by Dean Hughes
“I know. And it was cold. But I needed to get out of here. And I wanted to see the river again—you know, where the Saints crossed.”
“Why, Abby?”
She sat back on the couch and let go of his hand with one of hers. “When we were there last fall, you told me about Emma Smith crossing the river with her children. I just remembered how I felt about her and what she was able to do. She had watched four babies die by then. And she lost two more in Nauvoo. I can’t hate God if I lose one. I have to be stronger than that.”
“We both do.”
“Do you think Emma wondered why she had to go through all that?”
“Of course she did. I’m sure Joseph did too.”
“But they didn’t whine about it. They accepted God’s will.”
“We don’t know that, Abby. They might have complained plenty. They were human. I’m sure they grieved. Maybe they were just plain mad at times.”
“Okay. Maybe. But they didn’t give up their faith—so they must have accepted God’s will.”
“They did.” Jeff had been coming to this point for several days now, but he had tried to fight the despair, tried to tell himself there was still hope.
“We don’t know God’s will, but it would help so much if we could find out.”
Jeff stared at the floor. He didn’t know what Abby expected him to do.
“I’m willing to accept whatever I have to. I decided that today. But I don’t know what it is. Are you getting any answers at all?”
Jeff drew in some air. He kneeled down next to her. “Today, I’ve not felt very good about the whole situation, but I don’t know. I’m never very sure that—”
“Maybe it’s time we both become sure.”
“We can’t just ... you know ... demand an answer.”
She was looking at him curiously. “But are you asking?”
“I keep praying that he’ll live.”
“But not asking to know whether he will or not?”
Jeff tried to think what he had done. He had asked for strength—for Abby, especially—and he’d pleaded with Lord to preserve William’s life. “I don’t know, Abby. When I blessed him, I tried to know what to say, but I’ve told you before, I just didn’t get a clear feeling.”
She didn’t say a word, but he saw the look in her eyes.
He felt the same old disappointment in himself, and then he knew what he had to do. He stood up. “Isn’t there a little chapel in the hospital somewhere?”
“I think you should go to the river,” she said. “And I think you should walk.”
He wondered, why not drive? But he wasn’t going to say that to her. He simply nodded and walked from the room. He knew it was more than a mile to the river, maybe two. But it did seem right. He wanted the time, and he wanted to pay a price, even if it was only a small one.
So he stepped outside, zipped up his parka, turned the collar up around his ears, and began to jog. He ran for two blocks before he settled into a fast walk, but the run had warmed him, and the weather, with snow coming a little harder now, spoke to him. By the time he reached the river, he had the picture in his head: all those Saints, cold and beaten up by the trek across the state of Missouri, facing storms and wind, but crossing the Mississippi and then camping in Washington Park, there on the bluffs above the river.
His Grandfather Lewis hadn’t been part of that. He and Grandma had come later, straight to Nauvoo, but they had made the hard voyage, and they had boarded a riverboat that had steamed its way right past Quincy. Grandpa had probably looked out upon this very land, sick as he was, and known that he and his wife had almost made it to their destination. But he must have wondered, exactly as Jeff was wondering, what was coming next in his life.
Jeff stood by the river and pictured that riverboat passing by, and he pictured Emma with her children, and Joseph finally crossing the same river to reunite with his family. The Mississippi rolled through Mormon history like a great divide, always testing the mettle of a people already downtrodden and driven from place to place. Jeff knew he needed to be as courageous as they had been.
Finally, he knelt down. There might have been people in the restaurant that overlooked the park, or there might have been people driving by, but no one was out in the park in the falling snow. He didn’t care anyway. He needed to kneel.
“Father in Heaven,” he said, “I need to know—and Abby needs to know—Thy will toward our little William. If it’s time for us to give him up, we’ll do it, but we would rather keep him here with us. Just tell me what to want.”
He felt the answer like a break in a great storm, as though a wind suddenly stopped, and calm filled up the place where it had been. He had felt so much strain and confusion for such a long time, and all that lifted instantly. He heard no words, received nothing he could even turn into words. He simply felt his body fill up with warmth and calm, and he knew that all was well.
He thanked the Lord and got up. He stood for a moment and took another look out across the water—which looked different now, as though ice had formed and created a bridge. He turned and walked, steadily at first, and then faster. He lost his breath as he ascended the steep hill, but he kept up his pace. He had always laughed at the exaggerated image of those stern pioneers marching forward with hard-set jaws as they leaned against the handles of their handcarts, but he rather liked the idea now. He wanted to get back to Abby, but he wanted this feeling, too, that he was marching forward, unafraid.
When he reached the hospital, he stood in a hallway and warmed himself. He knew what he wanted to do, and he didn’t want to do it with cold hands. He didn’t want to come in huffing and puffing. Abby needed to sense the calm he was feeling. So he waited in the lobby for maybe ten minutes, and then he walked to the NICU. He left his parka in the waiting area outside, washed again, and walked back to where Abby was still sitting by William.
As he approached, she watched him closely, and he knew what she was wondering, but he didn’t want to say anything yet. He wanted to turn his assurance into words, and he wanted to believe them the first time he said them—not force anything.
“I want to give Will a blessing,” he said.
He watched her react, sort of startled, and he knew what she feared: that he had come back to release little William from this world. But he didn’t explain. He merely held her hand for a moment and nodded to let her know that everything was all right. And then he stepped closer. He had no consecrated oil with him, but he placed as many fingers as he could on William’s head—on all the dark hair. “William Jeffrey Lewis,” he said, “in the name of Jesus Christ, and with the power of the holy Melchizedek Priesthood, I command you to be healed. I bless your heart to function and to carry your blood throughout your little body. I bless you to grow to manhood, to receive the priesthood, and to receive all the holy ordinances of the true and living gospel.”
He closed in the Lord’s name, and then he stepped away and took Abby in his arms. She was sobbing. “Oh, thank you, Jeff. Thank you.”
But nothing happened. There was no change in little Will. For an instant, a doubt fluttered through Jeff’s mind, but he told Abby, “He’s going to be all right.”
• • •
Abby decided she would go home that night. She and Jeff drove through the snowstorm. Snow was beginning to stick to the road. Jeff was concentrating on the road, but he also seemed to be in a pensive mood. Abby wanted to question him, ask him what had happened at the river, but she had learned that he didn’t like to talk about such things, as though he feared that analysis might set in and disrupt the spirit he was feeling.
She did finally say, “You knew for sure, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Jeff said. And then he added, “I still do.”
Abby was relieved. She had checked one last time before they had left the hospital, and William appeared exactly as he had all along. It was hard f
or her to trust that something actually had changed. What worried her a little was that maybe she had finally forced Jeff into saying what she wanted him to say. But Jeff sounded confident, and that was what she needed tonight. It was too terrible to imagine that nothing had really changed and she would still lose her baby.
• • •
Jeff went to bed that night still basking in the confidence he had felt there at the river. William would grow up. His heart would beat. He would be a normal child. That knowledge had come to him as an image more than a thought, and he had had no doubt. He held Abby in his arms now, loved the warmth of her and the comfort of knowing that he could be the husband Abby needed. He had too many faults to count, but this one trait—the capacity to believe—made all the difference, if he could only hang on to it.
But in the night Jeff awoke with a thought already in his head. What if nothing happened? What would Abby think of him then? Maybe the calm was only a reassurance that he and Abby could withstand the pain, should they lose their baby. He knew he had been granted a wonderful calm assurance, but maybe he had applied the wrong interpretation.
That possibility was so frightening that Jeff lay awake the rest of the night, until he finally got up early. “Abby,” he whispered, “I’m heading over to work now—so I can leave early this afternoon. Do you have a ride back to Quincy?”
“Yes. I called Kayla last night, and she couldn’t go, but she called Sister Lawrence, and she said she would do it herself.”
“Okay. Call me after a while.” He didn’t admit that he was worried. He hoped she hadn’t heard that in his voice.
“Let’s have prayer together before you go.”
“Okay.” He knelt down by the bed as she slipped out from the covers, and they joined hands. “Will you say it?” he asked.
When she prayed, she thanked the Lord for the great blessing that had come to them, that their son’s heart had been healed. Jeff loved the purity of her words and voice, and he hugged her afterwards. He felt a surge of confidence again that all would be well.
During Jeff’s drive to his office, he held off any tendency he had to doubt, but he was nervous. He felt as though life was on hold, that he couldn’t really relax until word came that his faith was warranted. He worked—took care of a few things—but couldn’t concentrate well enough to accomplish a great deal. He kept guessing when Abby might arrive at the hospital. He figured that if something had changed, he would hear from her right away. But nine o’clock came, and then ten, and his phone didn’t ring. He simply didn’t dare call her. He finally lowered his head at his desk inside his cubicle and asked again to know.
The calm he had felt the day before filled him up again. He was sure again that it was real.
Jeff sat back in his chair, breathed in the spirit he was feeling, and wasn’t surprised when the phone rang.
“Jeff, he’s all right,” Abby was saying. “Dr. Hunt just told me.”
“How does he know? What’s changed?”
“The nurses noticed something on all those screens they have—something about the volume of blood that was going through his heart. They took the ventilator off for a whole hour, and the oxygen is getting better. So Dr. Hunt ordered another echocardiogram. He said the left ventricle is finally enlarging. The blood is filling it up and that patch is holding, where the hole was.”
“That’s my boy,” Jeff said. “I’ll be wrestling with him before long.”
“You will not.”
“Well, not for a day or two.”
“Jeff, I told the Lord He could have him, if that’s what was right. I quit being so selfish and just said that I would accept whatever came.”
“I know. I did too.” They both cried for a time before Jeff added, “Maybe we had to do that first—before the miracle could happen.”
“Say a prayer, Jeff. We need to thank the Lord.”
So Jeff prayed over the phone, thanked the Lord, and then told Abby how much he loved her. He went to his boss after that. “Doug, our son is doing better,” he said. “My wife just called, and the doctor thinks he’s going to be all right.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“But I can’t concentrate. Do you mind if I take the day off? I’ll come in longer the rest of the week.”
“Get out of here,” Mr. Vincent said. “Go to your wife.” And then he added, “Jeff, all of us around here—we’ve all been praying for this.”
“Thanks,” Jeff said. He was a little embarrassed to cry in front of the man, but he felt better when tears started running down Mr. Vincent’s cheeks too.
Chapter 9
With Will away on his mission, Liz stayed busy each day, but evenings in December were extremely long. She was surely thankful that she had little Jacob, but after he fell asleep each night she tried to stay up for an hour or two. It was that or she would awaken long before the sun came up and then lie in bed feeling desolate and sometimes afraid. There seemed to be more sounds in the night when Will wasn’t with her. Even in the day the cabin felt cut off from most people. Nelly stopped by often, and sometimes Liz bundled up Jacob and walked to the Amos Davis dry goods store on Mulholland, or to one of the stores on the flats. That was good for her—the time outside, the walk, and, above all, the chance to see people—but many days were so cold she simply didn’t dare take Jacob outside. Trips to the outside privy on such days were an ordeal. She chose times when the baby was sleeping, or, when necessary, bundled him up and took him along—which was never simple. On snowy days, her schoolchildren didn’t always tramp over to her house, and it was on those days, when she saw no one, that she felt especially lonely.
In America people didn’t seem to make much of Christmas. It was sad to Liz not to have that merriment to enjoy, but worse was thinking of her family at home. She had thought she had overcome her homesickness, but letters arrived from both her mother and Mary Ann in December, and even though the letters had been written almost two months earlier, both Mum and Mary Ann mentioned how much they would miss Liz, away from them for the first time on Christmas.
Liz had heard from her family a few other times that year, and she had tried to be good about writing back, but it seemed more likely than ever that she would never see them again. When she had left home, there had been talk of at least Mary Ann following her, and even though her father had been dubious about the idea, Liz knew that her mother was open to it, and Mary Ann had clearly hoped to come. Mary Ann continued to mention the possibility in every letter, but Liz knew her well enough to suspect that when the time came for a decision, she would hesitate to leave the comfort of her good home.
Since Will had departed, on foot, only three letters had come from him. He seemed to be spending most of his time walking from town to town, covering many miles. As often as possible, he stayed with people who would let him into their homes, but he was often sent packing once they knew what he preached. Twice he had slept outside, once in a haystack and once in a barn. He had walked through southern Illinois and down across western Kentucky, and in his last letter had been in Nashville, Tennessee, but he was planning to travel deeper into the South, where the weather would be warmer.
Liz hated to think of all that: her husband being rejected and disrespected and going without food at times. But he had closed each letter with a testimony that he was doing the right thing, and he knew that if he brought one soul to the gospel, his time would be well spent. Liz knew she had to take that same attitude and not waver. The better part of a month had already passed, and that meant only about three more months until he returned. It really wasn’t very long. Or at least that was what she told herself until evening came again, when she felt so very alone.
It was John and Jane Benbow who saved Liz from sadness on Christmas Day. John had stopped by a few days earlier and invited her to come to his and Jane’s place for Christmas dinner, and then he came with a horse and sleigh and carried her
and Jacob out past the cemetery to his house. Other friends among the English Saints also came to visit and feast together, and the day passed better than any since Will had been gone.
Liz’s joy faded the next day, however, when she learned that Emma Smith had given birth to a stillborn child. The poor woman had lost six babies now—five of her own and one adopted. Liz wondered how Emma could sustain herself through all her worries and all her losses. To compound Emma’s pain, Joseph had been arrested again the same day. On the following morning, Liz learned, he had departed with Hyrum and some other brothers to appear in court in Springfield.
Liz felt discouraged for a couple of days until she talked to Warren Baugh, who said that Joseph had actually gone willingly, hopeful that the matter of the extradition to Missouri could be settled. The new governor of Illinois, Thomas Ford, was not sounding like a friend to the Saints, but he seemed to be less convinced than Governor Carlin had been that the extradition was legal. As it turned out, a week or so later, good news came back from Springfield. Nathaniel Pope, a federal district court judge, had freed Joseph Smith and dropped all charges against him. He had ruled that if any crime had been committed, it had to have happened in Illinois, where Joseph was accused of colluding with Porter Rockwell to assassinate Governor Boggs. Joseph had never traveled to Missouri during this time, so he couldn’t be guilty of a crime in that state. After months of hiding out and sneaking in and out of town, Joseph was finally free to return to live openly with his family and his people. He arrived from Springfield on January 10, 1843, and celebrated with Emma and Church leaders. Then, on January 17, a day of “humility, praise, fasting, prayer and thanksgiving” was proclaimed, with prayer meetings held in homes in each of the wards in Nauvoo.
Having Joseph home, ready to lead the Church again, and under no condemnation from the government, changed everyone’s mood. After a day of fasting, Joseph sponsored a day to celebrate his legal victory and his and Emma’s sixteenth wedding anniversary. Emma fed people in their log home all day long. Liz felt a little envious of those who had been invited, but she held no illusions that she was important enough to deserve such an invitation. What she did do, for her own little celebration, was write immediately to let Will know.
