The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  She was without a response. His words lashed at her like cords; but that he was saying them to her, that he felt such anger of his own, struck her dumb. Was this what she had done to her quiet, gentle Peter?

  “Do you remember that poem I once wrote for you, right after the accident?”

  She still held her journal in her hands. She opened it to the back and withdrew a folded piece of paper and waved it at him. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  He came back across the room. The anger was gone now. All that was left was pleading. “Do you remember the last few stanzas?”

  Remember them? She had memorized them long ago, and hardly a day passed without her reciting them in her mind. She put the paper back in her journal and set it on the bed. Her head came up. There were no tears, only a firm determination to get through it without breaking.

  “‘What bars of earthly form—,’” she began softly, “‘Steel or iron, wind or storm—Can bind to earth my boundless heart; Stopping me from pushing back the night? My freedom lies within—Only sorrow, only sin—’” She had to stop and take a breath before she could go on. “‘Only sorrow, only sin—Can clip my inner wings; And bind me tight.’”

  There was a long silence, and then, in a bare whisper, “‘Shackles of my own are all that stay my flight.’”

  He came back over and sat down, heavily, wearily, resignedly. “I’m sorry, Kathryn. I didn’t come here to say all that.”

  She nodded, her face calm now. She turned her head, looking at the small table. “You brought a book?”

  There was a short, mirthless laugh. “Yes.”

  “Read it to me.”

  His head came up slightly. “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  “All of it?”

  She nodded again, her eyes misting now.

  Looking a little befuddled, he turned and got the book and opened it. “It’s a book of poetry by an English poet, Robert Browning. It’s called Pippa Passes.” He looked up again. “It’s a long narrative poem.”

  “Read it to me.”

  And then as he opened the book and turned to the first page, she spoke quietly. “Peter. I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I don’t know if I can ever change how I feel about—” She faltered momentarily. “About the future. But I would like you to read to me again.”

  For a long, long time—what almost seemed like five minutes to her—he scanned her face, probed her eyes, searched her soul, and then he finally nodded slowly. “I would like that too,” he said. And then with a smile, he flipped some pages. “I’ll come back and read from the first in a minute, but there’s one line here that I’ve got to read to you.”

  “All right.”

  She watched him, loving how his brow puckered ever so slightly as he concentrated. And then he had it. He looked up. “Just two lines, but I think they are particularly appropriate right now.”

  “Read them to me.”

  He didn’t look down. Like her, he had these committed to memory. “‘God’s in his heaven,’” he said, very softly, “‘All’s right with the world!’”

  Ten days later, on the afternoon of October seventeenth, over thirty weeping family members gathered at the boat dock at the south end of Main Street. With heavy hearts, the Steeds watched their father and mother, grandfather and grandmother, walk up the gangplank onto the Golden Dawn, a medium-sized riverboat out of Memphis, Tennessee. Benjamin and Mary Ann would travel by boat down to where the Ohio River joined the Mississippi at Cairo (which the locals pronounced “Karo”), Illinois. They were accompanied by Derek and Matthew, who would continue downriver as far as Memphis, then strike off by land for Little Rock.

  As the great whistle blew and the boat backed away from the dock, Jenny and Rebecca stood side by side, both showing their coming motherhood, both holding the hands of young children who would now be without their fathers for the next four months. Only when the boat finally disappeared around a bend in the river did they and the children stop waving and turn to go back to their homes.

  Chapter Notes

  A good summary of this period of time in the Church’s history is found in CHFT, pp. 293–307, and in American Moses, pp. 117–24.

  The remarks of Wilford Woodruff concerning the March 1844 meeting with Joseph are quoted exactly as given (cited in CHFT, p. 294).

  Amasa Lyman was re-sustained to the apostleship on 12 August 1844. He had been called as an Apostle in 1842 when Orson Pratt became embittered and was dropped from the Quorum. When Elder Pratt repented and was reinstated, Elder Lyman dropped out of the Quorum, and Joseph Smith took him into the First Presidency, though he was not considered a counselor in the same sense as were Hyrum Smith and Sidney Rigdon. At Joseph’s death, the First Presidency was dissolved. Brigham then presented Elder Lyman’s name to the Church to become an Apostle again. However, since that would make thirteen Apostles, Elder Lyman was not made a member of the Quorum of the Twelve until there was a later vacancy. (See HC 7:295; Deseret News 1993–1994 Church Almanac [Salt Lake City: Deseret News, 1992], p. 51; CHFT, p. 292.)

  After his excommunication in September, Sidney Rigdon moved back to Pittsburgh and in the spring of 1845 started a “Church of Christ” with apostles, prophets, priests, and kings. He published a newspaper for a time and drew a small group of supporters. By 1847, his organization had mostly disintegrated. Sidney held on to a few followers for the next thirty years and finally died in obscurity in New York State.

  William Marks continued to support Sidney’s claims of leadership after the 8 August meeting. At the October 1844 conference, the Saints refused to sustain him as president of the Nauvoo Stake any longer and he was released from that position. (See HC 7:296.) He aligned himself with Rigdon’s movement for a time, but later became disillusioned and followed the Strangite movement. Finally, he became part of the group that formed the Reorganized Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

  James J. Strang, a man of strong and persuasive personality, eventually won over three former Apostles: William E. McLellin, John E. Page, and William Smith. McLellin had been excommunicated in 1838; Smith, in 1845; and Page, in 1846. For a time Strang was also supported by Martin Harris and William Marks, former president of the Nauvoo Stake. In 1849, Strang located his colony on an island in Lake Michigan and pronounced himself as “king of the kingdom.” In 1856, Strang was murdered by a disaffected member of his group and the Strangite movement collapsed. (See CHFT, pp. 294–95.)

  William Smith was sustained as Patriarch to the Church in October 1844, but for a variety of reasons his ordination was delayed until May 1845. Still a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, he gave some patriarchal blessings but then began to put forth his own claims to be Church leader. He was excommunicated in October 1845. He followed James Strang for a brief time, then began to put forth the idea that Joseph Smith III, the oldest son of Joseph, was the rightful successor to his father. Since Joseph III was still but a boy, William offered to be “guardian and president pro tem” until young Joseph was of age. (See CHFT, p. 295.) For a number of years William vacillated between the Church in Utah and the Reorganized Church, eventually joining the latter organization in 1878.

  Chapter 11

  Rebecca Ingalls was bundled up tightly in coat, muffler, rubber galoshes—a recent innovation from the East that had become very popular in Nauvoo—and mittens. The galoshes proved more helpful for warmth than for wet, as the temperature was barely in the mid-twenties this morning and the streets and sidewalks were frozen hard. It was only the tenth day of December, 1844, but already they had had several major snowstorms and severe cold. It was starting off to be a hard winter. A wind was blowing straight out of the north and cut through even the thickest layer of clothing. She shivered, watching the wind snatch the vapor of her breath away, and she walked more quickly along.

  As she approached the small house of Mary Fielding Smith and Mercy Fielding Thompson, she shook her head. What a sad change for these two widowed sisters! When Joseph and Emm
a moved from the Homestead into the Mansion House in the fall of 1843, Hyrum moved his family into the Homestead. By then his family included Mercy Thompson and her one child as well as Mary and their own children. After the death of his brother-in-law Robert Thompson, and under a direct commandment from the Lord through Joseph, Hyrum had taken Mercy Thompson as his second wife.

  The Homestead, quite roomy now with the additions Joseph had added over the past several years, was a wonderful blessing to the family, especially when Hyrum was killed and left the two sisters widowed. Then, just a few weeks ago, Emma, facing her own financial problems, decided to rent out the Mansion House to President Marks and move back into the Homestead. So the two sisters and their children had to go. Now they lived in this small house with barely enough room to turn around in.

  Rebecca remembered clearly the day that the two Fielding sisters came to Kirtland with their brother Joseph Fielding. Since Nathan had been with Parley Pratt in Toronto and had been instrumental in helping bring the family into the Church, along with John and Leonora Taylor, the Canadians came to visit the Steeds. Though Mary was almost seventeen years Rebecca’s senior, the two had almost instantly become close friends, and that friendship had endured until now.

  Rebecca went through the gate and up to the door and knocked, pulling off her mittens after doing so. Almost immediately the door opened and Mary was smiling warmly at her. “Oh, Rebecca, how good to see you! Come in, come in.”

  They sat near the small metal stove in one corner of the only sitting room, sipping warm herbal tea. Off in the back room, Rebecca could hear the children playing some sort of game. She smiled. The house might be small and the firewood barely adequate to keep it heated, but there was plenty of warmth and happiness in this house.

  “So,” Mary asked, “have you heard from Derek yet?”

  “Yes, just two days ago. They wrote about two weeks before that. They have arrived in Little Rock and found a small shed behind the home of a member of the Church where they can stay rent free. He said they will have to work for a week or two to get sufficient funds to see them through the winter, but they have already started holding meetings.” She sipped her tea. “It’s still too early to tell what kind of success they will have.”

  “Are you doing all right?” Mercy asked.

  Rebecca nodded. How like these two good women. Here they were, widowed on a permanent basis, not just for four months, living in a home a third the size of Rebecca’s, and they were asking if she was getting along all right. She put the cup back in the saucer and looked at the two of them. “The children are still struggling a little. Last night, after we had said prayers, I noticed that little Benjamin was crying. When I asked him why, he asked two questions. ‘Where is Papa?’ was the first. When I explained that Papa was a missionary in Arkansas, that seemed to satisfy him. His next question was, ‘When can I see Grandma Steed?’ I’m afraid that then I started to cry too because I had to tell him that we didn’t know for sure how soon Grandma would return.”

  Mary shook her head sadly. “When you’re only two years old, it’s hard to understand such things.” She looked deliberately at the roundness of Rebecca’s belly. “Are you all right?”

  Rebecca laid a hand on her stomach, remembering when, with her second pregnancy, she first realized that things were different than they had been when she had carried Christopher. Finally in concern she had gone to see John C. Bennett, who was a doctor, setting off a whole chain of events that were not happy memories for her. “Yes,” she said gratefully, “everything’s fine this time.”

  “And how are your parents doing?” Mercy asked. “They made it to Nashville all right?”

  “Oh, yes. We’ve had two letters from Mama now. She says Papa is reveling in the work. That’s the word she used. She said she has never seen him derive so much satisfaction from what he’s doing.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Mary said. “Your father is such a good man. I just love him. I would love to be in his branch.”

  Now Rebecca decided to change the subject away from her and the family. She had already inquired about how the two sisters were getting along, so she asked another question. “Tell me, Mercy, what is this I hear about the penny fund?”

  Mercy, the younger of the two, and in her mid-thirties now, leaned back, smiling with pleasure. “You heard about President Young’s request?”

  “Only briefly. Tell me.”

  “Well, you remember how this whole thing came about, don’t you?”

  “I do. I remember Hyrum making the announcement at the Christmas party last year.”

  “It was a direct answer to prayer, you know. I watched how hard Hyrum and the brethren were working to complete the temple and I wanted to know what I could do as a sister. And then the answer came, clear as the ringing of a bell. ‘Get the sisters to contribute one penny a month to the temple fund.’” Her eyes had softened with the memory. “A penny a month isn’t much—just barely more than a dime per year, but I knew that if we could get all the sisters to contribute, we could perhaps get enough to help purchase window glass and nails for the roof, two of the commodities that we cannot make ourselves.”

  “It was a wonderful idea,” Rebecca said enthusiastically. “Mary told me the other day that you have collected five or six hundred dollars.”

  “Closer to six hundred, I think. We have a large bag”—Mercy held out her arms to demonstrate—“a very large bag of pennies now.”

  “And heavy,” Mary came in. “We had to find a place in that pile of bricks out back to hide it.”

  “So tell me about President Young,” said Rebecca.

  “Well,” Mercy went on, thoughtful now, “about ten days ago, President Young wrote to us. He said the Church was facing a serious financial crisis. There were some notes coming due for land held in the name of the trustees-in-trust for the Church. Thirty-one hundred dollars was needed within ninety days as payment on the notes.”

  “Whew!” Rebecca exclaimed. “Over three thousand dollars!” In a society that was not rich in cash, that was a small fortune.

  “Yes, but one-third of that amount was needed immediately or the title holders were threatening to foreclose on the property.”

  Now Mary came in again. “Brigham said the land is worth some ten to fifteen thousand dollars, so to lose it would be a major blow to the Church.”

  “But the Church simply does not have a thousand dollars in cash right now,” Mercy went on, nodding, “and so they were on the verge of foreclosure. Then Brigham remembered the penny fund. He asked if we would be willing to turn the pennies over to the Twelve to pay off the note. By spring, when they will need the money for the windows and the nails, they will be able to pay it back, he said. But the real crisis was now.”

  “And so you agreed?”

  “Of course. We were very pleased that our little penny fund might prove to be a way to save the Church a lot of money.”

  “I should say,” Rebecca echoed.

  “I thought it was wonderful of the Twelve to ask,” Mary said. “I mean, in a way, it is the Church’s money, not ours, and they could have just taken it. But Brigham made it clear that it was only a request and we could say no if we wanted.”

  “So it’s done?”

  “Yes. They found the other four hundred dollars somewhere else and made the first payment. Brigham told me yesterday that he is confident they can raise the rest of it in time now.”

  “That is wonderful news. You must feel very proud.”

  Mercy smiled. “Well, as Hyrum once told us, in the scriptures pride is always considered a sin. But when God wants to talk about how he feels about his Son, he says, ‘This is my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.’” She smiled shyly, almost like a young girl. “I suppose it would be all right if Mary and I said that we are well pleased with what happened.”

  They fell silent for a few moments as they finished their tea. Rebecca set it aside and murmured contentedly, “That tastes so good. It is miserably
cold outside today.”

  “I notice that there’s ice running in the river already,” Mercy said. “It must be very cold up north.”

  They nodded at that, and then Rebecca asked another question, a question that was one of the main reasons she had come. “How is Emma doing?”

  Mary and Mercy looked at each other, shaking their heads. “Not very good,” Mary said sadly.

  “And the baby, little David Hyrum?”

  “I’m afraid he is going to be a sickly child,” Mercy murmured. “He is not in any danger, mind you, but neither is he a strong and healthy baby.”

  “One more burden for her to bear,” Rebecca said.

  “Yes, but at least it wasn’t another silent child,” said Mercy. “The fear of that weighed heavily on her mind, as you know.”

  “And to have to face it without Joseph,” Mary broke in. “Poor Emma.”

  Rebecca hesitated for a moment, then went on. “Do you think she and Brother Brigham will be able to reconcile matters?”

  Again there came that dual shaking of the heads.

  “Lydia spends two or three days a week now with Emma and says that Emma grows more bold in expressing her strong feelings about President Young. She fears that the rift between them grows deeper and deeper.”

  “We are greatly concerned too,” Mary said.

  Rebecca drew a quick breath. “One of the reasons I have come is that Lydia wants to know how to best help Emma. She wants to try and understand the whole situation so that as she speaks with her, she will better know what to say. She wanted to come herself this morning and talk to you. There is too much gossip in the city and she does not want to base her actions on gossip. But unfortunately, Elizabeth Mary had bad croup last night and is still struggling to overcome it this morning, and so Lydia dared not leave her. She asked if I would represent her concerns to you and see if you might help.”

  Again the two sisters looked at each other, and a brief nod passed between them. “We hope she can help,” Mary said. “We have tried, but have learned that it only raises Emma’s resentment. Where she and Lydia are so close, perhaps that is the answer.”