The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Benjamin moved over and laid a hand on Willard Richards’s shoulder. “Brother Richards, you don’t look any the worse for wear.”

  He laughed and nodded. “Except that I am still trying to thaw out this block of ice that used to be my body.”

  Brigham was likewise chuckling. “I feel perfectly fine.” He grinned mischievously. “At least from the waist up.”

  Benjamin laughed too, then shook hands with Brigham and Heber. Two nights before this, on New Year’s Eve, a small group had gathered at the Chagrin River, not far from Brigham’s house. It had been bitterly cold. Benjamin had helped Brigham and Heber chop a large hole in the ice, then watched as Brigham waded in, followed by Willard Richards, who was then baptized. It still gave Benjamin the shivers just to think about it.

  Willard Richards was not a tall man, and the best word to describe his overall appearance would have been rotund. He was portly in build, and his face was round, almost cherubic. Though he was afflicted with a serious case of reoccurring palsy, he was always of a cheerful disposition and temperament, and Benjamin had come to like him very quickly. He was a cousin of Brigham Young’s. While in Massachusetts he had become intensely interested in the Church when he came across a Book of Mormon, opened it at random, and read the prophet Lehi’s words: “Adam fell, that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy. . . .” Pondering what he read, he exclaimed, “That book is either of God or of the devil, for no man wrote it.” He had arrived in Kirtland in October, seeking out his cousin and determined to fully investigate the latter-day work. And that investigation had culminated in his baptism two days before.

  “Brethren, let’s begin.”

  They turned. Joseph was standing at the head of the table at the west end of the assembly room. Immediately the buzz of conversation died, and the men in the room found places on the benches or assembled chairs.

  “We’ll ask Brother Zebedee Coltrin to open with prayer, then we shall begin.”

  As the meeting proceeded, Benjamin learned that, by coincidence, Oliver Cowdery and Orson Hyde had both returned on the same day. Oliver brought from Philadelphia the plates for printing the bank notes, as well as a thick sheaf of bills in one-, two-, and three-dollar denominations. But Orson Hyde’s mission had been far less successful. The state had refused to grant the Kirtland Safety Society a banking charter. Elder Hyde was quite put out, feeling that anti-Mormon sentiment had carried the decision against them. Benjamin believed that might have been a factor, but was also aware that the political climate in Ohio was not favorable to new banks at the present.

  The resulting consternation of the brethren was obvious, and justifiably so. Benjamin and Nathan had arrived back in Kirtland just two days prior to the meeting on November second, where articles for the new Kirtland Safety Society were drawn up and approved. Joseph was elected treasurer and Sidney Rigdon president. By then, stock in the society was already being sold. By the end of the year, between forty and fifty thousand shares had been sold and nearly fifteen thousand dollars in subscriptions raised, with more shares being sold all the time.

  Though the face value of the stock was supposedly fifty dollars per share, most of the purchase price was put up in subscriptions. In actual cash paid out, the shares sold for an average of about twenty-six cents per share. Two hundred investors had contributed. Benjamin, still somewhat skeptical after Joseph’s treasure-hunting trip to Salem, had been impressed with the careful thought that had gone into organizing the venture. He put in over three hundred dollars in gold and silver, and put up two of his three farms as collateral. All in all, he purchased nearly a thousand shares, which made him one of the biggest investors.

  There was considerable excitement among both members and nonmembers to think that Kirtland would have its own bank now. Communities of no greater consequence than Kirtland—Ashtabula, Warren, Ravenna—now had their own banks. It was time for Kirtland to move forward onto a more solid economic base.

  After hearing the reports, Sidney Rigdon stood. “Brethren, the news from the state capital is discouraging. We know that, but all is not lost.”

  “What are we going to do?” Warren Parrish, secretary to the Safety Society, cried out from the back.

  Parrish’s voice was sharp and filled with a critical spirit. Since his return from Missouri, Benjamin had twice met with what he had come to call the “Parrish group.” Sharply critical of Joseph’s handling of affairs, the men who came to the group’s gatherings, including three members of the Quorum of the Twelve, never seemed to have any constructive suggestions, only their railings against Joseph. And so Benjamin had stopped attending. He still had serious misgivings about what was happening, but Joseph was trying. And these men didn’t want to give him credit for even that.

  “If you will be quiet long enough for me to speak, Brother Parrish,” Sidney said, with some asperity, “I’ll try to answer that question.”

  “Hear, hear,” Benjamin murmured. That won him a sharp look from Parrish and from the Johnson brothers, who were sitting next to him.

  “Brother Joseph and I spent some time with our legal counsel last night after we heard the news from Brother Hyde. It is not all bad.” He paused, letting his eyes sweep over the room. “As you know, in Ohio there are several banks operating without official charters from the state. The state is winking at these institutions, because they are providing important and needed services for their communities.”

  “Are these the anti-banks we keep hearing about?” Hyrum Smith asked.

  “Yes. They call themselves that to show they don’t have legal status as banks. But they sell stock, issue bank notes, offer loans, and do all the other things that banks do.”

  “Isn’t that against the law?”

  Benjamin turned, but he hadn’t recognized the voice and couldn’t see who had spoken.

  “Yes,” answered Sidney. As the murmurs started to rise, he then added with a smile, “And no.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Luke Johnson cried.

  “As you know, Oliver has obtained plates for printing our own bank notes, on the assumption that the state would grant us the charter. Those plates have been obtained at considerable expense. Also, we have now sold about sixty percent of the stock in the Kirtland Safety Society and have raised considerable capital. If we simply quit now, not only will we be out the money for the plates, but we will have lost the momentum that we have going for us. So—”

  Joseph finished for him. “We think we have a solution.”

  “We’re listening,” Heber C. Kimball said.

  Sidney smiled in appreciation, then took another breath. “Our lawyer says there is an Ohio law, passed in 1816, that prohibits the issue and circulation of unauthorized bank notes. But he says new statutes were passed in 1824 which supersede the old provisions. These new statutes are much more liberal. They impose no penalties for moving ahead without a charter.”

  Warren Parrish spoke up again, only now there was a definite interest showing on his face. “So you are saying we just go ahead?”

  “Yes. We are proposing that we now change our organization from that of a formal banking institution to a joint-stock company with note-issuing powers. In other words, we become an anti-bank, like others have done.”

  “What about the notes we already have printed?” Brigham asked. “And the plates? Are we going to have to start again with new ones?”

  “Brother Cowdery,” Sidney said. “Would you like to respond to that?”

  Oliver stood. He looked weary. He had come the more than four hundred miles from Philadelphia without an overnight stop, sleeping on the stagecoaches as best he could. “Brethren, it won’t work in every case, but we have a proposal for a name that will allow us to use the notes we already have printed and also the plates we had prepared.”

  “What is it?” Warren Parrish spoke with an obvious note of respect, something unusual for him.

  Sidney stepped forward to stand next to Oliver. “Our suggestion i
s that we change the name of our organization from the Kirtland Safety Society Bank to the Kirtland Safety Society Anti-Banking Company.”

  * * *

  “Well, what do you think, Benjamin?” Joseph looked worn and tired too. He had caught Benjamin’s eye as the meeting broke up and motioned for him to stay. Now only he and Hyrum and Benjamin were left in the room.

  Benjamin let the question sink in for several moments. Finally he nodded. “Under the circumstances, you’re doing the best you can, Joseph.”

  Joseph smiled. He knew Ben too well. “But?”

  Benjamin again hesitated, trying to choose his words carefully. “Money is a strange thing, Joseph. When you think about it, it is a very strange thing indeed.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, it has no value of its own, only what we give it. Especially paper money.” He laughed, shortly and without mirth. “Take a bank note, for example. It is simply a piece of paper on which we write that it is worth so much. But in order to make it worth that much, you have to convince people that it really is worth that much.”

  “Yes,” Hyrum broke in, “but you do that by backing it up with hard money—specie—gold and silver. That way people know they can come in at any time and get full value for it.”

  “That’s right,” Benjamin said. “But if you don’t have those kinds of hard-money reserves, the value of the paper falls.”

  “We have about fifteen thousand dollars in hard-money reserves.”

  “And how much in bank-note value will you circulate?”

  Joseph sighed. Obviously he had thought this through too. “More than that, of course. But every bank does that. They have only a portion of their assets in cash reserves.”

  “Exactly to the point. And that works fine.” He paused for effect. “As long as people have confidence in your bank.”

  Joseph laughed. “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

  Benjamin smiled. “I’m not trying to be the doomsayer, Joseph. You’ve started out on firm footing. But I do have a worry.”

  “Which is?” Hyrum asked.

  “Much of the capital this company holds is in land and other property.”

  “Land is bad?” Hyrum said skeptically.

  “No, land is good. But land is not liquid. You can’t take it to a merchant and use it to buy potatoes. You can’t carry it in your saddlebags. You can’t hand it out in little pieces to redeem currency.” He let that sink in, then made his point. “We are vulnerable in two ways, Joseph. Number one, we are undercapitalized. Number two, we have too little cash reserves.”

  Hyrum looked glum. “The very thing you and I were discussing last night, Joseph.”

  “Yes,” Joseph responded, equally grave. “It may interest you to know, Benjamin, that I have already worried a great deal about this very issue. I have prayed mightily on the matter. The Lord has whispered to me that if we but follow some principles of honesty and frugality, we shall succeed.” Then he laughed, that light, cheerful sound that was so characteristic of Joseph. “But I know that you can’t use prayers to redeem currency either, so in recent weeks I have applied for and secured a loan from the Bank of Geauga. Hyrum and I shall go and finalize the closing of that loan this afternoon. Then we should be able to add some more to our cash reserves and also pay off some of our creditors.”

  Benjamin was impressed. Any amount would help tremendously. But Joseph was already heavily in debt. If anything happened, he was taking a tremendous personal risk.

  “I’m also going to ask Brigham Young and Willard Richards to go east and sell stock in the company throughout the branches of the Church.”

  Benjamin sighed, watching the troubled look he saw in Joseph’s eyes. He didn’t want to say this, but someone had to. He took a breath. “There is one other possible problem.”

  Joseph chuckled, though his eyes still were worried. “Only one?”

  “You have many enemies, Joseph. A dedicated one—and a shrewd one—could use the bank to embarrass you greatly.”

  “How?” Hyrum demanded. He was suddenly defensive for his brother.

  “If the real trading value of the bank notes falls very much, a person could buy large numbers of them up very cheaply, then come to the bank and demand full face-value payment. That could put you in a fine pickle.”

  Joseph whistled softly. “A wonderful understatement, Brother Benjamin.”

  Benjamin forced a smile, feeling a twist in his own stomach. Thoughts of Joseph running off to Salem flitted through his mind. He wished it had never happened. It was the one thing that kept nibbling at his confidence in Joseph’s wisdom.

  Benjamin took a breath. “I’ve purchased around a thousand shares in the Safety Society. I’ve done that because I believe it’s right. I believe you believe it’s right, and I trust you, Joseph. If we don’t make a go of it, I may become one of those the Kirtland ‘poor laws’ are out to get.”

  Joseph’s eyes showed that he was clearly troubled. Hyrum watched him for a moment, then said softly. “Joseph is planning to sell some of his property. With that and the loan we are getting today, it looks like he’ll be making one of the largest investments in the Safety Society.”

  Benjamin’s eyes widened.

  “That’s right,” Hyrum nodded. “I think there’s only one other person with a larger investment. If we don’t make a go of this, Joseph stands to be one of the biggest losers of all.”

  Joseph managed a wan smile at his brother, then it slowly faded. “Brethren, if we don’t make a go of this, money is going to be the very least of our worries.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Caroline looked up in surprise from her sewing as the front door opened. William stood there, hands at his side, his head down.

  “Will?”

  Suddenly his shoulders lifted and fell, there was a stifled sob, and he started across the room to her in stumbling steps.

  Instantly she was on her feet, feeling the awkward heaviness of the baby pull at her stomach. She opened her arms and Will rushed into them. Now the sobs came in great racking shudders, tearing at his body. She clung to him, dumbfounded. He would turn thirteen in March. There were not many thirteen-year-olds more self-confident and self-reliant than William Donovan Mendenhall. She had not seen him cry once since the death of his father more than two years ago now.

  Gradually the trembling began to subside and Will got control of himself. He stepped back from his mother and wiped quickly at the corners of his eyes. Caroline gasped softly and one hand shot out to grab Will’s chin. She turned his face. In the doorway, his back had been to the light and she had not seen his face clearly. There was a smear of blood beneath his nose, and one cheek had an ugly abrasion. The shirt he had put on clean this morning was soiled on one side, and she saw that the knees of his trousers were brown with the dirt of the schoolyard.

  She let go of his chin. His head dropped immediately, and he tensed for her reaction. Fighting against every motherly instinct that was tugging at her, she bit back the words. She reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go wash up,” she murmured, “then we’ll talk about it.”

  * * *

  Joshua looked up in surprise. Caroline was still adjusting to her first real winter in several years, and she didn’t like to be out in the cold. With the baby now due in about two months, she also found it uncomfortable to walk very far. And she definitely did not like the freight yard with its smell of oxen and horses and sweating men. So when he came out of the stable leading a team of horses and saw her standing there outside the office door, it took him aback a little. He handed the tether to his yard foreman and went to her.

  “This is a surprise,” he said. He reached out and touched her arm.

  She was huddled against the cold air, holding herself tightly against the chill. She smiled faintly. “I thought it would be.”

  “Let’s go inside.”

  She shook her head. “I need to talk with you, Joshua.”

  His face fell a
little. “Right now?”

  She nodded, the smile completely gone.

  “Look, just go inside for a few minutes. Cornwell and I have got to get this team hitched up. There’s a load of lumber—”

  “Will was sent home from school today.”

  That stopped him. “He was?”

  “Yes. He’d been fighting.”

  He grinned. “Did he win?” She just watched him steadily, and the grin slowly faded. “Who was he fighting with?”

  There was a quick, impatient shake of her head. “That doesn’t matter. He was fighting over you.”

  His mouth opened, then shut again. He couldn’t remember when her eyes had been quite so grave. The emerald green had gone almost gray now. He turned to Cornwell, who stood waiting with the horses. “You’d better go ahead. Get Bart to help you.”

  Without waiting for an answer, Joshua turned, took her arm, and steered her toward the street. Once out of the yard, he turned south, away from the center of town. “All right,” he finally said. “I’m listenin’.”

  But Caroline didn’t answer. They walked on for nearly a block until they came to the framework of the large two-story house that stood near the outskirts of the town. Finally she stopped. This was the home Joshua was building for her. There was no question about it, it was going to be the finest that Independence had yet seen.

  She just kept staring at the house, still not speaking. He felt a stirring of alarm. He had never seen her quite like this. “Caroline, I’m listenin’,” he said again.

  She looked down at the ground. “For your own reasons, you’ve chosen not to tell me anything about your first marriage.”

  His head came up sharply.

  “But it’s no longer just between you and me, Joshua.”