The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  He looked away, not wanting her to see his face. Two conflicting emotions were struggling in him. Part of him wanted to strike back at her. She was the one who’d started it all. All he’d done was make a couple of innocent comments about those wretched Mormons, and she’d come at him like a mother badger protecting her young. But another part of him was watching her with wonder. She rarely spoke of her marriage to Donovan Mendenhall or of her life back in Savannah, and he knew she avoided talking about those things out of respect for his feelings. So this was like a revelation to him.

  Once again he felt a familiar sense of awe at the thought that he—Joshua Steed, mule skinner and Missouri wildcat—had been bold enough and lucky enough to convince this woman to marry him.

  “Well?” she said.

  He pulled a face. “I’m not sure it was a good idea that I stepped in between you and Boswell and Berrett. At the time I thought I was helping you. Now I’m beginning to think I was saving their hides.”

  For a moment she looked startled, then instantly her lips compressed into a thin, hard line. She whirled around and started away, her shoulders squared, her back stiff. Joshua swore under his breath and went after her. He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Caroline!”

  She jerked away. He grabbed her again, this time turning her around to face him. “Caroline,” he said more gently.

  Finally her head came up. “I guess I’m not in much of a mood for jokes right now, Joshua.”

  He shook his head in frustration. “Listen—,” he started. But again she pulled free and started away from him, her shoes making sharp staccato sounds on the boards.

  “So that’s how it is,” he snapped. “You can tear into me, and I have to stand here and take it, but the moment I try to talk to you . . . How about you listening for a minute?”

  She stopped. She didn’t turn around, but finally she nodded. “All right, I’m listening.”

  He took a breath, feeling like he was fighting a losing battle. “I ain’t very—” He caught himself and started again. “I’m not very good with words, Caroline. I always feel like I’ve got a mouthful of prairie sod when I try to talk with you.” He shrugged helplessly. “All I was tryin’ to say was, you are some kind of woman, Caroline Mendenhall Steed. And you’re right. I shouldn’t have stomped out, and I shouldn’t have stayed away.”

  He paused, then spoke more softly. “It was my way of tryin’ to say, don’t go to the hotel, Caroline. I don’t want you sleepin’ alone either.”

  He dropped his hands to his sides. “That’s what I was hopin’ to say. I’m sorry if it sounded like I was making a joke.”

  Slowly she turned around. Her eyes were shining in the faint light. “No, Joshua,” she murmured. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I . . . I’m just wound up so tight right now.” She came back to him. After a moment, she reached out and touched his hand. He opened his arms and she came against him, laying her head against his chest.

  “I’m sorry, Caroline.”

  “So am I, Joshua. I wasn’t listening, and I’m sorry.” She looked up at him and smiled faintly. “But promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t ever say you’re bad with words, Joshua. Sometimes you are absolutely wonderful in what you say.”

  * * *

  “I think I understand at least some of your feelings about the Mormons, Joshua.”

  He swatted impatiently at a mosquito that was humming around his ear. “No,” he said wearily, “I don’t think you do, Caroline, or you wouldn’t ask me to change how I feel.”

  She was sitting on their front step. He was leaning against the hitching rail that ran about half the length of their porch. When they had arrived home, she had stepped inside only long enough to make sure the children were still asleep, then suggested they stay outside in the pleasantness of the summer’s night.

  She watched him for a moment, then leaned forward, looking down at her feet. “Have you never wondered how I feel about religion, Joshua?”

  The question caught him by surprise. “I . . . no, I guess I haven’t. You never talk about it.”

  “I know.” She folded her hands in her lap, still looking down. Her voice took on a faraway sound. “My mother was a devout Methodist. My papa too before he died. So when Donovan and I were married in the home of a justice of the peace in Baltimore, I thought I had risked my eternal salvation.” She gave a quick, soft laugh. “It was probably the most ‘terrible’ thing I had ever done in my life.”

  She finally looked up at him. “I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that during all the time I was growing up, religion was very important to me. I went to church services every Sabbath day. I said my prayers night and morning. I read from the Bible usually at least once a day, often more.”

  He was really surprised, almost shocked. They had been married for well over a year now, and she had never—not once—made even the slightest reference to her feelings about church or religion or God. “What happened?” he asked.

  She looked away again. “Donovan was much more liberal about religion than I was. To him, church was more of a social thing than a religious one, so he didn’t mind if I continued in my beliefs. When Will was born he said I could teach him whatever I chose. Then we moved to Savannah. It seemed like all the people who were important to us were members of—” She shook her head quickly. “Well, it doesn’t matter. But it wasn’t the Methodists. Suddenly, Donovan got ‘religious.’ We became very involved in the congregation there. I still gave money to the Wesleyan Methodist church. Donovan didn’t mind as long as I didn’t make too much fuss about it. After a while I decided it really didn’t matter so much which church you belonged to, as long as you believed in God.”

  She shook her head, her eyes half closing. “Jeremiah Boswell and Theodore Berrett were pillars in that same congregation. In fact, they were the ones who got Donovan and me involved there.”

  “Oh,” he said slowly.

  She didn’t seem to hear him. “It couldn’t have been more than a month after Donovan’s death. The minister got up that Sunday. He was so excited, he could barely contain himself. The church was adding a new wing. It seems that Mr. Berrett and Mr. Boswell had just given a very substantial contribution to the church. Very substantial.” There was a short, bitter laugh of derision. “Why not? They had plenty to spare with what they had taken from Donovan and me.”

  Now her voice dropped to a low, mocking whisper. “The minister preached a whole sermon that Sunday on what God-fearing men these two fine gentlemen were. He said the Spirit testified clearly that mansions on high awaited them. Whatever minor sins they might have committed would surely be swallowed up by this one grand act of generosity.”

  She looked up at Joshua. “I never went back. I quit praying that very day. I took the Bible and locked it in a chest.”

  He was nodding slowly. “I understand.”

  She whirled now, her voice filled with sudden passion. “No, Joshua, you don’t understand. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I was so filled with hate, so torn with bitterness. It wasn’t aimed at just those two. I hated the minister. I hated the congregation for how they gushed all over them after the services.” She took a quick breath. “I hated God for doing this to me. He’d already taken my husband. Now it was like he had to drag it beneath my nose. Well, I thought, I’d show him. I’d withhold my devotion. I’d turn my back on him.”

  He was beginning to see now where she was going. He didn’t like it and started to speak, but she went on quickly. “I don’t know much about the Mormons, Joshua. I don’t know much about what they did to you, except for the little you told me. I don’t know what they believe. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what my hatred did to me and what your hatred for them is doing to you.”

  “There’s a difference between the hypocrisy of those two fancy-dressed blowhards and downright evil, Caroline. The Mormons are not just another religion that doesn’t practice what they preach, they’re—”

>   “It doesn’t matter, Joshua!” she burst out. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What matters is what’s happening to you.”

  His eyes hardened. “There are some things you can’t change, Caroline,” he said stubbornly.

  She gave an incredulous laugh. “Did I hear you right?”

  His jaw tightened. “Yeah, you heard me right. I haven’t begun to tell you all that has happened to me because of Joseph Smith and those who follow him. You don’t know—”

  She cut him off. “You’re telling me that the man who came out to Missouri with nothing but a few dollars and naked willpower and built one of the largest freight businesses in the western United States can’t do anything about how he feels?” She stood now, her eyes softening. “You’re telling me that the man who came to Savannah and convinced an independent-minded, bitter-hearted widow to marry him and run off with him to Missouri is helpless in the face of what’s inside him?” She smiled, her lips barely touching. “Sorry, Mr. Steed, but I find that hard to accept.”

  He shook his head. He couldn’t debate her. She had a way of turning him inside out with her logic and her quickness. He turned away now too, leaning on the hitching rail as he stared out into the night. Behind him, Caroline spoke again. Now her voice had taken on a pleading note. “Joshua, I want you to close your eyes and picture something for me.”

  He shook his head. He wasn’t in a mood for any of her games.

  “Remember Olivia’s eyes this afternoon?” she asked softly. “After you let her drive the team? Do you remember what they looked like?”

  He turned slowly.

  “They were so full of love and adoration.” A tear welled up in the corner of one of her eyes and started slowly down her cheek. “She loves you, Joshua.”

  She brushed at the tear with the back of her hand. “Last night, while you were working late, Will and Olivia and I talked about having their names changed.”

  He blinked in surprise. “You did?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “They want your name, Joshua.” She had to stop, and she looked away quickly. “They want you to be their father.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said huskily.

  “I was going to tonight.”

  He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. Again she shook her head quickly. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make. I want you to think about Olivia’s eyes today. Do you remember?”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “I remember.”

  She nodded. She took a deep breath. “Now I want you to picture those same eyes tonight, when you were talking about the Mormons being like lice. Did you see them, Joshua? Did you? Did you see Olivia’s eyes?”

  He looked down, unable to meet the piercing power of her gaze.

  “They were terrified, Joshua. She saw the ugliness that’s eating away at you down inside, and it frightened her. It even frightened Will.” She sat back down on the step, heavily. “It frightened me, Joshua.”

  He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say.

  After the silence had stretched on for several minutes, Caroline looked up at him. “I got my Bible out of that chest a few weeks ago.”

  His head came up sharply.

  She watched him steadily. “The day after Savannah was born, I prayed again for the first time in nearly two and a half years. I thanked God for our beautiful, healthy little girl. I thanked him that you loved her so much.” She smiled sadly. “I’m glad to report that while I turned my back on God, he didn’t respond in like manner. I felt like he’d been waiting—just waiting for me to heal enough to see what a fool I’ve been.”

  She stood and moved over to Joshua’s side. “I’d like to start taking the children to church.” There was a pause. “Would you mind terribly if I did that?”

  He hesitated only a moment. “No, I suppose not.”

  She slipped her arm through his. “Thank you.” She laid her head against his shoulder. Finally, he slipped his arm around her and just held her.

  Again, after several minutes had passed in silence, Caroline spoke. “My papa died when I was seven. I can barely remember him. But Mother told me once something Papa taught her.”

  “What?”

  “He said that if you’re bitten by a rattlesnake, you can do one of two things. You can grab an ax and try and chase that rattlesnake down and kill him. But all the time you’re chasing him, the venom keeps pumping deeper and deeper into your system. Or . . .” She took his hand and pulled it more tightly around her. “Or you can forget about the snake and sit down and try and get the venom out of your system quick as you can before it kills you.”

  “Caroline, I—”

  She put a finger up to his lips. “I’ll not be saying anything more to you, Joshua. You’ve got to work this out yourself. But I am telling you, what you’re harboring down deep inside you is poison. I know, because I’ve been doing the same thing.” Her voice caught. “I never thought I could change either, Joshua, but I have. In these past few months I’ve felt what it’s like to put the hate away. I’m hoping for your sake that someday you’ll be able to do the same. That’s all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I saw Martin Harris at the saddle shop. He said he wants to see you before the meeting tomorrow morning.”

  Benjamin looked up, then away again. There was no mistaking the disapproval in Mary Ann’s eyes. “Did he say what for?” he asked.

  She watched him steadily, knowing exactly why he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “You know very well what for. Joseph’s gone to Canada. Most of the Twelve are on missions. It’s the perfect time for them to move.”

  He had an ax handle he was smoothing down with a wood rasp. He held it up and eyed it carefully, then lifted the ax head and tried the fit. It was close but not close enough. He picked up the rasp again and began to stroke it across the wood methodically.

  “Nathan was talking to Lyman Johnson this morning. They’ve been having secret meetings. They’re still trying to make David Whitmer president.”

  He didn’t look up. “They’ve been talking about doing that for a long time now. They don’t have the stomach for it. Besides, now that David has gone back to Missouri, it will die out.”

  “That’s essentially what Nathan said too, but Brother Johnson swears things are different now. They’ve found a girl who has some kind of black stone that supposedly has magical powers. Using that, she’s prophesied that Joseph has fallen because of transgression and that the leadership will now fall on David Whitmer or Martin Harris. They say David can preside from Missouri. Or Martin’s name has been mentioned too. Martin likes that idea, of course. This girl has told them that the time for action has come. They have to get rid of Joseph.”

  Benjamin set the rasp down and finally looked up at his wife. “What they do is their affair. Let them wallow in their own stupidity. They can try and call up the dead, for all I care. I’m not part of it.”

  “But they think you are!” she burst out.

  “Well, they’re wrong,” he shot back. “My feelings about Joseph are my affair, and I’ve never given that bunch one minute’s encouragement.”

  She sat down on the bench to face him. She took a deep breath, knowing she could well be pushing him too far, but there was too much at stake now to let it go without saying something. “Ben,” she started tentatively.

  He had picked up the rasp again and was studying it carefully. He did not look up.

  “You know they’re just using Martin to get at you,” she went on. “They think they can still convince you they’re right, that Joseph has to be replaced. They want your support.”

  “Well, they don’t have it.”

  “But they don’t have your opposition either. You can bet they’re not still trying to get Brigham Young to listen to them. Why? Because he has come out foursquare against them. There’s no doubt about what his position is.”

  “I’m not Brigham Young,” he muttered.

  “Ben, you know that’s
not what I’m saying. But we’re coming to a crisis. These men are becoming bolder. I understand that, before he left, David Whitmer was bragging that he has been given the power to either raise Joseph to the highest heaven or thrust him straight down to hell.”

  “David Whitmer doesn’t have the power to raise a handkerchief off the table. They’re blowhards, every one of them. They bow and scrape and smile when Joseph’s around, then the minute he’s gone they start talking real big.”

  “Then say that, Ben. There are so many people who respect you and look up to you. And right now they’re taking your silence to mean that you agree with the opposition.”

  He picked up the handle again and began working it, pushing the rasp across the oak in hard, vicious strokes. She had to move back a little, away from his flying elbows.

  Mary Ann shook her head slowly, sensing that once again she had lost. “At least tell Martin you won’t see him as long as he continues to associate with them,” she finished quietly.

  There was a momentary pause in his strokes. “Martin’s my friend, Mary Ann. Whether or not I agree with him, he’s still my friend.”

  “Not if he’s doing things that can harm you.”

  His head came up sharply, and for a long moment he met her gaze steadily, his face a mask. Mary Ann felt a chill run through her. Once before she and this man she loved so fiercely had stood on opposite ground about Joseph Smith. It had not been a happy time for either of them. These past few years since Benjamin had joined the Church had been the best of their marriage. But now the spectre of apostasy hung heavy over Kirtland. Evil men were poisoning the minds of many of the Saints toward the Prophet. Even former stalwarts were wavering. Ben hadn’t gone over. Not yet. But he was teetering perilously close to the edge, and it frightened her more deeply than anything she could ever remember.

  Finally he looked away, staring out of the small window of the toolshed into the August sunshine. “That’s not what’s really bothering you, is it?”