The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Will was subdued, but not downcast. He and Jenny talked quietly off to one side until they heard the whistle, and the boat came around the great bend in the river. Then he gave her a quick kiss and went over to be with his mother and sisters.

  The smaller of Nathan’s children clung to him. Elizabeth Mary was crying. Emily was trying to be brave. Young Joshua stood tall, showing his papa that he could be the man of the house as they had discussed the night before. Lydia had vowed that she would not cry. But at the last minute, as the boat docked and the gangplank came down, the baby suddenly started to wail. Josiah could barely say “Papa,” but somehow he knew Nathan was leaving. He held out his arms for his father and started to scream. And that broke down the last of Lydia’s resolve and she began to cry too, shushing him and rocking him back and forth.

  They watched and waved as the boat backed out away from the dock, then started forward again, paddles churning furiously, black smoke belching into the crisp morning air. Some of the people started moving away then, but the Steed family stayed until the boat rounded the curve of the river and disappeared behind the trees. Then they too started back toward Steed Row.

  Grandpa Steed was carrying Josiah now. He was the only one who had been able to calm him down. Caroline handed Charles to Olivia, then moved swiftly up to walk beside Lydia. They looked at each other, eyes glistening. “It’s only about ten or eleven weeks until they’re back,” Lydia said, trying to put a cheerful face on.

  “I know,” Caroline said, trying to smile through her tears. “But it already seems like a month.” And then, surprising Lydia, she moved closer to her and put an arm through hers. “I’m so glad Nathan will be up there,” she said quietly.

  Lydia turned, squeezing her arm in hers. “I am too, Caroline.”

  They didn’t say anything more then. They just walked on, their shoulders occasionally brushing as they moved back toward town to begin the months of life without their husbands.

  Chapter Notes

  Wisconsin Territory proved to be a great blessing for the Saints. Most of the nearby timber, which was scarce at best on the northern plains of Illinois, was gone by the time Nauvoo was settled. Though the growing brick industry and the stone quarries provided important building alternatives, lumber was still a critical need for an exploding population. On 22 September 1841, a group of brethren left Nauvoo to go upriver some five or six hundred miles to Wisconsin. There on the Black River they established a lumbering colony that eventually would provide an astonishing amount of lumber for their brethren and sisters back in Illinois. (See In Old Nauvoo, p. 26; Dennis Rowley, “The Mormon Experience in the Wisconsin Pineries, 1841–1845,” BYU Studies 32 [Winter and Spring 1992]: 119–48.)

  Chapter 12

  Jessica Griffith had first started teaching school in Haun’s Mill and found great joy and satisfaction in it, as well as a passable livelihood for her and Rachel. When she married John Griffith, he had encouraged her to continue, even though he was making a sufficient living to support them. Then John was killed and Jessica was on her own again. So when they came to Nauvoo and Joshua had helped the family start their first houses, a schoolroom had been part of the plans for Jessica right from the beginning.

  It was on the back of the house, with a separate entrance. It wasn’t a large room, and the low ceilings made it seem even smaller. But she could fit enough benches for twenty students comfortably and could push that up by four or five more if she needed to. Currently she had eighteen pupils—ten girls and eight boys—ranging in age from eight to seventeen. There was one wall with shelves for the few books she had and for the lap slates. And Joshua had given her a small desk with three drawers for her personal papers. But her latest and proudest acquisition, purchased while she was in Warsaw looking for textbooks, was a four-by-four black chalkboard. It had been used before, but there was only one scratch and it had a tray for the chalk and eraser.

  When the knock came—not at the side door but at the front of the house—Jessica was at that chalkboard, teaching the mysteries of adding and subtracting fractions. The students were laboriously copying the problems on their own slates, rubbing out the errors with the heels of their hands. So she ignored the knock. But as it grew louder and more persistent, the children would not. They kept turning their heads and giving her questioning looks. Finally, she motioned to Kathryn McIntire, who got up and slipped through the door that led into the main part of the house.

  A minute later Kathryn returned, but she didn’t go to her seat. She walked to Jessica. For the students, any focus on the blackboard was now gone. A little frustrated, Jessica stopped and turned to her foster daughter. “What is it, Kathryn?”

  “It’s a man. He insists on seeing you.” And then before Jessica could ask the obvious question, she shrugged and added, “I’ve never seen him before.”

  Jessica frowned, looking toward the door. “Did you tell him I am in class?”

  “Yes. He apologized but said it has to do with the school. He says he must see you.”

  Jessica sighed and handed the chalk to Kathryn. “All right.”

  As she left, she heard Kathryn rap sharply on the desk with a book to stop the tittering the interruption had created. She walked down the short hallway to the entry. He was standing just inside, hat in hand. He had been looking at the furniture in the parlor to his left, but at the sound of her footsteps, he turned. The first thing that caught her attention was how big he was. Jessica was a small woman, no more than five two or three, and this man looked six foot two or three, with broad shoulders and large hands. His hair was thinning—he was probably in his mid-thirties—but it was combed straight back so it didn’t show as much. His clothing was plain but well kept. His shoes had been blacked recently and showed little dust.

  “Yes?” she said, moving to face him.

  “My name is Solomon Garrett.”

  “Jessica Griffith,” she said. He extended his hand and she shook it. It was surprisingly gentle for as large as it was. Now that she was next to him, she saw that though he was broad through the chest and shoulders, he wasn’t as tall as she first thought. He was no more than six feet. Maybe an inch or two less than that.

  “I apologize for the interruption. I was hoping to arrive before you started class.” She noted that his voice had a touch of a Southern accent—Virginia, or Kentucky, she guessed. Maybe Tennessee.

  “That’s all right,” she said. “How may I help you?”

  There was an embarrassed smile. “I wondered if I might attend your school today.” He laughed at the reaction that triggered. “I guess I’d better explain before you answer.”

  “Won’t you come in and sit down?” she asked, trying to hide her surprise. Attend school? Hadn’t he seen her sign outside which specifically stated she was not accepting adults?

  “I’m from Ramus. I assume you know where that is?”

  “Vaguely,” she admitted. “I’ve not been out that way.”

  “It’s about twenty miles from here. It’s northeast of Carthage about eight or nine miles.”

  She nodded. Ramus had been founded completely by Latter-day Saints and was now the largest settlement of Mormons outside of Nauvoo.

  “I am employed by the common schools of Hancock County and am here as their representative.”

  In spite of herself, Jessica felt a little lurch. Public schools—or “common schools,” as they were popularly called—were on the rise in Illinois and across America. She guessed that in a few years, they would be the norm and not the exception as they were now. Most of the schools in Nauvoo—and many other Illinois communities, for that matter—were subscription, or private, schools. In subscription schools, basically a teacher set up a school in his or her home, enrolling whoever might be interested and could pay the set price in cash or goods. But with the rapid growth of certain communities, the state and local governments were taking more of an interest in the education of their citizenry. There was talk of setting up standards for teachers and perh
aps even making them pass qualifying examinations. As a saloon keeper’s daughter, Jessica had never had much formal schooling. As an adult she taught herself to read and write, but she was afraid that might not count for much with an examining board.

  He noted the shadow that crossed her face and smiled kindly. “Oh, this is nothing to be concerned about. We’ve just had reports of the excellent job you are doing here, and the board has asked me to observe your teaching to see if we might get some ideas.”

  “Oh.” The relief was plain in her voice. “Why, of course. Won’t you come in?”

  She started down the hallway; he followed. “I won’t disrupt your class?”

  “You won’t bother the students at all,” she said with an easy laugh. “But the teacher might be a different matter.”

  Which showed that Jessica was still a little flustered, for the class totally disintegrated after she brought the stranger in, introduced him, and invited him to sit down. He sat awkwardly on a bench, his knees jutting up to almost eye level. But after a time, and after she gave them several of her most severe looks, the students settled down again and class continued.

  Tuesday, Nov. 9th, Nauvoo, Illinois

  My dearest Nathan,

  I know that I wrote you just a few days ago and that the two letters may arrive together, but three things have happened in the last few days that I felt I must tell you about. First, and most surprising, Jessica is gone! The whole family is still in a bit of a daze. Here is what happened.

  About three weeks ago, Jessica had a visitor come to the school. His name was Solomon Garrett. He lives in Ramus out east of Carthage. Someone told him about Jessica’s school and gave him such a glowing account of what she was doing that he decided to come and see for himself. Well, he sat through one day at the school. He didn’t say much, just sat there and watched. When it was over, he thanked her and left. She thought it strange, but that was that. Then three days later he reappeared and asked Jessica if she would be willing to move to Ramus and be the schoolmistress of the new common school they are starting there. He has been hired by the county to supervise establishing common schools. Jessica was flabbergasted. At first she said no, but when he told her that the county would pay her an allowance for each student enrolled, it was just too wonderful to pass up. There will be three teachers. Jessica will be the head of the school and will also have a large class, so she will get about a dollar per day. After watching Kathryn help Jessica with the students, Mr. Garrett offered Kathryn a position too. Because she is still learning, she will get only about fifty cents a day, but between the two of them, that’s a handsome wage indeed.

  So Friday, she closed her school. There was much disappointment among the students, but Mr. Garrett—or I should say Brother Garrett, he is a Latter-day Saint—says the board insists on starting the school in Ramus this season. Saturday he came with a wagon and they packed up and moved to Ramus. As you can guess, there were many tears at her parting. The cousins will miss Rachel and the boys terribly. Jennifer Jo is especially distraught to know that she and Kathryn will be parted. And Jessica will be sorely missed. Thankfully, Ramus is only a day’s ride away and we can see them from time to time. But this leaves “Steed Row” with an empty house now, and we are all a little saddened.

  The second bit of news happened yesterday. At 5:00 p.m., we assembled at the temple site and there the baptismal font for the temple was dedicated. Oh, Nathan, how I wish you could have been here with us for that wonderful occasion. Brigham Young gave the dedicatory prayer, which was most sacred and appropriate to the occasion. In spite of colder weather, there was a large crowd. The font is so beautiful! I can hardly wait for Christmas when I can walk up on the bluff with you and we can see it together. A temporary roof and walls have been built around the font itself to keep out the weather until the upper floors of the temple are completed. The basin for the water is about four feet deep and on the outside is finished with panel work. Following the model used by King Solomon in Old Testament times, the font sits upon the backs of twelve oxen, four on each side, and two at each end. Joseph says these represent the twelve tribes of Israel. They are carved out of several layers of pine planking which have been glued together, and their features have been patterned after the finest-looking steer that could be found. The carving is of such quality that the wooden oxen are a striking likeness of the original. It is a work worthy of the Lord’s house.

  Now to the third, less happy matter. This morning I decided it was time to have a frank talk with Jenny P. It has been about seven weeks since your departure, and as yet she has not written Will a single letter. She says she cannot bring herself to write because she is torn in her feelings. I find that a poor reason. I think it will hurt Will more if she doesn’t write, but I think Jenny hopes you will tell him what I say to you and spare her the task of doing it. I am disappointed with that, but am writing so you can tell him if you think it best. I feel that he needs to know before he comes down for Christmas. Caroline agrees that your judgment in the matter is to be trusted.

  Jenny is a sweet girl and pure of heart but very confused at the moment. She says she truly loves Will, but as I watch her with Andrew Stokes, the confusion is only in her mind. Her heart is given to Andrew. He has asked her to be promised to him and presses her continually about the matter. She demurs only out of loyalty to Will—or is it guilt? She told Andrew that she will not give him an answer until Will is home at Christmas and she can talk to him. But Will’s inability to get an answer about the Church only confuses her feelings for him all the more. Will may be tempted to return home to try and fix things, but tell him it will only make things worse.

  Well, I shall close. I miss you, my darling, and count the days until Christmas. Each of the children make mention of you every night in their prayers. Elizabeth Mary last night asked Heavenly Father to be sure and not let any bears eat you. I’m not sure where she got that idea. I have said nothing about bears to her. I, of course, miss you most of all. I love you, my darling. Hurry back to us as quickly as possible.

  All my love,

  Lydia

  By the way, will you ask Will if he has read the parable he and I talked about before he left? It is in Luke 18.

  Lydia’s letter to Nathan arrived in the Black River camp on Saturday, the twentieth of November. In the Mormon camp, worship services were held each Sabbath morning, and Will always went up to join them, ignoring the grousing it brought from his father. After worship services, Nathan took Will aside, walking out into the trees that surrounded the Mormon lumber camp.

  “Will,” he said, once they were alone, “I want to show you something.”

  “Yes?”

  They stopped and Nathan fumbled inside his coat, then withdrew the letter. “This came yesterday. ”

  Will’s eyes lit up and he grabbed for it.

  Nathan snatched it away. “No, it’s not from Jenny. It’s from Lydia.”

  “Oh.” There was sharp disappointment in Will’s eyes. He reached for it again, this time without enthusiasm.

  Nathan still held it back. “First, you’ve got to promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me we’ll talk before you go making any decisions. All right?”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Promise?”

  Now he had Will’s full attention. “What’s in that letter?”

  “Uh-uh. Not until you promise.”

  A little peeved, Will finally shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

  Nathan reached up and handed him the letter. “You can read the whole thing if you like.”

  Now Will was openly wary. He took the letter, walked a few steps, and leaned against a tree. Nathan found a stump and sat down, not watching him. For almost five minutes there was hardly a sound except for the soft rustle of the wind in the treetops above them. Nathan knew when Will got to the part about Jenny Pottsworth, because he could hear Will’s breathing tighten, and once or twice there were almost inaudible grun
ts. He turned in time to see Will turn back one page and start that part over again.

  Finally Will folded the letter back together again, then came and handed it to Nathan.

  “Will, I—”

  He raised his hand. “Can we talk some other time, Uncle Nathan? I think I’ll just walk for a while.”

  “Will, I know—”

  “I made you a promise, and I’ll be keeping it. But I’d just like some time to think about it now. All right?”

  “All right.” Nathan put the letter away and stood up.

  Will shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, then turned and walked on down the path without another word.

  “Maybe I’ll come over and see you sometime this week.”

  One hand came up and waved, then went back into the pocket, and then he was gone.

  Will and a “Scandie”—or Scandinavian—named Olaf Knutson watched Jean Claude Dubuque from the riverbank, waiting for direction from him. He was out in the middle of the logjam that blocked a third of the river’s progress and kept snagging new logs and adding them to the pile as fast as they appeared. The three men had been upriver about half a mile, making the back cut on a huge pine tree, when word came that there was a jam in the river. There was never any question about who would go. “Frenchie,” as everyone but Will called him, was the oldest and most experienced logger in camp and the acknowledged expert on breaking up logjams. He had an uncanny knack for finding the “key log,” that log which hung up on a rock or a snag and caused everything behind it to become blocked. Until the key log was freed, the jam wouldn’t move. Will and Olaf were only there to provide the muscle to help the Frenchman break it up.

  For now they both waited while the older man assessed the situation. Both of them carried a pickaroon, an axlike tool but with a pointed head that was driven into a log so it could be “horsed” around by sheer muscle power. Will also carried a cant hook, a five-foot-long pole with a hinged steel hook on one end. This was used for the same purpose and was particularly useful in working with logs in the water.