Pillar of Light
Page 348
“Of course not,” Bennett muttered. “That was just one sentence or two of it. A blessing for me, if you will. But the main part of the revelation gave instructions about Joseph’s successor,” he said. “It even named him.” Then in a rush, at Will’s look, he blurted it out. “Sidney Rigdon is to be appointed the prophet, seer, and revelator for the Church.”
“Sidney Rigdon?” Will blurted.
“That’s right!” Bennett shot right back. “William Marks and Brigham Young are to be his counselors. Not only is Rigdon to fill Joseph’s position, but the revelation states that he is to be the king and imperial primate of the kingdom. He is to be assisted by princes, dukes, viceroys, and other nobles.”
He leaned forward, his eyes blazing. “Go ahead and scoff if you like, young man, but Joseph told me the whole plan the Lord has in mind for reorganizing his church. He gave me the names of the men who were to fill the various positions and told me how the whole thing was to be done.”
“Why you?” Joshua said. “Why not Brigham Young or one of the Twelve?”
“Because in my position as an Assistant President, and also as mayor of Nauvoo, I was charged with conferring the various degrees and organizing this Halcyon Order.”
“Halcyon Order?” Joshua snapped, losing patience now. This was preposterous. He didn’t much care what happened in the Church, but he knew Joseph Smith, and this was not how Joseph would have organized things. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Halcyon means peaceful, happy, orderly. The halcyon was a mythical bird. When it landed on the seas, the waves were instantly calmed. This is what the kingdom shall become now. A Halcyon Order.”
Joshua leaned back, searching Bennett’s face carefully. “Just out of curiosity, why have you come to me? If Joseph told you to give it to the authorities of the Church, why aren’t you telling this to John Taylor or Parley Pratt?”
“Does Sidney Rigdon know all this?” Will asked suddenly, before Bennett could answer. “You know, he’s not here anymore.”
“Of course I know,” came the response. “I wrote to him in Pittsburgh. I was hoping he would arrive before me, but I expect him any day now.”
“Why me?” Joshua pressed.
Bennett stood, picking up his hat from the desk. He dropped the sealed letter on Joshua’s desk. “You have no vested interest in all of this, Joshua. I don’t want anyone tampering with it. I would like you to read it first, so you know what it contains, but then give it to whomever you wish.” Now his tone was lofty, imperious. “I have done my sacred duty. The rest is up to you.”
“I don’t want it,” Joshua replied.
“I understand that you and Joseph were reconciled before his death. I think Joseph would expect that of you. This revelation came from him. It’s the least you can do to make sure it gets into the right hands.”
The former mayor of Nauvoo shrugged and moved to the door. “I didn’t expect that I would be welcomed back here, Joshua, but I have always been one to follow the Lord’s commandments.” And with that, he stepped out the door and slammed it behind him.
Mary Ann walked up to the small frame home that was being rented by the Manning family, and knocked on the door. After a moment, the door opened and Jane Manning was there. “Well,” she said in surprise, “good morning, Mary Ann.”
“Good morning, Jane. Do you have a moment I could speak with you?”
“Of course. Won’t you come in?”
“It’s so pleasant out here, can we just walk for a few minutes?”
Jane smiled and stepped out onto the porch. “Of course.”
They walked out to the street, moving slowly. Mary Ann decided to plunge right in. “Jane, remember when I mentioned that I would look for work for you?”
“Yes.”
“That was over three weeks ago. You probably thought I had forgotten.”
Jane was clearly taken aback. “Well, actually . . .”
Mary Ann laughed. “At first I had no luck, but just last night I thought of a possibility.”
The black woman was obviously touched. “You don’t have to solve my problems, Mary Ann.”
“I know, but I think this is perfect. But I wanted to talk with you first before proceeding.”
“What is it?”
“You may have heard that my daughter Melissa and her family just returned from Kirtland a couple days ago.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Melissa’s my older daughter. She had a baby on the fifteenth of July. She already has four young children. Just last night she and her husband, Carl, were talking about getting someone in to help out with the housework and to mind the children. Would that be of interest to you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jane said enthusiastically. “We’ve been worried about making ends meet. Do you think they would have me?”
“With my recommendation,” Mary Ann laughed, “they’ll probably pay you double wages. If you’d like, we can stop in now and meet them. Then the three of you can talk and decide if this is something that will work out for everyone.”
“That would be wonderful,” Jane started, “but—”
Mary Ann went on smoothly. “It will be wonderful to have you as part of their family. Carl is a fine man and is prospering very much right now. As you may know, he owns the Rogers and Sons brickyards. I think having someone to help Melissa will greatly appeal to him.”
“Let’s see if your daughter finds me acceptable first,” Jane murmured.
Mary Ann suddenly understood. “There is no need to worry about that,” she said. “Not for one moment.”
Jane suddenly felt at ease. If Melissa’s mother was so openly accepting of her, perhaps the daughter would be as well. “Thank you, Mary Ann. Thank you for remembering.”
Parley P. Pratt was puffing heavily, obviously having come with some swiftness to the home of Benjamin Steed. He knocked briskly on the door, then stepped back, taking out a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. In a moment, Mary Ann came to the door.
“Elder Pratt, good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Sister Mary Ann. Is Benjamin at home?”
“Yes, he and Nathan are in the kitchen working on some plats for their new property. Won’t you come in?”
“Yes, thank you. I’m glad they’re both here.”
Benjamin and Nathan both looked up in surprise as Mary Ann ushered Parley into the kitchen. She started to back away, but the Apostle motioned for her to stay. “You may as well hear this too, Mary Ann. I have some disturbing news.”
“What?” Benjamin asked, pushing the papers in front of him aside. “What’s wrong?”
“You know that letter John Bennett gave to Joshua a couple of days ago?”
“Yes, what about it?”
“You know what it said about who should lead the Church?”
“Joshua didn’t read it. Will took it to Elder Taylor unopened. But Bennett claimed it named Sidney Rigdon as the successor.”
“That’s right. That’s what the letter said. Well, guess who arrived on the steamer today?”
Nathan started. “Sidney’s here?”
“Yes, on the morning boat from Quincy.”
“Here to humbly accept John C. Bennett’s wondrous revelation?” Benjamin said with surprising bitterness.
Parley shook his head, his eyes clearly troubled. “He didn’t get Bennett’s letter. He came as soon as he got word that Joseph and Hyrum had been killed. He knew nothing about Bennett’s supposed revelation.”
“Well, that’s something, at least,” Nathan said.
“Not really,” Parley said slowly.
“What do you mean?” Mary Ann asked, seeing the concern in his eyes.
“Well, according to what Sidney told Willard Richards, he’s had his own revelation. He’s to become the guardian of the Church.”
Nathan slapped the table sharply, angrily. “What! He ran off to Pittsburgh just when things started getting dangerous here, and now he’s back to claim the throne?”
“Of course. Where and when?”
“Four p.m. at Elder Richards’s house.”
“All right. We’ll be there.”
“Thank you.” He tipped his head toward Mary Ann. “I’ll be off and let others know. Good day.” But as he reached the door he stopped and turned again. He was frowning deeply. “President Marks has invited Sidney to speak to the people at worship services tomorrow.”
Benjamin straightened slowly. “Is that wise?” he asked.
“Do we have any choice? He is the only surviving member of the First Presidency. And President Marks is the stake president. He didn’t really ask any of us.” There was a weary sigh. “Besides, there are some people who are happy to hear that Sidney has returned.”
There was a heavy silence as they considered all that that meant. Finally, Benjamin stood, slowly, wearily, as if suddenly very tired. “It’s begun, then,” he said simply. “We knew it would, but now it’s begun.”
Nathan felt only anger. “The Prophet’s dead and already the vultures are circling.”
Parley nodded slowly. “Where are the rest of my brethren, the Twelve? There are four of us here now, but that is not sufficient for a quorum.” He looked away, his voice stricken now. “The voice of the Lord told me to have the people wait for the Twelve before they acted. But where are they? How much longer must we wait?” He finally looked at the three Steeds, who watched him with great anxiety. “How much longer can we wait?”
Chapter Notes
The audacity of John C. Bennett as evidenced by his return to Nauvoo after the Martyrdom is a little known chapter in the history of the Church. After his public exposure and excommunication from the Church in 1842, he left Nauvoo to wage a bitter writing and lecturing campaign against the Church, covering much of the nation in the intervening two years. As described in volume 6 of this series, he tried to do enormous damage to the Church. It was astonishing enough that he would even dare return to Nauvoo, but that he would come claiming a personal revelation from Joseph shows the nature of the man. (See Andrew F. Smith, “The Saintly Scoundrel: The Life and Times of John Cook Bennett” [unpublished ms., Albany, N.Y., 1994], pp. 202–3.)
In an entry from Bennett’s writings, he says he arrived in Nauvoo sometime in early August but gives no exact date. It had to be before the rest of the Twelve returned on 6 August, and it seems likely it was before Sidney Rigdon arrived, which was on 3 August (see HC 7:223). Thus, in the novel Bennett is shown as coming to Nauvoo on 1 August 1844.
Brigham Young and others who knew Joseph well said the purported revelation was written in Bennett’s own handwriting. Evidently, Bennett took no active part in the succession crisis beyond the alleged revelation, probably because he knew how strongly the Saints resented him and he felt his support would only hurt Sidney Rigdon’s chances. After the succession question was settled, Bennett left Nauvoo again and had no more significant interaction with the Church.
Chapter 6
The roads were unbelievable—ruts deep enough in some places to hide the large wheels of the coach up to the hubs; ridges of mud that in the sun had turned hard as stone, enough to defy any set of springs ever put on a stagecoach; mud holes big enough and wide enough to look like small lakes, and deceptive enough to swallow a steam locomotive. The torrential rains during the latter part of June and the early part of July, which had caused so much flooding along the Mississippi River, were over now, but the effects of one of the wettest years in memory lingered on.
The five men traveling by stagecoach from Chicago to Galena, Illinois, a numbing journey of about a hundred and sixty miles, clung to the straps inside the coach as it rocked violently back and forth. They had left Chicago at seven a.m. the previous morning. That meant that so far they had endured thirty hours on the road, stopping only for a quick meal, a change of teams and drivers—or when the stage bogged down. Thirty hours of being viciously pummeled. Thirty long, jarring, jolting, lurching hours. And they were still about eighteen hours out from Galena.
Brigham Young turned to Heber C. Kimball, wedged in between him and Wilford Woodruff on the far side of the front-facing seat. “We should have just gone through Peoria, walked the whole way,” he shouted. “That would have been heaven compared to this.”
Kimball nodded grimly, holding himself up a little off the seat as he hung on to the strap so as to give his battered backside and legs some relief from the hammering they were taking. Galena was in the upper west corner of Illinois, actually even a little farther north than Chicago. The road snaked its way across the top of the state not far from its border with Wisconsin Territory. At Galena they would then turn south and go downriver to Nauvoo. All in all, coming this way was about a hundred miles farther than if they had angled straight southwest from Chicago through Peoria to Nauvoo. But distance was not the only consideration. Not only was there regular stage service between Chicago and Galena—which there was not from Peoria to Nauvoo—but Galena was only a short distance from the Mississippi River and a riverboat landing. A boat going downriver would save them a full day, maybe more.
Across from them, Orson Pratt and Lyman Wight leaned against each other, their heads bobbing and weaving like apples in a tub of water. Both had one hand through their respective straps; both were sound asleep. Brigham nudged Heber and inclined his head in their direction. “I think two of our brethren may have died sometime during the night.”
Wilford Woodruff groaned. “Surely you are right, for no living man could sleep through this.”
“It makes you question what the framers of the Declaration of Independence said, doesn’t it?” Heber said.
“What’s that?”
“That all men are created equal.”
There was a low chuckle from Brigham. “I must admit that right now I’m guilty of the sin of covetousness, and I—” He stopped as above them the driver gave a shout and the coach lurched to a shuddering stop.
Wight and Pratt came awake with a startled cry. “What is it?” Pratt asked, looking around wildly.
“Are we here?” Wight asked in bewilderment.
“Hardly,” Brigham replied. He pulled the curtains back and tried to see what it was that had stopped them. There was nothing in view. “Time to get our poles, brethren,” he said as he opened the door.
“You’d think the stage line would be paying us for this trip,” Lyman Wight grumbled, “as many times as we’ve had to pry this thing out of the mud.”
“Well,” drawled Heber with a wry smile, “it sure beats sleeping.”
As they climbed stiffly out of the coach, Brigham noted that they were not stuck in the mud or mired in water. The prairie grass looked soggy and almost marshy, but the road beneath the wheels, though it was dark and moist, was hard-packed and firm. “What’s the—,” he started to ask of the driver above him; then his eyes moved forward and there was no need to finish the question.
They had come to a low spot in the prairie, a long swale where the ground dipped, providing a gathering place for the rains to fill each spring. But this had not been just any spring, and the low spot had become a miniature swamp a hundred yards across and maybe a quarter of a mile in length. The road ran straight through the middle of it. The water was no more than a foot deep, and the coach, with its high wheels, should have been able to negotiate it without problem. But ten or fifteen yards ahead of where the stage had stopped the road was blocked by a wagon, mired up to its axles. Four men waded around it, trousers wet to the waist, bawling and yelling in some strange language at the three yoke of oxen hitched to the wagon. Across on the other side, several more wagons waited. A dozen more men and women shouted their encouragement to the ones in the water.
“Uh-oh,” Heber said beside him. “They’re really in there.”
“No wonde
r,” Lyman Wight said, pointing. “Look at how heavily that wagon is loaded.”
Above them, the stage driver was swearing softly but steadily. His companion looked down at the passengers. “Norwegians,” he said. “On their way to northern Iowa Territory, I’d guess.”
That explained the strange language, Brigham thought, watching as the men took out their frustration on the animals. Two of them had whips and were laying it across the backs of the animals, shouting and yelling in incomprehensible syllables. Two more were at the back of the wagon, pushing and grunting. It did nothing to get the wagon moving. The oxen were bellowing, eyes rolling, crashing against one another to try and avoid the lash. When they did lunge forward against the traces the wagon didn’t budge, and they fell back, panting and moaning.
“That’s never going to move,” Wight was saying to the two men above him on the coach’s seat. “They’re going to have to unload that wagon, take it out empty, then reload it.”
The driver swore again, nodding. “Half a day at the least. As if we’re not late enough already. Crazy Scandinavians.” His voice dropped back into muttering, but now his words were no longer distinguishable.
“Can we get by it?” Wilford Woodruff asked.
The second man, sitting beside the driver, shook his head. “No. The road’s barely wide enough for two wagons and they’re square in the middle of it. We get off the roadbed and we’ll sink so deep you’ll be swimming inside the coach. And then we’ll have to wait until Christmas, when it freezes up again, to get out of there.”
“Is there a way to get around the swampy area?” Brigham asked, watching the Norwegian teamsters with obvious distaste for how they were treating their animals.
The driver shook his head in disgust. “Not without backtracking who knows how many miles. Look!” He waved his arm in a great circle. “Only a d—” He caught himself at Brigham’s warning look. “Only a stupid fool would venture off the beaten track right now. The whole state of Illinois is one vast bog.”
“So we’re stuck?” Woodruff asked again.
“Until they get that wagon out of there,” the driver’s assistant replied, sitting back in his seat and pulling his hat down low over his eyes.