Adria came up to her, and she put her arm around the child’s waist.
“Do you like the pretty new song I learned, Mother?”
“Yes, dear heart, I do.” She pushed the child’s damp golden hair back from her forehead and then bent to her work, while Adria sang the verses over and over again for her to enjoy.
For the first time Nicholas wasn’t sure he agreed with the Prophet’s decision. Run for president of the United States! Not one man in ten thousand would understand. Nicholas knew the logic behind it. They had learned these past few weeks in the congressional elections that both parties resented, even hated them, yet courted their favor, hoping to secure the Mormon vote en masse. Joseph had written letters to five candidates for the presidency concerning their views regarding the Saints. Three of the candidates replied, but they seemed to have little sympathy for members of the Church. So, how could the Saints as a body, or individually, support any of them? It was a powerful statement Joseph was making by putting himself forward as a candidate. A necessary statement, perhaps. But an anti-Mormon meeting had already convened in Carthage, calling upon all good and righteous men to assist in humbling the pride of that “audacious despot,” Joseph Smith. Nicholas was fearful of the emotional consequences that may result from this move.
Late in September Helena gave birth to a son. Her labor was long and difficult. Nicholas was amazed at the joy in her face when the midwife at last permitted him to go in to her.
“I’ve given you a son,” she said, smiling weakly.
He loved her so much at that moment that he felt tears choke in his throat. He leaned his head against hers and whispered his love for her until she blushed softly and pushed him away.
They named the boy William Abel—William after her father. But everyone called him Abel, everyone except Helena, who liked to laughingly refer to him as Abe. Nicholas’s mother fussed over both of them; watching her Nicholas wondered where her strength came from. Ever since the onset of the past winter she had become thin and frail, her small frame shrinking upon itself visibly. Helena gave up the child to her no matter how often she requested. When Nicholas attempted to praise her for her kindness, she grew serious.
“I really don’t think she will be with us long, Nicholas. I’ve seen too many signs. Sometimes I believe this new love for Abel is the only thing that sustains her from day to day. As much as she is ready to go on to the husband who awaits her, I know she hates the thought of tearing herself away from him.” There were tears in her eyes. “And when she is gone he will have no grandparents, Nicholas, no one but you and me.”
“Then he shall have all a child requires and more, my dear.” He kissed her pale cheek, so cool to the touch of his lips.
She smiled, knowing he tried to comfort her. But it was a sorrow to both to be bereft of parents and family, to feel they stood alone against the world, especially in times such as these.
As fall hardened toward winter, reports of violence filtered in from the solitary farms and homesteads along the prairie, which were the first and easiest prey. And before the year had sighed itself out, Ellen Todd let go of life herself, with one long, gentle sigh.
She could not be buried beside her husband, but Nicholas found a choice spot in the new cemetery heading east on Parley, just outside of town. A slender linden tree standing on a small rise sheltered it. There would be a good view from here, and the violent storms of winter would be softened by the strong, growing tree.
Through the heavy weight of his sorrow, one comfort gnawed at the edges of Nicholas’s consciousness: she rested in peace. When the persecutions came again, as Nicholas felt they were bound to, she would be beyond their power, and safe.
Summer was an easy time. Millie could be consumed from sunup to sundown by her garden and be all the happier for it. But best of all she liked the early days of autumn, warm still with the last fruitfulness of summer, and ripe with the smells of harvest and the age-old customs of gathering, gleaning, and garnering all the bounties of earth. She and Adria got by. She sold some of the produce from her garden on marketing days, and did an occasional piece of sewing for various people in the town. Luther’s friends were good to her, remembering her with choice fish when their catches were good. And, of course, she had her little bit of income from her work at the school. They seldom felt a real pinch. As Christmas approached she knitted scarves and mittens and sold them to help finance the gifts she planned for Adria.
She noted the November day that marked two years since Adria had come to her. She had considered the idea of using this date as a birthday for the child, but thought better of it; she was superstitious about such things. Instead she selected the second of February, as the long, dark winter was beginning to break up and spring seemed a possibility. This gave them a real cause to celebrate and to forget for one day, at least, the dreary sameness of the harsh, frozen landscape and the short winter days.
She could only guess at the child’s age, thinking for the thousandth time how strange it was that she seemed to come from nowhere, with no past, only this beautiful, clean surface upon which she and Millie together began to etch the experiences and impressions of her new life. The tightness Millie had lived with for months, the trembling of her hands every time she had searched through her mail, seemed but a memory now. By rights of the heavens, Adria was hers.
She decided Adria had been four when she came out of the sea, feeling it safer to err in that direction than the other. The child’s native brightness would compensate for any error. That would make her six on this birthday, a very big girl indeed. Millie gathered her courage and invited some of the little girls from the school near Adria’s age to come out to the house. They played “Blind Man’s Bluff” and “Hide the Thimble” and “I packed my trunk to Saratoga and I put in”—a bonnet, or a parasol, or even a crocodile. It was delightful to see what the children came up with. Adria had the best memory of all and never lost track of the items or left one out when it was her turn. When they had had enough of the games, and Adria had opened the little gifts the children had brought, it was time to enjoy the goodies Millie had set out for them: warm raspberry tea laced with lemon, scones with rose petal jelly, strawberry rhubarb tarts, and lemon lace cookies.
Only the lengthening shadows forced Millie to end the festivities, bundle up the little girls in their wraps, and send them scampering home. She and Adria walked into town with some of the younger ones, stopping to visit Blind Billie, who sat in his rags on an upturned log playing thin, eerie tunes on his Irish pipe.
The lilting melodies stayed with them as they walked home hand in hand through the gray evening, and seemed to enchant the very air which they moved through, seemed to hallow the day. Millie trembled with gratitude and clung to the little fingers that wrapped round her own.
Chapter Twenty-three
Millie had been almost sick with worry these past months. When she stood at Almira’s counter and saw Verity’s familiar writing, she snatched the letter right out of Almira’s hands. Almira scowled at her, looking so much like a nasty witch that Millie had to suppress a sudden giggle.
“Thank you, Almira,” she called gaily, waving the letter.
Almira muttered under her breath and shuffled into the back room, leaving her alone. Today Millie didn’t care; today she had Verity’s letter. She waited until she was home in the garden, which smelled of buds and new grass, to open it up.
My dearest Millicent,
Here it is April of 1844, a new year; the long winter is over and past. But it very nearly was the last of this world’s winters for me. I know you must be worried and wondering why I have neglected you, but these past months I have been beyond thought or care for anyone or anything. I have been in the grips of the terrible typhus fever, and close to death. Leah also was ill, so Mother and the men had their hands full caring for us and keeping the children away from their poor mothers, while at the same time seeing to all the lit
tle ones’ needs. By the time Julia and Jenny celebrated their first birthdays we were able to sit with them and be in some small way a part of the festivities. How grateful I was to feast my eyes on my beautiful children again and be spared this time from death’s grip, granted the privilege of loving them and raising them up to the Lord. Certainly this is the heart of life, isn’t it, Millie? When I think of you and your precious Adria I know of a certainty that God sent her to you. And what a fortunate child she is to learn life from your wisdom and example!
Millie let the letter drop to her lap. She felt uneasy and inadequate when Verity praised her. What wisdom, what depth of understanding and feeling did she have to transmit? Certainly little when compared with Verity, whose faith was so strong, whose merciful nature extended to all, without question or qualification. True, she was not bitter and narrow-minded like Almira, but was she all that she should be—for Adria’s sake?
You will be interested to learn what has happened with Mother during this time. Simon’s second wife is a woman by the name of Margaret Brady, a young widow, actually, not many years older than I. When she first came into the household Mother was polite, but she largely ignored her, working ‘around her,’ so to speak, with her usual efficiency. Now the girl is with child and ill, and she seems pathetically ignorant of how to care for herself. Mother has begun to fuss over her; you know how she is, Millie. It bring tears to my eyes to see Maggie’s simple gratitude. I believe she adores Mother and now, like an eager child, does everything she can to please her. Bless Mother. I don’t know if I could do the same in her place. But how right and beautiful love and mercy are, under any conditions. Don’t you agree?
Do I? Millie wondered. Uneasily she thought of Almira. She may be harsh and uncharitable, but Millie had used that as ample excuse to close her own heart to the woman. Since Luther’s death she had not once invited Almira to her home, she had not once been kind; civil, yes, even respectful, but nothing beyond that. How did Verity have this power to pierce to the core of her being and make her want to be good?
Thus we are getting by now, better than before, and we are grateful for God’s mercies. I shall write again, as my strength returns to me and I begin to pick up the threads of responsibility which are mine.
Stay well and happy yourself, my dear heart.
Your Verity
Millie raised the letter and pressed it to her lips. A fleeting vision of Judith, with flaming eyes and a gentle mouth, passed through her mind. What would she do without the friendship and example of these extraordinary women?
She folded the letter and placed it carefully in the deep silk-lined box with the others. This box had been her mother’s, and one day it would be Adria’s. The natural order of life, at this moment, seemed a marvelous thing to her. She would do better. She had much to be grateful for, too. She walked back to the garden humming a tune under her breath, feeling strong and happy inside.
Nicholas heard the commotion outdoors and wondered why it sent a chill along the surface of his skin. He walked to the front window and looked out to see Porter Rockwell riding down the middle of the street, shouting like a crazy man. He hurried to the front door and threw it wide open.
“They have killed Joseph! They have shot the Prophet! They have killed Joseph!”
He kept repeating the words over and over again. Each word was thick with the man’s own tears and anguish. Nicholas, feeling suddenly weak, leaned against the door frame. His whole body was trembling. This could not be so! God in heaven, what would they do without Joseph!
But it was true. A mob consisting largely of the Carthage Greys stormed the jail where Joseph, Hyrum, John Taylor, and Willard Richards were being held. Governor Ford, who had pledged his protection personally to the Prophet, departed from the city without him, literally leaving the prisoners to their fate.
A depressed stupor sat on Nicholas’s mind. The streets of Nauvoo were shrouded with a dark sense of gloom. As a member of the Legion Nicholas chafed to be called out to ride in vengeance to Carthage, but when Brother Richards brought back the bodies of the Prophet and Patriarch he urged the Saints to keep the peace. Addressing them outside the Mansion House, he said, “I have pledged my honor and my life for your good conduct—knowing your hearts as I do.”
“Be still, and know that I am God.” The phrase kept running over and over again through Nicholas’s head. The worst had happened. Where in the world could they go from here? How could they go on without Joseph’s spirit, which had strengthened them all?
On Saturday the third of August, Sidney Rigdon arrived in Nauvoo and the next day spoke to the assembled Saints, telling them they must appoint a “guardian” to build up the Church to the martyred Prophet. That did not ring true to Nicholas. He knew the Twelve were hastening back from their various missions to be with the Saints. By Thursday the eighth, the date that William Marks, Nauvoo stake president, had set for a general meeting, the majority of the Apostles were in the city. Nicholas felt that Joseph had made it pretty clear that the Twelve held the keys, the necessary authority to continue the work. As he stood listening to Brigham Young speak he wondered suddenly if the sun was blinding his eyes.
“We have a head,” Brigham cried, “and that head is the Apostleship, the spirit and power of Joseph, and we can now begin to see the necessity of that Apostleship.” But this was a voice like the voice of Joseph! Nicholas heard it distinctly. It thrilled through his whole frame. And Brigham’s face—no, it was the face of the Prophet gazing over his people once more.
Nicholas glanced at those around him. He could tell from the expressions on their faces that they saw what he saw, and he heard murmured whispers and exclamations of wonder.
God is still with us, Nicholas thought. He is telling us the work will not fail. The truth Joseph gave his life for is still in God’s hands.
It was time to gather in the summer’s harvest. But after that, what? Those who had thirsted for the Prophet’s blood—had they had their fill? When the Saints did not retaliate after the murders of Joseph and Hyrum, the vermin who were responsible slunk back to their homes. They were not brought to answer before the law for their actions; that would be asking too much. But would this content them? Would they leave the Saints in peace now?
Nicholas was surprised by the advice Brigham Young gave the people. “Stay here and sow, plant, build, and put your plowshares into the prairies,” he said. “One plowshare will do more to drive off the mob than two guns.” He told them to let all “enjoy plenty, and our infant city may grow and flourish, and be strengthened an hundred fold.”
If only, if only—Nicholas did not dare to hope that it could be as simple as that. But work on the temple was stepped up, and he threw in his might with the rest. Here, within these walls, would be power. Here he felt strongly the influence of Deity in the Saints’ daily lives.
Millie’s life was slow-paced and predictable, but she didn’t mind. After Verity’s last letter she had decided that she had all she needed to make her happy, and be happy she would! Such a resolve was not difficult with the summer sea at her feet, the fragrance of blossoms and sweet herbs strong on the air, and the wonder of Adria’s life unfolding before her eyes each new day.
When she received a letter from Verity so soon after the last she felt a stab of alarm rather than pleasure. Something had driven her to write; Millie sensed it. Something not good! She opened the envelope almost reluctantly and smoothed out the creased page.
July 23, 1844, Nauvoo
Dearest Millie,
This must be brief in the telling, or else my heart will break. On June twenty-seventh the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum were shot and murdered by a mob in the county seat of Carthage, not far from here. You cannot imagine the stunned grief of his people—the sense of loss and confusion that pervaded this place. Since then Brigham Young and the Apostles have organized the Saints and taken over the authority of the Church, as Joseph Smith wished them to do. But
in this oppressive and bitter summer the scarlet fever has struck and claimed many little children as its victims—my dear Katherine as one. Katy, so full of life and energy! I cannot yet believe it is true. The house is like a silent, echoing tomb without her presence. Oh, Millicent, this is too hard! Everything else I have tried to bear with patience—but this! Pray for me, Millie, for I am unable to pray for myself.
Your sorrowing friend,
Verity Winters
Millie let the letter fall to the floor and sat stiff and silent. Adria found her that way when she came in the house nearly an hour later. She had to coax her to notice her, to coax her to move, and at last to speak. And she wondered why it was that her mother cried softly the whole time she set the kitchen table for the two of them and prepared their simple meal.
Nicholas waited anxiously with the others in the cold lower room of the Seventies Hall. Every now and again he would blow on his hands and rub them together to keep them warm. At last they heard the sounds of a rider approaching. Someone threw open the door and the breathless messenger burst into the room, scattering a sprinkling of snow on those nearest him. He did not need to speak; as he lifted his face to meet theirs they could read the weight of his message.
“The state legislature repealed the charter of Nauvoo—the city, the Legion, they are no more.”
No one spoke. The silence was more than the man could bear, and he added in a low voice, “They have snatched everything away from us with one stroke of a pen.” He shrugged his shoulders, a hopeless gesture. “We stand utterly exposed.”
The Heart that Truly Loves Page 22