She shook her head. “It must be awful for him,” she replied. “As far as he knows, his father is still dead.”
“The problem is, if he comes back to St. Louis he’s got that marshall waiting for him.”
Lydia dropped back to the bed and put her hands under her head. “I can’t believe that he really did it. Not Will. He wouldn’t shoot somebody down just like that.”
“That’s what Caroline says. She absolutely refuses to accept the fact that Will shot them.”
“What do you think?”
There was a pause, then a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think Will just walked in and shot them. There were signs of a struggle. A table was knocked over. And there was another pistol found at the scene as well. It had been fired once too.”
Lydia’s head came up sharply. “You didn’t tell me that. Maybe Will is wounded.”
“No, the only blood to be seen was around the two bodies.” He shook his head again. “I don’t know. Something went on in that warehouse, and we can’t figure out what. What I can’t believe is that Will had the courage to go against those two men. They were both animals. They’d shot his father. What in the world was he thinking of?”
“He’s blind with grief and shock. He and Joshua were so close.” Then Lydia didn’t want to think about that anymore. It was too depressing. “And Caroline and the girls were all right?”
“Yes, fine. Wonderful. She wouldn’t hear of not coming back with us to look for Will.”
“And what will they do now? They can’t go back to Jackson County?”
“No. Joshua has his businesses there in St. Louis with Samuelson and his other partners. Those two men are dead, so he thinks there’ll be no more problems from what happened here.”
“I’m so glad you stayed with him until you found Caroline,” Lydia said, changing tracks again. “I missed you terribly, but I would never have forgiven myself if you hadn’t gone.”
“Nor I myself,” he said. “Joshua’s leg makes it difficult for him to get around without someone there to see to things.”
They both lapsed into silence, occupied with their own thoughts. After a few minutes, his breathing began to deepen a little. She nudged him with her elbow. “See? I told you you were exhausted.”
“Well,” he admitted, “maybe more than I thought.”
“That’s all right, we’ll have all day tomorrow to talk.” She curled up against him, murmuring happily. “And the next day and the next and the next.”
“Mmm.”
She wasn’t sure if that was agreement or not. She went up on one elbow again. “Nathan?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t care where we go now,” she said with great soberness. “You’re here. I can face anything. Thank you for coming home.”
He didn’t answer her, just reached out and put his arm around her and pulled her close to him. He extended his one arm and she snuggled into it, laying her face against his shoulder. This was her favorite place with him when they were together. “I love you, Lydia,” he murmured.
“And I love you, Nathan Steed,” she whispered, blinking back the sudden tears that sprang from nowhere. “Go to sleep, my darling. I’ll be here when you awaken.”
* * *
On January 16, 1839, the First Presidency, signing themselves as “prisoners for Jesus’ sake,” wrote from Liberty Jail a letter to Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, the two senior Apostles in Far West. “Inasmuch as we are in prison,” they wrote, “for a little season, if need be, the management of the affairs of the Church devolves on you, that is the Twelve.” Further on in this letter they stated: “If we live, we live; and if we die for the testimony of Jesus, we die; but whether we live or die, let the work of God go on.” Also included were these words of encouragement: “Brethren, fear not, but be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. . . . Neither think it strange concerning the fiery trials with which we are tried, as though some strange thing had happened unto us. . . . Rejoice in your afflictions, by which you are perfected and through which the Captain of our Salvation was perfected also.”
The two Apostles had already taken much of the burden of leadership by default when the First Presidency had been arrested. With the arrival of the letter, they now had a mandate to act.
It was a sobering task. By this time, almost all of the Saints with any means to move had left Missouri. Wagons headed eastward almost every day. But there had been a massive gathering of Saints to northern Missouri during 1837 and 1838—some ten or twelve thousand—and even with hundreds of families already gone, there were still hundreds more to be moved.
Most of the remaining families were poor, some devastatingly so. As much as possible the Saints attempted to sell their lands and property to get enough cash or goods to make the removal possible, but they had little success. Much of their land had already been signed over at the point of the bayonet. Some Missourians did make purchases, but the conditions were not favorable to the Saints. Prime farmland sold for fifty cents an acre. One man sold forty acres for “a blind mare and a clock.” Most of the old settlers realized that all they had to do was be patient and they would get almost all of it anyway.
The care of the poor was the direct responsiblity of the Aaronic Priesthood, and therefore should have fallen under the direction of the Presiding Bishopric. But when Brigham tried to exercise the “management of the affairs of the Church” as asked by the First Presidency, he saw just how real the burden of leadership was. The Apostles called Bishop Edward Partridge in and asked how the Presiding Bishopric were going to see to the needs of the poor. Destitute himself, weary, and totally overburdened, Bishop Partridge hung his head. “I guess the poor are going to have to take care of themselves,” was all he said.
With the situation growing more desperate almost daily, Brigham called for a general meeting of the leading elders of the Church who were still in Missouri. They met together in council at the schoolhouse on the twenty-sixth of January. Resolutions were passed having to do with assessing the extent of the problem. A committee of seven was appointed to find out how many families were unable to remove themselves from the state, and to survey what means were still left in the Church that could be used to help. All agreed that it was “the duty of those who have to assist those who have not.”
On the twenty-ninth of that same month, the brethren reconvened.
* * *
Benjamin had been too ill to go to the first meeting, but he and Nathan and Derek were at the second. The meeting had barely gotten its first item of business over with when Brigham stood up. It was a somber occasion. Indications were that there were still hundreds of families needing assistance and very little available to provide it.
As Brigham stood slowly, the room instantly quieted. Everyone sensed in Brigham’s countenance a solemnity far greater than anything they had seen to date. Brigham was not a particularly tall man, standing only about five feet ten inches, and his face, still without beard, had a certain boyish quality about it. But those who knew him did not consider him boyish in any way. In Kirtland, Brigham had been so courageous in defense of the Prophet that he had finally been forced to flee to escape assassination. Here in Missouri he had been passed over when the majority of the leading brethren had been arrested by the militia in November, because he was not well known to the enemies of the Church. But such was no longer the case. Brigham was now the most-wanted man in Missouri, and whenever he was away from the city, he traveled in disguise. But if he was frightened by any of it, he gave not the slightest sign.
Nathan watched him closely. No wonder Joseph had named this man “the Lion of the Lord.” There had been a brief wave of panic when Joseph was taken. Who would lead the people through these terrible times? But those feelings had died quickly. Here was a leader who exuded confidence and who could build confidence in the Saints as well.
“Brethren,” Brigham said, leaning forward on the table, “we know that our situation is grave. T
herefore, I would propose a motion to the council.”
No one moved. Every eye was upon him. He let his eyes sweep across the faces. “I propose that we resolve this day to enter into a solemn covenant to assist each other to remove from this state, and that we resolve that we will never desert the poor who are worthy.”
“Second the motion!”
Nathan turned. He wasn’t sure if it was Heber Kimball or John Taylor who had cried out, but there was a quick chorus of assent from all.
“Thank you, brethren,” Brigham said, clearly pleased with the response.
Following some discussion, a committee of seven brethren was appointed to oversee the removal of the Saints from the state and the giving of assistance to those who needed it.
John Smith, uncle to the Prophet, had been assigned as chairman of the council. He stood now. “I propose that the secretary draft a document expressive of the sense of the covenant entered into this day.”
Twenty minutes later the secretary handed a paper to Brother Smith. He looked at it for a moment, seemed satisfied, then handed it to Brother Brigham. The Apostle read it carefully, nodding from time to time and making pleased rumbling sounds. “Very good,” he finally said, standing again. “May I enter the following into the minutes, and may we then allow all those who wish to join in this covenant to sign it as witness of their intent, thus enabling the committee of seven brethren to carry their business into effect more expeditiously.”
“Read it,” someone called out.
“Yes, read it,” Nathan joined in.
Brigham straightened, raising the paper in front of him. Again the room quieted until there was barely a sound. Then he started, his voice low and filled with pride. “‘We, whose names are hereunder written, do for ourselves individually hereby covenant to stand by and assist one another, to the utmost of our abilities, in removing from this state in compliance with the authority of the state; and we do hereby acknowledge ourselves firmly bound to the extent of all our available property—’”
Brigham stopped. Then his voice rose majestically until it shook the room. “‘Firmly bound to the extent of all our available property, to be disposed of by a committee who shall be appointed for the purpose of providing means for the removing from this state of the poor and destitute who shall be considered worthy, till there shall not be one left who desires to remove from the state.’”
Brigham lowered the paper and looked up. “It is dated Far West, Missouri, January twenty-ninth, 1839. There is a place for signatures of those who wish to subscribe to the foregoing.”
Uncle John Smith was on his feet instantly. “As chairman, I propose we accept the covenant, and should like to be the first to sign my name to it.”
Thirty-three men signed it at the meeting, including Benjamin and Nathan Steed and Derek Ingalls. Eighty more family heads signed it later the same day, and three hundred more the day following.
Chapter Notes
Amanda Smith’s experiences at Haun’s Mill were described in chapters 17 and 18 of the novel. Her later experience with prayer in the cornfield and Alma’s wonderful recovery are given by her son Willard in his account of the events there (see By Their Fruits, pp. 182–83). Alma later walked across the plains to Utah with his family and also served a mission to the Sandwich Islands (Hawaii). Although he did pad his trousers to cover the hole caused by the missing flesh, he suffered no pain or discomfort in his leg after it was healed.
The letter written from Liberty Jail by the First Presidency to Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball is given in its entirety in Heber C. Kimball’s biography (see LHCK, pp. 237–39).
Brigham’s actions following the First Presidency letter, including his call for a covenant to assist the poor, is historically correct. The covenant Brigham reads in the meeting is the actual covenant drafted during that January twenty-ninth meeting, though not all of the document is read here. (See HC 3:249–54.) Not all sources agree on the exact number of those who signed the covenant, though all put it at around four hundred. The numbers presented in the novel are as given by historian Leonard J. Arrington (see American Moses, p. 70).
Chapter 33
In mid-January, Emma Smith and Mary Fielding Smith went to Liberty to see Joseph and Hyrum. It was a dangerous journey under the best of circumstances, but Mary had still not recovered from the serious illness that had dogged her since before the birth of her baby. She had been bedridden now for over two months. But Hyrum had never seen little Joseph Fielding Smith, and Mary was adamant about accompanying Emma. So they had made a bed in the back of the wagon for her and the baby, and she and Emma went south.
In spite of the hardships of the nearly one-hundred-mile round-trip journey, it had been a wonderful boost to the women’s spirits, and they had returned much encouraged. While Emma and Mary were there, both Joseph and Hyrum had counseled their wives to leave the state as soon as possible. Also while they were there, a sympathetic sheriff had told them that as long as Emma was in the state of Missouri, Joseph’s enemies would never release him. When the two women returned and reported this information, the Committee on Removal held a meeting on February first and determined that their first priority would be to get the families of the First Presidency and of the other prisoners out of the state.
Emma had accepted that with some difficulty. She was always one to put her needs and desires last, but she had finally given in. A neighbor who had been especially caring for her and the children was leaving and offered to travel with her. Also, Stephen Markham, one of Joseph’s most trusted associates, said he would drive her wagon for her.
All this was going through Lydia Steed’s mind on the night of February sixth as she walked across town toward Emma’s home. Emma was supposed to leave in the morning, and Lydia had planned to be there to say good-bye. Then, just an hour ago, she had learned what had happened that day. Knowing Emma well, she knew Emma would be distraught, and so she had left the children with Nathan and come to see Emma. She walked swiftly, for it was nearly nine o’clock and Far West was still plagued from time to time with some of the bullies and local ruffians harassing the Saints, especially after dark.
Lydia shook her head. She wanted to be angry with the committee, but kept finding herself arguing in their behalf as often as she did Emma’s. This was a time in Far West when about the only thing that was not in short supply was hard decisions. It was just too bad that it had to put the needs of Emma and her family in direct conflict with the needs of Joseph’s parents. That would be especially hard on Emma.
This was the news Lydia had received a short time before. A few days ago, Joseph’s parents had found a wagon to carry what little belongings they had and start east. It was about that same time when the committee made the decision to give priority to the families of those at Liberty Jail. The Smiths actually had the wagon loaded and ready to depart when the committee showed up. Apologetic, but determined to follow the counsel given them, they indicated that Sidney Rigdon’s family was ready to leave and they needed the wagon the Smiths had gotten from the committee.
Disheartened, but taking it pretty much in stride, the Smiths unloaded the wagon and settled in to wait. That had been bad enough. But today there had been an exact repeat. They had found a second wagon, they had just gotten it loaded and prepared to leave, when once again the committee came at the last moment and said they needed the wagon—only this time the First Presidency’s family they were giving it to was Emma and her children.
Lydia shook her head. “Dear Mother Smith,” she said to herself. Four foot eleven and not tipping a hundred pounds, and yet she had enough spunk to fill a barn. But this surely must have been a bitter blow today. Father Smith’s health was still poor. He had never fully recovered from the shock of thinking Joseph had been killed on that day he was taken prisoner. The Smith family was most anxious to remove the aging patriarch from this place, where the danger was still high and the conditions so poor. And then to have their departure delayed again. Lydia’s lips
compressed into a tight line. How could the committee have done that to her?
But almost instantly the other side of her began to answer. Joseph’s parents had three of their own children—Don Carlos, Sophronia, and Catherine—and their families to help care for them. Emma now had no one. And as the Prophet’s wife, Emma was in possible danger. It would be a crushing blow to Joseph if somehow his enemies could get to her. And then there was the news that perhaps Emma’s removal would speed Joseph’s release from jail. Would she have done any differently, given those options? Lydia wondered. Probably not.
As she turned up the path that led to Emma’s cabin, Lydia stopped. Stephen Markham was on the porch. The door was open and he was speaking to someone inside. “Sister Smith,” he was saying, “I know exactly how you feel, but you know there is no choice. Your things are loaded. Mother Smith is in total agreement with the committee. They are working on finding them something else. But you must go, and you must go now.”
From inside, Lydia heard Emma reply, but couldn’t catch the words. Markham nodded. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.” He pulled the door shut and turned around, putting on his hat. Then he saw Lydia. He started a little. “Oh! Sister Steed. Good evening.”
“Good evening, Brother Markham.” She hesitated for a moment. “How is Emma? Will she go?”
His eyes were troubled but he finally nodded. “Yes. She feels awful about what has happened with Mother Smith. But, yes, I think she’ll go.”
“Good.”
He forced a quick smile. “The Lord gave Brother Joseph a wife strong enough for a prophet. She is a woman of remarkable strength and courage.”
“Yes,” Lydia agreed instantly. “That she is. I will go in and sit with her for a time.”
“I think she would appreciate that. Julia is with her, but the rest of the children are with the Holmans.”
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