The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  As they shut the door, Joshua looked at his longtime friend and partner. “You’re traveling with body guards now, Walter?” he said with a touch of a smile. “Am I that intimidating?”

  There was no answering smile, not even so much as a grunt.

  “Look, Walter,” Joshua began, wanting to see if he could salvage something from what was about to happen. “This whole thing with Alice and Will came as a huge shock to me too. I was as angry as you are when I learned what they planned to do.”

  Walter’s head came up slowly. “If you were as angry as I was, the marriage would have been in St. Louis and your son would now be working for me instead of being on his way to California.”

  Joshua moved over to the overstuffed chair in one corner of the room and sat down heavily. “Walter, Will is twenty-one. Alice will be nineteen next month. They’re adults now. Neither you nor I can tell them what to do. Lord knows I tried. I even spoke with Brigham Young.”

  Walter, still standing in the center of the room, lowered his head into his shoulders, as though he were either preparing to charge or getting ready to be attacked. “Joshua, I am no longer interested in sharing a business partnership with you.”

  Joshua shot out of the chair. “What?”

  “It’s over, Joshua.”

  “I . . .” He spun away, then whirled instantly back. “Look, Walter, I know you’re upset by all of this, but this is not my fault.”

  “Perhaps not. Perhaps you could not have prevented it. But you didn’t even try. Not really. So I am holding you and Caroline, and especially your family, responsible. And I am no longer interested in being in partnership with you.”

  Joshua was aghast, not believing what he was hearing. “You’re throwing away over ten years of our lives together because I couldn’t make Alice do what you yourself could not make her do?” He fought down the anger. “Come on, Walter. This is insane.”

  Walter didn’t answer, but walked around the bed to the far side of the room. There were three pieces of luggage there. He leaned down and with some effort picked up a small trunk, about the size of a square hatbox. Coming back around, he set it on the end of the bed, undid the padlock with a small key on his watch chain, and threw the lid back.

  Joshua gaped. The trunk was stuffed with wads of money. As he stared at them, he saw they were twenty- and fifty-dollar bank notes. He moved forward a step. “What is this?”

  “We once talked about you selling me your half of the cotton warehouse and mill. Here is twenty-five thousand dollars. That is more than a fair price, I might add.”

  Now Joshua felt his face burning. “We talked about it, Walter. That’s all. We just talked about it.”

  Walter met his gaze evenly. “Well, I felt that based on previous conversations, you would have no objection to selling out now. Here is the payment. I have some papers for you to sign.” He walked to the desk and picked up a sheaf of papers. “Incidentally, that is why I hired the two men. They will stand guard outside your room tonight. After that, keeping the money safe will be your responsibility.”

  “Come on, man!” Joshua cried hoarsely. “Get a hold of yourself. Alice is gone but that doesn’t overturn ten years of friendship.”

  “Are you saying you refuse to sell to me?” came the quiet, stubborn reply.

  Joshua walked to the window, dazed to the point of nearly being speechless. Then a thought struck him. “And what about my interest in our other businesses—the construction company, the lumberyard? Did you buy me out on those too?” he said, jeering now.

  “No. We never discussed selling those businesses, and so I have no right to assume you wanted out.”

  “Well, now, that’s downright decent of you, Walter,” he said, feeling the control on his temper slipping fast. “I guess you—”

  “So I have sold my interest in each of the companies you mentioned.”

  Joshua rocked back as though struck. “You what!”

  “I have sold out, Joshua. Half of everything is still yours, but the other half now belongs to the Barber brothers.”

  It was as if he had been kicked in the stomach. “Ben Barber and that slimy little brother of his?” he cried.

  There was a frosty nod. “As you know, they’ve been after one or the other of us for a long time to sell. Judith is still very ill—thanks to your son and his influence on my daughter. So I’m taking my wife back home, to New Orleans. We are leaving St. Louis immediately after I return. Therefore I have liquidated all of my assets.” He thrust the sheaf of papers at Joshua. “I’m sorry, Joshua.”

  “Sorry!” he cried. “You’ve just put me in partnership with two of the sleaziest, conniving thieves in St. Louis and all you can say is you’re sorry?”

  Walter was unmoved. He stood there, feet planted, shoulders squared, his face like obsidian. “In the winter of ’38 and ’39, your wife and family came to me, Joshua. They thought you were dead. They had two very bad men after them. I helped them, Joshua. Even though it put me at risk, I helped them. I found them a place to stay. I gave them money, and helped them make their way out of St. Louis undetected.”

  “You gave them my money!” Joshua retorted angrily.

  Walter’s eyes flickered dangerously. “I never touched one dime of your money, Joshua. I used my own. And I spent a considerable amount putting out a search for Will when he suddenly disappeared.”

  Backing down, Joshua was apologetic. “You’re right, Walter. I’m sorry. I know you stood by my family at a terrible time. I thank you for that, but—”

  “I expected that you would do the same for me, Joshua.”

  He threw up his hands. “I tried! I have opposed Alice’s interest in the Church all along. When Brigham Young called them to go to New York, I fought him on it. I told Will he was making a terrible mistake. I tried, Walter.”

  “I didn’t just try to help your family back then,” came the soft and bitter answer. “I did it. I figured it was the least I could do for a friend and partner.”

  “Walter, you can’t do this. You know what Ben Barber will do. He’ll strip out every asset, sell off whatever he can get his hands on. He’s done it to every company he’s bought.”

  There was a weary sigh now. “I looked for other buyers, Joshua. Believe it or not, I did. I am not trying to ruin you. But no one else had that kind of cash on hand. And Judith is very ill. I have to leave now before the river closes for the winter.”

  “So you sold me out.”

  Samuelson flinched but went on doggedly. “The sales are not final until the twentieth of this month. I would suggest you get to St. Louis and do what you can to protect your interest.”

  “The twentieth?” Joshua roared. “That’s less than a week from now.”

  “I suggest you go straight from here.”

  As the enormity of what this meant hit Joshua, he thrust his face into Walter’s. “You can’t do this! This is rape, Walter. Why don’t you just torch the businesses? At least there would be some honor in that.”

  “Honor?” Walter cried in fury, rising to his full height now. “You dare to talk to me of honor? You made a commitment, Joshua. When you left here we had a deal. Alice would wait to be baptized. They would be married here. Will would stay for at least six months. I was willing to put out a lot of money so your family could come. What about honoring that?”

  Joshua’s voice dropped and he was pleading now. “Circumstances changed, Walter. Be reasonable, man! Will didn’t know Brigham was going to ask him to do this.”

  “He said he would come back,” came the clipped reply. “He said he wouldn’t take our Alice away. Not yet. You should have made him keep his word, Joshua.”

  “This is not my fault!” Joshua shouted, his face just inches from Walter’s now.

  The door flung open and the big man thrust his head in. “You okay, Mr. Samuelson?”

  Walter waved him out again. “I’m fine. Leave us, please.” Then, even as the door shut again, he turned back to face Joshua’s wrath. “If
I felt like you had even tried, Joshua, maybe it would be different. If you had even tried to stop them.” Once again he shoved the papers at Joshua.

  Darkly furious, dizzy with the shock of this revelation, Joshua stared at the papers for several seconds. Then he snatched them out of Samuelson’s hands, stalked over to the desk, took the pen there, and signed the last page with a vicious stroke. He turned and flung the papers at his former partner. “There,” he snarled. “You have your signature.”

  Walter didn’t make a move toward them.

  Feeling sick, wanting to shake Walter like a rag doll to make him understand, Joshua walked to the bed, slammed the lid on the trunk of bills, and picked it up.

  Walter reached for the watch chain and unhooked the key from it. He stepped forward and held it out. Joshua just stared at it. Finally, with a shrug, Walter leaned forward to tuck the key into Joshua’s vest pocket. Joshua slapped his hand away. “You think you can buy yourself a clean conscience with a key and a padlock?” he said incredulously. “No thank you.” He picked up the chest and started for the door.

  “Joshua?”

  He stopped but did not turn around to look at him.

  “You need to know something. I feel I owe you this much.”

  “You don’t owe me anything,” he hissed.

  “You need to know that the people in Warsaw know you were there that day that Frank Worrell got shot.”

  That jerked him around. For a moment it didn’t register. “What?”

  “They know, Joshua.” Walter’s shoulders slumped a little now. “They already hated you for turning your back on them, for becoming a Mormon-lover. But now? My sources tell me they’re out to make you pay, Joshua. You were part of killing one of their own.”

  “I didn’t fire a shot.”

  “It doesn’t matter. You were there. You stood with the Mormons.”

  “Frank Worrell was a swamp rat.”

  There was a brief nod. “I won’t argue that. But his fellow swamp rats are determined to have justice. Be careful, Joshua.”

  Joshua just shook his head. “Good-bye, Walter.”

  “Good-bye, Joshua. I’m sorry it had to come to this.”

  “I can tell,” he sneered.

  As he came out into the hall, shutting the door behind him, the two men waiting there stepped back deferentially, then fell into step behind him. Joshua gripped the trunk by one handle, let it drop to his side, and reached inside his coat. He whipped out a small pistol and whirled to face them. “I don’t need any help, boys. You understand me?”

  The big one raised his hands, backing up. The other one’s eyes were bulging as he stared at the gun in Joshua’s hand.

  “Have it your way, Mr. Steed,” the big one muttered. “We’re just following orders.”

  Without a word, Joshua slipped the pistol away, took the chest by both handles, and started down the hallway again. Behind him, he heard Samuelson’s door open and sensed that he had stepped out to watch. Joshua didn’t turn around, slow his step, or utter another word.

  Chapter Notes

  The transformation of Nauvoo into “one vast workshop” and the huge task of preparing to leave the city are described in various sources (for example, see HC 7:535–36; Andrew Karl Larson, Erastus Snow: The Life of a Missionary and Pioneer for the Early Mormon Church [Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press, 1971], pp. 101–3). The statement from John D. Lee on the sale of his home is quoted in Larson, Erastus Snow, p. 102.

  During much of 1845, the young men of the City of Joseph often stood watch along with the older men. Heber C. Kimball’s daughter, Helen Mar Kimball Whitney, gives us the description of how the young people gathered around John Kay and Howard Egan, who were assigned to stand watch at Brigham Young’s house, for singing and storytelling (see Women of Nauvoo, pp. 142–43).

  Chapter 25

  It was quarter of eight the next morning when Joshua walked quietly down the hotel hallway to room fourteen. Though he knew there would be other guests still sleeping, he rapped sharply on the door and stepped back. There was no sound from inside. After a moment, he rapped again, louder this time. He leaned forward, his ear to the door, listening. There wasn’t a sound. He tried the door latch. It was locked. Swearing softly under his breath, he turned and strode down the hallway.

  As he came down the stairs and moved across the lobby, the clerk, an older man than the one from the night before, came out of the back room. “Good morning.”

  “Have you seen Mr. Walter Samuelson this morning?”

  The man’s head bobbed. “Mr. Samuelson checked out just after dawn, Mr. Steed. He said he was returning to St. Louis.”

  Joshua’s mouth opened, then clamped shut again. “Is there a boat leaving today?”

  “No, sir. He left by carriage.”

  So that was that, Joshua thought. Samuelson had made sure there would be no further discussion, no further chance for negotiations.

  The man brightened. “But those two men that were with him are still here. They could tell you more. They’re in the dining room having breakfast.”

  “Thank you.” He started away.

  “In fact, they’re with your driver.”

  Joshua stopped and turned back slowly. “Mr. Warren?”

  “Yes. I saw them in there together not five minutes ago.”

  For several seconds, Joshua stood there, letting that sink in. Then he turned and went back to the desk. “Could you figure up my bill?” he said.

  The man looked a little surprised but nodded. “Of course, Mr. Steed. I understand you had no supper last night, so it’s four dollars.”

  Joshua reached inside his coat and withdrew his wallet. He took out two ten-dollar bills and laid them on the counter. The clerk’s eyes widened a little as he watched Joshua’s hands.

  “I’d like some extra service.”

  “Of course, Mr. Steed. Whatever you say.”

  “I’m going up to my room and pack my things. Is there a back door to the hotel?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. I want you to get me some food.” He turned and glanced toward the dining room, feeling an urgency now. “Not anything fancy. Bring it to my room. But no one is to know. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. And that’s all?”

  “No. If Mr. Warren inquires after me, you tell him that you assume I am still asleep.”

  There was a slow, knowing nod. “Yes, sir.” His hand reached out and took the two bills. They disappeared quickly into his pocket.

  “Do you have a boy who can help me with my things to the livery stable?”

  “Yes. I’ll send him up with the food.” The man’s eyes were conspiratorial now. “It’ll be best if I’m here at the desk in case Mr. Warren comes out.”

  “Good.” Joshua turned and took a couple of steps toward the stairs, then turned back. “Do you know if Mr. Samuelson talked to his two men this morning at all?”

  “No, sir. He was gone long before they came down.”

  “Are they from around here?”

  “Only for the past few weeks. Came off a riverboat.” There was obvious distaste in his eyes. “Mr. Samuelson hired them yesterday when he arrived.”

  “Thank you.” He turned and went up the stairs.

  Cranfield Warren strode up to the livery stable office and yanked open the door. The proprietor looked up. “Mornin’.”

  “I need that carriage we brought in last night made ready.”

  One eyebrow came up. “But Mr. Steed was already here.”

  “What?” Warren swore. “He’s gone?”

  “Yes, sir. ’Bout an hour ago.”

  He swore again and left, slamming the door behind him. The man rose up a little, watching his retreat through the window. Warren walked to where two men waited on horseback. They conferred for a moment, angrily; then Warren spun around and came back toward the office. The man sat back down and busied himself with his books. After a moment, the door jerked open again.

  “I need th
e fastest horse you got,” Warren snapped. “And make it quick.

  Normally the forty miles from Nauvoo to Quincy took about a day and a half. It could be done in one day, but it made for a long ride and was hard on a horse that had to pull even a light carriage that far. Joshua had considered taking another route back, knowing that he was going to be pursued, but he had immediately rejected the idea. Everything had to appear perfectly normal.

  They caught up to him about ten o’clock. He saw the three riders about a mile back, coming hard. He was tempted to reach for his pistol and lay it on the seat beside him, but he resisted that too. He just rode on, letting the horse have its head, until the three men came thundering up.

  He reined up, looking surprised. “Warren! There you are.”

  “Thanks for leaving without me, Steed.”

  Joshua smiled blandly. “I knocked on your door. There was no answer. I thought maybe you’d had a little too much at the tavern last night. That’s been known to happen before.”

  “So you just left me?”

  “I have to get back to Nauvoo and get my things,” he said. “I’m going to have to make an urgent trip to St. Louis.” His voice went suddenly hard. “I don’t have time to be out looking for some drunken sot.” He turned his head and looked at the other two men. “Don’t tell me Mr. Samuelson has changed his mind and wants to talk some more,” he said coldly. “Sorry, not interested.”

  The big man’s eyes narrowed. Then suddenly his hand came up. It was filled with a revolver which pointed at Joshua’s chest. “No, actually, it’s Billy and me and your Mr. Warren here who want to talk with you. Please get down.”

  Joshua looked sharply at his driver. “What is this, Warren?”

  The second man had a pistol out too. “Out of the carriage, Steed!”

  Warren licked his lips, nervous now. “You’d best get down, Mr. Steed.”

  Joshua shook his head. “Oh, so it’s Mister Steed now, is it?” But he climbed down from the buggy.