by Dean Hughes
“Yes. The Clarkston baby. His mother died in childbirth.”
“I want you to know, it was a noble thing to do. You saved a life. Emma Smith herself told me that, and I’m certain that it’s true.”
“I hope it is,” Liz said, but she could only think what an honor it was to have Eliza Snow in her little home. Sister Snow was known for her intelligence. She wrote hymns and poems that appeared in the Times and Seasons and The Wasp. There was no woman in Nauvoo better known—except for Emma Smith herself—and no woman more highly respected.
“Emma thinks you are the prettiest woman in Nauvoo, and that’s been my impression, too, but I’m glad I’ve seen you this morning with your hair falling out and a smudge across your face. You’re just as pretty, I dare say, but it’s good to know your feet are on the ground.” Sister Snow began to smile, and Liz saw, to her surprise, something sly in her eyes. Maybe she wasn’t always serious, after all.
Liz rubbed at her face, wondering whether the smudge was from adding wood to the fire or maybe a white smear of cream from separating milk that morning. “Everyone seems to think I was a fine lady in England,” Liz said, “but it’s not true. I was a solicitor’s daughter, that’s all. But it is true that I did very little work growing up, and now I’m trying to learn how to be a farmer’s wife—and failing, for the most part.”
“No, no. You’re a mother in Zion, and you’ve chosen to do the things that will bring you exaltation in the celestial kingdom. That’s the work of this life—serving in every way we can.” But that sly look returned. “That’s my introduction to a request. Did you sense that already?”
“I do think I saw something coming,” Liz said, and she smiled too. “But I’m honored you would think of me.”
“Do you know about the Necessity Committees?”
“I heard them mentioned at the meetings.”
“We have had them in each of the four wards, but we’re about to be divided into ten wards in town, and three more east of the city limits. We need a committee for each, and we would like you to serve on the one in your ward.”
“What would I do?”
“Visit the sisters, assess the needs of those sick or otherwise afflicted, and communicate to our leaders what service can be rendered.”
Liz nodded. She was honored, but worried how she would manage everything. Still, she said, “I would like to do that, Sister Eliza.”
“Good. Now another question. Have you learned to sew?”
“Only a little. I do some mending.”
“We need women to sew shirts for the men who work at the temple. It’s one of the services we’ve been doing since we first organized last spring.”
“Yes, I am aware of that, and I’ve often thought it’s something I should do, but I don’t have the first idea how to get started.”
“That’s fine. This is not refined work. It’s something I can show you rather quickly. The question is, do you have time to sew some shirts if we supply you with material and thread?”
“And also serve on the committee?”
“Yes. If it’s not too much for you.”
Liz took a breath. “You may not know, I’ve started a small school here at home.”
“Ah.” Sister Snow stood, rather abruptly. “No, I didn’t know. I’m a teacher myself, you know, and I understand how much time that takes. If I had known, I wouldn’t have asked you.”
“No. It’s all right.” Liz stood too, and faced Sister Snow. “Please. Show me how to do it, and then I’ll try to sew as often as I can. I should have more time this winter. I do want to help.”
“All right, then. But let’s put off your service on the Necessity Committee for now, and only ask you to sew as much as you can find time.”
“I’ll try to visit sisters, too. It’s something I like to do.”
“You’re a true sister, Elizabeth. I can tell it from your willingness to serve—but I also feel it in your spirit.” She stepped closer and took Liz’s hand in hers. “Now, let me give you our shirt pattern and show you a trick or two that will help.”
Liz was moved by the kind words. She liked to think that she was doing her part, and liked to think that she could become someone as accomplished and righteous as Sister Snow.
Eliza and Liz studied the pattern together for a time, and Eliza explained some of the tricks of fitting the sleeves to the yoke and of cutting and stitching around the buttonholes. She gave Liz some yards of heavy denim material—for winter wear—along with thread and needles and buttons. Before she left, she asked, “I know your baby is sleeping just now, but could I peek at him?”
“Certainly,” Liz said. Little Jacob was sleeping in a makeshift cradle, more a box than a piece of furniture, on the opposite side of the fireplace from where Eliza had been sitting. Liz picked up Jacob, and he stirred a little and then settled in against her and continued to sleep. She pulled back the blanket and let Sister Eliza look. But then, when she saw Eliza’s obvious joy at seeing him, she handed him over to Eliza, who tucked him close to her and gazed into his round little face.
She was a poet and scholar, but Liz saw in her face that she was also a mother in her way—that she loved Jacob as instantly and naturally as Liz had. Liz felt she knew Eliza now, and she also knew that she would never forget this moment.
• • •
In the middle of November, a hard rainstorm moved in and stayed for a couple of days. A cold, clear day followed, and then more rain. Will’s crops were in, but his roadwork was not entirely finished. He didn’t have snow to deal with yet, but mud was worse. He wondered whether he could plan on more good days before a hard frost came and his work would have to stop for the winter.
Will felt blessed when the November rains abated and the mud dried enough to let him finish his work before snow began to fall. But then winter set in hard, with fierce cold. The river froze over earlier in the fall of 1842 than anyone ever remembered. Will had work to do around his place in town, but he didn’t relish working in such harsh cold—worse than anything he had ever experienced in England. Still, he told himself he needed to learn to enjoy this quiet time, with more days available when he could help Liz with her chores and help with Jacob. He needed to spend more time reading the scriptures this winter. Sometimes, working every daylight hour, his spiritual life seemed mostly put aside.
In spite of Will’s resolutions, his first days cooped up inside turned out to be tedious. One morning he told Liz, “If you don’t mind, I might walk down to the brick store to see if Brother Clayton is there. He told me he could let me look at the city plat maps.” In September William Clayton had become the temple recorder and Joseph Smith’s secretary. He split his time between the recording office, a little building near the temple, and another office at the brick store. “I’m thinking, when all the harvest money is in and I get paid for my roadwork, I just might have enough extra to put a few dollars down on a farm lot of our own, maybe out by Jesse’s place.”
“I thought you were going to wait on that.”
“I was. But I thought I’d be putting my money into buying bricks. Since we don’t have enough savings to start a house, maybe we could manage a first payment on some land. Brother Clayton tells me I ought to pick something out before too many people move here and there’s nothing left.”
“Well, fine. Go talk to Brother Clayton. You can’t stand to be in the house for two hours. That’s the truth of it.”
Will was glad that she was smiling—at least a little. “Aye. It’s true,” he said. “But I didn’t want to admit that to you.” He grabbed his coat and cap from a peg on the wall and gave Liz a quick kiss. “I won’t be long,” he said. “And that’s a promise.”
That only made her laugh all the more.
The day was very cold, so Will walked as fast he could, partly to get out of the cold and partly to get his blood flowing. He took the path throu
gh the woods and straight west to the flats. Now that most of the leaves were off the trees, he could see the full breadth of the town. A great many new houses had gone up that summer. There were more brick houses under way now. Brigham Young’s, down on Granger Street, was progressing nicely, and Jonathan Browning, from Quincy, had bought a brick house in town and had been converting it into a gun shop. With the corn cut, it was easier to see all the block houses, mostly painted white, and the few two-story houses, brick or frame, that were changing the look of the city. At times like this, Will felt as though he could see Joseph’s vision, this muddy land actually turning into a civilized place: a beautiful city and a sizeable one. The great river was vast and white this time of year—a field of snow—but it was craggy, not smooth, after the days of freezing and breaking up before the hard freeze had set in.
Will walked to the store and entered through the back door, but when he found no one in the counting room, he hiked up the back steps and was surprised to see Joseph Smith himself sitting at his little desk with his back to the door. He twisted around and looked at Will and said, “Ah, Will Lewis. Did Brother William send word to you that I wanted to talk to you?”
“No. I stopped by to see him, but he’s not in his office.”
“Yes, he left not long ago, but I must say, it’s more than a coincidence that you found me here,” Joseph said. He sat back and smiled. “The Lord sent you here to see me. I have something I want to ask you.”
Will felt a little quiver run through him—maybe excitement, or maybe fear. He was pleased to know that the Prophet had been thinking of him, but he wondered what he could have in mind.
Joseph stood and shook Will’s hand, and he motioned for Will to take a seat. He waited and then sat in his own chair again. “How was your harvest?” he asked.
“Not bad, considering I had a late start. I was able to grind enough grain for the winter, and Brother Matthews, from our branch in Ledbury, worked with me. He’s settled for the winter too, and we even made a small profit from the corn we sold.”
“I heard that you also gave Brother Johns some work.”
“Well, yes. I’m surprised you know about that.”
“I hear about most things, Brother Will. But in this case, it was Brother Johns himself who told me how much he appreciated the work. And Jesse Matthews told me the same thing. He praised your name—said you hired him when you didn’t need to, and kept him from leaving us.”
“Oh, but I do need him. More than I thought at the time.”
Joseph sat back and folded his big arms across his chest. He was watching Will carefully, as though he wanted to look inside his head. “Tell me this,” he said. “Is Sister Lewis feeling well?”
“The death of our little daughter cost her dearly, Brother Joseph, but she’s doing well enough. She’s teaching a few students and working harder than I ever imagined she could.”
“Has she taken well to the Clarkston boy you’re raising?”
“She loves him as her own. He’s a chore for her, but I don’t know what she would have done without him.”
“She’s grabbed on, hasn’t she? Our women carry too much of the load as we try to spread the gospel in this world, but the Lord sustains them. They’ll receive a just reward, your wife and mine, and all the fine sisters; I can promise you that.”
Will agreed, but his mind was on another matter. There had to be a reason why Joseph was asking about his well-being, his wife’s strength. He realized what the Prophet was about to ask him to do. But he couldn’t do it, not this year.
“Brother Will, I thought you might be able to serve a short mission this winter—leave soon and be back before planting time.”
“I could go next winter, I’m sure, but I can’t leave Liz now, not when she finally has my help for a while. She’s not strong enough to brave the cold weather and haul in water from the well, chop wood—and all the rest of it. She did a good deal of that this summer, but she needs to catch up on her rest now.”
“Is that your answer, then?”
“I’m sorry. It has to be.”
“That’s fine. But I want you to think for a moment about those brethren who sailed to England and brought the gospel to you. Most of them were sick when they left this place, and they left women behind—and families—who were down with the ague, shaking so bad they couldn’t get out of bed. I thought the Lord had asked too much, and I tried to tell Him that we just couldn’t send away the strength of our church—not quite so soon. But what if the Lord had rescinded His call? Where would we be now? Those brothers dropped everything and obeyed the Lord—and they brought thousands to the gospel. You and the other English Saints have breathed new life into this church. So the sacrifice was worth it. We know that now.”
Will had no idea what to say. He only knew that he couldn’t bear to walk back home and tell Liz, after all she had been through this year, that he was leaving her now.
“Don’t answer me just yet,” Joseph said. “Ask the Lord, and talk to Sister Lewis. I have in mind the Southern states, where the weather’s not so bad in the winter. If you left soon, you would have about four months to travel and preach. That’s not nearly so hard as heading out for a year or two, the way so many have done.”
Will felt ashamed that he wasn’t saying yes right then and there. But again he thought of Liz. “Let me talk to her,” he said. “And let me think about it.”
“I wouldn’t think too much. I’d pray. But don’t assume that the answer is yes. The Lord will speak peace to you if it’s the right thing.”
“All right.”
Will was about to stand up when Joseph said, “There’s something else I wanted to ask you.”
Will waited.
“Are you hearing all the rumors in town—all the talk of ‘spiritual wifery’?”
“Aye. Of course. But I don’t listen to John Bennett’s lies.”
Joseph sat quietly for a time. His eyes had gone shut. Finally he looked back at Will again. “I need young men like you—men with leadership ability—to stay true to the Church.”
“You don’t have to worry about me on that account.”
“But people talk. And some are turning against me.”
Will wondered whether he had given the Prophet any reason for concern. “I’m not one of them, Brother Joseph. I promise you that.”
Joseph’s eyes went shut again for quite some time, and he began to speak before he opened them. “There are things I know—things I have permission to teach, but that not everyone is ready to know or to understand.”
Will felt his breath catch in his chest. What was he saying?
“Do you think it’s wrong to kill, Brother Will?”
“Of course.”
“So why did Nephi kill Laban?”
“The Lord told him to do it.”
“That makes a difference, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“But why would the Father tell the boy to do such a thing? The Lord could have put the plates into his hands some other way.”
“I don’t know why. I’ve wondered about that.”
“The thing is, we do what the Lord tells us to do, and we don’t always know the reasons why. Wouldn’t you agree with that?”
“I’m not very good at that, Brother Joseph. I like to know the reason.”
A subtle smile came to Joseph’s face. He had looked a little rough this morning, not having shaved for a few days and his eyes so full of weariness, but those blue eyes were clear now and seemed to bore into Will’s own eyes. “We’re much alike, Will. But I’ve learned, over time, I don’t have all the answers. Why did the Lord sanction some of the early prophets to have more than one wife?”
Will saw the logic, but he didn’t want to hear it, and he looked away. “I don’t know. I suppose that was a different time. But the Book of Mormon says we should have on
ly one wife.”
“And that’s usually God’s law. But at times he has instituted a different standard. We may not know all the reasons, but we know he’s done it. You know that from your Bible reading, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Brother Will, look at me.”
Will looked back into Joseph’s eyes as Joseph leaned toward him. “Do you believe I’m a man of moral character?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you believe that I follow God’s law?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me say only this much. I promise you with all my heart that I would never do the immoral things John Bennett has accused me of doing. Bennett seduced women by claiming that God sanctioned illicit relations. I would never enter into immoral behavior of that kind. I never have and I never will.”
“I believe that.” And it was true. Will felt Joseph’s simple honesty—heard it in his voice and saw it in his clear eyes.
“Just wait for a time, Will. Truths are being revealed every day. And many more will come. There will be a time when things that are incomprehensible today will be plain and simple once we understand them. So I ask you to trust me for now. I’m not the man I’d like to be, Will. I’m all too human. But I’ve been called of God. Do you believe that?”
“I know it.”
“All right. Go home. Talk to your wife. Decide about this mission I’ve asked you about. But no matter what else you do, never turn on me. Never turn on the Church.”
“I won’t, Brother Joseph. I promise you that.”
• • •
Liz was not surprised when Will stayed outside for quite some time. She heard him chopping wood out there, and she suspected he was waiting for the schoolchildren to leave before he came in. He had been getting a great deal of wood chopped and ready for winter, but every time he decided he had enough, he would give a load away to someone who lived on prairie land, with no timber. Jesse had already come and hauled two loads off to his house. Will had told Liz that he would have to start charging seventy-five cents a load for wood, the same as others did, but when the time had come to ask for money, he had never been able to do it.
