The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Foster seemed to read Joshua’s thoughts. “I brought these men with me so you’d know what kind of support we have, Steed. There’s also about two hundred more of us. Other members of the stake presidency, high council members, officers in the legion, a member of the city council.”

  “Support for what?” Joshua asked bluntly. He knew what had been going on in the city the last few days. The previous evening, during their traditional Sunday night supper at his father’s house, Benjamin had given the family a full report.

  “Look, Steed,” Foster said, “I’ll come straight to the point. I understand you and your son are leaving tomorrow to go back up to Wisconsin and check on your lumber operation. We wanted to talk to you before you left.”

  “Then talk.”

  “As you know, for a long time a group of us have suspected that Joseph Smith has fallen from grace, that he no longer speaks for God, that he is a fallen prophet.”

  “Foster,” Joshua cut in, “by my definition you can only be a fallen prophet if you’ve been a true one. I don’t believe Joseph Smith is a prophet. I never have. I really don’t give one tinker’s damn for the Church and all their foolishness, so if you’re here to enlist my help in that, you’re wasting your time.”

  Chauncey Higbee’s face darkened and he muttered something to his brother, but Foster went on blandly, undisturbed by Joshua’s sharpness.

  “I am well aware of your feelings, Steed, but I would submit that you do have an interest in seeing Joseph discredited. I think it might go some way in influencing your wife and children in their feelings toward the Church.”

  “You leave my wife and children out of this,” Joshua growled, but his eyes belied his words. This could be of interest to him after all.

  Foster saw it and went on smoothly, and more confidently now. “We are making plans to expose Joseph. When the time comes, we could use the support of influential nonmembers. A man of your reputation and position could be very . . . umm, how shall I say it? . . . helpful.”

  “I’m not sure of that,” Joshua said, “but I’m listening. Tell me what you are thinking.”

  Now William Marks stepped forward. He was a smaller man, with a pinched face and hard, narrow eyes. “We need you to tell people that our lives are in danger, that Joseph Smith is trying to have us assassinated.”

  Foster swung on Marks, cursing, but the damage had been done. Joshua laughed right out loud. “You think you’re in danger because a few policemen built a fire outside your house trying to keep warm?”

  “It was a warning,” Marks half snarled. “I know the police are denying any such intent, but I’m telling you, it was a warning to me.”

  “Shut up, Marks,” Foster hissed. “We’re not here for that.” Marks flushed angrily, but Foster swung back to Joshua. “You know about all of this?” Then he snapped his fingers. “Of course, your father is on the city council.”

  “Yes, that’s right. He told me all about it last night.” Joseph’s call to the police to watch for a traitor in their midst had immediately triggered a surprising reaction among Joseph’s enemies. Evidently one of the policemen had guessed who the traitor might be and began telling people about it. In a matter of hours, surmise had become truth, and sympathizers were warning the Fosters, the Laws, and Marks that not only was Joseph on to them, but he had also ordered their assassination.

  “You don’t believe there’s anything to it, do you?” Wilson Law sneered.

  Joshua snorted in disgust. “A couple of policemen build a small fire outside one of your houses and you go all weak in the knees and are sure your life is forfeit? No, I don’t believe that.”

  Marks was sputtering now. “That’s not true! They were going to kill me.” Chauncey Higbee stepped in front of him, his face a mask of anger now. He grabbed Foster’s arm. “I told you he wouldn’t listen. Let’s get out of here.”

  Foster shook him off. “Just shut up, all of you.” He whirled back around. “You think what you like, Steed, but I’m telling you, Joseph Smith is trying to silence us. He won’t succeed. There are too many of us now. We have close to two hundred in the Church who are with us in this. We know too much. We are too great a threat to him. And if we can’t stop this abuse of power, then your life is in danger too. How long do you think they’ll tolerate non-Mormons among them? They’re after ultimate power, Steed. Ultimate power. And that includes power over life and death.”

  “I’m terrified,” Joshua said dryly.

  “Maybe that’s why you gave your wife and kids permission to be baptized,” William Law sneered. “That way you’ll be sure to be safe.”

  William Law was a large and powerful man, but that never entered Joshua’s mind. His hand shot out and grabbed the man’s shirtfront. He yanked him in close, and shoved his face up next to his. “What did you say?” he asked in a menacing whisper.

  Foster leaped forward, shoving himself between Joshua and Law. “He didn’t mean that, Steed. He’s just upset.” He jerked around. “Did you, William?”

  Law was furious, but he finally shook his head. “I’m sorry, Steed. It was a foolish thing to say.”

  Joshua let him go and stepped back, still breathing hard. “Let me tell you something, Foster. You know how I feel about the Church. But you’re making a big mistake if you underestimate Joseph Smith. I think he’s a fool and a charlatan when it comes to religion, but he’s also a strong leader. He’s a good man, smart as any man I know. He’s kind and caring. He knows his people.”

  Chauncey Higbee was gaping at him. “You sound like one of his followers.”

  “I’ll tell you this,” Joshua shot right back. “If it weren’t for this whole thing on religion and plural marriage, I could be Joseph Smith’s best friend. I admire the man. Not the prophet, but the man. Only a fool can’t see Joseph Smith for what he is—a powerful leader, a brilliant strategist. Come on!” he said in disgust. “Do you think he’s come to all of this”—he waved an arm in the direction of Nauvoo—“by being a fool? If you don’t take the measure of your enemy, you’re going to have your tail whipped.”

  “We know what we’re up against,” Foster muttered sullenly.

  “Do you? Shall I tell you something, Foster? Something you don’t know?”

  “What?”

  “You know what Joseph called you people when he gave the policemen their charge from the mayor? He called you ‘dough heads.’ Do you want to know why? Because at that point he didn’t know who the traitors were. He had no names.”

  At the flash of astonishment in Foster’s eyes, Joshua laughed contemptuously. “That’s right. Rockwell was told that someone here was trying to betray Joseph, but . . .” He paused for effect. “He didn’t get any names.”

  “Or so he says,” Foster muttered.

  “You want to know what Joseph is saying now, after your friends here started bawling to the city council that they had been unjustly accused and that their lives were in danger?” Joshua said, boring in.

  “What?” It came out with complete insolence.

  “Joseph’s asking questions like this. ‘Why is it when I say we have a traitor in our midst, but name no one, William Law and William Marks start squealing like pigs in a panic?’ In fact, here’s a direct quote from Joseph, according to my father. ‘Is it that the wicked flee when no man pursueth? Could it be that it is the hit bird that always flutters?’ ”

  Joshua hooted derisively. “Talk about dough heads! At first no one wanted to believe Rockwell’s report that someone in the highest councils was betraying Joseph. It was too wild. Too improbable. And now? You have managed to convince the whole city that it’s true. Well done, I say! Well done!”

  “Listen, you—”

  Joshua’s face was a cold mask now. “No, you listen. I’m not sure I’d want to be part of this even if I thought you could succeed, but I always make it a rule of thumb to stay away from fools.” With that, he spun on his heel and walked out of the trees.

  Francis Higbee started to swear lo
udly, hoping Joshua would hear him. Chauncey gave one expletive and spun around. He moved away in the opposite direction, thoroughly disgusted with the whole farcical situation. But Foster ignored them both. He was still staring at Joshua’s disappearing figure. The two Law brothers came forward to stand beside him.

  “There’s no way you’re going to get him to throw in with us,” Wilson said. “Chauncey’s right about that part at least.”

  “It’ll never happen,” William Marks said in disgust. “His whole family are Mormons. He claims he’s no lover of the Church or Joseph Smith, but he isn’t going to turn against his own kin either.”

  Foster swung on them, angry at their stupidity. “You still don’t see it, do you?”

  “See what?” Wilson Law said.

  “Joshua Steed is known up and down this river. He’s got friends from St. Louis to La Crosse. A lot of people respect him. We need that kind of influence.”

  “Well, let’s offer him a dollar or two and see if he’ll come in with us,” Francis said with sneering sarcasm.

  Now it was Foster who was disgusted. “He’s right. You are dough heads! Don’t you see? We don’t have to turn Steed against the Church. He’s already there. All we’ve got to do is give him a good reason to join up with us.”

  “And just how do we do that?” William Law asked.

  “I don’t know,” Foster admitted, turning to where they could see through the willows that Joshua was back out on the ice, cutting the next block. “But I’m going to give it a lot of thought. You can count on that.”

  Mary Ann stopped as they reached the door of Caroline’s house. “Are you sure about this, Melissa?” she asked, watching her daughter with concern. “You know that none of us want to press something on you that you are not comfortable with. They all wanted me to make sure you understood that, especially Mary.”

  Melissa hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I’m sure, Mama. I would like to hear what Mary has to say, but . . .” Her head dropped slightly. “I don’t think it will make any difference.”

  Mary Ann watched her daughter, thinking back across the years. Mary Ann had given birth to ten children—six girls and four boys. But Melissa and Rebecca were the only girls who had survived, so in a way, Melissa was Mary Ann’s first daughter. Melissa would celebrate her thirty-third birthday in about four weeks, and she was now the mother of four children and in the first stages of expecting her fifth. Maturity and motherhood had been very good to her, Mary Ann thought as she studied her. She was still a very lovely woman.

  “Melissa, all that Lydia and Caroline and Rebecca want for you is to help you see how it’s possible to accept the doctrine of plural marriage. That’s all. If you can’t accept that, they won’t love you one bit less. And neither will I.”

  “I know, Mama, and I appreciate that. They’ve all been so good not to try and push me faster than I wanted to go.” She sighed. “I want to understand. I want to feel like I used to feel before we went to Brother Kimball’s house. Why can’t I?”

  “Maybe this tonight will help,” Mary Ann said. She raised her hand and knocked on the door.

  There were sudden tears in Melissa’s eyes. “I’ve always been the weak one in the family when it comes to believing, Mama.”

  “That’s not true!” Mary Ann cried.

  Melissa smiled sadly. “I love you, Mama. Don’t ever give up on me.”

  Mary Ann squeezed her hand. “You know I won’t.”

  They heard footsteps, then Caroline opened the door. Seeing the tears, she just nodded and held the door open more widely so that they could come in.

  Olivia had the children gathered around her in the main room of Lydia’s house. Emily, at eleven, was “far too old” to need a baby-sitter for herself, so she was helping out by rocking little Joseph, who was nearly asleep. Young Joshua sat on the floor beside Olivia, also ready to provide what help she needed. Savannah and Elizabeth Mary sat together holding hands. There was only fourteen months’ difference in their ages and these cousins had long been the best of friends. Josiah, now three, and Charles, almost four, likewise sat together.

  “What stories would you like to hear tonight?” Olivia asked. She had promised them that once they had washed the dishes, read their scriptures, and said their prayers, she would read them whatever stories they wanted.

  Four hands shot up.

  “Elizabeth Mary?”

  “ ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’ ”

  Olivia’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Lizzie, but I didn’t bring the fairy tale book. How about something from the Bible? Noah’s ark, perhaps?”

  “No!” Savannah cried, ready to stand firmly by her cousin. “ ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes.’ That’s our favorite story.”

  “I thought David and Goliath was your favorite story,” young Joshua laughed.

  “It is,” she replied, the impish eyes beneath the red hair shining with determination. “But the Emperor is my very, very favorite.”

  “Yes,” Charles chimed in. “Tell us that one, Livvy.”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” the others were chanting now.

  “Well, I don’t have the book. I’ll just have to tell it as best I can.”

  “No,” Savannah said, her voice pleading now. “You’ve got to read it, Livvy. I’ll go get it.”

  “No, Mama is having a meeting and we can’t disturb her.”

  “Then you go get it,” Savannah implored. “Please.”

  Olivia looked at young Joshua, who grinned. “I’ll tell them the story of David and Goliath while you go get it.”

  “All right,” she said, which won her an enthusiastic round of cheers.

  She stood and went to the hallway for her coat. “I’ll be right back.”

  There were four women waiting for Melissa and Mary Ann when they walked into Caroline’s parlor. Caroline and Lydia sat in two armchairs. Rebecca and Mary Fielding Smith were on the sofa. Caroline had set two more chairs so they faced the sofa, and Mary Ann and Melissa sat down in them.

  Melissa was in no mood for small talk or delaying this further. She immediately turned to Mary Smith. “Well, shall we start? My family tells me that you have things to say that might help me better understand all that is going on.”

  “I should just like to say one thing first,” Mary Ann spoke up.

  They all nodded and waited.

  “Melissa, we just want you to know that accepting this has not been an easy thing for any of us. It is probably the most severe test of our faith any of us have known. But the thing which has made the greatest difference to us is knowing the feelings of some of the women who have been asked to live the law. Especially Vilate Kimball. You were there that night. You know what it was that finally convinced her that this was truly a principle from God and not just Joseph’s doing.”

  “Yes,” Melissa said quietly.

  “We”—she waved at Rebecca and Caroline and Lydia—“we feel that Mary has a unique perspective as well. If it can—”

  Melissa had turned to Mary Smith. “Has Hyrum taken another wife?” she asked quietly.

  Mary flinched a little but did not look away. “Yes.” There was a long silence; then she spoke again. “I would like to tell you about that in a few minutes, Melissa, but I would like to say some other things first.”

  Remembering her mother’s admonition that she didn’t want to be disturbed, Olivia went in the back door, opening it with the greatest of care. She tiptoed past the hallway, where she could clearly hear them talking, then went up the stairs to her bedroom, avoiding the places where she knew the floor would creak. In a moment she had Hans Christian Andersen’s book of fairy tales under her arm. With the same care, she came back down the stairs. She was just passing the hallway when she heard Melissa’s question: “Has Hyrum taken another wife?”

  Olivia stopped, staring, not sure she had heard it right. Then came the answer. Olivia was thunderstruck. Any thoughts of fairy tales or reading to the children were forgotten. She stood riveted to t
he spot, too dumbfounded to even feel guilty about the fact that she was eavesdropping.

  “I would like to say two things to begin with,” Mary Fielding was saying. “The first is that just because you are having difficulty accepting it, Melissa, doesn’t mean you are a person with no faith.”

  “Well, that’s how I feel,” Melissa answered. “I look at Caroline and Lydia, Rebecca, even Jenny. I know it wasn’t easy for them, but it hasn’t knocked them clear off balance as it has me.”

  “Do you know who it has knocked off balance?” Mary asked quietly.

  “Who?”

  “William Marks and Austin Cowles, two members of the Nauvoo stake presidency. Leonard Soby of the high council. William Law of the First Presidency.” She let that sink in, then added one more name. “And Emma.”

  At the look on Melissa’s face, she went on. “Yes, faithful, tireless, ever-patient Emma. She is really struggling with this. It has been the most difficult thing she has ever had to deal with.”

  “But she is dealing with it!” Melissa cried.

  “Not always,” came the reply. “Sometimes she fights it bitterly. I can’t go into all of that, but she tried to tear up the revelation once, say that it had never happened.”

  Mary stopped and the room fell silent for a time. Finally, she spoke again. “So that’s the first thing I wanted you to know. You are not alone in having feelings of revulsion for this principle, Melissa.”

  “Thank you,” Melissa said softly. “I’m still not sure if that makes me feel better, but I do appreciate knowing it.”

  Mary straightened. “Now, I should like to answer your original question, and then I think you shall have enough to think about and I shall leave you.”

  She had to stop as her voice suddenly started to quaver. She swallowed once, then again, blinking back the unexpected tears. “I will not tell you that this has been easy for me either, for it has not. And perhaps that will help you too.”

  Melissa nodded, watching her very closely now.

  “As you know, for some time, many people feared that my sister and I were going to turn out to be spinsters. And, had we not joined the Church, that may well have been our fate. I was thirty-six when I finally married Hyrum. But anyway, we came to Kirtland in the spring of 1837, as you know. There Mercy married Robert Thompson. That October, Jerusha died and Joseph told Hyrum he should marry that ‘English girl Mary Fielding.’ ”