“And what about the baby?” There was doubt in her voice now.
That was easy. “The consumption finally leaves. She gets stronger and healthier. What could be more natural? Finally, she is well enough to conceive and have a child.”
“Hmm.” She felt a strange sense of disappointment that it made sense to her. But then another thought came. “But Lydia said that when Nathan came home that night, he told her about Brother Kimball’s prophecy, exactly as Nathan described it. So it’s not just Nathan’s memory tricking him.”
Joshua fought down the temptation to be sarcastic. He sensed his wife was struggling with this and that if he made light of it, it might come back to bite him. “Did Brother Kimball actually say that someone in England would come and marry Rebecca?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Did he even say that this promise to the family would have anything to do with Rebecca?”
“No.”
“See, that’s what I mean. I don’t doubt but what something was said, but that’s the point. This prophecy”—he pronounced the word with just a touch of derision—“was so general that it’s possible to put almost any kind of interpretation on it. Especially two years after the fact, when it’s hard to remember exactly what was said.” He paused for a moment, and when she didn’t answer, he asked, more softly now. “Does that make sense, Caroline?”
There was silence for some time, then a soft sigh. “Yes, it does.”
He reached out and touched her cheek. “That doesn’t make it any less wonderful that Derek and Rebecca found each other. I’m still really happy for them.”
“I know,” she murmured. “So am I.” She squeezed his hand and then turned onto her side, half away from him. She didn’t want to pursue it further. What Joshua said made sense. In a way it was easier to believe his interpretation than to believe what Nathan and Lydia believed. But nevertheless she couldn’t shake off a sense of loss. She wished she had not started the conversation.
After some time she turned back. “Good night, Joshua,” she murmured.
There was no answer. This time he really was asleep.
Chapter Notes
Cyrus Hall McCormick successfully demonstrated his new harvesting machine in 1831. In 1834 he patented an improved model and began manufacturing it. Many historians mark this as the beginning of the mechanical revolution in agriculture. It came at a time when the vastness of the Great Plains was opening up to settlement and when fields of wheat, far too large for one man to harvest them, started to become commonplace. McCormick was a millionaire by the time he was forty.
The blessing given by Heber C. Kimball to Parley P. Pratt was treated in detail in chapter 4 of Truth Will Prevail, the third volume of this series. Parley’s account of it is found in his autobiography (see PPP Auto., p. 110).
Chapter 9
Are you sure you can’t stay long enough to see Pa use that reaper for the first time?”
Joshua was reaching under the horse’s belly and cinching the girth strap that snugged down the shaft tugs. He gave it one last pull, then looked up. “I’d like to, but even with you and Matthew helping, he’ll be lucky to have it assembled by dark tonight. That means you won’t be able to try it until tomorrow at the earliest.”
Without thinking, Nathan immediately said, “Tomorrow is the Sabbath. Pa won’t work on the Sabbath.”
“Exactly,” Joshua said. “That means it will be Monday before he can try it out. We just can’t wait that long.” He moved around to the off horse and began the final check of the harnessing there. “We’ll be back in a couple of weeks. I’ve got that load of hardware going to St. Joseph. I promised I’d let Matthew and young Joshua go with me.” He finished and gave the horse a pat on the rump. “Well, that’s it. Let’s see if Mother has the food packed, then we’d best be leaving.”
Nathan had known what the answer would be before he asked Joshua to delay the departure. “Well, what’s most important, you were here for the wedding. That worked out so well.”
“Yes. We had no idea, of course, but it was perfect timing.”
Nathan went around to the front of the team to check the bridles and make sure the bits were comfortable in the horses’ mouths. As he did so, a movement caught his eye. A boy was coming toward them at a quick trot. Nathan stopped and straightened, squinting a little. It was Bishop Partridge’s oldest son. Joshua saw him now too and stopped what he was doing to watch.
“Brother Steed,” the boy called even before he was to them.
“Yes.”
“My pa said to come and fetch you quick. And Father Steed too.”
“What’s the matter?”
“A group of men from Daviess County just rode into town. They’re at the courthouse.”
Nathan’s jaw went slack, and there was a quick little jolt of fear. “Daviess County? Are they armed?”
“No,” the boy said quickly. “But they’ve brought a paper. It don’t look good. Pa wants as many men as I can find to come quick.”
* * *
The boy hadn’t gotten it quite right. The group of men who had ridden into Far West were from Ray County, to the south of Caldwell County. But they came in behalf of the citizens in Daviess County. Unfortunately, Joseph Smith and some of the other leading brethren weren’t there to meet them. A group of Saints from Canada, supposedly on their way to Far West, had decided to stop and settle at DeWitt, down on the Missouri River. That was contrary to Joseph’s counsel, and he and some other leaders had left that morning to go to DeWitt and straighten the matter out.
By the time Benjamin, Nathan, Derek, and Joshua arrived at the building that served as the courthouse—Joshua said there was no way he was going to ride out of town when there might be trouble—there was a substantial group of brethren milling around in front of the building. Someone had brought a small table out, and Bishop Edward Partridge and a man Nathan did not recognize were sitting at it. Nathan also saw five or six others he didn’t know.
Newel Knight was standing near the table watching the proceedings. As the Steed men arrived he leaned over and said something to Bishop Partridge. The bishop nodded, retrieved a piece of paper that sat in front of him, and handed it to Knight. Newel pushed his way through the surrounding crowd and came toward the three men.
“What’s going on, Newel?” Nathan asked.
“This!” Newel exclaimed as he waved the paper at them. “It’s an affidavit. Signed by William Peniston and three or four others.”
“Peniston!” Derek exploded in disgust.
“Who’s that?” Joshua asked his father.
“He’s the one who whipped up the mob at Gallatin,” Derek snorted.
Benjamin was grim. “He’s the cause of all the trouble.”
“That’s right,” Newel said, “so listen to what he has to say.” He held the paper out and began to read, squinting a little at the flowery handwriting. “ ‘On this day, the 10th of August, 1838, personally appeared before me, judge of the Fifth Judicial Circuit, the undersigned, William P. Peniston—’ ”
“Which judge is it?” Benjamin cut in.
“Austin King,” Newel replied.
“That explains a lot,” Nathan muttered. “He’s one of them too.”
Newel’s head bobbed once, then he went on. “ ‘The undersigned, William P. Peniston, makes oath that he has good reason to believe, and that he verily does believe, that there is now collected and embodied in the County of Daviess, a large body of armed men, whose movements and conduct are of a highly insurrectionary and unlawful character—’ ”
“Well, he’s right on that count!” Benjamin muttered. “Only that large body of armed men aren’t Mormons, they’re Missourians.”
Knight continued without comment. “ ‘That they consist of about five hundred men, and that they, or a part of them, to the number of one hundred and twenty, have committed violence against Adam Black—’ ”
“Adam Black?” Nathan cut in in surprise. “The man we asked to si
gn the petition?”
“The same,” Newel Knight answered shortly. “And listen to this. ‘Have committed violence against Adam Black, by surrounding his house, and taking him in a violent manner, and subjecting him to great indignities, by forcing him, under threats of immediate death, to sign a paper of a very disgraceful character—’ ”
“That’s a lie!” Nathan said hotly to Joshua. “We were there. This was the day after the problems in Gallatin. We went to Black. Joseph had written a paper stating that as justice of the peace Black would see that our rights were protected. Black refused to sign it, but he offered to write one of his own. There were no threats against him. No force of any kind.” He turned and spat on the ground. “Threats of immediate death? That man’s a bald-faced liar.”
Joshua nodded, not saying anything. He believed his brother, that there were no overt threats on Black’s person, but he also knew that if a large body of hostile men—or men that you thought were hostile—rode up to your house, there was threat present whether it was intended or not. It didn’t surprise him that Black changed his tune once he felt safe.
Knight was too angry to continue. He shook the paper at the Steeds. “This says we are threatening violence on all the old settlers in Daviess, that we have threatened to put to instant death Peniston himself.” He shook his head, still not quite believing the audacity of the man. “He says that Joseph Smith and Lyman Wight are the leaders of this supposed army that is going to kill everyone. He says we’re going to take vengeance for”—he peered at the paper again, finding his place—“ ‘for some injuries, or imaginary injuries, done to some of their friends.’ ”
Derek reached up and lightly touched the ugly scab on his forehead. “That makes me feel better, to know this is just an imaginary injury.”
Knight lowered the paper, his eyes hooded and darkly troubled. “It’s signed by William Peniston and three others, and attested to by Judge King.” He gestured toward the table where the meeting was taking place. “The delegation from Ray County is here to demand that we answer these charges.”
Nathan was fuming. Derek’s fists were clenching and unclenching. He had been there at Gallatin. He knew as well as anyone how unjust these accusations were. Matthew was almost dancing, he was so indignant.
Joshua watched them, then spoke, choosing his words carefully. “This is an official affidavit and these are formal charges. You don’t have any choice but to answer them.” Then as they turned on him in amazement, he rushed on. “But you’ve got your own statement to make. You have witnesses who were there. You simply answer these charges with the truth.”
“You’re right, of course, Joshua,” Benjamin said grimly. “We have to answer.” He paused, then looked away. “But it’s been our experience that truth doesn’t buy too much for Mormons in Missouri.”
* * *
Benjamin reached down and picked up some dirt from the first furrow of the wheat field. He rubbed it slowly between his fingers. The last three days had been hot and dry. Any vestiges of the heavy rains that had blanketed Missouri a week ago were completely gone now.
His eyes lifted to the sea of wheat that waved before him. All traces of green were gone now too. The grain stood like an undulating sea of golden brown. The heads on each stalk were full and starting to droop.
Trying not to look too proud, he turned to face the people who stood along the edge of his field. He was faintly surprised by the size of the crowd. It was as if it were another holiday. Most were from Far West, but somehow word had spread and Benjamin saw several from outlying settlements, including some who were not Mormons. There was a slight preponderance of men, but there were numerous women as well. Mary Fielding Smith was there with Hyrum. Vilate Kimball and Mary Ann Young had come with Heber and Brigham. Emma Smith was there with Joseph’s mother and one of his sisters. To Benjamin’s disappointment, Joseph had not returned from DeWitt and so would not be there to witness it.
Benjamin’s family stood together in a half circle around the reaper. Matthew hovered protectively, looking as though he might pop anyone who dared to touch it prematurely. The machine itself looked like an awkward and ungainly beast, and yet it also had a certain majesty about it. Two draft horses borrowed from Micah Staples, the owner of Far West’s one livery stable, were hitched to the reaper and were waiting, their heads down in patient surrender to the heat.
In spite of himself, Benjamin’s eyes were drawn to a wooden panel on the reaper. Joshua had given his father one more surprise, not discovered until they had the machine out of its crate. Neatly burned into the slat that ran directly in front of the iron driving seat were four words: “Property of Benjamin Steed.” He knew it was a worldly emotion, but each time he saw that, he felt a little thrill of pride.
Benjamin finally met the expectant gaze of the crowd. He let the dirt blow away now, then brushed his hands off against his trouser legs. “I think it’s ready,” he said simply. Mary Ann was watching him proudly. She smiled as he climbed slowly up into the seat and took the reins of the horses. An expectant hush fell over the group. He smiled briefly back at Mary Ann, then clucked softly, snapping the reins. Creaking slightly, the machine began to move.
Trying to keep his face impassive, he swung the horses around to face directly north. He already knew where he wanted to start and how he planned to transverse the field. Cutting wheat on the Sabbath might be against the Lord’s law, Benjamin had decided, but thinking about how to do it didn’t seem to qualify as work. So he had spent a great deal of time the previous afternoon working it all out in his mind.
The people walked alongside, talking animatedly now. Some were talking about what a wondrous day and age it was they lived in. Others were still skeptical, saying that even if it worked, it would be hard for any machine to beat what a good man with a sharp scythe could do. Benjamin paid them no mind. He lined the horses up so they would be on the sod for the first pass but would take the machine right along the edge of the wheat field. He was careful to leave a band of wheat along the edge. Joshua had warned him that the thick tangle of prairie growth could jam the blades or foul up the feeder wheel.
As the front of the machine reached the first of the stalks, Benjamin grabbed the engaging lever and pulled it toward him. Instantly the machine began to clatter as the metal blades along the front edge of the machine began sliding back and forth. It was like three dozen shears working in perfect synchronization. The round feeder wheel also began to turn. It was similar to the paddle wheel on a steamboat, only it was about six feet wide and the paddles were narrow boards. Its purpose was not to drive anything but simply to pull the wheat stalks evenly into the cutter blades.
A gasp went up, then shouts and cries. Benjamin did not turn. He was concentrating intently. This first pass was the most important, and he had to make certain he kept it straight along the edge. But he couldn’t help but dart glances downward. It was amazing. The wheat was falling in neat, even layers onto the conveyor system and moving through the machine and out the back.
At the end of the return pass, Benjamin stopped the horses. Slowly he dismounted, keenly aware of the silence of the crowd. Mary Ann came over quickly and took his hand. Together they turned and surveyed what he had done. In a twelve-foot swath, the wheat lay in even layers, waiting for someone to come gather it up and tie it into sheaves for the threshers.
“It’s amazing,” Mary Ann said softly. “It really works.”
He nodded in dazed wonder. What he had done in just two passes—three or four minutes total—would take a single man half a day to cut. Then, without a word, he turned, took Mary Ann by the shoulders, and kissed her soundly.
A cheer went up from the crowd and there was wild applause. Benjamin leaned over and put his mouth to Mary Ann’s ear. “I’ve got to write, Joshua,” he said. “I want to tell him all about it.”
* * *
The sun was low in the sky and seemed twice as large as it did at its zenith by the time Derek and Rebecca and Peter came around t
he shoulder of the small hill on the Wednesday after the wedding. Derek pulled up the horse, and the small wagon rolled to a stop. The wagon was borrowed from Heber Kimball. The horse had been given by the Pratts, the Youngs, the Kimballs, and the Smiths as their wedding present to the young couple. Derek still could hardly believe he now owned his own horse.
Peter, standing up in the back of the wagon, was already pointing. “There it is,” he cried in excitement. “That’s our place right there.”
Derek nodded, watching Rebecca closely for any signs of disappointment. The sod hut that stood on the hillside about twenty or thirty yards away suddenly seemed terribly small. The sunlight was coming from the west and backlighting the closest wall. For the first time Derek noticed how uneven the slabs of prairie sod were.
But there was no disappointment in Rebecca’s eyes. Her face lit up as she leaned forward, peering. “Oh, Derek, what a lovely setting.”
He looked around, greatly relieved. “It is lovely, isn’t it?” The valley of Adam-ondi-Ahman spread out before them, and the line of trees along the Grand River was a darker green against the valley crops. He lifted an arm in a sweeping motion. “Our land goes nearly to the top of the ridge, and then out to about where that large clump of grass is.”
She slipped her arm through his. “Our land,” she murmured. “I like the sound of that.” Then with excitement she nudged him. “Hurry, I want to see inside.”
Derek helped his bride from the wagon, then walked quickly to the door, which was made of rough slabs of lumber and hung on leather hinges. He took a quick breath and pushed it open, the anxiety clearly clouding his features. They stepped into the gloomy interior. “It’s not much yet,” he started. “I planned to do a lot of work during the winter when we can’t work the fields. The floor still needs some more smoothing, and we’ll have to get something to divide off a place for Peter to sleep. I was planning to have it all ready for you by spring and—”
She clamped her hand over his mouth, looking around. “The only thing this place needs is a woman’s touch. If you had waited until spring to marry me and bring me here, I’m not sure I could have saved it.”
The Work and the Glory Page 162
