The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  Now young Carl moved up beside his brother. “Look a little to the right, Caleb. There’s a low hill there. See the big white building?”

  David started wiggling, his arm thrusting forward. “That’s the temple, isn’t it, Papa?”

  “Yes, that’s the temple.”

  “I see it!” Caleb chortled, looking at Sarah with begrudging respect.

  “We’ll be there in about twenty minutes,” Melissa said. “You’d better go pack.”

  The three of them darted away, leaving only young Carl standing with his parents.

  “Don’t wake the baby!” Melissa called after them. “Papa and I will be there in a moment.”

  She moved closer to Carl and put her arm through his. “There it is,” she murmured.

  There was a slow nod, but no response beyond that.

  “Papa?”

  Carl turned to his namesake. “What, Carl?”

  “Are we ever going to go back to Kirtland?”

  One eyebrow came up. “Why do you ask?”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Melissa now turned, as surprised as Carl. Young Carl had turned twelve in April. Though he was much like his father in temperament—quiet, thoughtful, choosing his words with care—he was Melissa in every other way—dark hair, fine features, slim of body. He was getting his growth slowly and hadn’t yet started into puberty, but he had always been mature in his thinking and in the way he assessed the world around him. “But why?” she asked.

  “Because this is home,” he said simply.

  “Didn’t you like being with Grandma Rogers?” his father asked.

  “Yes. And I miss that part of our family already. But this is home.”

  “I know,” Melissa whispered, looking up at Carl.

  He held her glance for a minute, then looked at his son. “You go help your brothers and sister now, Carl.”

  “Yes, Papa.” He gave one last glance out ahead of them, then turned and walked away.

  “That was a strange thing for him to say,” Melissa said when he was gone.

  “Was it?”

  She gave him an odd look, tilting her head slightly. “You don’t think so?”

  There was a short, silent laugh. “That’s what I called it back in Kirtland, remember? Doesn’t it feel that way to you too?” he asked.

  “You know it does. I’m like the children. My heart is beating a little faster just seeing it out there ahead of us. I’m so excited to see the family again. They’ll be so surprised.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t write them. This should be fun.”

  She half turned, then stopped. “So, are we going to move back to Kirtland?”

  There was a long moment when only the great swishing of the paddle wheel behind them could be heard. Then he slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’ll have to go back and visit, of course, but . . . No, I don’t think so. I think Carl’s right. This is home.”

  “Yes.” She started away, a sudden lightness in her heart, but she only went three or four steps before he spoke again.

  “Melissa?”

  “What?”

  “I’ll not be interested in having anything to do with the Church.”

  Her chin rose a little; she was not really surprised. “I know, Carl.”

  “You can do what you want. You know that.”

  “I do, and I thank you. But—” She looked away, biting at her lip, surprised at the sudden rise of emotion in her. “But until there’s no more talk about plural marriage, I’ll not be doing much with the Church either, Carl.”

  He watched her steadily, the sunlight off the water playing across the faint dusting of freckles on his cheeks, his green eyes grave and thoughtful. Finally, he nodded, clearly satisfied, then turned from the rail and took her hand. “Let’s go pack, Mrs. Rogers. We’re almost home.”

  Joshua and Will Steed were working in the large barn behind the stables. They used this barn as a warehouse for goods that either were being prepared for shipment or had come in by wagon and were waiting distribution. They had four men with them, and they were all loading sacks of barley onto a wagon that was destined for Montebello, south of Nauvoo. It was shortly before noon, and Joshua was eager to get the wagon on its way so it could reach its destination before nightfall. The lawless element which skulked around the river towns was growing more and more bold, and they had lost a wagonload of durable goods the previous week. The driver was still recovering from being pistol-whipped for trying to resist. So Will and Joshua had shed their coats and come out to help speed up the process.

  The air in the barn was thick with dust, and they had neckerchiefs tied around their faces. They were hot, sweaty, dirty, and tired. It had been some time since Joshua had helped load a wagon, and he was puffing heavily enough that he was a bit embarrassed by it. In that disgusting way that youth have, Will worked in what looked like effortless ease. He too was sweating, but Joshua could hardly tell that he was breathing hard.

  Will paused for a moment, grinning wickedly at his father. “Pa, maybe you shouldn’t have backed out on the sale of the business.”

  Joshua just grunted and tossed another bag up on the wagon bed. In February, he had put the freight business up for sale when he had jerked his family out of Nauvoo in order to “save” Olivia from Joseph Smith and plural marriage. Then the potential buyers had been unable to raise enough capital. That had delayed their leaving Warsaw and, in a way, was directly responsible for the tragedy that followed. Even after Olivia’s death, Joshua had been determined to sell and move to St. Louis, and found another group of buyers who acted interested. But the more he watched Caroline during her convalescence, the more he knew that if he tried to move his family out now, it would break her. So he had withdrawn the freight company from the market.

  “If you had sold out,” Will said, leaning against the back of the wagon, “you could be sitting in some office now. You’d be in a white shirt. It would be cool. Maybe one of the secretaries could bring you a tall glass of iced tea.”

  Joshua looked at the other men, who were smiling now too, though not too openly. “You know, after spending a week listening to you go on so, it’s no wonder Alice looked so tired when she and her father finally went back home.” He looked at the other men, who had stopped work now to listen, grinning at the interchange between father and son. “Maybe we’d best go to the office and have some iced tea and leave the rest of the job up to old Big Mouth here.”

  That brought a laugh from the men, but Will was unruffled. “Listening to you blowing like a winded horse, that might not be a bad idea. I’d hate to have to carry you home tonight.”

  “Look, you little pup—,” Joshua started, ignoring the guffaws of the others. But just then the side door to the barn opened. Joshua’s bookkeeper stuck his head in.

  “Mr. Steed?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s a gentleman to see you.”

  “Who?” And then he knew it didn’t matter who it was, they had to finish loading the wagon so it could get off. “Can you ask him to come back in about an hour?”

  “I did that, sir. He said it’s most urgent that he speak with you.”

  It always was, Joshua thought. He picked up another sack of barley and heaved it up on the load. “Did he give you a name?”

  “Yes. He says his name is Bennett.” The man had a strange look of distaste on his face. “Doctor John C. Bennett.”

  All four of Joshua’s workers were Latter-day Saints, recent immigrants from England or the eastern United States looking for work in their new home. At the mention of the name of John C. Bennett they all swung around, anger darkening their faces.

  “Bennett!” Will cried. “It can’t be. He wouldn’t dare.”

  The accountant nodded vigorously. “I don’t know him, sir, but one of the others recognized him. It’s him, Mr. Steed.”

  “I’ll wager that he’s riding a rail out of town by sundown,” one of the men growled. There were angry mutters of agree
ment from the others. Joshua was still staring.

  “What do you want me to tell him, Mr. Steed?”

  That brought Joshua back. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” he said.

  “I’m going with you, Pa,” Will said immediately. He didn’t wait for an answer. He took the neckerchief from off his face and wiped at his forehead with it even as he started for the door. For a moment, Joshua thought about calling him back, then shrugged it off. Maybe it was just as well to have company when he faced this man again.

  Bennett was waiting in the office, seated in a chair. Joshua stopped for a moment, studying the man through the window. He had not seen them yet. He was dressed even more impeccably than normal, and Joshua saw immediately that the rumors were true. John C. Bennett had prospered considerably by writing a book and going on the lecture circuit to denounce Mormonism. His suit was well cut and clearly came from an excellent tailor. His shoes were city shoes and polished to a gleaming luster. He wore a white shirt with a silk cravat at the neck. A beaver-skin top hat sat on the desk. A cane with a brass tip and polished ebony head lay beside it. The hair, just starting to gray now, was slicked back and recently barbered. He looked every bit the wealthy New York businessman or Boston dandy.

  Joshua frowned at Will, then opened the door. Bennett shot to his feet, all smiles. For a moment, Will thought he was going to cross the room, hand extended, as though greeting a brother not seen for long years. But when Bennett saw Will come in behind Joshua, the smile stiffened a little and he held his place.

  “Joshua,” he said, voice warm and welcoming, “how good to see you again!”

  “Hello, John,” Joshua responded in a cool voice. “This is a surprise.”

  “Thought it might be.” He looked more closely at Will. “Will Steed, isn’t it?”

  Will nodded curtly but said nothing.

  Bennett stepped back, the smile still unctuous, but strained now. “I heard about the tragic loss of your daughter, Joshua. I am truly sorry. I—”

  “Don’t!” Will said in a clipped, harsh tone. “Don’t you even talk about Olivia. It’s you and your kind that are responsible for her death.”

  Joshua reached back and laid a hand on his son’s arm, still watching Bennett, who had drawn himself up, his face showing deep offense. “That’s enough, Will,” Joshua warned. Then to Bennett, “It does seem a little strange that you would come back here.”

  “Look,” he said angrily, “Joseph and I had our differences. I felt obligated to oppose some of the things he taught, but—”

  “You felt obligated to weave a tangle of outrageous lies and slanderous half-truths,” Will said hotly.

  Joshua swung on him. “Will, Doctor Bennett is well aware of your feelings. So am I. That’s enough said. If you can’t be polite, then excuse yourself and go back to loading the wagon.”

  Will stood there, his feet planted, his fists clenched, as though he were facing a possible attack, but finally there was a brief bob of his head. “All right.”

  “Thank you, Joshua,” Bennett said. He turned and, without asking, returned to his chair. “There are things that I must discuss with you.”

  Joshua moved around and took the chair behind his desk. Will took one in the corner opposite Bennett.

  “You have to believe me,” Bennett said, hands out as if in supplication, “I deeply regret that in the heat of my embittered differences with Brother Joseph, I strayed into a severity of expression of which my cooler judgment would not approve.”

  There was a soft hoot of disgust from Will, but one sharp look from Joshua stopped it there. Bennett half turned in his chair so that he could deliberately avoid Will’s gaze. In his mind, there was only one other in the room now and that was Joshua. “You have to believe me, Joshua. I wanted to dethrone Joseph because I felt he was leading the Church astray, but I have never condoned or justified mob violence as the means of doing that.”

  Strangely enough, Joshua did believe him. Not that it proved much. Bennett had worked against Joseph in every other way. And Will was right. It was because of men like Bennett and the hatred they sowed that the opposition against the Mormon prophet exploded into open violence. He finally nodded, not responding one way or another.

  Bennett reached inside his coat and withdrew an envelope. “You asked what I am doing here. Well, this partially explains it. I received this while in Louisville about mid-July.” He leaned forward and tossed it onto the desk.

  Joshua picked it up, opened it, and withdrew one sheet of paper. He unfolded it and looked at it. After a moment, he looked at Will. “It is dated June nineteenth from Carthage.”

  “June nineteenth?” Will said in surprise. “A week before the martyrdom?”

  Joshua nodded absently, still looking at the sheet. He looked at Bennett as he spoke to Will. “There is no name. It is signed only as ‘a brigadier general of the Illinois militia.’”

  “Yes,” Bennett said.

  “‘Dear General Bennett—,’” Joshua began. He had emphasized the word general with soft sarcasm and Bennett raised a deprecating hand.

  “You must remember that I was quartermaster general for the state militia, appointed by the governor. This man also knew I was a general in the Nauvoo Legion.”

  “Who is it?” Joshua asked.

  Bennett shook his head. “I have a pretty good idea, but the man obviously wanted to remain anonymous, so I feel I must honor his wishes. But read on.”

  “‘Dear General Bennett. We need you very much in your military capacity for our campaign against the Mormons. If you can and will come, start without a moment’s delay, as things will come to a crisis in about eight or ten days.’”

  Joshua looked up. If this was written on the nineteenth, it was exactly eight days before a mob stormed the Carthage Jail. He said nothing, but continued reading. “‘Perhaps the committee will send this to you in Louisville by express. If so, come with the man who brings it to you. Come to me directly at either Carthage or Warsaw.’ Then it’s signed.”

  “I didn’t come, Joshua. I didn’t want to be part of that.”

  “Then why are you here now?” Will asked, his voice even and controlled.

  Bennett answered, but not to Will. “When I heard the news of Joseph’s tragic death, that changed everything. I knew that there would be many questions about who should lead the Church now.”

  “Surely you’re not volunteering!” Will sneered.

  “Will!” Joshua said, his voice crackling. “That is enough!”

  Bennett finally gave Will a quick look, and it was filled with condescension and sly triumph. “Thank you, Joshua,” he said smoothly. “No, of course I don’t think I am the one to take over from Joseph. I have made my break with the Church. I still vehemently disagree with the direction that Joseph took the Church there at the last. No, the reason I came forward is because of something that happened while I was serving in the First Presidency.”

  “You were not in the First Presidency,” Will corrected softly. “Joseph called you to act as an Assistant President while Sidney Rigdon was ill and could not function.”

  To Joshua’s surprise, Bennett merely nodded. “That’s correct. But Joseph treated me as though I were a full member of the Presidency. And it was while I was in that position that something of great importance happened.” Again he reached in his pocket and withdrew another envelope. Joshua saw that it was sealed.

  “What is that?” Will asked suspiciously.

  “A revelation from Joseph Smith,” Bennett retorted. There was no mistaking the triumph in his voice and his amusement at the reaction from both Joshua and Will.

  “A revelation?” Will exclaimed.

  “What kind of a revelation?” Joshua asked.

  “Let me tell you first about how it came about. It was April seventh, eighteen forty-one, three years ago now. Joseph came to me and said that he had received a revelation. At that time, only Hyrum and I were functioning members of the Presidency. Elder Rigdon was quite ill, as
Will has noted. But Joseph came to me. First he made me promise with the most solemn oath that I would never divulge, neither through friendship nor enmity, the secret he was about to communicate to me until after his death. If I were to proceed him in death, he said, then he would communicate the secret to another. Otherwise, I was under the most solemn oath. Then he handed me this sealed envelope.”

  He contemptuously ignored the skeptical look on Will’s face. But Will wasn’t the only one who found this to be just a bit too preposterous. Joshua couldn’t help the smile that came as a response to Bennett’s claim. “And I suppose that you have no idea what the envelope contains.”

  “Oh, no. I know exactly what it contains. Joseph told me.”

  “What?” both Will and Joshua asked together.

  “Joseph made me swear to him with the most solemn oath that if he should die, I would hand this over to an authorized agent of the Church. It contains a revelation from the Lord about how to reorganize this church in the event that Joseph should die.”

  Both father and son just stared at him, mouths agape.

  He smiled thinly. “That’s right. And that’s why I am here.”

  “And what does this supposed revelation say?” Will asked. He said it with cool detachment, but his eyes were hard and cold. Bennett flinched a little at the implacable bitterness there. Once again, he turned away, looking at Joshua. “Well, among other things,” he said archly, like a child who has been insulted, “the Lord said that I had received the blessings of heaven”—he shot Will a withering glance—“and that I had been sealed up and should never fall.”

  “Well, so much for that promise,” Will drawled.

  “And that whosoever would bless me,” Bennett went on quickly, his voice rising in warning, “should be blessed, and . . .” He paused for effect. “And whosoever should curse me should himself be cursed.”

  Will guffawed loudly, shaking his head. Joshua was too flabbergasted to try and rein Will in any longer. “And that is the message of the revelation, that you are approved of heaven?” Will made no attempt to hide his incredulity.