The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Quinine. For the ague.”

  Matthew stood, stepping back. Jessica was shaking her head. Now it was the men who looked bewildered.

  She smiled, through the tears, through the weakness, through the fever. “You three are the only medicine I need,” she said softly.

  * * *

  Clinton Roundy reached under the counter and retrieved a bottle of whiskey, then turned for a glass from the shelf behind him.

  Joshua held up one hand. “I’ll just have a beer tonight, Clint.”

  Roundy set the bottle down slowly, eyeing Joshua curiously. Then he shrugged, got two mugs, and stepped to the large cask of beer mounted on a stand. He drew two full mugs, stood for a moment while the heads foamed over the sides of the glasses and onto the towel folded below the spigot, then turned his head. “Jack, watch the counter for me.” The man at the far end of the bar looked up and nodded. Roundy came back to Joshua. “Come on. There’s a table in the corner there.”

  When they were seated, Roundy left his beer untouched and watched Joshua steadily as he downed half of his in three great gulps. Finally, Joshua set the drink down. “What?” he said.

  Roundy considered that for a moment before he spoke. “I was beginning to think that this new wife of yours had told you not to have anything to do with me.”

  Joshua’s eyes widened a little. “Caroline? Don’t be ridiculous. Why would she do that?”

  “Because I’m Jessica’s father.”

  He laughed shortly, without mirth. “Caroline’s not that way. She don’t brood on what’s been.”

  “Then why you building her that fancy house south of town?”

  “Because I want to,” Joshua snapped. “As if it’s your business.”

  Roundy waved a hand. “All right, all right. Ain’t no need to get testy about it. I was just wonderin’.”

  “I get testy when there’s things being said that aren’t true.”

  Roundy backed down a little, but he was still smarting enough not to surrender completely. “Well, you been back near on three months now. I’ll bet I ain’t seen you more than two or three times in that whole time. We pass on the street and you nod politely and grunt and hurry on.” He took a quick sip of his beer. “I thought maybe you was gettin’ too good for old friends and former business partners anymore.”

  Joshua picked up his beer again, watching his ex-father-in-law over the top of the glass. He drank, then wiped his mouth and beard with the back of his hand. The defensiveness was gone now. “It’s been real busy since I got back, Clint. Being gone for over three months really left the business here needin’ lots of attention. Then I’ve got this cotton deal goin’ in St. Louis. I’ve been down there twice, and once on to New Orleans to meet my cotton factor from Savannah.” He took another drink. “I don’t abandon old friends. And I consider you more than a former business partner. I consider you an old friend. That’s why I came in tonight.”

  “Good.” Roundy was satisfied.

  The brief tension was gone as they drank silently for several minutes. Then Roundy looked up. “What does the doctor say about the baby?”

  Now Joshua positively beamed. “He says Caroline is a strong, healthy woman. He says the baby should be comin’ along about mid to late March.”

  “That’s good, Joshua. I’m happy for you.” His eyes got a faraway look in them. “I’ve always wondered, had Jessica been able to carry a child earlier on, if things would have been different.”

  Joshua instantly bristled. “Carryin’ a child or not carryin’ a child had nothin’ to do with what happened. When she went off and joined Joe Smith and his gang, that was it.” But almost immediately his jawline softened a little and his eyes became more thoughtful. “But you’re right. Not being able to have children those couple of years didn’t help none.”

  Roundy nodded, a little wary now about saying the wrong thing and setting him off again.

  “She’s four,” Joshua said softly. “Rachel is four now.”

  “I know,” Roundy murmured. “I was wonderin’ about her the other day. Wonderin’ if her hair’s still as dark and curly as it was.”

  “And those big blue eyes.”

  Roundy took a drink of beer. “I ain’t the world’s greatest grandpa, but it would be nice to be able to see your only grandchild now and again.”

  The steel was instantly back in Joshua’s eye. “That’s what galls me the most. That and knowing Jessica will turn her into a Mormon.”

  Roundy changed the subject quickly. “Those other two young’uns, your wife’s—they’re a couple of fine children too. Cornwell says that boy is about as quick as anyone he’s ever taught.”

  Mollified, Joshua smiled. “Yes. Will is a whip. Someday I’ll tell you about the first day I met him.” His eyes softened around the corners. “Hadn’t been for his spunkiness, I’d have never met Caroline.”

  “And the girl,” Roundy went on, relieved to be back on safe ground, “she’s gonna end up lookin’ just like her mother. A real beauty.”

  “Yes.”

  The owner of Independence’s two most prosperous saloons finished his beer and set the mug down carefully. Without looking up, he spoke softly. “I wish things could’ve worked out between you and Jessica,” he said. “But it didn’t. And what’s done is done. I’m real happy for you now, Joshua. You’ve done yourself proud.”

  “Thank you.” He watched the older man, his face devoid of any emotion. Finally, he pushed his beer aside and leaned back on his chair. “You ever hear from Jessica?” he asked casually. “I assume she’s still with my family in Ohio.”

  That startled Roundy. “You mean you ain’t . . . ? That’s right. You were gone when she came back.”

  The chair legs crashed back to the floor.

  “Yes, she’s back. She wrote me a short letter when she arrived in Liberty.”

  “She’s in Liberty? Just across the river?”

  Roundy shook his head. “Not anymore. As you’ve probably heard, the Mormons are leavin’ Clay County. Headed north.”

  “Good riddance,” Joshua spat. He was relieved. Liberty was much too close. “They think that moving up there is gonna solve their problems. Well, they’re wrong.”

  Roundy felt a little irritation at his friend’s hardheadedness. “Let them go—long as they’re out of our hair.”

  “They make trouble everywhere they go,” Joshua said bitterly. “I saw a bunch of them just outside of St. Louis. Saddest lookin’ bunch of misfits you ever saw. Moon-eyed and spouting scripture. I wanted to take out my pistol and fire it into the air. Spook them back to wherever they’re comin’ from.”

  Roundy sighed, sorry that he had told Joshua about Jessica. He stood, collecting the mugs. “Appreciate you takin’ time to stop by, Joshua.”

  Joshua looked up, a little surprised. He had been far away. “What?”

  “I’ve got to get back to work. Thanks for stoppin’ by.”

  Standing now, Joshua reached out. Roundy transferred the mugs to his other hand and took Joshua’s. “I didn’t mean to make you think there was feelin’s between us, Clint. I’ll do better now that winter’s comin’ on.”

  “Good.”

  Roundy tried to pull his hand free, but Joshua held on. His eyes were staring past him again. “Clint?”

  “Yes?”

  “You mark my words. We’re gonna have to do something about the Mormons.”

  The tone in his voice gave Roundy a little chill. He didn’t answer.

  “Until they’re driven clear out of the state of Missouri, there ain’t gonna be no rest for us. None.”

  He dropped his hand, and Roundy stepped back quickly.

  “You mark my words, Clint,” he muttered again. His eyes had narrowed, the pupils becoming darkened pinpoints against his face. “You mark my words.”

  When Joshua arrived home, to his surprise Caroline was still up. She was propped up in the bed with the lantern still burning. Not that it was that late. It wasn’t even nine o
’clock yet. But she was usually up early in the mornings, fighting the sickness in her stomach, and so she went to bed by eight o’clock, or eight-thirty at the latest.

  “Hi,” he said as he took off his coat. “I thought you’d be asleep.”

  “No, not tonight.” She smiled and reached down to her lap and retrieved something. She held it up, waving it slightly. He looked more closely. It was a brown envelope, letter size. He stopped, the coat half on one shoulder. “What’s that?”

  “Mrs. Austin, down at the post office, she brought it by the house.”

  He finished removing his coat, moving more slowly now.

  “It must be from your family. In Ohio. It says Mrs. Benjamin Steed here on the envelope.” She held it out for him. He didn’t turn, just hung up his coat in the wardrobe.

  Her voice registered a note of disappointment. “Is your father named Benjamin?”

  He turned and began unbuttoning his shirt. “Yes.”

  “So it is from your family.” She was puzzled now by his sudden coolness. “Do you want me to open it for you?”

  In three strides he was across the room and snatched it from her. “No.”

  “Joshua!” It was a cry of dismay.

  He didn’t look at her. He lifted the envelope and tore it slowly and neatly in half, then in half again. He walked to the table where the lantern sat, dropped the shredded paper into the wastebasket that sat beside it, then reached out to the knob that controlled the wick. In a moment the room was plunged into darkness.

  When he finished undressing, he climbed into bed and pulled the sheet up over his shoulders. He could feel her stiffness as he lay beside her. For three or four minutes, neither spoke. Then she stirred, half turning to face him.

  “Joshua?” she began.

  “Don’t, Caroline!” he said curtly. “Don’t even start it.”

  For a moment she lay there, rigid, hurt, bewildered. He said nothing more. Finally, she turned over again, putting her back to him, increasing the distance between them.

  For a long time after her breathing gradually softened and became deep and steady, Joshua stared up at the ceiling in the darkness. Alternately he cursed fate for bringing this back into his life again; he cursed his ex-wife, who had come back to Missouri and who wouldn’t let the past lie dead; and most of all, he cursed himself for continually letting his emotions slam down a wall between him and this woman whom he had come to love more than he thought it was possible for him to love anyone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Even though Nathan and Benjamin were still away in Missouri, Mary Ann invited Lydia and her children and Melissa and Carl and their children for Sunday dinner as was the tradition. This Sunday, to everyone’s surprise, including Melissa’s, Carl had not insisted they leave immediately after the meal was finished. Rebecca had taken the children upstairs to read them a story. Caleb John Rogers, Melissa and Carl’s newborn son, not quite a month old, was asleep in a bassinet in the next room. As usual, Mary Ann brought out the pie, and they sat around the table talking.

  Lydia Steed had always liked Carlton Rogers, though he often left her exasperated. His red hair and prominent freckles gave him a bit of a little-boy look, which could not be dispelled by the fact that he was twenty-seven years old and starting to visibly benefit from Melissa’s excellent cooking. He had a quick humor, and an easy way with people, probably the result of working with the public in his father’s stable since he was a young child. But he could also be stubborn and bullheaded. He was like an English bulldog: once he sank his teeth into an idea, you couldn’t pry it from him with pick, ax, or shovel.

  Now he was throwing gibes about the Mormon poor and how they were taxing Kirtland’s resources. But Lydia had never been known for being a weak-minded person either, and though she sensed that Carl was deliberately baiting her, she didn’t hesitate to pick up his challenge. She smiled sweetly, but there was the tiniest bit of bite to her voice. “We’re doing more for the poor than any other church is doing.”

  He looked incredulous. “The vast majority of those people are Mormons. Why should it be our obligation to take care of them?”

  She feigned surprise. “I thought the Bible said something about Christians caring for the poor. I don’t remember that it specified any particular religious denomination.”

  “Ha!” It came out as a puff of derision. “You can’t care for your own, so you expect us to solve your problem.”

  “It’s not a sin to be poor, Carl. Other than that, what is it that you find so offensive about us?” She spoke in a half-teasing tone, baiting him back a little.

  To her surprise, he went very quiet, and his face lengthened noticeably. “Do you want me to be honest?”

  “Of course,” Lydia replied.

  He looked at Mary Ann, then away.

  Mary Ann smiled encouragement to her son-in-law. “You can speak your mind freely, Carl. I think we’re up to it.”

  “All right.” He took in a breath, then released it slowly. Finally, he turned back to Lydia, and in that moment she realized this was the reason why Carl had stayed. The other comments were only prelude. Lydia had fallen right into his setup.

  Melissa was watching him closely now, her eyes worried. She too sensed that a turning point in the conversation had just been passed, but she wasn’t sure why or what it was.

  “All right, Carl,” Lydia said evenly. “What is it that you find so bothersome about us Mormons?”

  His chin came up. The eyes were steady and challenging. “I think your church tears families apart.”

  It would have been difficult to tell who was the more surprised by his accusation. Mary Ann’s eyes widened. Lydia’s mouth dropped open slightly. From Melissa there was a soft intake of breath.

  “Well,” he said, half defensively. “You said you wanted to know.” He glanced at his wife, then away quickly. “Melissa’s going to think I’m just talking about her and me. But we’re only one example. Everywhere you look, your religion is drivin’ wedges between people.”

  “Everywhere?” Lydia said, making no attempt to hide her skepticism. “Isn’t that a little strong?”

  “All right, not everywhere. Not everyone. But I can sure give you plenty of examples.”

  “Name one,” Lydia demanded.

  “Martin Harris.”

  Lydia shot a look at her mother-in-law. Lucy Harris had been so incensed over Martin’s support of Joseph, they had separated shortly after the Church was organized. They had never divorced, and Martin had come to Kirtland to live, leaving Lucy in New York. But he had sent her money up until a few months ago when he received word that Lucy had passed away.

  “There were serious problems in that marriage long before Joseph Smith ever came along,” Mary Ann said.

  Carl brushed that aside. It was obvious that he had kept these thoughts pent up inside him for a long time. “All right. You want honesty? What about your own family?”

  “Carl!”

  He didn’t look at his wife, just went on doggedly. “Well, can you deny it? Look what Mormonism has done to you. Look at Joshua and Benjamin. A son run away from home, a father who won’t even speak his name. Then there’s Joshua and Jessica. Jessica became a Mormon and the marriage ended in divorce.” His voice dropped. He was looking at Lydia. “Or what about you and your own parents?”

  No one spoke. There was too much pain with every example he had given. Lydia’s hand had come up to the lace collar at her throat and was picking at it with quick, fluttering movements. Carl’s face softened as he saw her pain, but his eyes were filled with determination. “I’m sorry, Lydia, but it’s true. Your own parents won’t even speak your name in their house. I’m not saying you were wrong to leave them, I’m just saying this church of yours seems to break up families.”

  Lydia finally looked up. “What Nathan and I have found together is worth more to me than what I lost with my family.” She looked down, then her head came up again in challenge. He had spoken his mind, now she’
d speak hers. “I just wish you and Melissa had what we have.”

  Melissa stirred, wanting to stop what was happening, but Carl went on quickly before she could speak. “That’s right,” he said bitterly. “If you’re both Mormon, everything is wonderful. But if not . . .” He gave a little exclamation of disgust. “Look what happened to Rebecca and Arthur Wilkinson.”

  “And thank the Lord for that,” Lydia retorted tartly. “We’ve come to see that Arthur Wilkinson is not quite the nice young man he seemed to be.”

  Carl threw up his hands in exasperation. “Only because he was so frustrated.”

  “Only because he was a scoundrel,” Lydia said hotly.

  “Like you and Melissa are frustrated, Carl?” Mary Ann said quietly, stepping into the conversation.

  Carl shot Melissa a quick look before nodding. “Yes. I’ll be honest, Mother Steed. I don’t like what Mormonism is doing to my family.”

  She sighed wearily. “I understand. I understand the situation, and I understand the pain that it brings.”

  Carl turned to his wife, and suddenly there was a pleading look in his eyes. “It’s the only thing between us that ain’t right, Melissa. I love you, and I love our children, but I don’t care one whit for Mormonism, because it keeps coming between us. All the time. Like some great wall we can’t move.”

  “I’ve not pushed you to believe as I do, Carl,” Melissa said in a voice barely above a whisper.

  “I know. And I’m grateful for that. But you can’t deny it’s come between us. Can you?”

  She only hesitated for a moment, then dropped her head. “No.”

  Mary Ann felt her heart ache for the anguish in Melissa’s eyes. “May I try to respond to your concerns, Carl?”

  Carl turned back to his mother-in-law. “Yes.”

  “And may I be as honest as you have been?”

  “I would be disappointed if you weren’t.”

  “Lydia spoke of the relationship between her and Nathan. I’d like to speak of my relationship with Benjamin.” The corners of her mouth softened with the memory of long-ago times. “I’ve loved Benjamin Steed since the day I first saw him. He’s always been a good man. A decent man. But he was also one of the most stubborn men I know. Hardheaded as a piece of granite. You met him not long before he joined the Church, so you’ve never really known him except as a Latter-day Saint. But I can tell you this—the gospel has changed him, Carl, changed him in ways that I never dreamed were possible.”