The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  He removed her hand. “Really?” he said. “You think it’s all right?”

  She went up on tiptoes and kissed him quickly. “Really. It’s wonderful, Derek. And thank you for not making me wait to move in.”

  * * *

  Joshua groaned and rolled over in bed, burying his head deeper in the pillow. Caroline shook him again. “Joshua, someone’s knocking.”

  He came up on one elbow, realizing it was a knocking from downstairs that had awakened him. Someone was pounding heavily on their front door, and whoever it was, they weren’t going to go away.

  He sat clear up, peering at the clock on the wall. It was eighteen minutes after seven. He groaned again. After they had returned from Far West, he had been home only three days before leaving for Springfield, Missouri, about a hundred and seventy-five miles south of Independence. There he had picked up four wagonloads of deer, elk, and cow hides for the new tannery. The round trip had taken a full seventeen days, and he had not arrived back at Independence until late the previous evening.

  Caroline nudged him again. “Hurry, Joshua, or they’re going to wake Savannah.”

  Nodding, still grumbling to himself, he swung his feet out of bed, grabbed his pants from the chair where he had tossed them a few hours previously, and pulled them on as he hopped his way across the room.

  “I’m comin’!” he muttered as he stomped down the stairs, combing through his hair with his fingers. “I’m comin’.”

  The man outside—and he could see it was a man through the thinness of the curtains—evidently heard his footsteps on the stairs, for now the pounding stopped. Still barefoot and shirtless, Joshua walked to the front door and yanked it open. He was not in much of a mood for visitors.

  Outside, the sun was bright and about two hours high in the sky. Joshua had to squint a little to make out who it was. Then he recognized the familiar figure. “Cornwell?” he said.

  Obadiah Cornwell, once Joshua’s yard foreman and now his full partner in the freight business, nodded. “Mornin’, Joshua.”

  Joshua blew out his breath and stepped back, opening the door wider and motioning for Cornwell to come in. “Can’t a man even have one day off?”

  Cornwell ignored that, took his hat off, and followed Joshua inside. He was dressed as though he were ready for church, but then, that was how Cornwell always dressed. When Joshua had brought him in as a full partner in the business, Cornwell’s dressing habits had changed dramatically. He didn’t want people remembering he had once wrangled horses, cleaned stables, and manhandled freight into the wagon beds. He wore a well-tailored jacket and trousers, white shirt, cravat at the collar, and hand-tooled boots.

  He tossed his hat on the table and walked to the center of the room. “Sorry to bother you so early, Joshua. What time did you get in?”

  “It was after one by the time we got the horses cared for and I got to bed.”

  Cornwell’s face was somber as he reached inside his coat and withdrew a folded paper. He held it out for Joshua. “This came late yesterday. I thought you’d want to see it as soon as possible.”

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later when Caroline heard the front door close again, she came out of the bedroom, tying her robe around her, and went to the stairs. From the landing she could see Joshua sitting in a chair, staring at a sheet of paper.

  “Joshua?”

  He looked up.

  She started down the stairs. “Was that Obadiah?”

  “Yes.” He folded the paper and laid it in his lap.

  “What did he want so early?” And then she saw his face more clearly. “What is it?” she asked in alarm. “What’s the matter?”

  “You’d better come sit down,” he said softly.

  Feeling a quick chill, she hurried across the parlor and sat in the chair beside him. “What is it, Joshua? What’s wrong?”

  For several moments, he didn’t answer; then finally he picked up the paper and unfolded it slowly. “This came yesterday. From Jefferson City. It’s signed by Lilburn W. Boggs.”

  “The governor? But what is it?”

  He lifted it, and his eyes scanned the top few lines. His voice was low and filled with pain. “It’s from the adjutant general’s office and dated two days ago, August thirtieth. It’s addressed to General David R. Atchison, commander of the Third Division of the Missouri militia.”

  She was completely baffled. “The militia?”

  Joshua lifted the paper higher and started to read, slowly and with some emotion. “ ‘Sir—Indications of Indian disturbances on our immediate frontier, and the recent civil disturbances in the counties of Caldwell, Daviess, and Carroll, render it necessary, as a precautionary measure, that an effective force of the militia be held in readiness to meet either contingency.’ ”

  Open fear registered in Caroline’s eyes now. “The Indians? Has there been more trouble?”

  “Yes.”

  One hand came up to her mouth. Like many other residents of western Missouri, Caroline had a deep paranoia about the Indian tribes living just to the west of them. In the earlier part of the decade, Congress had passed a law setting up what was called Indian Territory. It was just beyond the western borders of the United States. That was only ten or twelve miles away from Independence. The government moved tens of thousands of the native populations westward to make way for white settlers. It was an unnatural and forcible resettlement, and the Indians had not taken well to it. Intertribal clashes were frequent, and sometimes the anger exploded against the whites who oppressed them. In an incident just a week earlier, a trading post had been burned and the Indian agent killed before the soldiers had arrived to quell the uprising. Joshua had deliberately avoided telling Caroline about it.

  “Is there any chance they’ll break out of the reservation?” she asked with a little shudder.

  Joshua blew out his breath. “Caroline, this is not about the Indians. At least, not very much.”

  “It’s not? But it said—”

  He jerked up the paper again, waving it at her half angrily. “It said Indian disturbances and recent civil disturbances in Caldwell, Daviess, and Carroll counties.”

  For a moment it still didn’t click; then in a flash, understanding dawned. The horror that leaped across her face now was worse than the first. “The Mormons?” she whispered.

  He nodded slowly.

  Now she was very intent. “Read it again, Joshua,” she demanded.

  Wearily he lifted the paper and started again, this time reading more slowly. “ ‘Sir—Indications of Indian disturbances on our immediate frontier, and the recent civil disturbances in the counties of Caldwell, Daviess, and Carroll, render it necessary, as a precautionary measure, that an effective force of the militia be held in readiness to meet either contingency. The Commander-in-Chief therefore orders that you cause to be raised immediately, within the limits of your division, to be held in readiness, and subject to further orders, four hundred mounted men, armed and equipped as infantry or riflemen, and formed into companies according to law, under officers already in commission.’ ”

  He stopped, not looking up at her.

  “Officers already in . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish it.

  Still not meeting her eyes, he continued. “ ‘The Commander-in-Chief suggests the propriety of your causing the above to be carried into effect, in a manner calculated to produce as little excitement as possible, and report your proceedings to him through the Adjutant General.’ It’s signed by order of Governor Boggs.”

  For a long time after Joshua finished and put the paper back on the table, they both sat there. Finally, Caroline straightened. She had pushed her emotions back to the point where she could begin to think more clearly. “So,” she asked calmly, “is it just a bluff to frighten the Mormons, or do you think they’ll actually take the field against them?”

  It was a question that had come to Joshua’s mind as well. He was sorely tempted to soften it for her, but he was fighting a
cold fear of his own and knew he was going to need her to help him work through it. “Similar letters have been sent to Samuel D. Lucas and five other generals of the militia. That’s seven altogether. If they’ve been asked to raise what Atchison has, that’s nearly three thousand men.”

  She shuddered at that, but then, still composed, asked again. “But will they take the field against the Mormons?”

  He stood up and began to pace slowly, his eyes concentrated in thought. “As you know, Governor Boggs is a resident of Jackson County. What you may not know is, when the troubles here erupted in ’33, Boggs was right in the middle of it. He was lieutenant governor then, and had to keep a low profile about it, but he was here, whipping us up and goading us on.”

  “I had heard that,” Caroline said. Then with a trace of asperity she added, “I also heard that he benefitted quite handsomely by taking over some of the abandoned properties.”

  Joshua shrugged. It was true, but Boggs wasn’t the only one. There were others. Joshua himself had been offered a choice parcel because of his role in the matter, but he had turned it down. In his mind he had a picture of Jessica and Rachel being driven across a sleet-covered prairie, and somehow profiting from that had seemed obscene.

  Yes, the Mormons were hated. But their property was also coveted. And the worthless land of the northern counties had now become rich and productive farmland. Greed had a wonderful way of fueling the fires of hate.

  He stopped his pacing and turned to Caroline. “The point is, Boggs is a real Mormon-hater. Lucas too.”

  So was Joshua Steed. Once. But Caroline didn’t say what was in her mind. Thankfully things had changed. There still was no deep affection for the Mormons per se, but now Joshua’s family was involved. And that changed everything.

  Joshua was still talking. “The old settlers up north are stirring things up.” He shook his head. “That talk we heard on the Fourth of July isn’t helping any. I warned Joseph that it was gonna mean trouble. And that affidavit signed by that man from Daviess County. I’m sure Boggs has seized on that and the Indian problems as an excuse to do whatever he wants.”

  “You can’t go,” Caroline said quietly.

  Joshua’s head came up slowly.

  “You can’t, Joshua,” she said, standing now too. “How can you be part of something in which you end up fighting against your own family?”

  “You think this is a matter of choice?”

  “I don’t care whether it’s a matter of choice or not. You can’t do this, Joshua.”

  This was the very thing that had hit him the hardest when he had first read the letter to General Atchison. He walked over and took her by the shoulders. “Caroline, you don’t understand. I hold a commission in the militia. If the governor activates that militia, no one is going to ask me if I feel all right about it. I am duty bound to comply.”

  “Figs on your duty!” Caroline cried. “This is your family, Joshua. You can’t do it!” Suddenly her eyes brightened as a thought struck her. “Go on a trip, Joshua. Go to St. Louis.” Her mind was racing now. “Or better, take that wagon train to Santa Fe you talked about. I know I told you I didn’t want you to go, but I’ve changed my mind. Take it. It’s the perfect excuse. And by the time you get back, hopefully it will all be over.”

  He gripped her shoulders more tightly. “Caroline, listen to me. You weren’t here in ’33 and ’34. You don’t know how deeply the feelings against the Mormons run. And now, everyone in town knows about my family. If I leave . . . If they think I’m running out on them . . .” He let her go, stepping back, shaking his head.

  “What?” she asked, already sensing what he was saying.

  “You wouldn’t be safe.”

  That shocked her deeply, but almost instantly she knew he was right. Down deep—and it terrified her to know it—she knew he was exactly right. “Then we’ll all go to Savannah,” she burst out in a rush again. “You need to check on the cotton crop for next year. It’s been a long time since—”

  “It’s too late for that now, Caroline,” he said sharply. Then more gently, “And you know it.”

  She took his hands now, looking up into the bleakness of his gaze. “How can you, Joshua? How can you possibly do this?”

  His shoulders sagged, and the lines around his mouth were deep. “General Atchison is friendly to the Mormons. He and Alexander Doniphan are both lawyers. Doniphan holds a general’s commission too. They defended Joseph Smith and the Church during the Jackson County troubles. Maybe I can get assigned to one of their divisions.”

  Finally he looked at her. “I think Joseph and the Mormons”—he took a quick breath—“and my family are going to need all the friends in the militia they can get.”

  Chapter Notes

  The two documents cited in this chapter—the affidavit signed by William Peniston and the letter activating units of the Missouri militia—are quoted almost exactly as given in Joseph’s record (see HC 3:60–62, 65).

  Details about the actual troubles in Indian Territory are not given in the historical records, so the mention of the burning of the trading post and the death of an agent is the author’s creation. But we do know that the Missourians were very sensitive about the dangers of living that close to the Indians and that Governor Boggs capitalized on that fear to call out the militia against the Mormons.

  Chapter 10

  Under date of Saturday, September 1, 1838, Joseph Smith, Jr., President and prophet of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, had his scribe make the following entry in Joseph’s journal history: “There is great excitement at present among the Missourians, who are seeking if possible an occasion against us. They are continually chafing us, and provoking us to anger if possible, one sign of threatening after another, but we do not fear them, for the Lord God, the Eternal Father is our God, and Jesus the Mediator is our Savior, and in the great I Am is our strength and confidence.

  “We have been driven time after time, and that without cause; and smitten again and again, and that without provocation; until we have proved the world with kindness, and the world has proved us, that we have no designs against any man or set of men, that we injure no man, that we are peaceable with all men, minding our own business, and our business only. We have suffered our rights and our liberties to be taken from us; we have not avenged ourselves of those wrongs; we have appealed to magistrates, to sheriffs, to judges, to government and to the President of the United States, all in vain; yet we have yielded peaceably to all these things. We have not complained at the Great God, we murmured not, but peaceably left all; and retired into the back country, in the broad and wild prairies, in the barren and desolate plains, and there commenced anew; we made the desolate places to bud and blossom as the rose; and now the fiend-like race is disposed to give us no rest. Their father the devil, is hourly calling upon them to be up and doing, and they, like willing and obedient children, need not the second admonition; but in the name of Jesus Christ the Son of the living God, we will endure it no longer, if the great God will arm us with courage, with strength and with power, to resist them in their persecutions. We will not act on the offensive, but always on the defensive; our rights and our liberties shall not be taken from us, and we peaceably submit to it, as we have done heretofore, but we will avenge ourselves of our enemies, inasmuch as they will not let us alone.”

  * * *

  “Don’t open them, Mother. Pa, make sure she keeps her eyes closed.”

  Benjamin was standing behind his wife, so he reached up and put his hands over her already tightly closed eyes. “All right, son, she can’t see.”

  “What is it?” Mary Ann asked, laughing. “What are you doing?”

  Matthew pushed the door open wider and nodded at Brigham Young. “You just wait a moment, Ma,” he called, “then you can look.”

  Matthew and Brigham each took one end of the large chest, then lifted it up and walked it in quick little steps into the house.

  “Over there, by the sink,” Benja
min called.

  There was a heavy thump as they set it down. “What in the world?” Mary Ann exclaimed. “What is it?”

  “Just one more minute,” Matthew said. He stepped back, eyeing the chest to make sure it was lined up straight. He looked to his mentor. Brigham smiled and nodded. “All right, Ma,” Matthew said. “You can look now.”

  Benjamin dropped his hands and moved back. For a moment, Mary Ann stood there, blinking, trying to let her eyes adjust to the light again, then they flew wide open. “Oh,” she said softly.

  “Happy birthday, Ma,” Matthew said proudly. “I know I’m about a month early, but I couldn’t wait.”

  “Oh, Matthew, it’s beautiful.” The sunlight was coming through the window above the sink and lit the wood, making it gleam like satin. She walked over to the chest and ran her hand along the top.

  Matthew was instantly at her side. “Look inside.”

  Smiling at his excitement, she lifted the top. He had counterbalanced it and it came up easily in spite of its weight. Again there was a soft “Oh.” Inside, the chest had been partitioned off into a series of long, narrow compartments on one end. The other half had been blocked out into pigeonholes about three inches square.

  “Your plates go here,” Matthew said, pointing to the narrow slots. His hand moved to touch the other compartments. “And these will hold your cups.”

  She looked at him in wonder. “Matthew, this is wonderful. And you did this?”

  Brigham nodded instantly. “He’ll try and tell you I helped him, but all I really did was give him a suggestion or two here and there. This boy of yours did the rest.”

  Matthew dropped to one knee. The lower front of the chest had two drawers. He pulled the top one out. “And this one is big enough to hold your serving dishes.” He pushed it back in and pulled out the second drawer, which was deeper than the first. “And you can put tablecloths or towels in this one.” He moved the drawer in and out to show how smoothly it glided on its track.