Chapter 22
No!”
Derek and Benjamin had come around the smokehouse, approaching the cabin from the rear just to be certain it was safe. There were still a few of the militia in town, and so the returning men were taking no chances. Lucas had marched the brethren back into town, then finally released them around noon, warning them that the city was surrounded and that no one was allowed to leave. But as the Mormon men raced homeward it was obvious they were too late to make any difference. Now as Derek and Benjamin rounded the cabin, they came face-to-face with the reaping machine. Benjamin stopped in midstride, gaping at the wreckage before him.
Derek was staring too. The wood panels that formed the sides were splintered and scarred. All but one of the crossbars on the paddle wheel were broken, some in three or four places. Even the seat had deep, ugly scars in the metal.
Half-dazed, Benjamin walked slowly to the battered and broken machine. The place where his name had been burned into the wood had become a particular focus of the axman’s rage, and only one or two letters were even legible. Shaking his head, he reached out his hand, gingerly, slowly, as if he were afraid to touch it.
Frightened now, both of them moved quickly to the back door of the cabin. They stopped, shocked by the shambles that lay before them inside. “Oh,” Benjamin said. It was a low sound filled with immense pain.
Derek felt his stomach twist. “Look!” he whispered. He was pointing to a congealed reddish brown puddle on the floor near the table. Someone’s boot had stepped in one edge of the puddle, then tracked across the floor.
In three steps Derek was to the root cellar. He yanked back the door that covered it. It came as no surprise that it was empty. Grimly, he turned to survey the room. But at that moment, they heard a child’s cry. Both of them jerked around. It had come through the front door of the cabin.
“Grandpa! Grandpa!” The front door flew open and young Joshua burst into the room.
“Joshua?” Benjamin’s cry was a strangled sob of joy.
The boy flew into his arms, nearly bowling him over. “Grandpa! Grandpa!”
“Joshua, where’s Grandma? Where’s your mother?”
The head tipped back and the dark eyes looked up. “At our house.”
The rush of relief almost made Benjamin giddy.
“Are they all right?” Derek demanded. “What about Rebecca?”
“Yes. Everyone’s there.” He took his grandfather’s hand. “Come on, Grandpa. They sent me to get you.”
“What happened here, Joshua?”
A look of terror flashed across the young face. Then he shook his head. “Come home, Grandpa. Come home.”
* * *
“If Joshua hadn’t come . . .” Mary Ann shuddered and looked down at her hands. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “But he did, thanks be to God.”
Benjamin was standing over Peter. He had the boy’s head tipped back and was examining the monstrous lump over his eye. It was brown and black and greenish blue. “You’re gonna have a whoppin’ headache for a while, son,” Benjamin said softly.
Peter managed a fleeting smile. His face was still as pale as the bleached buffalo bones one found on the prairies. He looked very sick. Suddenly Benjamin reached out and pulled the boy to him, crushing him to his bosom with a fierceness that made Peter wince. “You were a man today, Peter. You . . .” He couldn’t make his voice say it. He just shut his eyes against the burning in them and clung to his foster son. “Thank you,” he finally whispered. “Thank you, dear Peter.”
Benjamin stepped back and turned to Jessica. Rachel was standing next to her mother, holding Jessica’s wounded hand as if to comfort her. Benjamin moved to her. She too had a dark lump, but hers was high on her left cheek. “As if you had not already been through enough,” he seethed. “What kind of animal was he?”
“An animal,” Lydia said simply. “And if Joshua hadn’t come . . .” No one seemed to be able to finish that thought. The rest of it was too horrible to put into words.
“Did Joshua get away, then?” Derek said. He was on the small sofa, which had been ripped and slashed until the fabric barely hung together. Rebecca sat beside him, her head on his shoulder. He held her tightly.
Mary Ann’s shoulders rose and fell in a quick shrug. “We hope so. He left here once he was sure we were all right. He said he was going straight back to Independence. He’s going to get Caroline and the children and head for St. Louis.”
“That may not be far enough,” Benjamin said. “Not after what he’s done to his own people here.” He looked around the room. Nathan and Lydia’s cabin was not nearly as vandalized as Benjamin’s, but it was still a mess. “We’re going to have to let Joshua worry about himself right now. It will be dark in an hour. We’d better start straightening up, see if we can find any food, and enough bedding for all of us. And no one goes back to our cabin. No one!”
Suddenly remembrance dawned with Derek. “Where are the Haddocks and the Godfredtsons?” These were the other families who had been staying in Nathan and Lydia’s cabin.
Lydia stepped forward. “We don’t know. When we came back here, they were nowhere to be found. Brother Haddock came a few minutes ago looking for them. That’s how we learned you were free.”
Benjamin nodded briskly. If the other families came back, they’d worry about what to do then. Derek touched Rebecca’s cheek softly. “I’m going to see if I can find any food they missed.” He shook his head, the anger burning inside him as he looked around. “The city is sealed off,” he said gently. “We’re going to have to make do with whatever we have.”
* * *
It was shortly past midnight when Hyrum Smith felt someone shaking his shoulder. He was lying on the cold, damp grass with nothing but his cloak for a covering, hugging himself tightly, trying to keep warm. His body was racked with chills and fever, and he felt very weak.
“Brother Hyrum!”
He sat up with a start, peering into the darkness. “Colonel Hinkle?”
“Shhh!” The colonel pressed a finger to his lips and leaned closer. “I don’t want to alarm the guards.”
“What? What is it?”
“I have some unfortunate news.”
Hyrum was totally awake now. “What news?”
“I’ve just come from the court-martial.”
“Court-martial? What court-martial?”
“For you and the other prisoners.”
Hyrum stared. “But we’re not in the army.”
“Lyman Wight is.” Then Hinkle waved the objection aside and went on. “Lucas called for a trial to determine what to do with you. We’ve been meeting for several hours now. There are a dozen or so officers, a judge, a district attorney, and a lot of other men. Lucas wants to have you all executed.”
There was a gasp from behind them, and Hyrum realized that Joseph was sitting up now too, as were Parley Pratt and Sidney Rigdon. Hinkle looked around, irritated that they had awakened. “I can do nothing for Joseph, but I’ve tried to speak in your behalf.” He shook his head. “But I fear I have not prevailed. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry, Colonel Hinkle?” Parley asked bitterly.
Ignoring that, Hinkle reached out and dug his fingers into Hyrum’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid you’re all to be shot this morning.”
And with that, he turned and hurried away, disappearing into the darkness. Hyrum felt as though he had been struck a blow. He turned and looked to Joseph, eyes wide and frightened. The other prisoners crawled closer, their faces white now too. Joseph looked at his brother, then at the others. “Brethren,” he finally said calmly, “perhaps we should pray.”
* * *
“General Doniphan, sir?” The aide spoke even as he stepped inside the tent. He clasped a piece of paper tightly in one hand.
Alexander Doniphan was on his feet instantly. “Ah, there you are, Johnson. What is it?”
“General, I’ve just come from the court-martial proceeding
s.”
“What! Are they still holding that farce?”
“Yes, sir.” The man licked his lips nervously. “There’s been a verdict, sir.”
“Verdict!” Doniphan exploded. “Confound it, man, how can there be a verdict? These men are all civilians except for Wight. They must be tried by a civil tribunal.” Doniphan was a lawyer. On two different occasions now, he had represented Joseph Smith and the Mormons against the trumped-up charges filed against them. Lucas was a fool. A court-martial? It was pure lunacy.
“Sir,” the man said, stepping forward and holding out the paper. “Here’s an order. I was asked to deliver it to you.”
“An order?” Frowning deeply, Doniphan took the paper. He half turned so that the light from his lantern would catch the paper more fully, and began to read aloud. “‘Brigadier-General Doniphan. Sir: You will take Joseph Smith and the other prisoners into the public square of Far West, and shoot them at 9 o’clock tomorrow morning.’” He looked up, shocked. “It’s signed, Samuel D. Lucas, Major-General, Commanding.”
“Yes, sir,” Johnson said in a trembling voice. “That was the decision of the court-martial, sir.”
Doniphan was appalled. “They can’t do that! There’s been no trial. No formal charges. The prisoners have had no chance to defend themselves.” He swore. “As if any of that matters to Lucas.”
For a moment Doniphan stood there, fuming. Then rising to his full height, he turned to his aide. “Take a note.”
The man jumped to the small table and sat down, reaching for the pen and inkwell. “Ready, sir,” he said when he had the pen in his hand.
“To Samuel D. Lucas, Major-General, Commanding. Sir: It is cold-blooded murder. I will not obey your order. My brigade shall march for Liberty tomorrow morning, at 8 o’clock; and if you execute these men, I will hold you responsible before an earthly tribunal, so help me God.”
The aide was looking at him in shock. Doniphan nodded grimly. “Sign it, A. W. Doniphan, Brigadier-General.”
* * *
Matthew pulled back from his face the blanket of his bedroll, instantly feeling the chill of the night air against his cheeks. “What are you doing?” he whispered.
Nathan jumped, then turned around quickly, holding a finger up to his lips. Matthew tossed the blanket aside and rolled into a sitting position. Even though they had reached Iowa Territory now, they hadn’t dared light a fire, and it was so dark he could barely make out Nathan’s shape. Then Matthew jerked forward as he realized what Nathan was doing. “Where are you going?” he hissed.
Nathan gave the rawhide straps around his bedroll a hard yank, then crawled over to his younger brother and put his face close to his ear. “I’m going back.”
“What?”
“Shhh!” he said, punching Matthew on the arm. “Don’t wake the others.”
Matthew grinned. “I’m going with you.”
“No!” Nathan shoved his face up close to Matthew’s. “I’ve got a wife and four children back there. I’ve thought about it all night. I’m going back.”
“I’m going too,” Matthew said stubbornly.
Nathan went up on his knees in front of him. He shook a finger under his nose. “You heard Pa! You’ll be arrested. Tried for murder. Maybe even executed.”
“And what about you? It’s the same for you.”
Nathan sat back on his heels. “I’m just going to have to be very careful. Stay low for a while. Maybe I can take Lydia and the children somewhere.” Now it was his voice that turned stubborn. “I’m not running.”
Nathan stood, wiping his hands on his pants. “Now, go back to bed. Tell the others in the morning. Tell them not to feel bad. It’s right, what they’re doing.” He looked away. “Just not for me.”
Matthew didn’t move. “I mean it, Matthew,” Nathan said menacingly. “Get back in your bedroll. Pa will be furious if I bring you back and you get arrested.”
Reluctantly, Matthew crawled back in. He watched in the darkness as Nathan finished gathering his things, then pulled on his boots and stood up. He paused for one moment, looming over Matthew. There was a faint blur of white as he waved a hand, then he disappeared into the blackness.
Matthew counted slowly to thirty. Then, scrambling frantically, he was out of his blankets and rolling his things together. One minute after that, he had his boots on and stood up. He jumped as there was a soft rustle in the grass and a dark figure was at his side. “I knew it,” Nathan hissed.
“I’m going!” Matthew droned stubbornly. Then it hit him what Nathan had done. “Why’d you come back?”
Nathan stood there for a long moment, then reached out and put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. There was a long sigh of resignation. “I came back to get you.”
Matthew felt a shot of elation, but he just nodded soberly. “Good. Let’s go. We’ve got about five or six hours till dawn.”
Nathan didn’t move. “This is crazy, you know,” he finally said.
Matthew chuckled softly. “I’ve been accused of that before. But you, you’re always the one who’s so steady and logical.” He punched him softly on the arm. “Welcome aboard.”
* * *
Friday, November second, turned out cold and gray. Sometime during the night, the wind had shifted around and started blowing from the north, dropping the temperature ten or fifteen degrees. Now, about an hour after full light, the sky, from horizon to horizon, had no break. And the first drops of what promised to be a steady drizzle were starting to fall.
Derek stood on the porch, gazing out toward the west, forcing himself to keep his thoughts on something other than the day that awaited them. There was a soft noise behind him and he turned. It was his wife. “I didn’t know you were awake.”
She smiled and slipped her arm around his waist. “I was awake when you got out of bed.”
He pinched her arm gently. “Faker. You could have fooled me.”
She laughed softly. It was like music to him. He peered into her face. The haunted look was gone. The lines around her mouth had smoothed. The dimple that had that magical way of appearing in one cheek was back. Relieved beyond measure, he leaned down and kissed her quickly.
“What’s that for?”
“Because I love you.”
“Mmm. Do it again.”
He complied. When he pulled back, the smile slowly faded. “I’m going to go see Mary this morning.”
Derek immediately started shaking his head. “No, Becca.”
She went up on tiptoe, letting her fingertip press the frown from his lips. “Yes, Derek.”
“All the men have to be present to sign over our property. The town will be filled with Missourians. Until that’s over, it’s not safe. I don’t want you out.”
The brethren were scheduled to appear at the public square at eight o’clock this morning. This was another of the conditions agreed to by Colonel Hinkle in his surrender terms with Lucas. The Mormons would make “reparation” for the expenses of the war. It was a thin veneer for what would amount to a monumental grab of some of Missouri’s prime farmland, along with livestock, homes, outbuildings, and anything else of value that was left from the previous day’s rampage. Lucas had promised that if the Mormons cooperated, he would keep his men under control, but Lucas’s promises had begun to ring a little hollow. Derek looked at his wife. “It’s not safe, Becca,” he repeated. “I don’t want you out.”
Rebecca’s jawline tightened a little. “I’m not going ‘out.’ I’m just going over to help a dear friend whose husband has been arrested and taken prisoner, who has several children, including a year-old baby to care for, and who is ready to deliver a child, and who—”
“Becca!” Derek started, shaking his head. The fear in him raised his voice more sharply than he intended.
She clamped her hand over his mouth. “And who,” she went on as if he hadn’t interrupted her, “is very sick herself.” She took her hand away and kissed him quickly. “Now, don’t you think with all that, Mary
needs help?”
“Of course, but—”
She sobered, holding up one hand. “And what about Mary Ann Pratt? They tore her home to pieces yesterday. Ripped the roof right off it. Now she’s in a ten-foot hovel that’s barely fit for a litter of pigs, and no husband to help either. Mother is going to see if she can help her.”
“No, Becca. No!” He spoke slowly, enunciating his words as if she had a hearing impairment. “It . . . is . . . not . . . safe!”
She stepped around so that she was directly in front of him. Reaching out, she took both of his hands. “Listen to me, Derek.” Her eyes were instantly shining. “Yesterday? It was horrible. More terrible than you can ever imagine. But the Lord was there, Derek. The Lord answered our prayers. He protected us. If Joshua had been even a minute later . . .” She shuddered. One tear squeezed out and trickled down her cheek. “But he wasn’t. And I’m all right today. I’m fine! And because I’m all right, I’m going to go and help those who weren’t quite so fortunate as me. Do you understand?”
He began to nod slowly.
“This is my way of saying thank you to the Lord. And I can’t wait until things are all wonderful again to do that.” Her voice dropped to a small whisper. “Because even if I start this morning, and spend the rest of my life doing it, it won’t be enough.” She reached up and brushed away the tear with the back of her hand. “It won’t be nearly enough.”
* * *
General Doniphan’s departure caused no small stir in the camp on Goose Creek. As his men formed up, Doniphan strode over to where the seven Mormon prisoners stood watching. The light rain had begun, and his boots made soft squishing noises in the prairie grass. One of the guards raised his rifle, as though to prevent him, but Doniphan shouldered it aside roughly, swearing at the man. He came directly to Joseph. There was no greeting, no salutation. His mouth was working, and it was clear that he was in a high state of agitation. “Mr. Smith,” he began abruptly, “you and the others have been sentenced by the court-martial to be shot this morning. But I will be damned if I will have the honor of it or any of the disgrace of it. Therefore I have ordered my brigade to take up the line of march and to leave the camp as a protest. I consider it to be cold-blooded murder, and I shall do all I can to prevent it. I bid you farewell.”
The Work and the Glory Page 184
