The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Yeah. The ladies”—he gave a short bark of laughter, amused by his own choice of words—“they’re always willin’.” He flipped the cigar away, and there was a soft plop as it hit the water. “We’ll see Goose Island once we pass Lockport.”

  “Lockport? Those are the big locks that go over the Niagara ridge?”

  “Aye, and what a sight to see! A double staircase, five stories high. One for ascending, one for descending boats. Gates big as a barn. In the height of the season, canal boats line up for miles. You gotta fight for your place, or you’ll lose two, maybe three, days.” He spit out over the deck and into the water. “This early in the season, you’ll miss most of that, but that’s all right. It ain’t always pretty.”

  “I’ve noticed that most of the teams are mules. Why not horses?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Why not?”

  “Mules rest less, and they can eat rougher food. Besides, a mule’s smarter.”

  “Smarter than a horse?” The Steeds had a team of mules and a horse. It was much easier to like the horse.

  “Yes, sir. A horse’ll walk right off a bridge if you’re not watchin’ him real close. Mule’ll never do that.”

  “Hmm.” That surprised Nathan, but he saw the wisdom of it immediately. Whenever the canal came to a ravine or creek or river, aqueducts carried it across the low spots. Narrow plank bridges for the teams ran along both sides of the aqueduct. They had no railings of any kind.

  Captain McIntosh fished another cigar from somewhere inside his jacket and jammed it into his mouth. He made no effort to light it. Finally, he gave Nathan a sidelong glance. “You a Mormon too?”

  Nathan nodded.

  “You know this Joe Smith personally?”

  “Yes. Very well.”

  “Is it true what they say? That he’s seen angels?”

  For a moment, Nathan considered the question, remembering his own reaction when he had first heard Joseph’s account. “Well,” he said slowly, “there’s those that think he’s lyin’ straight out. But I know Joseph well. He’s an honest man. He says he did, and I believe him.”

  That seemed to satisfy the captain. He pulled at his lower lip. “The missus, she’s got real strong feelings against the Mormons.”

  “You’re married?” It was blurted out, and instantly Nathan felt his cheeks burn. “I’m sorry, I—”

  The captain hooted softly. “Don’t you never mind, laddie. Catches most people by surprise, I reckon.” He suddenly looked a little sheepish. “All that talk about Buffalo gals and Goose Island. Can’t say as I blame you.”

  “No, I...I just thought...you bein’ on the canal all the time...” It was lame and Nathan knew it.

  McIntosh looked away, suddenly embarrassed, but wanting nevertheless to have it said. “Don’t stop at Goose Island no more. Not since the missus and I got hitched up.”

  Nathan had to look away to hide his surprise. He felt a sudden shame—for his own feelings and for some of the things those in the company had said about this man. Then in a flash he understood something else. “The boy, the one helping as your mate. He’s your boy, isn’t he?”

  “Yep. He’s my oldest. Got three more back home. Two girls and another boy.” It was said with pride.

  “I’d like to meet them.” He really meant it.

  “That’d be nice. But anyway, as I was saying,” the captain went on, feeling awkward about exposing his feelings, “the missus was gonna come on this trip with me. She usually does. But when she heard I was takin’ a group of Mormons, she said there was no way she’d be minglin’ with them kind of folks. I tried to talk her out of such fool notions, but didn’t do no good.”

  “I know,” Nathan said. “We’ve seen it happen before.”

  “Darn shame,” he answered firmly. “Can’t remember ever seein’ a people with more religion than you folks. Mornin’ and evenin’ devotionals, prayers for a safe journey.” He suddenly chuckled. “That Mrs. Smith. She’s a whip, ain’t she?”

  “She sure is. She’s one fine lady.”

  He straightened, and pulled his coat around him. “Well, never been much for religion, myself. But I just want you to know, mate, when I be getting back, I’ll be tellin’ the missus that she was wrong. I’ll not be having her say anything bad about the Mormons anymore. Not in front of me anyway.”

  Nathan was touched. He stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Captain. Thank you very much.”

  “You’re welcome, laddie.”

  The captain turned and went down the ladder and to his cabin. Nathan watched him go, and made a silent vow with himself. The Bible said, “Judge not, that ye be not judged.” He thought of the captain. The soiled shirt and the wet stump of a cigar were not the man. Not by a long shot.

  One of the characteristics of the Church of Christ was its mission to spread the news of the Restoration. Within weeks of the organization of the Church, Samuel Smith, one of Joseph’s younger brothers, had gone on a mission for the Church. Since then, others had begun to move through the villages and hamlets of New York and Pennsylvania. Then Oliver and Parley and the others had gone west. They had stopped at Kirtland, and look what that had done for the Church.

  At that moment, Nathan made another vow. Once they got to Kirtland and the baby came and he’d gotten Lydia settled in a new home, he was going to talk to Joseph about missionary work. And maybe, just maybe, Joseph would let him come back to Waterloo, or wherever the McIntosh family lived. It was something Nathan suddenly wanted to do. Not that he wanted to leave Lydia and the baby. Even the very thought of that left him with a sudden ache. But to share the joy that he felt, the comfort that came from having the restored gospel? That was something he wanted to do very much.

  “You still awake?”

  Mary Ann turned over onto her side. “Yes. You too?”

  She felt her husband nod in the darkness.

  It was silent for several moments. “Why?” she asked.

  Again more sensed than seen, he shrugged.

  She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “You’ve put in long days lately. You should be exhausted.”

  He didn’t answer that, but turned and put his hands beneath his head and stared up at the ceiling. “You still goin’ without food?”

  That startled Mary Ann. Over the past several weeks she had fasted four, maybe five, times, but her husband had not commented at all. The last time had been two days ago. She decided to answer him honestly. “I was planning on doing it again maybe tomorrow.”

  He grunted, but there was no way to read what he meant by it. She lay perfectly still, afraid that there was another question coming, the question she had been dreading since she first told him. Why are you doing this? And what did she say then? How would he respond if he knew she was fasting and praying that his heart would be softened and that he too might be converted?

  Another minute passed, and she felt herself begin to relax. When he spoke again it once more took her by surprise.

  “I think we need to go over as a family and visit Martin Harris sometime soon.”

  “Oh?”

  “Before you know it there won’t be any more opportunites left to get over there and see him.”

  “Yes, I know.” She had been dreading Martin’s departure for over a month now. Losing Martin Harris as a neighbor was a blow. He had become good friends with Ben, and Mary Ann had long nurtured hopes that Martin might be the instrument the Lord chose to bring her husband to accept the faith. But more depressing was the fact that Martin was taking the last group of Saints with him. All the others had left now—the Colesville Branch, the Fayette group with Mother Smith. There would still be a few left, but they were scattered across a distance of better than a hundred and twenty-five miles. The association with fellow Saints that she had come to treasure would be sorely missed.

  She realized he was waiting for more of an answer than that. “I think it would be nice if we did. He’s been a good neighbor.”

  “That he
has.”

  She turned and peered at him in the darkness. They had shared this bed now for coming up on twenty-six years. She could tell when he had something on his mind, and now she was curious.

  He stirred slightly, then settled back in again. Finally, he turned his head to look at her. “You ever forgiven me for makin’ you leave Rutland?”

  For a moment she just stared at him in the darkness, completely caught off guard by this turn in the conversation. Then she forced herself to consider his question. Finally she spoke. “Of course.” She spoke without reservation. She loved Palmyra. She had made good friends. They had a house that was half again better than the one they had owned in Vermont. And most important, the move to Palmyra had brought her to where the Restoration was taking place, brought her into contact with Joseph, given her the answers to prayers about which church she should join.

  “Good.”

  She came up on one elbow. “Why do you ask?”

  “You still in a forgivin’ mood?”

  There was little better than a half-moon out this night, and the sky was cloudless. It provided just enough light through the window curtains that she could see he was smiling. She was dumbfounded. He was teasing her! Teasing was not part of Benjamin Steed’s nature. He could laugh and have a good time, but he hadn’t played with her like this—tantalizing her, dangling the bait in front of her—for years.

  She lay back, deciding to play it straight until she could learn what was prompting this remarkable mood in him. “I suppose,” she said lightly. “What have you done that needs forgivin’?”

  She sensed the smile slowly fading. He was serious again now. Completely. Finally he took a deep breath. “I sold the farm.”

  She came up like a pheasant exploding from cover. “You what?” she cried.

  “I sold the farm.”

  She just stared at him, her mouth working but nothing coming out.

  He was grinning again. “Well, actually, I haven’t agreed to anything yet. I wanted to talk to you first. But I have an offer.”

  “I...” Too stunned for words, she lay back slowly.

  “Some men that Martin met through the man who bought his property, they’re willing to buy our land and Nathan’s. They want a package deal. The money’s good. Real good.”

  “But...” It was as if she were gasping for breath. “But why, Ben? We’ve just got this one to where...” She shook her head, suddenly wanting to cry.

  “I know this is sudden, but—” He stopped, and then it was there again. He was leading her on. Savoring the moment. Enjoying her dismay. Which only bewildered her all the more. “If I was to stay on a week or two longer, get things all squared away, do you think you and the children could be packed up and out of here in three days?”

  This time her cry was one of complete alarm. “Three days!”

  “Yeah. Like I say, I’d stay on and finish things up.”

  “This is...” She clenched her fists, feeling a tremendous surge of futility. Three times she had watched this man take a piece of wilderness and turn it into productive, coveted farmland. Three times she had watched him tire of it and had to pick up everything they owned and move on. She turned icy cold. “This is crazy, Ben,” she started again, fighting to keep her voice under control. “You just lie there and suddenly announce you’ve sold the—”

  “Otherwise,” he said quietly, “you’ll miss the only canal boat I could find that has passage to Buffalo.”

  “—farm and that we’re to be out of here—” She stopped, blinking in surprise.

  He began to chuckle.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, I could find only one boat with passage to Buffalo.”

  “Buffalo?”

  “Of course you could wait and go with Martin and his group. But they won’t be leaving for another three weeks. You’d miss the birth of the baby.”

  She was obviously reeling. “The baby?” she repeated dumbly.

  He went on musing, as if she had not spoken. “That means once you get to Buffalo, you’ll have to find your own passage to Kirtland. Think you can manage that?”

  She sat up again, this time very slowly. “Kirtland?” she whispered.

  He sat up too. “Yes,” he said innocently, “isn’t that what they call that place?”

  “Kirtland?” she said again. Dumbfounded didn’t begin to describe her reaction now. “Are you...do you mean...?”

  “Martin tells me there’s lots of opportunity in Ohio.” He put his arm around her, sobering again now. “The question is, are you willing to sell the farm and leave here?”

  She threw her arms around him, knocking him backwards onto the bed again. “You are serious!” she shouted.

  He laughed aloud now, fully enjoying his little coup. “Yes, Mary Ann, I am. Wouldn’t hurt us none either to be close to our first grandchild.”

  She rolled over onto her back, wanting to leap up or pound the mattress or throw open the window and shout the news to the world.

  “The sale is set, soon as I give them the word. The first order of business is to decide if you can be ready in time to catch this boat that’s leavin’ Thursday. I was only suggesting that. You could wait and we could all go together.”

  She calculated quickly. “Two or three days to Buffalo, maybe that much more to Kirtland—I could make it in time!”

  He nodded. “Assumin’ Lydia hasn’t had it by now, and provided that you aren’t delayed too long in Buffalo or somewhere else along the way.”

  “Would you mind terribly, Ben?” Her mind was racing. “It would leave an awful lot for you to do.”

  He laughed again, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I thought this whole thing through carefully,” he drawled. “Way I figured it, woman, once you heard the news, you wouldn’t be good for much more than three days any way. I say, get you and the kids ready and be on your way Thursday.”

  She sat up and hugged her knees, the joy racing through her body and making it tingle. Three days! She would have to decide what they could take. Enough clothes for each of them. The essentials for a month. What if Nathan and Lydia hadn’t found a home yet?

  Suddenly she stopped. A phrase had leaped into her mind. “This kind goeth not out but by prayer and fasting.” Tears sprang to her eyes. They were going to Kirtland!

  She turned to the man lying next to her. Suddenly she felt that her heart was going to burst. She reached out, laying her hand against his cheek. “Ben?”

  His hand came up and covered hers. “Yes?”

  “You know what this means to me, don’t you?”

  For a moment he lay still, then she felt him nod.

  She swallowed, the lump in her throat almost choking her; then fiercely, as fiercely as she had said anything in a long time, the words came out. “I love you, Benjamin Steed.”

  He turned his head. “And I love you, Mary Ann Morgan.”

  Suddenly she leaped out of bed, startling him.

  He sat up, alarmed. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “I’ve got to go tell Melissa.”

  “Now?”

  She twirled around, hugging herself. “Yes, now. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t.”

  Spring temperatures had broken up the ice on the vast inland seas called the Great Lakes, but they had not yet been warm enough to melt it completely away. Then stiff winds out of Canada began to blow, shoving the blocks and chunks of ice, some as long as a ship, against the leeward shorelines, jamming them one against the other with incredible power—shoving and pushing until block mounted on block, fracturing, refreezing, shattering again, mounting up into impenetrable massifs. Located at the northeastern tip of Lake Erie, the harbor at Buffalo, New York, had not been spared this last blow of nature’s wintry fist.

  This was the scene that awaited the company of fifty Latterday Saints led by Mother Smith when they arrived in Buffalo in the early part of May, 1831. It had taken five days to make the journey from Waterloo to Buffalo—longer than exp
ected due to a break in the canal bank a few miles east of Lockport, which took a full day to repair. The company was tired, dirty, and irritable. Tempers were near the breaking point. That all changed as they entered the city of Buffalo, passing row after row and street after street of houses. They were here. The first leg of their journey was over. A mood of excitement swept over the group.

  Then they entered the harbor. Inside the harbor itself the water was mostly clear, though chunks of ice drifted here and there around and between the hundreds of ships and boats at anchor there. But across the mouth of the harbor stretched a blue-white wall of ice easily twenty feet high. There was no break in it. The harbor was sealed. The vessels might as well have had the Appalachians between them and the open water. There would be nothing coming or going through that mountain of ice.

  The excited chatter on the boat suddenly hushed. Even the children were awed into silence. Then, as the canal boat slipped into its berth and they saw the chaos that reigned on the docks, a deep gloom descended over them all. No one spoke as they filed off the boat one by one, carrying their belongings, to join the crush of people that jammed Buffalo harbor.

  By the time the group reached the dock and found an empty place to set their belongings down, Lydia Steed was ready to cry. She looked up at Nathan as she placed a hand on her back. “I need to sit for a minute or two,” she said.

  Nathan leaped to her aid. He grabbed an empty wooden crate and turned it over, brushing it off, then helped her to it. “Are you all right?” he said, peering at her closely.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  He looked dubious, but finally nodded. “I want to say good-bye to Captain McIntosh. I’ll be right back.”

  She watched him go, envying him the ability to stride off like that so quickly. As he moved away, Mother Smith disembarked—the last, as usual, to do so. She stood for a moment and looked at the crush of people around them, then stopped a man who was passing by. “Excuse me, sir, might you know where we could find passage to Fairport Harbor in Ohio?”

  He looked at her as though she were daft. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but every ship and boat and scow in this harbor is booked solid.”