The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Rebecca gasped, then swayed as her knees gave way a little. Mary Ann steadied her, holding her tightly.

  Hyrum rushed on. “We don’t know who they are as yet. The mob has refused to let our people get the bodies for burial.”

  Joseph turned to Benjamin. “Hyrum, Sidney, and I are leading a group of men.” He took a quick breath and let it out again. “Brother Knight says the people of Daviess County are arming themselves to drive our people right out of the county. We’re going north to give assistance. We’ve already stopped at Nathan’s. He’ll be going.”

  “I want to go too, Pa,” Matthew said.

  “No!” Mary Ann cried.

  Matthew swung around. “It’s not just Rebecca who cares about Derek.”

  Benjamin had turned now too.

  “Mother”—Matthew was pleading now—“this is Derek and Peter. They are my friends. I want to help.”

  Mary Ann looked to Benjamin, her eyes imploring him to sustain her on this one. Benjamin searched her face, then turned to look at his youngest son, now almost a full head taller than his mother. “He’s a man now, Mary Ann,” he said simply.

  Her lip started to quiver and her head dropped. Joseph walked to her. “It’ll be all right, Sister Steed,” he said with great solemnity. “We shall see that no harm comes to Matthew.” Half turning, he reached out and laid a hand on Rebecca’s arm. She was weeping quietly now. “It will be all right!” he said, more firmly now. “You must have faith.”

  Then he stepped back and turned to Benjamin. “We’re gathering at the public square. If you bring your horse, we’ll have a second mount for Matthew.”

  “We’ll be there in five minutes,” Benjamin said.

  * * *

  Shoal Creek lay about a half mile north of Far West. It was not a large stream, no more than four or five feet across in most places. It flowed eastward in a meandering path, through Haun’s Mill twelve miles to the east, and eventually into the Grand River. There was not a lot of timber along its bank, but enough trees and brush to provide a place of privacy.

  It was to those thickets that Rebecca came as the sun began to break through the clouds and climb toward its zenith on this August morning. She pushed her way through a patch of river birch and wild raspberry and found a small clearing beneath a group of medium-size cottonwood trees.

  She looked around to make sure she was alone; then, brushing at the corners of her eyes, she dropped to her knees and bowed her head.

  It was almost a half hour before she came out of the trees and started back up the gentle rise to her father’s cabin, head bowed, walking slowly.

  * * *

  “Mama! Mama!”

  The voice carried clearly all the way through the house. Caroline looked up from her task of kneading a large clump of bread dough. Savannah, sitting on the floor playing with a set of blocks Joshua had bought for her, was jabbering away happily. At the sound, she looked up. “Livvy?”

  “Yes,” Caroline said, wiping the flour from her hands onto her apron. “It’s Olivia.”

  The front door burst open and Olivia came tearing through the house. “Mama!”

  “We’re back in the kitchen,” Caroline called.

  Olivia came sliding in, her face flushed, her chest rising and falling. “Mama, Papa’s back.”

  Caroline’s head came up. “He is?”

  “Yes, he and Will. The steamboat got in early this morning. They’re at the freight yard.”

  Savannah pushed to her feet. “Papa?”

  Olivia picked her up, lifting her above her head so she looked down into Olivia’s face. “Yes, Savannah, Papa’s home. Papa’s home.”

  “Wanna see Papa,” Savannah said matter-of-factly.

  Caroline started to untie her apron, feeling a rush of excitement. Joshua and Will had left for St. Louis on the twentieth of July. That was better than two weeks ago. She always hated it when Joshua was gone on these extensive trips, but this was particularly bad, for Will had gone with him.

  “Wanna see Papa,” Savannah repeated, more forcefully.

  “You and Mama both, Savannah,” Caroline said. “The bread can wait.”

  * * *

  “What do you think?” Joshua said. He had Savannah in one arm, but he put the other one around Caroline’s waist and pulled her against him. He was grinning like a kid who had just discovered he could tie a bow in his own bootlaces for the first time.

  Caroline hugged him, looking up at the large crate that sat in the wagon. “I think it’s wonderful, Joshua. The perfect gift. Your father is going to be very pleased.”

  “I think so too,” he said, not trying to hide his pride. “So, get your things. We’ve got to get going.”

  For a moment it didn’t register, then Caroline’s head came around. “What?”

  “If we get started right away and push hard, we can make it by tomorrow night.”

  “Today? Joshua, I’m not ready to leave. I . . . There’s food to get. Clothes to pack. I’ll have to wash—”

  He put a finger to her lips, cutting her off. “Did you get your part of the buying done?”

  “Yes. Olivia and I have bought everything, but . . . the roads, they’re going to be a mess.”

  He gave her an incredulous look. “You think muddy roads are a threat to a man who makes his living hauling freight? Besides, the weather is clearing. They’ll be drying up fast.”

  “Mama,” Will jumped in, siding with his father, “if we don’t get Grandpa’s present up there soon, it will be too late for this year.”

  “Oh, yes, Mama,” Olivia cried, “let’s go. I want to see Grandma and Grandpa again.”

  Now it was Savannah’s head that came around. “Gampa?” she said, looking around.

  Joshua chuckled. “Do you want to go see Gamma and Gampa?”

  “Yes. Wanna see Gampa.”

  “Then it’s unanimous,” Joshua declared. “Cornwell will have a fit, but we’ll only stay a day or two. And we’ll help you get ready, won’t we kids?”

  Will and Olivia answered in a single chorus. “Yes!”

  Joshua took both her hands, his eyes half pleading now. “What do you say?”

  Caroline knew she had lost. And she didn’t resent it. His excitement was infectious. She threw up her hands in surrender. “All right, today it is.”

  * * *

  There were about twenty armed men who left Far West with Joseph and Hyrum at their head. As they moved north, their numbers swelled as brethren living in isolated homesites between Far West and Di-Ahman joined them. Word of the disaster had spread rapidly, and there was much concern among these Saints who lived out and away from everyone else. The whole countryside was in an uproar. County officials were trying to calm people. Two ministers were trying to do just the opposite. Emotions were running hot and rumors flying faster than a Missouri twister.

  As they passed the various homesteads of non-Mormons, there was fear on that side as well. About a mile south of Gallatin, they approached a cluster of two or three cabins. From a distance they could see a woman out hanging wash on her line. Several children were playing here and there around her. Then there was a faint cry. One of the children was pointing in their direction. The woman stood frozen for a moment, then dropped the dress she was holding and started shouting. In moments the woman, the children, and any others who had been outside were into the cabins, and Benjamin could see the shutters slamming shut. And then, before the group of Mormon men had gone fifty more yards, a man darted out of the back of the farthest cabin and ran hard toward the small barn behind it. A moment later a horse came pounding out. The man leaned low over the horse’s neck, whipping him hard with a riding crop. He turned north and, in a moment, disappeared behind some trees.

  Benjamin felt a tightening in his chest. In five or six minutes Gallatin would have its warning. The Mormons were coming. And they were coming in numbers and they were armed. Without saying a word, Joseph jerked his head toward the east and reined his horse to the right. The
y would give Gallatin a wide berth.

  It was midafternoon when the brethren, now nearly fifty strong, rode up the valley of Adam-ondi-Ahman, following the long bend in the Grand River. Benjamin and Matthew were up near the front, not far behind Joseph and Hyrum and Sidney Rigdon. They were tired, and now that they were on the outskirts of Di-Ahman, their vigilance relaxed a little. Several of the men were half dozing in their saddles.

  Then Joseph reined in his horse, pointing. “That’s Tower Hill,” he called back over his shoulder, “and the cabin you see there, that’s Lyman Wight’s. We’re almost there.”

  Matthew leaned forward eagerly. About three hundred yards ahead, a ridge from the bluffs jutted sharply out into the valley. Signs of settlement were now everywhere evident—lean-tos, tents, sod huts, a log cabin or two.

  Word of their coming had evidently reached the Mormons as well, for as they rode along now, people began to stream out to greet them. Several of the men carried arms, but the sight of Joseph and Hyrum and this many of their brethren was cause for great rejoicing.

  Then suddenly Matthew turned. Someone was calling their names. He searched the growing crowd.

  “Matthew! Nathan! Father Steed!”

  “Peter?” Matthew reached across to punch his brother’s arm. “Nathan, it’s Peter.” He craned his neck. “And Derek. It’s Derek, Pa!”

  Benjamin was staring as he reined in the horse. “It is Derek.” The relief washed over him in a great rush. “Thank the Lord!” he breathed.

  Joseph had turned in his saddle. He was smiling broadly. “This will be welcome news for Mary Ann and Rebecca.” He laughed right out loud at the thought of that. “Give those two boys my best, Benjamin. We’ll meet you at Brother Wight’s place later.”

  Father and sons pulled their horses out of line and swung down as Derek and Peter hurried up to them. Matthew was to Derek in four great strides and threw his arms around him. Derek gave a little yelp and winced in pain. “Easy, lad,” he cried, pulling free and holding his arm.

  Matthew was instantly contrite. Then as he stared at Derek, his eyes got wide. The arm was in a sling, and the bandage tied to Derek’s forehead was soiled and bloodstained.

  Nathan’s mouth was tight. “Are you all right, Derek?”

  Derek stuck out his good hand and firmly gripped Nathan’s, then Benjamin’s. “I’m fine. What a welcome sight you are.”

  “What happened?” Matthew blurted.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” Benjamin asked, peering at the bandage.

  Peter answered for his brother. “Brother Wight thinks the bone in his arm may be cracked. But even though he took a nasty blow to his head, it’s just cut bad.” An impish grin split his face. “But I know he’s gonna be all right. He’s been snappin’ at me all afternoon. Peter, do this. Peter, fetch that. Peter, stop makin’ so much noise.”

  The burden of worry and dread that had ridden on Benjamin’s shoulders for the past twelve hours lifted, and a dizzying sense of euphoria swirled in around him. He was still holding Derek’s hand. He gripped it fiercely. “We are so glad to see you, Derek. When we heard that some of you were killed—”

  “Killed?” Derek interrupted. He shook his head. “No one was killed.”

  “No one?” Nathan repeated.

  “Not on either side.” There was a fleeting smile. “There’s more than one set of cracked ribs and some whopping headaches today in Daviess County—and I’m not talking just about the Saints—but that’s about all. And thank the good Lord for that.”

  Benjamin quickly told them about the report that had come south.

  “How swiftly rumor flies,” Derek said with a grimace. “We heard the whole county was arming against us, so we spent the night down in the river bottoms hiding the women and children. But no one ever came.”

  “Well,” Matthew said, with just a touch of defiance, “there are over four dozen of us now. Those old settlers had better think twice about trying something.”

  Suddenly overcome with the emotion he was feeling, Nathan laid a hand on Derek’s good shoulder. “Rebecca is worried sick about you. To see you in no worse shape than this . . .” He shook his head. “We’re very grateful.”

  Derek nodded, understanding immediately how such news would have struck his beloved Rebecca. “I shall write a letter tonight for you to take back with you.”

  Benjamin shook his head firmly. “No letters. You’re not going to be doing much farmin’ with that arm, so you’re coming home with us. Becca won’t be convinced you’re all right until she sees you for herself.”

  Matthew grinned at his friend. “And I’ll just warn you now. When she sees you, you may end up with another broken arm and a set of cracked ribs, because you’re going to get the hugging of your life.”

  * * *

  Rebecca sat on a thick clump of prairie grass between the two wagon tracks that were the road that led out of Far West. She was about a quarter of a mile beyond the last house, just enough off the brow of the hill on which the city sat to get a panoramic view of a wide expanse of the countryside. With her eye she could follow the road as it snaked its way down the gradual decline, then on across the rolling folds of prairie. Though she couldn’t see it, about five miles from where she sat the north-south road intersected this one.

  She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the images that followed. Derek’s description of Di-Ahman had been too explicit. She could picture the wandering line of trees that marked the banks of the Grand River, the bluffs on either side of the beautiful little valley. And on the northern bluff there was a partially finished sod hut. A boy was off to one side of it. It was Peter, on his knees in front of a freshly turned square of dirt. A roughly painted slab of board stuck in the ground at one end of the gravesite served as a tombstone. Other Saints were standing around, heads bowed.

  Angrily, Rebecca stood up, kicking at the soft dirt that two days ago had been thick mud and by tomorrow afternoon would be dust again. It had been yesterday morning when Brother Joseph and Hyrum had come to the house. Even though she had known there was little chance they could return the same day, the moment her chores were over, she had come out on the road and sat there until twilight. Watching to the east and north. Hoping against hope.

  Today she had been here since nine o’clock, her mother finally shooing her out of the house, knowing that nothing else would help. Now it was almost sundown again. Several times Rebecca’s hopes had soared when she saw figures in the distance, but her hopes were quickly dashed as they approached and then passed her by. She was growing numb now, exhausted in both mind and spirit at the thoughts of having yet another night and day of not knowing.

  A movement caught her eye. Her heart jumped, and then just as quickly fell again. Some figures had appeared on the top of one of the gentle ridges that stretched out to the east of her. At first she had thought there were only two of them, both on horseback. But then she could see there were five people—two on horseback and three others walking beside them. It was too few to be the brethren returning and too many for it to be her father and Matthew and Nathan.

  She turned away, the pain knifing through her. She would go home. Better to sit in the cabin staring at the chinked walls and rough-cut furniture than to feel this constant leaping and then dashing of her hopes. But she didn’t move. Finally she turned back to look at the figures again. The low sun was at her back, but she still raised one hand to shade her eyes.

  Then suddenly she was staring. They were about two hundred yards away now. The lead horse had a white blaze on its face, just like the sorrel mare that her father owned. She took a step forward, going up on tiptoe, as if that might help her see better. The man riding that horse sat tall and straight and wore a large straw hat.

  “Papa!” she whispered. She didn’t dare believe. She told herself her eyes were playing tricks on her. They had done it before. But she shook it off. This time there was something unmistakably familiar about the man. It was her father.

 
; She started walking now, at first slowly, then more swiftly. The man walking closest to the horses was Nathan. And beside him was Matthew. She was almost certain now. Suddenly she stopped, staring, her heart leaping. The person beside Matthew was short and slender. She leaned forward. It was Peter!

  Her eyes jumped back to the second horseman. She barely dared to breathe. Then, with a cry of joy, Rebecca broke into a run, waving. The figure on the second horse had straightened now in the saddle and one arm came up and waved. Then the sound came floating toward her on the late afternoon air. “Becca! Becca!”

  * * *

  Mary Ann laid the bandage back across Derek’s forehead and tied it into place. “It’s going to scar.”

  He pulled a face. “I know.” Then, turning to Rebecca, he grinned. “That won’t make you change your mind about me, will it?”

  Seeing the ugly gash in Derek’s forehead had made Rebecca sick to her stomach. She shook her head, forcing a wan smile.

  Now he looked genuinely concerned. He lifted the arm that was in the sling. “It is going to make a difference to her, Mother Steed. Your daughter doesn’t want a broken-down husband.”

  Rebecca moved over to the bench where Derek was sitting. She sat down next to him, slipped an arm through his good arm, and laid her head against his shoulder. “Please don’t joke about it, Derek. Every time I think about what happened to you . . .” She gave a little shudder.

  He put his arm around her, sobering. “It’s all right, Rebecca. It’s over now.”

  “Is it?” she cried.

  No one answered. Benjamin stared at his hands. Matthew looked at Peter, then away. Mary Ann was watching her husband. Finally, Benjamin looked up. “Joseph is still up north. He’s going to hold a meeting tomorrow at noon in Di-Ahman with a delegation of some of the county officials—there are some cooler heads in the county. They’ll try and work out some kind of truce.”

  He smiled at his daughter with great tenderness. “The brethren wanted us to wait and come home with them tomorrow, but we decided you and your mother would be very anxious to receive the news that everything was all right.”