The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Now he was serious again. “Your parents need to see their grandchildren again, Lydia. Pa’s right. We need to do this. And it’s not just for you.”

  She laid her head against his shoulder. “Don’t give up on me, Nathan. I’m trying to hang on.”

  “Give up on you?” he asked with mock incredulity. “After making you into the wonderful woman that you are?”

  “You have!” she retorted, finally coming totally out of her tears. She knew he was doing this for this very purpose and loved him all the more for it. She went up on her toes and kissed him long and hard. “You are the rock in my life, Nathan Steed. Don’t you know that?”

  He took her face in both hands. “And you are my life, Lydia McBride,” he whispered back at her. “Don’t you know that?”

  “Yes,” she said happily. “I do. If it weren’t for that . . .” She couldn’t finish. The thought was too awful to even contemplate.

  He decided to change the subject. “Maybe we can come home by way of Fairport Harbor and Kirtland. See Melissa and Carl.”

  “Oh,” she cried, “I hadn’t thought of that. Would it be too far out of the way?”

  “Not much. It’s out of the way going out, but a natural way to come back.”

  “That would be wonderful.” She grew more thoughtful. “You’re not as optimistic about Carl and Melissa moving out here as Joshua is, are you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Why not? You said yourself Melissa’s letter was quite hopeful. Joshua is convinced they’re coming.”

  “I know. But there’s something I know about Carl that Joshua doesn’t.”

  “What?”

  “I know his father. I know Hezekiah Rogers and Joshua doesn’t.”

  Hezekiah Rogers was in a towering rage. Carl hadn’t seen him this angry in years. “Pa—,” he started, trying to get a word in.

  Hezekiah swung on him, eyes flashing with bitterness. “It’s Melissa who’s put you up to this, isn’t it?”

  “Melissa? No, I—”

  “Her and her Mormon family. That’s what’s behind you wanting to leave. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go out west to see her family.”

  “Oh, Pa, come on!” Carl’s own anger was starting to rise now. “You’re the one who said that I haven’t let William and David take a big enough part in the livery business.”

  Hezekiah’s eyebrows shot up, signaling his fury. “And that means you just walk away? I want you to give them more say, not give them the business.”

  Marian Rogers looked back and forth between her husband and son with open anxiety. “Hezekiah,” she said, trying to soothe.

  She might as well have been speaking to the hitching post. He turned away, throwing up his hands. “So this is what I get? I give you my whole life’s work, teach you the business from the very first, and this is all the thanks I get. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This from a son of mine?”

  “Pa”—Carl was pleading now—“Joshua Steed is a very successful businessman. He’s got one of the largest freighting businesses in St. Louis. He’s a partner in a cotton mill. This isn’t some wild-eyed dream I have. This is an opportunity for us to expand our family business. Do something that could really be exciting. I’m not abandoning what you’ve done. I’m just saying, let’s expand it. Let’s open another livery stable out there. Or, you and William and David could purchase goods in Cleveland and ship them on out west. We are in a strategic position for getting badly needed goods out there. There is a lot of money to be made.”

  “But it’s six hundred miles away,” his mother broke in. “Couldn’t you stay here and let this Joshua do the work out there?”

  Carl blew out his breath in frustration.

  His father pounced on that. “Oh, no,” he snapped to his wife. “That’s just it. It’s not just going into business with this man. That’s not enough. It’s leaving here. Turning his back on us. Becoming a Mormon. And after everything we’ve done for him.”

  “I’m not becoming a Mormon!”

  “Don’t you shout at your father!” his mother cried.

  Carl surrendered. He could see that he wasn’t going to win. Not tonight. Not ever. “I’m sorry, Pa,” he muttered. “I’m sorry I ever brought it up. I just thought it sounded like a good idea.”

  Long after Carl was asleep, Melissa lay awake, staring up at the ceiling. There were no tears. The disappointment was too total, too shattering for that. They would come later. Maybe when Carl had left in the morning. For now there was just this tremendous sense of loss and an overwhelming feeling of desolation.

  “Hello, pumpkin head,” Joshua said, sweeping Savannah up in his arms as she darted across the room at the sight of him.

  “Joshua,” Caroline said in exasperation, “don’t call her that.”

  “Well, look at that hair. I swear it gets redder every day.”

  “I punkin head,” Savannah said to her mother.

  “See?” Caroline laughed. “Now you’ve got her saying it.”

  Joshua reached up and ruffled Savannah’s hair. “Well, I think it’s beautiful. Don’t you, punkin head?”

  “Yes, Papa. I pretty.”

  Joshua chuckled deeply. “Heaven help the man who gets in her way when she turns sixteen.” He turned, looking around. “And speaking of turning sixteen, or hoping that they were turning sixteen, where’s Livvy?”

  “Upstairs in her room.”

  “Still mourning because she found out that Matthew and Jenny are promised?”

  Caroline smiled somewhat sadly. “Exactly. Lost love comes hard to one who is not yet twelve.”

  “Well,” he said, letting Savannah slide to the floor again, “I have just come from the freight yard. One of our wagons came in from Quincy. I have something that just might cheer her up.”

  “What?”

  He looked somber. “Just might add a little excitement to your life too.” Without waiting for her response, he lifted his head. “Livvy! Come down, please.”

  “What is it, Pa?” Livvy asked, walking quickly around the wagon and trying to see through the gap in the back.

  “You have to guess.”

  “Oh, no,” she groaned, “I hate guessing.”

  “You too, Mother.”

  Joshua had the canvas laced down tight so there was no way to get even a clue. “Give us a hint,” Caroline said.

  “Yes, Papa, give us a hint.”

  “All right. It was something that we used to have.”

  “In St. Louis?” Caroline asked, almost as curious and excited as Livvy.

  “No.”

  “In Independence?” Livvy asked, catching on to the game now.

  “Yes.”

  Caroline pursed her lips, thinking.

  “I don’t know, Papa. Tell me. Please!”

  “It was something that always told me whether you were happy or sad.”

  Caroline swung around, mouth opening in surprise.

  He shook his head, warning her off.

  Livvy’s face screwed up in concentration.

  “It’s very big, Livvy,” Caroline said, now that she thought she knew what it was.

  Joshua chuckled. “Very big. And heavy.”

  “Oh, please, Papa. Please.”

  Joshua surrendered. “All right. I’ll give you one peek. Then you must guess.”

  They moved to the back of the wagon, and Joshua loosened the ropes which closed the canvas. He lifted one corner and Livvy leaned forward. There was a sharp gasp, then she started jumping up and down. “A piano! A piano!”

  “Oh, Joshua,” Caroline cried, “how wonderful. I’ve missed it terribly.”

  Putting one hand on the bouncing shoulder, Joshua steadied his adopted daughter. “As soon as we get it inside, I want you to promise me you’ll play me something happy.”

  “Oh, yes, Papa. Yes! I promise!”

  Nathan laid a hand on Lydia’s shoulder. “We’d better go down and pack our things,” he said gently.

  She nod
ded absently, not looking at him. For the last two hours, she had been up on top of the canal boat, feasting her eyes on the sights around her, drinking in the familiarity as if it were clear, pure water. Now they were the only ones on top. All of the passengers—who together made up only about half a load this late in the season—were down inside making last-minute preparations for disembarking. But Lydia couldn’t stand to miss this. It was Saturday, September fourteenth. What with waiting for riverboats two days in Warsaw and five in Cairo, it had taken them one month to make it this far. She had waited one full month to see these sights.

  What amazed her most were the trees. She had forgotten how many there were. Thick stands of virgin forest, acre woodlots behind every farmhouse, trees lining up along the creeks and rivers like protecting armies. The prairie had nothing like this, and she had forgotten how much she loved it. “Where are the children?” she asked, still looking out over the landscape.

  “The baby’s asleep. Joshua and Emily are packing their things.” He smiled. “They are so excited.”

  Now she turned fully to him. “So am I, Nathan.” One hand came out in a sweeping gesture, taking it all in—the farmhouses, the wheat fields, the canal snaking its way from Buffalo all the way to Albany. “This is home.” Her voice caught. “I . . . I’ve really missed it.”

  He put an arm around her waist. “I know.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “You’re welcome.”

  “Low bridge,” bawled the young man who led the mules which towed the canal boat eastward at a steady four miles per hour.

  Nathan and Lydia crouched down as the boat passed under a footbridge. Two young boys were above them, calling down at them, trying to get them to wave back. Lydia did so, smiling happily. As they came out from under the bridge and straightened again, Nathan lifted his eyes. The canal ran in a straight line now for some distance out ahead of them. About a mile away, he could see the faint outline of buildings. “Look, Lydia. There’s Palmyra.”

  She went up on her toes, peering eagerly. At first she didn’t see them, but then she let her eyes follow the canal and there they were—the first of the warehouses that lined Canal Street. “Oh, yes, Nathan. There it is!” She grabbed his arm. “Come on, we have to pack our things.”

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Lydia asked guiltily.

  They were on the dock, waiting for the canawlers to get their luggage from one of the cargo compartments. Nathan shook his head. “No, you go. Young Joshua and I will be there as quickly as we can get our stuff together.”

  “All right.” She turned, searching. Emily was about fifty feet away, following closely behind Elizabeth Mary, who was moving as quickly as her little feet could carry her from this place to that. For a sixteen-month-old, steamboats and stagecoaches and canal boats were far too confining, and after a month of it, she was like a young calf let out in the pasture for the first time.

  Lydia went up on her toes and kissed Nathan hurriedly, then moved across the dock area to her two daughters. “Emily, come. Let’s go. Papa and Joshua will be along in a minute. Come on, Elizabeth Mary. Let’s go surprise your grandmother.”

  “How far is it, Mama?” Emily asked.

  “Not far. Just a block or two.”

  As they moved away from Canal Street and turned onto Main Street, Lydia and the girls drew curious stares from the local residents. Normally, canal passengers got off the canal boats to stretch but stayed near the dock area until the boats were under way again. One couple, whom Lydia recognized as members of her parent’s Presbyterian congregation, stared at her openly as they passed. It was obvious she looked familiar to them too, but they weren’t sure why.

  Have I changed that much? Do the years rob me of my identity so completely? She shook it off. With a little effort she could have come up with their names, but she didn’t want to. She merely nodded at them as they passed. Until she was really home again, she didn’t want to speak to anyone.

  Her step slowed and then stopped. There was a new sign over the store’s entrance. The lettering was exactly the same—“General Dry Goods Store—Josiah McBride, Proprietor”—but it was a definite cut above the one she had known. The letters were carved into the wood and painted a bright gold. It was much more bold and striking, but to her surprise, it left her faintly sad. Without consciously thinking about it, she had wanted everything to be exactly the same as when she had last been here.

  “Do you remember it, Emmy? This is Grandpa’s store.”

  They had last come here in the spring of 1834, five years ago now. Emily had turned two during that visit. She looked up, her eyes squinting. “Kind of,” she said dubiously.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter.” Lydia reached down and picked up Elizabeth Mary. “Come, let’s go in.”

  As she opened the door, a bell tinkled, and she smiled. That hadn’t changed. She pushed it further open and looked down. Yes, it was the same tiny brass bell that had hung on that door for as long as she could remember. It cheered her immensely to see it there.

  They stopped for a moment just inside, letting their eyes adjust to the interior gloom. She breathed deeply, instantly recognizing the wonderful combination of smells that assaulted her—ginger, cloves, cinnamon, leather, molasses, tobacco, sawdust, dried fish, onions, gun oil. She closed her eyes. It was like the Balm of Gilead to her, and she savored it warmly.

  “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  Lydia opened her eyes and turned half around. It was a young girl, eighteen or nineteen. Like I was when Joshua and Nathan first started coming here. She was behind the counter and watching Lydia expectantly.

  “Is Mr. McBride in?”

  Before the girl could answer, there was a noise from behind a stack of barrels. A head poked around. A hand reached up and pulled the spectacles lower on the nose. Dark eyes peered over them at the new customers. “Yes?”

  Lydia was instantly overcome and could not speak. She just reached out and took Emily’s hand and moved forward two steps.

  Josiah McBride came out fully from behind the barrels. He had a large book and a pen. He was taking inventory. It was so utterly familiar, so perfectly like she remembered it, that tears sprang to her eyes.

  Suddenly the curious look turned to shock. The book lowered slowly, the jaw dropped. “Lydia?” It came out in hoarse amazement. “Is that you?”

  “Hello, Papa.”

  He came forward slowly, not able to believe what he saw. “It is you!”

  “Yes, Papa. It’s me.”

  He tossed the book aside, not caring where it landed. He looked over his shoulder. “Hannah!” he bellowed. “Hannah, come quick.” He swung back around to the girl. “Go get Mrs. McBride,” he barked. “Hurry!”

  The girl darted off, and then Josiah McBride did something that would forever live in Lydia’s mind, and which made all of the effort, all of the sacrifice, all of the cost of getting here worth every penny it took. He stepped forward and put his arm around Lydia and the baby, pulling them close. “Lord in heaven,” he cried, “it’s my Lydia.”

  “But didn’t you get my letter?”

  Hannah McBride shook her head. “No. We haven’t heard a word since we wrote you almost three months ago. We decided you weren’t going to answer.”

  “But I wrote to you and said we would be coming. That was around the first of August.”

  “It never came,” her father said. “But it doesn’t matter. Not now. This is better than a hundred letters.” He was sitting down in the chair that customers could use while waiting for orders to be filled. Emily stood beside him, one arm resting on his shoulder. Elizabeth Mary, always shy, still clung to her mother, her head buried against her shoulder.

  I can’t believe it,” Hannah was saying, smiling at Emily. “Look at her. She’s not a little girl anymore. She’s a beautiful young lady.”

  Josiah reached up and patted the hand on his shoulder. “And so much—” He had t
o stop. He pulled out a handkerchief, removed his glasses, and wiped at his eyes. “Do you know how much you look like your mother did when she was your age?” he half whispered.

  “Everybody says that,” Emily replied, ever the pragmatist.

  He laughed, hugging her tightly. “I’ll bet they do.”

  Lydia had to force herself not to stare at her father. Her mother had aged, but she still looked much the same. But her father was shockingly different. He had lost twenty or thirty pounds. His shoulders were stooped, his cheekbones protruded sharply, his hair was almost totally white. He looked fifteen or twenty years older than when they had last seen him. She had to fight back the tears every time she looked at him.

  “And this one,” Hannah said, moving over to put a hand on Elizabeth Mary’s head. “We’ve been so anxious to see this one.”

  “Can’t you even say hello to your grandmother?” Lydia said, reaching up to lift her daughter’s chin. Elizabeth Mary shook her head and ducked down again.

  “You said young Joshua is with Nathan,” her mother said. “What about little Nathan?”

  Lydia jerked as though she had been struck. She hadn’t made that connection. They hadn’t gotten her letter. They didn’t know. In a low voice, she quickly told them. Thankfully, just as she finished, and before they could begin asking questions, the bell tinkled again and they all turned. Nathan and young Joshua stepped inside, looking around.

  “We’re back here, Nathan,” Lydia called.

  Josiah McBride pushed to his feet and Hannah turned expectantly. As they came forward, Nathan reached out and laid his hand on young Joshua’s shoulder. They must have talked about what to do on the way over, for he gave him a gentle shove, and Joshua’s face broke into smiles. “Grandma. Grandpa.” He ran forward and threw his arms around his grandmother.

  Nathan came forward, hand outstretched. “Hello, Father McBride.”

  Then came the second stunning surprise of the day. Josiah McBride ignored the outstretched hand and in one long step had his son-in-law in a bear hug, pounding him on the back. “Welcome, Nathan. Welcome home.”

  Chapter Notes

  Wilford Woodruff and John Taylor were the first of the Twelve to leave for England, departing from Nauvoo on 8 August 1839. Wilford was not the only one desperately ill. He left his wife pregnant and so sick they had to leave their first child, a daughter, with another family. John Taylor left his family ill and housed in a single room in Montrose. Wilford’s comment about being more a candidate for dissection than a missionary and Joseph’s reply to him are reported by Wilford himself. (See Leaves, pp. 83–84; MWM, pp. 67–68, 284–85.)