The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “I wish it were,” Brigham said grimly. “Unfortunately, we have had trouble with counterfeiters in this area, transient river traffickers who have preyed on our people. Now someone has sworn we are in league with them and supporting their evil efforts.”

  “And there’s more bad news besides that?” Solomon inquired.

  Brigham’s countenance fell even further. “Yes, and far more serious. Brother Brannan was down in Washington recently, visiting the Saints there. He learned that the secretary of war and other members of the cabinet are laying plans against us.”

  “No!” several of them cried at once, alarm sharpening their voices.

  “They claim it is against the law for an armed body of men to leave the United States and go to some other government. Since Upper California belongs to Mexico, and ownership of Oregon is still being disputed between the United States and Great Britain, they plan to prevent us from leaving.”

  “How can they do that?” Lydia cried. “It’s the people here who are driving us out. We don’t want to go.”

  “You assume we are dealing with just and rational men,” Brigham answered somberly. “According to Brannan, they say it will not do to have us go, but neither can they let us stay within the United States.”

  “So what do we do, hang from the sky somewhere?” Jenny asked tartly.

  “Actually, according to what Brannan was told, they are saying we must be obliterated from the face of the earth.”

  A pall fell over the group and they looked at each other in grave concern. Brigham laid a hand on Benjamin’s arm. “Brother Ben, I’d like you and Nathan to come to a meeting in a day or two. We are praying that the Lord will stay their hand and allow us to finish our work here. We shall go out, in spite of what they say. It is God’s will that we do. But now . . .” He sighed heavily. “With these two new developments, we may not have the luxury of waiting until April or May.”

  “You mean you want to leave before then?” Nathan exclaimed. “But there won’t be any grass on the prairie yet. We—”

  “I know, I know,” Brigham soothed. “That’s why we need to meet. I’ll send word to you.”

  They nodded. After a moment, Brigham smiled and it was warm and full again. “But enough gloom for now. This is a glorious day. We’ve been working day and night. It’s only been five days and we’ve already given the ordinances of the endowment to almost two hundred people.”

  Matthew, who of all the family knew Brigham best, nodded thoughtfully. “You look tired, Brother Brigham.”

  “Tired!” he retorted with impatience. “Who’s got time to be tired?” He turned to the women. “In fact, dear sisters, we have a request to make of you.”

  “What is that?” Mary Ann asked for all of them.

  “We had planned to take Saturday off so we could wash the temple clothing. However, it means we will lose that day for ordinance work. We are going to ask the sisters to take the clothing home and wash them during the night.”

  “We would be delighted to do that,” Jessica spoke up.

  “Yes, of course,” exclaimed Rebecca and Lydia together.

  “It would mean staying up most of the night,” Brigham warned.

  “Like you and the others have been doing?” Mary Ann scoffed, brushing his warning aside. “You count on the five of us for sure.”

  He reached out and gave her a quick hug. “Oh, bless you. Bless you all! Now, let’s go inside. A glorious experience awaits you.”

  Peter started to lift a hand, but Brigham was ahead of him. “Kathryn, we’ll have Peter wheel you inside to the stairs. Then we’ll ask Matthew and Nathan to carry your chair up while Peter carries you. Once you’re up in the attic story, you will be able to move around as required.”

  “Thank you, President Young,” she said softly. “I’ve been so worried that I might have to stay down.”

  “Nonsense. If these men can’t get you up those stairs, I’ll carry you myself.”

  He looked around once more, then was suddenly misty-eyed. “Let the wolves of Washington and Springfield howl until their throats are raw. Who can stop the work of the Lord when we have people like you as part of it?”

  Lydia walked briskly up the walk to the east door of the Homestead and rapped on the door. Her breath made little puffs of vapor in the air. It had snowed the night before, then cleared and turned quite cold. She was dressed in a long woolen coat, woolen mittens, and a winter bonnet. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were touched with red, but as she looked around, she breathed deeply, tipping her head back slightly. She loved mornings like this—the air crisp and perfectly clean, the snow crunching softly underfoot. It reminded her of her girlhood days in Palmyra. Whenever it snowed, she would, much to the dismay of her mother, immediately get dressed and go for a long walk.

  There was the sound of footsteps, then the door opened. Julia, Emma’s oldest child, and now fourteen years old and a lovely young woman, opened the door. “Good morning, Sister Lydia.”

  “Good morning, Julia. Is your mother—”

  But Emma appeared behind her. She too had on her winter coat and bonnet and was pulling on leather gloves. “Good morning, Lydia. It looks like a beautiful morning. Do you mind if we walk?”

  “Oh, no. I love to be out on a day like this.”

  “Good.” Emma gave Julia a kiss on the cheek. “We shouldn’t be more than an hour. If little David Hyrum gets hungry, you may give him some bread and jam.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  Emma stepped out onto the small porch and Julia shut the door behind her. Lydia turned and they walked together past the small well (known for having some of the sweetest water in all of Nauvoo) through the gate and out onto Main Street. As Emma shut the gate, she breathed deeply, half closing her eyes. “You are right, Lydia. It is a glorious morning.”

  “I love it when everything is so white and clean.”

  Emma nodded, then looked around. “Would you mind if we walked toward the south today? I . . . I would like to have it be just the two of us together this morning. I don’t feel like having to stop and talk with others.”

  Lydia masked her surprise. “Of course. South would be fine.”

  They moved to the corner of Main and Water Street, directly across from the Mansion House, and turned east. They walked in silence until they came to Durphy Street, which became the road south to Warsaw and Quincy once it left town. They turned onto it, walking slowly, savoring the morning together. One wagon had passed, its tracks making two endless trails in the road, the hoofprints of the single horse making a dotted line between them.

  “How is Joshua?” Emma asked after a moment.

  Lydia shook her head. “He’s gone, you know.”

  “Gone?”

  “Yes. He and Carl left yesterday for Wisconsin.”

  “Oh, my. No, I hadn’t heard that.”

  “The lumber mills are all that he has left now,” she explained sadly. “He felt he had to go north and make sure everything is all right there.”

  “You don’t think . . . ,” Emma started.

  Lydia shook her head. “No, he’s not worried about anyone going that far to try and harm him. He’s going to make sure they cut a large supply of logs this winter. It will be his only source of income next spring.”

  Emma’s dark eyes were even darker now as she spoke. “The children and I were up past his stables a day or so ago, out for a carriage ride. I just felt sick when I saw that pile of rubble and ashes.”

  “Yes. I’ve never seen Joshua quite like this. Caroline is really worried. She was almost glad to have him go north. It will get his mind off all that has happened.”

  “And Carl went with him?”

  “Yes, much to Melissa’s disappointment. But the brickyards are shut down now. There is just no business at all anymore. He almost jumped at the chance to go with Joshua.”

  Emma merely nodded. After a moment, she glanced sideways at Lydia. “And how is Melissa?”

  Understanding exact
ly what she meant, Lydia sighed. “Still troubled. She hasn’t been to a worship service now for several months. She . . .” Lydia’s hesitation was more for Emma than for Melissa. “She has never recovered from the idea of plural marriage.”

  There was a low, bitter laugh, but Emma said nothing, and Lydia decided to change the subject. “We saw Mother Smith at the temple the other day.”

  “She told me. She was very pleased that Brigham had asked her to be one of the first.” She gave Lydia a quick sidewards glance. “It’s no secret that Brother Brigham and I don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things, but he and the Twelve have been wonderful to Mother Smith.”

  “Yes,” Lydia responded warmly, pleased that Emma would acknowledge it. Normally when they met, the topic of Brigham Young was carefully avoided.

  “So you had your endowment? How was it?” Emma’s voice was lifeless and without real interest.

  “It was wonderful,” Lydia said, not wanting to be less than totally honest. “It was a little overwhelming at first,” she went on, “but the imagery is so beautiful, Emma. I came out so inspired.”

  “I’m glad for you.”

  Lydia took a quick breath, debating whether to pursue this further, but one of the things that made their friendship so dear to the both of them was that they had always been completely honest with each other. “You seem unhappy about that. Do you not approve of what’s happening in the temple now?”

  Emma reached out and briefly touched Lydia’s arm. “I’m sorry, Lydia. I know how you feel, and I don’t mean to make it seem as if I don’t have similar feelings anymore. It’s just that . . .” She was staring out across the river, which now ran with patches of slush and an occasional chunk of ice. “Things are so different now. I’m not sure Joseph would approve.”

  Lydia couldn’t help it. She couldn’t not say what was in her heart. “I think he would be very pleased to see what is happening in the temple now, Emma. I do. That was his dream. I just wish he could have lived to see it fulfilled.”

  There was no answer, and they walked on for several minutes before Lydia spoke again. “What are you going to do, Emma?” There was no need to explain that. It was the question on the lips of every person, every family in Nauvoo—When spring comes, what are you going to do?

  “I’m not leaving, Lydia,” came the quick and stubborn reply. “I have five children to worry about.”

  If the incongruity of that statement struck Emma, she gave no sign. Lydia had five children too and was carrying her sixth. It was due in April. If Brigham was right about leaving earlier than that, it would be born out on the plains. And it wasn’t just her. Jessica would be taking six children, including a year-old baby. Rebecca and Jenny both had babies not yet a year old.

  “We have a home here.” Emma’s voice caught momentarily. “Joseph is buried here.”

  “I know,” Lydia said sadly. “I know, Emma.”

  “I’m not sure that Mother Smith will go either.”

  Lydia’s head came around sharply at that. At the October conference, Brigham Young invited Lucy Mack Smith, upon her request, to speak to the Saints. Mother Smith being universally beloved by all, it had been a sweet and tender moment for those assembled in the temple. She had rehearsed briefly the story of her family, for many there in that congregation of five thousand did not know the Smiths personally. She asked the congregation if they considered her a mother in Israel. Brigham had immediately sprung up and called out, “All who consider Mother Smith a mother in Israel, signify it by saying yes.” There was an instant cry of acclamation. She had ended by saying that she would be going west with them, but requested that when she died her bones be brought back to Nauvoo to be interred beside those of her husband and sons. Deeply moved, Brigham had pledged himself to honor that request, and called upon the people to signify how many were willing to enter a covenant to do the same. The vote had again been instantaneous and unanimous in the affirmative.

  “I know,” Emma sighed. “I know that she told the people she would be going, but her health is such that I don’t think she can. Even she is beginning to accept that now.” Her head came up, chin thrust out and eyes filled with a touch of anger. “It’s a mistake, you know.”

  “Going west?” Lydia asked softly, not surprised at all by Emma’s words. “It’s not like it’s our choice.”

  “Yes, it is. We can live in peace with others. We don’t have to go.”

  Lydia had heard from more than one person that Emma was adamantly opposed to the coming exodus and spoke against it frequently. She had also heard that Joseph’s three sisters—Lucy, Sophronia, and Catherine—had determined not to go. Their husbands owned farms out away from Nauvoo and they were not willing to leave them. She decided to focus on another part of the family. “But Mary will be going?” she asked.

  Emma turned and looked squarely at Lydia. There was just a touch of wistfulness in her eyes. “Dear Mary. So strong. So faithful. Yes, she won’t hear of doing anything else. Even Brigham is saying that the widows of the Smith family need to wait until later in the spring, when the weather is warmer. He has offered to come back for us. But Mary won’t hear of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if she beats Brigham across the river.”

  “She is a strong woman,” Lydia agreed.

  Emma looked away. “And I’m not strong, Lydia. Not anymore.”

  Lydia’s hand shot out. “I didn’t mean that,” she exclaimed. “I only meant that—”

  Emma smiled sadly. “I know you didn’t mean to imply that I’m not strong, but I’m not. I’m worn out, Lydia. It’s like I have no strength left in me.”

  “You have always been strong, Emma,” Lydia said earnestly. “You have been an inspiration to all of us.” When there was a quick, almost imperceptible shake of Emma’s head, Lydia rushed on. “You have! Remember when I went to Palmyra? Nathan had gone with Zion’s Camp. I had lost the baby.” She looked away, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

  When she turned back, her face was filled with a fierce intensity. “I was at the bottom, Emma. I wasn’t sure I could come back and face life and the family anymore. It was your letter, the one where you talked about the Lord’s revelation to you, about being an elect lady, that changed everything. You had endured so much more than I had faced. You had so many more challenges than I did. I wept with shame and determined that I would try to be more like Emma Smith.”

  They had stopped. They stood alongside the snowy road, looking out across the river, a wide ribbon of brown dividing the snowy landscape. Emma looked at Lydia for several moments, her own eyes glistening now. “Thank you, Lydia.”

  On impulse, Lydia threw her arms around the woman who had been such an example to her for so many years. She was weeping openly now. “I’m going to miss you so, Emma. I’m going to miss you more than I can ever say.”

  Emma clung to her, and Lydia felt her body beginning to shake convulsively. “I will miss you too, Lydia. I will miss you all.”

  It was just after noon of the twenty-third of December, 1845. Nathan and Benjamin Steed stood on the front step of the temple, along with a few other men. They seemed to be gathered there as an afterthought, lingering to talk after a meeting had been dismissed. In reality, they were on assignment as doorkeepers and guards. Brigham Young and others of the Twelve were inside, upstairs in the attic room. With the recent indictments handed down in Springfield, the Twelve now had a guard with them round the clock. And since there was only one entrance to the temple, the brethren were not about to leave it unattended so the Twelve could be trapped inside.

  Of equal concern, and perhaps an even greater source of tension, was the rising crisis with the federal government. The news from Samuel Brannan had been independently confirmed. Governor Ford had written a letter to Brigham saying he had learned that federal troops in St. Louis were planning to intercept the Mormons and stop them from leaving the United States. The orders were not only to stop the Saints but to destroy them. Then word came from friends in the East. The repor
ts were that the federal government planned to seize the Mormons, and those were taken very seriously.

  Benjamin stamped his feet against the cold, hugging himself tightly. “Do you think the fire this morning was an accident?” he asked Nathan in a low voice.

  Nathan shook his head. “I don’t know.” As if things weren’t bad enough, this morning Charles C. Rich, captain of emigrating company number thirteen, had raced up to the temple to report that one of the sheds used by his company for drying their wagon lumber had caught fire and burned to the ground. Three hundred dollars’ worth of badly needed lumber had been lost along with the shed. Normally it would have been accepted as nothing other than an accident. Fires in lumber kilns and drying sheds were common enough. But after the destruction of Joshua’s freight business, the whole city was jittery, and this morning’s news had sent a chill through everyone.

  All of this combined to raise the question of whether or not they could wait until April or May to leave. It was a question under heavy debate right now. Yet it left Nathan feeling greatly depressed. Leaving sooner than expected had three serious consequences—first, there would not be sufficient grass on the prairies for their stock; second, they would have to leave Nauvoo before they were fully prepared, always a risky enterprise; and third, the weather would be a critical factor, even if they left only a month earlier than planned. But what did any of that matter if there was no choice? And that was what so depressed him. It was a grim set of alternatives.

  “Uh-oh!” someone behind him muttered.

  Nathan turned around and stiffened. Riding up Mulholland Street toward them was a party of ten to twelve men. All but two were in the uniform of the state militia. Instinctively, the small band of men moved in together to block the door, watching the approaching group with a sense of deep foreboding.

  They rode into the yard of the temple, and at a grunted command from the lead rider, they all dismounted. Without a moment’s hesitation, the leader strode up to the group of brethren. Benjamin, as the oldest present, and as a member of the temple committee, stepped forward.