The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  The oppressive heat of August had finally broken the week before when a line of thunderstorms rolled out of Iowa Territory and crossed Illinois for three or four days, cooling the air and the land. Now the days were uncommonly pleasant, and the nights cool enough that light covers were put on the beds again.

  There were eleven of them in all—nine Steeds or Steed family members and the two Pottsworths. Anyone twelve and older was considered a woman for purposes of the council, so Kathryn McIntire, fifteen, and Caroline’s Olivia, thirteen, were there as well.

  As Mary Ann looked around at their faces, her heart warmed with the knowledge that this was her family and that they were all here beside her. Then she had a sudden thought. “I think this is a first for us,” she said.

  Caroline, who sat just behind her, said, “A first? In what way?”

  Mary Ann laughed. “No babies.”

  For a moment they were startled by that, looking around to be sure. Then they smiled too. She was right. They always left the children home for these meetings, but usually there was at least one baby in arms who was too small to be left home by his or her mother. This afternoon, there was not one. Caroline’s Charles was now nineteen months old and in the process of being weaned. Rebecca’s Christopher was two. Even Lydia’s little Josiah, the youngest of the whole clan, was almost nine months old now. He was still nursing, but Lydia had fed him just before coming out, then left him with Nathan and the children.

  Kathryn leaned over and nudged her sister with her elbow. “Bet that doesn’t last for long,” she said, loud enough for all to hear.

  Jennifer Jo blushed deeply. She and Matthew had been married just seven weeks now. Still coloring, she smiled shyly at the faces around her. “I hope not.”

  Mary Ann nodded. “We hope not too.” She looked around, the thought expanding. “And I’ll bet you’re not alone either.” She was looking at Rebecca, who likewise colored now. Derek had been home from England for over two months, and Mary Ann fully expected that the two of them would be making an announcement soon. And Melissa’s Sarah was almost three now, and Mary Ann knew that Melissa and Carl were talking about having another one. And that would be just fine, she thought.

  “Well,” she went on, getting down to business. “I know you are all wondering why the change in our meeting time and day.” She let her eyes sweep from face to face. When she got to Jennifer Jo and Kathryn, she stopped. “Are you two ready?” They nodded back, and then to everyone’s surprise, they stood up and left, walking around the house quickly.

  “As you know,” Mary Ann continued, ignoring the questioning looks, “we had the first meeting of our women’s council last December, shortly after we celebrated our first Thanksgiving. We determined then that we could best show our thanks to God by serving others in greater need than ourselves.” She smiled softly. “It’s what Father Steed calls being thankful with your hands as well as your hearts.”

  She paused for a moment, but no one spoke. “We adjourned for the summer because it is a busy time for all of us and also it is a time when the poor are more able to care for their needs. But September is upon us now. The harvest is all but over. The first frost will be here in a few weeks. And—”

  “Thank heavens,” Abigail Pottsworth breathed. That brought a laugh from everyone. The English Saints had found the heat of Nauvoo almost unbearable, making them “melt down into little puddles of fat and flesh,” as Sister Pottsworth put it. Even the Twelve, after a year in England’s climate, had found it quite

  a readjustment, and Brigham had written a letter back to

  Great Britain warning those who were coming to prepare for a “roasting.”

  “While Sister Pottsworth is anxious for winter to arrive,” Mary Ann went on, “we all know that once it comes, those who are less fortunate than ourselves will find the cold very challenging. They will need quilts, mittens, stockings, blankets, and coats. We have made such things in the past and I think we are agreed that this is probably the best thing we can do.”

  “Are we going to choose families again, Mother Steed?” Jessica asked. “I have some names if we are.”

  “We are,” Mary Ann responded. “Actually, I want each of us to start praying about the matter. Only the Lord will know who is really in need and how we can best help them. But—” She held up one hand, enjoying her surprise again. “But that is not our purpose today. We shall do that in our next meeting. No, today is a working meeting. We felt it best to start right out doing something.”

  “So that’s why we moved to Saturday?” Lydia spoke up.

  “That’s right. And to do that, I suggest we adjourn this meeting and move to the large drying shed at the brickyard of Carl and Melissa Rogers.”

  That brought Melissa’s head up in surprise. “Our shed?”

  Mary Ann laughed merrily. “Yes. Jennifer Jo and Kathryn have a surprise for us there. They swore Carl to secrecy so as not to spoil it, even for you.” She waved in the general direction they were going. “We shall reconvene in five minutes at the drying shed.”

  The two McIntire sisters were actually waiting for them just outside the shed. When they saw them approaching, Kathryn quickly shut the door and stood in front of it. As the women all gathered, they were buzzing with excitement and questions.

  “Surely we’re not going to be making bricks for the poor,” Lydia said to Jessica.

  Jessica just shrugged. “Kathryn hasn’t told me a word about this. I don’t know what they’re up to.”

  Mary Ann merely smiled, waited until they were all there, and then turned to the two girls. “All right. We’re in your hands.”

  Though Jennifer Jo’s hair was a light brown and Kathryn’s almost jet black, and though there was four years’ difference in their ages, and though Kathryn did not have Jennifer Jo’s sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks, there was no mistaking the fact that these two were sisters. Both had wide blue eyes half-hidden beneath thick dark lashes. Both had the same fair skin. Both of their noses had that little upturn on the end that Matthew loved to tease Jennifer Jo about. Both had the same rich, full mouth and even white teeth. Their voices sounded quite similar, and when they laughed, one almost had to turn to see which of the two it was making the sound.

  With their audience before them, they looked at each other, both suddenly a little embarrassed by all the attention. Kathryn motioned for Jennifer Jo to speak, but she shook her head. “It was your idea originally,” she answered. “You tell them.”

  “All right.” Kathryn turned back to the others. “Well, actually, we want to show you something as much as tell you something. That’s why we’ve come here. But first, I need to explain a few things.” She took a quick breath, then plunged in. “When it comes to fabric, England is best known for its great cotton mills. Derek, Jenny, Peter, Sister Pottsworth—they were all part of that. But in other parts of the British Isles, there are other fabrics which are equally common there. For example, in Scotland, where it is often colder and windier than in England, the most common material is—” She stopped, inviting them to answer.

  “Wool!” Sister Pottsworth exclaimed. “The Scots are famous for their woolens.”

  “Aye,” Kathryn agreed. “And what about the Irish?”

  “Their linens,” Jenny Pottsworth answered just as promptly.

  “Aye,” Kathryn said again. “Even in America, Irish linen is well known.” She turned to Jennifer Jo, motioning for her to continue.

  “While wool keeps a person very warm,” Jennifer Jo explained, “it can be quite uncomfortable on the bare skin, and it wears out quickly with heavy use. The Scots, who are renowned for their thriftiness, did not like that.”

  “On the other hand,” Kathryn came in again, “linen wears well and is very cool. In the summer that is great, but in winter, one would certainly not want a linen coat.”

  “So,” Jennifer Jo asked with a smile, “what is the solution?”

  The others looked blank, but Sister Pottsworth sp
oke up again. “Linsey-woolsey.”

  “Yes,” both sisters said together. Then Kathryn explained. “It is a combination of both materials. It has the warmth of wool, but the durability of linen. Here in America, what you call linsey-woolsey is a cheap, coarse material, but in Scotland and Ireland, this is not the case. It is of the highest quality and very valuable for winter clothing.” She paused, letting that sink in a little before going on. “My sister and I talked to Mother Steed. We think that if we are going to make winter clothing for the poor, there isn’t anything better we could make it from than from linsey-woolsey.”

  Sister Pottsworth clapped her hands together. “A wonderful idea. I had a coat back when Jenny was just a tot which was made from Scottish linsey. Warmest coat I ever had. It lasted for years.”

  Mary Ann found that too good an opportunity. “So if we wanted to really bless people who have to winter here in Nauvoo, we would make them coats of linsey-woolsey.”

  “But,” Rebecca spoke up, “we don’t have any of that kind of material.”

  Jennifer Jo clapped her hands. “Well, what if you had two humble Irish girls who would teach you how to make it?”

  “And,” Kathryn added, opening the door to the shed behind them, “a building generously donated by our own Carl Rogers in which to do it?”

  Mary Ann laughed at the effect they had created. “Ladies, shall we?” And with a little flourish she gestured toward the open door.

  “Come in, Will.” Lydia tried to hide the surprise in her eyes as she stepped back, holding the door open wide. She held Josiah under one arm.

  Will Steed came inside, taking off his hat. Though it was not quite eight o’clock, it was the thirteenth of September and the days were getting noticeably shorter now. It was already full dark outside.

  “Do you have a minute, Aunt Lydia?” He looked around with just a trace of nervousness.

  She smiled warmly at him. “Yes. Nathan and your grandfather went out east of town looking at some property. They took the older children with them and probably won’t be back for another hour. So it’s just me and the baby.” She started for the parlor. “Come in and sit down.”

  He did so, following her into the sitting room, pleased that she was alone. He moved to the large overstuffed chair and dropped into it wearily. Lydia picked up a ball and a toy rattle for Josiah, then took a hard-backed chair directly across from Will. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise.”

  Will nodded. “I came to see you Saturday evening, but you were all still down at the brickyard.”

  “I’m sorry. We were having so much fun.”

  He nodded but didn’t speak further.

  Josiah threw his rattle down, then leaned out to get it. Lydia put him down and he crawled after it. Then she decided to lead out a little. “How are you, Will? Your face is all better now. How’s the shoulder and the ribs?”

  “Good. I hardly ever think of them anymore.”

  “I haven’t seen you at the store much this past while.”

  He flushed, instantly catching her meaning. “Me and Pa have been traveling around quite a bit trying to get a full crew to go to Wisconsin. They’re supposed to leave in about ten days, and he’s getting concerned that he’s still got only about half of what he needs.”

  “I know,” Lydia said forlornly. “I’m already dreading Nathan being gone.” She hesitated, then asked, “Are you going with your father?”

  He scowled deeply. “He thinks I am.”

  “But you’re not sure.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “Oh, I’m sure, all right,” he snapped, speaking to the lamp across from him. “He just won’t listen when I try to tell him.”

  Lydia sat back watching him, her eyes showing understanding but not approval. He saw that and reacted almost instantly. “What? You think I should go?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

  “But you were thinking it, weren’t you?”

  She sighed, wondering if it was really her place to say it. “Can I be honest with you, Will?”

  “Of course.” And he really did mean that.

  “I know you want to stay here so you can be close to Jenny.” She hesitated. “I know you’re worried about Andrew Stokes.”

  His head came up and his eyes were flashing. “I don’t give a hoot about Andrew Stokes.”

  Lydia just watched him steadily.

  Finally, he dropped his eyes from hers. “All right, so I am worried about Andrew Stokes.” Then the fire was back. “Wouldn’t you be? You see the way Jenny gets all fluttery when he comes in the store. You know how everyone thinks he’s so wonderful.”

  “Everyone thinks you’re wonderful, Will.”

  “Yeah,” he retorted, completely glum now. “Everyone except Jenny.”

  It was as if the baby sensed Will’s sudden pain. He sat up, watched him with large grave eyes for a moment, then crawled over to him and held up his hands.

  Will laughed, leaned down, and picked him up. In a moment, Will was bouncing him on his knee and Josiah was squealing in delight. “You have a wonderful way with children, Will,” Lydia said. And then she took a quick breath. “Jenny is . . . Will, Jenny cares a great deal for you. You know that. It’s just that she also cares a great deal for Andrew. Jenny doesn’t know her own heart yet, Will. If you think you’re hurt, think of poor Peter. Jenny just wants to be friends with him, like they’ve always been, but that’s not what Peter wants, and he’s just plain miserable.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He stood and began walking with Josiah. “I know you’re right, Aunt Lydia. About Jenny. But going to Wisconsin isn’t going to help my cause any.”

  “Probably not. It may make things worse.”

  He winced a little with the bluntness of her response. “And you still think I ought to go?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she repeated.

  “Then what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that right now your relationship with your father is just as important—maybe even more important—than your relationship with Jenny Pottsworth.”

  His mouth opened slightly, but Lydia went on quickly now. “Will, I don’t know whether or not you’re going to get your answer about the Church. Or when. When you decide, you do what you have to do. But if you and your father are battling—about Jenny, about going to Wisconsin, about whatever it is that seems to be jarring the two of you—your being baptized certainly won’t make it any easier.”

  “I don’t care if it’s easy or not,” he blurted. “Pa won’t even try to understand my feelings. Why should I worry about his?”

  “I wasn’t talking about it being easier for you, Will,” she said softly.

  He visibly flinched as the meaning of her words hit him. “Mama?” he asked in a whisper.

  Lydia nodded slowly. She clasped her hands together, watching his eyes. She wanted to take him and hold him, he was so much like her little Josiah at that moment. At the same time, she wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him hard. This was just what she had seen happen before—with Benjamin Steed and his oldest son.

  Then Lydia had a thought. “Just a minute, Will.” She stood and started toward the bedroom where she and Nathan slept. Josiah, seeing he was being deserted, yelped in protest and she came back and took him from Will. When she returned she had a copy of the Book of Mormon in her hand. She walked over and handed it to him. She remained standing, rocking back and forth slowly to keep Josiah happy.

  He looked at it, then at her. He had one just like it. “What’s this?” he said.

  “That’s the Book of Mormon Nathan gave to me before we were married. It’s the book that finally brought me into the Church.”

  He nodded. He had heard both Nathan and Lydia tell the story about how she had fought the idea of being a Mormon at first. That, in fact, was one of the reasons he had come to talk with her. Nathan, Matthew, Grandma Steed, Rebecca, Jennifer Jo—all of them had found it easy to accept the gospel. Grandpa Steed had s
truggled, but not in the same way Will was. He hadn’t wanted to know, not at first. Then Joseph had finally won him over through friendship.

  “Look at it!” she commanded.

  He started to open it, but she shook her head. “No. At the outside.”

  He examined it more closely, turning it over. And there it was on the back. One corner had a dark brown stain in the leather. It marred the appearance of the book, making it look as though its owner were slovenly.

  He touched it again, then looked up. “What is it?”

  There was a faint smile. “Coffee grounds.”

  His eyebrows rose. And with that she told him the story, told him how bitterly she had resented Joseph Smith, how totally she was caught up in the wave of mockery and ridicule aimed at the boy from Palmyra. Then she fell in love with Nathan, and Joseph’s mission became like a giant tree stump between them. They couldn’t seem to get around it, and they could never go through it. Her voice grew quiet as she recounted Nathan’s final, last-ditch attempt to get through to her by sending her a copy of the Book of Mormon with an accompanying letter of testimony. But it went to her father first, and her father—who harbored a deep and bitter animosity toward this new religious movement—threw it in the trash.

  By the time she finished, Josiah had laid his head against her shoulder and fallen asleep. She walked across to Will and took the book from him, holding it in her free hand. She began to rub her thumb over the soiled cover. “Nathan has offered to buy me a new one, but I won’t let him. I wouldn’t take a hundred dollars for this.”

  Will slowly nodded. He thought he understood. He was wrong. She wasn’t going to talk about her conversion at all.

  She went back to her chair, set the book on the lamp table, and then sat down gently so as not to wake her son. “When my father died, Will, he still had strong feelings against the Mormons.” Her voice was low and husky now, and her eyes were filled with tears. “But I was there, Will. I was back home. Nathan was there too, and my father loved him.” There was a short, tearful laugh. “You can’t know what a miracle that was. For years, he wouldn’t even call Nathan by name. He just called him ‘that farmer’ or ‘that farm boy.’”