The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  * * *

  “Don’t look down, Joseph!” Emma cried in alarm. She was watching carefully where she placed each foot. Suddenly there was a patch where the ice was not clouded. She could see the muddy water moving slowly beneath it. A dizzying wave of vertigo swept over her, leaving her reeling.

  “Mama, I’m scared.”

  Emma realized her mistake. “It’s all right, Joseph.” She smiled down at him, wanting to reach out and touch his hair, or lay a hand on his shoulder to steady him, but she had no hand free. She forced her mind away from what lay beneath her, what swirled beneath a thin sheet of flooring that could give way any moment. Her arms were starting to ache, and Frederick was clutching to her neck with such desperation, she could feel him pinching a nerve.

  “Look,” she said, as much for herself as for the children. “Look across the river. See where we’re going? We’re getting closer now. It won’t be—oh!” Her foot had slipped on the ice and she jerked forward. Frederick squealed and Julia gasped. Emma caught her balance quickly. “I’m all right, I’m all right,” she cried.

  “Steady,” Markham called from behind her. “Don’t rush it.”

  They were halfway across now, right in the middle of the river where the water would be the deepest and the current the swiftest. The thought made her stomach turn over with a lurch. Stop it, Emma! Stop it this instant! She gripped Alexander more tightly and fixed her gaze on the houses on the opposite shore. “Look, Julia,” she said in a forced voice. “Which of those houses do you think we’ll stay in? Joseph, look at them! If you could choose any one as your house, which would it be?”

  It worked. It worked for them and it worked for her. Even Frederick opened his eyes and began to look for the houses that Julia and Joseph were calling out. Emma turned her head to glance back.

  “I’m coming,” Markham said. “It’s going to be all right, Emma. We’re going to make it.”

  But Emma wasn’t sure. The weight of the manuscripts dragged at her waist. The arm with which she held little Alexander was on fire and starting to cramp. Frederick’s arms around her neck felt like a blacksmith’s vice squeezing tighter and tighter. Her knees felt like they were turning to water, and she was terrified now that she would collapse. Then the wagon and the horses and Markham would catch up with her, bringing all the weight together in one place. In her mind, she could hear the ice begin to crack beneath them, then give way with a sickening drop into the icy black chillness below.

  She closed her eyes, staggering on blindly. Oh please, dear God. Give me strength. Let me get my children to safety.

  Her eyes jerked open and she realized Joseph was tugging on her skirts. “Mama! Mama! We’re almost there. Can I go ahead?”

  She looked up. They were no more than ten or fifteen yards from shore. They had made it! She nodded weakly. “Yes, Joseph, you may go.”

  Julia released her grip too. Taking each other’s hands, squealing and shouting with delight, the two children darted across the last stretch of ice and onto the land. They began doing a little jig, hopping and waving their arms.

  With a great sob of joy and release, Emma set foot upon the shore. She went no more than two or three feet, then sank down to the frozen ground. Frederick released his grip, jumped off her lap, and ran to join his brother and sister, yelling lustily.

  Now Markham was off the ice. He ran up the shallow bank, clucking at the horse, not letting the wagon wheels catch on the little rise where the ground met the water. Then in a moment he was at Emma’s side. He too sank down to sit beside her. His face was pale, and he was breathing deeply. “We made it,” he whispered.

  Emma turned and looked down, pulling the blanket back from the face of her baby. Alexander had slept through the whole thing. Tears sprang to her eyes as she lifted her head and looked back across the river. Two small figures, the Holmans, stood there, waving their arms back and forth. A faint shout floated over to them. And then Emma looked up into the sky. “Yes,” she said, half laughing, half crying, “we did, didn’t we?”

  * * *

  On Sunday evening, February seventeenth, the Steeds gathered to Benjamin and Mary Ann’s cabin, as was their custom. Of late there had been no large dinners, no apple pie and cold milk, but the tradition of gathering together carried on, and the warmth around the family circle had dimmed not at all. The babies were in bed now, but all the others were gathered for a family council. Even the smallest children were sitting on their parents’ laps or at their feet. There was not much mirth on this night. Conditions were growing increasingly grim in Far West. Food was in short supply. There was no midday meal any longer, only a meager breakfast and a slightly more substantial dinner. Firewood was so scarce that they had started to use the logs from the walls of the toolshed. The smokehouse would be next. Their enemies, not satisfied with the hundreds of families that had already left, were becoming more and more brazen. It was time to make some decisions.

  Rebecca sat beside Derek, listening but not saying much. From time to time she would look at Jessica, and something would pass between them. Finally, in a moment when the conversation lulled a little, Rebecca cleared her throat. One hand rose tentatively in the air to get their attention. “I have something I would like to say.”

  They all turned. Derek looked a little surprised.

  “Yes?” Benjamin said.

  “Mary Smith is leaving tomorrow.”

  Jessica nodded, but the others were a little shocked.

  “Already?” Mary Ann blurted. “But she hasn’t recovered from her trip to Liberty to see Hyrum. I thought you said she was still in bed.”

  “She is,” said Rebecca. “But she is the last of the First Presidency’s families. The brethren feel strongly that she needs to leave immediately, just as Emma and Sister Rigdon did. She and Mercy have found two lumber wagons. They have made a bed for Mary and the baby in the back of one.”

  Sister McIntire leaned over closer to Mary Ann. “Who is Mercy?”

  “Mercy is Mary’s sister. Her husband was at the Battle of Crooked River back in October and had to flee for his life. So both women are without their men. Mercy has been wonderful to Mary. Mercy had a baby about five months old when little Joseph was born, so she has been nursing both babies all this time.”

  “Whew!” Derek exclaimed. “Between Mary’s family and Mercy’s baby— that’s what, nine people? That’s a lot. And with no man.”

  Now Jessica jumped in. “Amanda Smith is leaving in a few days.”

  Lydia and Derek spun around together. “But how can she?”

  Jessica shrugged. “She has her own wagon. There’s nothing here to keep her. She’s decided to go now, maybe travel with Mercy and Mary.”

  Now Matthew was calculating. “So you add another woman and four children? How can they do that alone?”

  Mary Ann was watching Jessica closely, her eyes wide with understanding. “No, you add two women and eight children.”

  Jessica jerked up.

  “Am I right?” Mary Ann asked. “You want to go too, don’t you?”

  Jessica’s head bobbed, and she colored deeply. She should have known Mary Ann would see it first. “Yes, I would like to go with Amanda.”

  “But—,” Benjamin started, then he stopped. “I see,” was all he said.

  Jessica plunged in. She and Rebecca had rehearsed the whole thing, trying out their arguments on each other. “We’ve got to do something. We have too many people to feed here. The food is running out even more quickly than time is running out. We have too many people to move all at once. We can’t keep waiting.”

  Rebecca jumped in to support her. “Matthew’s right. They can’t do it alone. Especially . . .” Her voice betrayed her and she faltered suddenly. She sniffed and raised her chin even higher. “Especially if Amanda and Jessica travel with them. So I have a proposal.”

  Now Derek finally understood. “You want me to go with them?” he asked in wonder.

  Rebecca turned slowly and looked down at him.
“Yes, you and Matthew.” As there was the sharp intake of breath behind her, she raised her hands. “Now, listen. Hear me out.” She didn’t have to ask. There wasn’t a sound in the room now. “Papa is too sick to go right now. But some of us need to go. Now, before it’s too late for us. So Matthew and Derek could go with this group, then come back. By then Papa could be better. Then we’ll still have our men with us to help when we go.”

  Nathan stood up. He had no knowledge of this, but the logic was compelling. “Rebecca’s right. Our hopes now lie in getting to Illinois, where there is more food and shelter and where our enemies are not breathing down our necks.”

  Jessica thought she knew what he was going to say next, so she cut him off. “Nathan’s been gone from his family enough already. He should stay and help with the preparations here. We’ll send Amanda’s wagon back, and that will give you a better chance of getting out of here.”

  Benjamin held up his hand, cutting off any further discussion. He turned to Derek. There was no need to speak; the question was in his eyes. Derek looked up at Rebecca and immediately nodded. “Of course I’ll go. It makes sense. That way, when Matthew and I get back, we’ll only have Nathan and Lydia’s children. The rest of us will be older. It will—”

  Again Benjamin’s hand had come up, signalling that not everything had to be said in full. Now he turned to Matthew. Matthew was nodding vigorously before Benjamin could even ask the question. “Yes, I’ll go.”

  In the corner, Jenny shot to her feet. “So will I,” she blurted.

  Everyone spun around in surprise, no one more shocked than her mother. Jenny blushed deeply, which set the freckles off like rocks on a hillside. But she didn’t back down. “How many children?” she demanded.

  Lydia was half smiling, liking the spunk in this young Irish girl who was fast becoming a woman, liking the way she looked at Matthew with those sky-blue eyes and the way Matthew turned inside out when she did so. “I count four each for Jessica and Amanda,” Lydia said, “six of Mary Smith’s, counting the baby, and one baby for Mercy. That’s . . .” She added quickly, but Jenny was quicker.

  “That’s fifteen children,” Jenny said firmly, “two of whom are babies. And Sister Mary Smith isn’t going to be able to help at all, not as sick as she is, and Mercy will be nursing and caring for two babies, and—”

  Twelve-year-old Kathryn leaped up to stand beside her sister. “And if Jenny and I were along it would leave Derek and Matthew free to drive the wagons and care for the stock and—”

  Jenny had whirled, her face flashing surprise and irritation, but instantly she saw the wisdom of it, and grabbed Kathryn’s hand. “That’s right. There’d be two of us to help.” She turned to her mother, who looked as if she were reeling. “Oh, Mama, that would be two less mouths to feed here. Kathryn and I could stay in Quincy and help keep house and watch the children while Matthew and Derek come back for you.”

  Sister McIntire threw up her hands. “Hold on, lass. I’m drowning in your words. Give me a moment to catch my breath, please.”

  Jenny blushed even more deeply and stole a quick glance at Matthew. He was staring at her in wonder, but there was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes.

  Then, shocking almost everyone, Benjamin turned slowly to face the woman who had left her home because of the Book of Mormon and come to throw her lot in with the Saints. “There is some wisdom in what your daughter is saying,” he mused. “What do you think of the proposition, Sister McIntire?”

  She sat back, her eyes searching those of her two daughters. Kathryn nodded, her dark hair dancing as her head bobbed up and down. “Oh, please, Mama. We’ll be all right.”

  Nancy McIntire turned slowly to Matthew. “Would you look after my daughters, Matthew? So I’d not have to be a-worrying overly much about them?”

  “Aye,” Matthew said soberly.

  Derek leaned forward. “And I as well,” he said. Then a smile stole across his face. “Though I’d probably have to spend most of my time watching out for Kathryn and leave the task of minding Jennifer pretty much to others on the journey.”

  Emily, Lydia’s six-year-old, was staring up at her uncle. “Look!” she cried. “Matthew’s embarrassed.”

  That broke the tension and everyone in the room laughed. “Come on, Emmy,” Nathan chuckled, “leave Uncle Matthew alone. He’s having a hard time of it right now.”

  As the laughter subsided, Benjamin turned and looked at his wife. “Mother? What do you think?”

  Mary Ann held his gaze for a moment. Then she let her eyes go around the room, taking in Matthew and Jenny, Rebecca, Jessica, Derek. Finally she bobbed her head up and down slowly. “I think we don’t have a lot of choices anymore.”

  Benjamin nodded back at her. “I agree.” Then he looked to Derek. “I think you should try to be ready to leave day after tomorrow.”

  Chapter Notes

  The delaying of the departure of the Prophet’s mother and father is told by Lucy Mack Smith. They were able to leave a short time later, traveling with Don Carlos and with the Salisbury and the McCleary families (the families of Lucy’s two married daughters, Catherine and Sophronia), and arrived safely in Quincy sometime before the first of March. (See Mack Hist., pp. 294–97.)

  Emma and Mary Fielding Smith did make a trip to Liberty Jail to see their husbands. Mary was still deathly ill, but felt compelled to try to see Hyrum before leaving the state. (See MFS, pp. 82–83.)

  Emma’s taking of the manuscripts and her incredible crossing of the Mississippi are presented in the novel virtually as they happened, though specific conversations and personal thoughts are the additions of the author (see Richard Neitzel Holzapfel and Jeni Broberg Holzapfel, Women of Nauvoo [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1992], p. 10; CHFT, p. 213).

  Mary Fielding Smith and Mercy Fielding Thompson did leave Far West as described here, as did Amanda Smith. Having them travel together and with the Steeds is the author’s device. (See MFS, pp. 89–94.)

  Chapter 34

  In the little party moving eastward across the bleakness of Missouri’s northern plains, there were twenty-three people—two men, six women or older girls, and fifteen children, ranging in age from Amanda’s Willard Smith, who would be twelve in May, down to Hyrum and Mary’s little Joseph Fielding Smith, just barely three months old.

  The weather was still cold, uncommonly so from what the old settlers were saying. The party had left Far West in a steady rain. Then about one o’clock, as they could see the tree line of Shoal Creek and the now deserted cabins of Haun’s Mill off in the distance, the wind shifted around to the north, the temperature plummeted, and the rain turned first to sleet, then to a heavy snowstorm.

  There were only three wagons, so all except the youngest children took turns walking beside the wagons. Of the three wagons, only one had been designed for moving people and goods. Amanda Smith’s wagon had been purchased by her husband in Kirtland for the move to Missouri in the spring of 1838. It was not a large wagon. The box was no more than about eight feet long and four feet wide. Amanda’s two little girls, Jessica’s two youngest boys, and Jessica’s baby, John Benjamin, would sleep in the wagon. The rest would make their bed beneath it.

  The other two wagons had been designed as lumber wagons. Their wagon boxes were slightly wider and more than two feet longer than those found on normal wagons. This gave more room, but there were no springs and so the ride was considerably rougher in these wagons than in Amanda’s. The first of these two wagons carried most of the goods that the two Fielding sisters had been able to bring. Those were shoved to the front, leaving room at the back for a bed for Mary and her baby. The second wagon carried Mary’s other five children and Mercy and her baby, as well as the food and water for the trip. These two wagons had not been built with covers, so the families had had to find their own. But the canvas they had located was lightweight, and within an hour of their departure the rain was dripping through, wetting the blankets and other things inside. So in that sense, the sno
w was a blessing.

  The snow also turned the prairie into something beautiful. The muddy wasteland quickly took on a mantle of white, and the sound of the wagon wheels grew muffled as the snow became an inch deep, then two, then four inches by late afternoon.

  Jenny McIntire was out in front of the little train, walking along to scout the road. With the snow and the drop in temperature, the puddles were starting to freeze and cover over with snow. Her task was to spot the worst of the potholes and steer the party around them so that they didn’t bog down and have to stop.

  Derek was driving the lead wagon, the one with Mary Smith in the back. Kathryn McIntire sat on the wagon seat beside him.

  Next came Amanda’s wagon. She and Jessica sat together on the seat, with Amanda driving. Willard Smith, Amanda’s oldest, and Rachel, Jessica’s oldest, slogged steadily alongside, their heads down, Willard’s hat and Rachel’s bonnet covered with white, making them look like angels who had lost something in the clouds and were peering downward trying to find it.

  Matthew drove the third wagon with Mercy Thompson and Mary’s other children. Like Willard and Rachel, Lovina, the oldest from Hyrum’s first marriage, walked alongside. So did her aunt. Mercy’s baby was sleeping at the moment, inside with the other children, and so Mercy had decided to lighten the load. At this point, not yet one full day out, the children were still in good spirits. They were cold, but they were playing some game inside the wagon, giggling softly so as not to wake the baby.

  It was eerie in a way. There was no wind, and so the snow came straight down. The only sound was that of the wagons creaking along and the soft clopping of the horses’ hooves. There were no other signs of life. They had passed some homesteads, abandoned now by their Mormon owners, but nothing moved. It was just one great, vast world of white silence, and they were momentary specks of blackness transversing their way slowly across it.