by Dean Hughes
At the wharf, livery boys took care of the horse and carriage, and Will walked Liz down the ramp to the boat, which sat below the bluff near the edge of the river. The Lewises were actually a little early, but it wasn’t long before the boat filled up and even became crowded. Will thought there must be at least a hundred passengers. The Nauvoo Quadrille Band, made up mostly of stringed instruments, played as guests came on board. Most of the Apostles were on missions in the East this summer, but others of the Church leaders had been invited, and there were many, like Will and Liz, who were ordinary citizens of Nauvoo. Most of the women were wearing the same dresses they wore on Sundays, but even among those who wore fancier ball dresses, not one looked as lustrous as Liz—at least in Will’s mind. He loved to see how many people glanced at her and then took a second look—or even spoke to others, who then looked her way.
Joseph and Emma greeted everyone informally as they stepped onto the boat, and then formally, as a group. A grand spread was set out on a long table, and Brother John Taylor was invited to offer an opening prayer and blessing on the food. Joseph invited everyone to eat whenever and as often as they chose, and then the band began to play again. Quadrilles were formed as soon as the boat was under way. Will had never been much of a dancer, but Liz had worked with him lately and taught him some basic dance patterns. Still, the two stood by the rail of the boat at first and only watched. The evening was warm, but the moving air coming off the river felt wonderful.
Americans had a way of performing quadrilles as though they were tromping grain on a barn floor, but they danced with more vigor than Will remembered in England, and they laughed more. Mormons seemed to enjoy themselves more than any people he had ever known. After the second dance, Will was getting up the nerve to lead Liz to the dance floor when he saw Sarah and Hiram Kimball walking toward them. They had been dancing, and Will could see the perspiration beading up on both their foreheads. “We need a rest,” Sarah said.
Will was about to reach out to shake Hiram’s hand, but he heard Liz, in a voice more polished than usual, say, “Brother and Sister Kimball, how nice to see you. You have met my husband, Mr. Lewis, I believe.”
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Kimball said. “Nice to see you again.” He shook Will’s hand.
“I hope we can all come to know one another much better,” Liz said. “Sarah was such a great help to me when Will was gone on his mission last winter.”
Sarah was taking a long look at Liz. “Will,” she said, “it’s not right to let Liz have a new dress and to bring her here where she shines like the moon, and the rest of us are made to seem, by comparison, only tiny stars in the firmament.”
“It’s a sky full of beauty,” Will said. “I’ve never seen so many pretty women in one room. Perhaps the Spirit does more than teach truth. It must change countenances.”
Will feared that he had tried just a little too hard to sound as refined as his wife, but Sarah smiled as though she liked the compliment. Then she looked at her husband and laughed. “I know what that means, Hiram,” she said. “Once you’re baptized, you’ll change in the twinkling of an eye. You’ll be as handsome as Will here.”
Hiram laughed too. He was much older than Sarah and rather thick around the middle. He was certainly not a handsome man. But he was congenial and good-natured, and he treated Sarah as though she were his crowning glory. “If I can look that good, it will be worth it,” he said. “But I won’t count on it.”
“Are you going to be baptized?” Liz asked.
“Yes. It’s taken me a long while to take that step, but I’ve promised Sarah, and I’ll do it soon.”
“Don’t leave them with the wrong impression,” Sarah said. “You always said you wouldn’t join the Church just for me.”
“That is true,” Hiram said. “And I have come to that point. I am a believer.” Liz could see that he was serious now.
The boat took a little bounce, throwing everyone off balance for a moment. But the dancers were quickly back in their formations. Will laughed with the others, but then he returned to the subject. “What brought you to the faith?” he asked.
“I’ve known Joseph Smith for four years now, and we’ve had our disagreements along the way. But working with him in the city, being around him, listening to his wisdom, and knowing what kind of man he is—those things have changed my mind about him. I honestly believe that he receives his guidance from God.”
Will was gratified to hear those words from someone who had lived in Nauvoo since before the Saints had arrived, someone who had dealt with Joseph not only as a religious leader but as a man of business.
“But you two were about to join the dancers,” Sarah said. “We’ll sit for a dance or two, and you have your turn.”
So Will walked Liz to the dance floor as the next quadrille was formed. He danced rather badly, he was sure, but no one was watching him with Liz twirling through the formations.
The excursion was not long, but the breeze on the river was refreshing, and more than anything Will enjoyed watching what an evening of entertainment did for Liz. He had taken her from a world of social pleasures and kept her in a little log cabin hidden away in a grove of trees. She did seem happy most of the time, but he had forgotten how wonderful it was to see her smile and chat and be the Liz he had first watched from a distance in Ledbury. He knew that somehow he had to offer her more pleasures of this same kind.
Will noticed also that even as Liz was shining, Emma Smith seemed to pull herself back. She simply wasn’t as vivacious and friendly as he had always known her. Even Joseph seemed more subdued than usual.
• • •
On the following day, Joseph preached twice in the grove, and he said some things that Will didn’t know how to interpret. On the one hand, he said that a man and woman needed to enter into an everlasting covenant if the man wanted to claim his wife in the next world. Then, in a solemn tone he added that he would reveal more on the subject if it were not for the unbelief of the members. Will found the idea that he could be sealed to Liz for eternity remarkable and inspiring, and yet, Joseph explained little about it, and instead dwelt much on the idea that a man’s foes were often part of his own household. “The same spirit that crucified Jesus,” he said, “is in the breast of some who profess to be Saints in Nauvoo.” Most shocking of all was his statement that he would no longer prophesy, that Hyrum held the office of prophet to the Church as Patriarch, and he should be the one to prophesy to the people. Will thought he was saying that his own revelations were being rejected, so the Church could listen to his brother, if that was what they preferred.
Will was left confused and downhearted. He wondered which people close to the Prophet were making him feel so disconsolate. For so long Will had been hoping that better days were still ahead for Zion. Now he couldn’t help but wonder what Joseph knew that was causing him such disappointment.
• • •
Liz didn’t walk to the lower part of the city very often, but when she did, she usually stopped at Sidney Rigdon’s house to see whether she had received any mail. One day in early August she entered the Rigdon kitchen through the side door and looked at the cabinet in the corner. In one of the cubbyholes, under the letter L, she found, to her surprise, two letters for her, one from her mother and one from her sister, Mary Ann. She waited to get home to read them, but letting Jacob walk created too much of a delay. She hoisted him into her arms and carried him up the hill, and then she opened her mother’s letter as soon as she was back in the house. But what she read was anything but what she expected:
Dearest Lizzy,
I am sorry to tell you that your father was taken from this earth two days ago on June 8, 1843. He died at his desk, his heart simply stopping. I can only say, by way of consolation, that he looked peaceful and he seemed not to have suffered. He was not very old, but he has worked hard all his life, always concerned about providing for us to the best of hi
s ability.
I was taken by surprise, of course, but we all must prepare ourselves to meet our Maker, and I have taken solace in knowing that your father served the Lord, was baptized by one having authority, and was counted among the membership of God’s true Church. My one heartbreak is that he couldn’t see you one more time before he left us. He expressed his wish, at times, that we might gather with the Saints in Nauvoo. Perhaps we never would have done it, and I certainly was part of the reason for that, my fear holding me back, but I did like to think of seeing you, and now I know, I never shall. What sustains me is my belief that life continues beyond mortality and I will see my dear husband again. I rest also in the comfort of knowing that if you and I never embrace on this earth again, I may trust that in the life after this one I shall yet hold you, my dear Elizabeth, in my arms once again.
Do not worry about me, dear one. Your father was careful with money, and he saved for this day. I have adequate income for my needs, and I have enough faith for the needs that go beyond money. I’m happy to know that you have joined the Saints in Zion, however much it pained me to see you leave. Give kisses to little Jacob and tell him that his grandpapa loved him very much, though he never saw him. I also send my love to Will, and I promise that never a day passes without my praying for his and your well-being.
Your loving mother,
Jane Duncan
Liz dropped the letter to her lap. She was already weeping, but now she gave way to sobs. She had known that she was not likely to see her father again, but this brought a finality she had not been prepared for. He was gone. She had prayed for him and Mother and Mary Ann every morning and night, and all the while he had been buried in the old cemetery in Ledbury.
Liz had set Jacob down, and he had picked up a little toy horse that Will had carved for him. He was pretending to make it run across the floor. But he had turned when he heard his mother’s sobs, and now he had come to her knees and was touching her, looking up into her eyes. Liz picked him up and held him close. “Grandpapa will never see you, Jacob. And never your little brother or sister, either.” Liz knew how much her father had wanted to have grandchildren. She had written to her parents about Jacob and told them never to think of him as adopted. He was their grandchild, just as he was her baby, as much a part of her as any naturally born child could be.
Liz had often felt the pain of homesickness, but never so much as now. She wondered all over again whether she had done the wrong thing in leaving her family. What was her mother to do? How could she manage without Father? Money she had, and faith she had, but Liz hated to think of her alone in the house once Mary Ann married. Mother was not yet fifty, and she may have many years to be alone.
“It’s all right,” Liz told Jacob. “Mummy’s fine. Here’s kisses from Grandmama, and from Grandpapa too.” Jacob wrapped his arms tight around his mother’s neck and held on to her for a moment, and then he hopped down off her lap.
Liz picked up the other letter. It was postmarked a week later than Mother’s but had probably been shipped across the ocean at the same time. When Liz opened it, she saw that it was a long letter, but written on a single sheet. To save paper, Mary Ann had written in one direction and then turned the paper and written over the lines at right angles. It was confusing to read at times, but she made out the words:
Dear Liz,
By now you’ve heard the bad news. Mother, I’m sure, told you that we are fine, but that’s the way she is. She has faith, it’s true, and she wants no pity, but I hear her crying at night, and I know she’s swallowed up in grief. Father didn’t suffer, she keeps saying, and that’s all well and good, but one instant he was alive and in the next, he was slumped on his desk for Mother to discover. It was hard to accept, and for a few days I thought we might lose her, too, she was so overwrought.
I don’t want you to feel bad, but I need to tell someone how awful things are for me. There’s a man in Ledbury who thinks he loves me. The truth is, he wants to marry a member of our church, and I’m the right age. I don’t think he knows anything about love—or any other emotion. He’s stiff as a statue and about as interesting to talk to. He comes here to court me, and then he can’t think of anything to say. I tried to run him off the way I did old Henry Parker, but he doesn’t have enough sense to know that I’m laughing at him. I won’t marry him, Liz; I simply cannot do it. But he’s like a honeybee. He thinks I’m a flower and he won’t stop buzzing around me, no matter how many times I swat him.
So I made up my mind. I told myself I was going to join you in Nauvoo as soon as I could. I decided I wanted one of those earthy American boys with their long vowels and big muscles. I had my mind all made up, and I had Father halfway talked into it, and then, suddenly, he was gone. I miss him with all my heart, Liz, I really do, but what’s left for me now? Can I run off and leave Mother crying herself to sleep every night? I’m tied to her apron strings, tight as if they were a hangman’s noose, and there’s not one thing to do about it. She’ll live forever, you know she will. I’ll be looking after her when I’m sixty and still wondering what it’s like to kiss a man. I would kiss the honeybee just to test my lips one time, but I doubt he’d taste like honey.
Tell Will that his sister Sarah wants to come to America. She and John Davidson both, whenever they can afford to get married. They can’t get on here, and they don’t have money for passage yet, but they are saving. If Will has become rich by now, you might tell him to ship a few guineas back to his sister. She and John might grow old before they raise the money themselves. Will’s father hobbles about and does his share of work for a man of his age, and Daniel has taken the farm in hand and does well enough. They do have enough to eat, but little more, and Daniel sees no hope for him to marry anytime soon. Daniel speaks of emigrating too, but more than just a wife, he would like to bring the whole family. Of course, he knows of no way to manage such a thing, but tell Will to think what he might do to help someday.
As for me, I may yet decide to come to Nauvoo. Mother needs me, I know, but I also wear on her. I’m not as sweet and kind as you are, and sometimes she tells me to be more of a lady, or not to chatter on so. It might be best that she not have to hear me, if that’s how she feels.
Oh, Liz, I’m a terrible person. I fear I always will be. It would be good to have you for an example. And if I came there, you could find me someone like Will. He’s the only man I ever met who pleased me so much. But I am serious, even though it doesn’t seem so; I do want to come to Nauvoo if I can, but not for another year, even though I’m aging very fast. I may never find anyone who wants to marry an old maid such as I’m becoming. I love you more than anyone, and love Will, too, and love Jacob. Tell Jacob he has an aunt who has stored up lots of kisses for him and wants to deliver them herself one day.
Your spinster sister,
Mary Ann
Liz was crying and laughing when she finished the letter. She loved Mary Ann so much, longed to have her around to keep her laughing, longed to have her nearby all her life. But she knew that Mother, however noble she had sounded, would cling to her daughter, and that hold would be hard to break. Mary Ann was not yet twenty-one, and hardly a spinster, but Liz understood her worry about that, with so few prospects in Ledbury. Liz was not entirely sure Mary Ann would find a young man to her liking in Nauvoo, but clearly, if she wanted to marry in the Church, she had a better chance in America than she ever would have in England.
Liz liked to think that her sister would finally come, and she liked to think that Sarah and John—maybe all the Lewises—would immigrate too, but she wondered what another year might bring. Mary Ann had no way of knowing what was happening here, that Will had bought her a pistol and taught her to shoot it, and that people had vowed to see the Mormons run off. What if the Saints did move on to the West, as Joseph had suggested they might? What would Mary Ann face then? Here on the river there was some evidence of civilization, but what was out west but wilder
ness?
• • •
Will was now hauling stone to the temple every day, and he had come to like the work, but lately, progress on the building had not moved forward as much as Joseph Smith had hoped. William Player, a master stonemason, had become the principal setter the year before, but he had been sick all last winter. When spring had finally come, Brother Player had directed men in building runways for additional cranes. That had been important for the future, but it had kept the actual stonework from moving ahead in the short term.
Will understood why he was needed at the temple—he and his teams. He also thought every day of what Brother Benbow had told him. The Saints had to put first things first. Joseph Smith was speaking more about temple work now. He spoke of an endowment worthy members would be able to receive. These ordinances and work for the dead, he kept saying, were essential for the full restoration of the gospel. But Will heard enough complaints among the workers to know that not everyone had caught that vision.
Although Will had a better attitude than most, he had to admit that the work was hard in the August heat. Joseph Smith had provided Will with the new ox he had promised, and, as though trained by an angel, the new animal, Bobby, was already pulling with Barney without difficulty. It took six teams of oxen to wheel the heavier stones up the steady slope from the quarry, and then up the steep hill to the temple. Will knew enough not to push the teams beyond their capacity, so he rotated them when he had smaller loads, letting some of the teams graze and rest in the shade near the quarry as often as possible. But there was no rotating for Will himself. Once the stones had been dragged from the quarry with block and tackle and then hoisted by cranes and manpower onto a wagon, the tedious march to the temple started. The heat was almost more than a man could bear. Sweat would drench him as he helped load the wagon, and then, during the mile-long trek up to the temple, all his pores seemed to open and gush. He drank all the water he could and still felt drained at the end of a long day.
