown eyes and the long lashes that fluttered like a debutante’s, that it always made her grandfather smile. He fought to keep it from broadening. “They’re coming, Emmy,” he soothed. “Your papa is helping your mother get the baby dressed.”