The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “So what else did Paul say? He said faith is the evidence of things not seen. What happened next? You acted out of faith and then you got your evidence. You ended up stumbling onto this miraculous opportunity to trade for what you needed. That was the proof, or the evidence, of what you could not see before.”

  He was nodding slowly, not convinced but intrigued by her logic, which was simple and clear.

  “Moroni, in the Book of Mormon, used almost the same words. He said, ‘Faith is things that are hoped for and not seen.’ ” She reached out and took his hand. “Now, here is the point, Joshua. Here’s what I wish I could make you see. Moroni then said, ‘Dispute not because you see not, because you receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.’ ”

  Again he was startled. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, half to cover himself, again thrown off guard by her second use of the word witness.

  “It means simply this. Suppose you had said to Nathan back in Nauvoo, ‘Give me some evidence that everything is going to be all right first. Help me find a trade for our horses and mules, and then I’ll agree to take Caroline west.’ What would have happened?”

  He frowned, suddenly seeing where she was taking him. “Nothing. There were no trades to be made in Nauvoo.”

  “Exactly. So what Moroni calls the trial of faith had to come first. Would you act without knowing for sure it would work out? You did, and then—and only then—you got the proof that your faith worked. Then—after the trial of your faith—you received the witness.”

  He rose, his mind churning. It was simple. At least in explanation. But . . . There were so many other questions. Maybe it was all just a wonderful coincidence. If it had even happened to Nathan, he might be more inclined to talk about divine favor. But who was he to ask a blessing from God? After all he had done with his life, why would God—if there was such a personal being as his mother envisioned—why would he ever choose to respond to Joshua Steed?

  “Do you remember how the Savior warned the people about sign seeking?” his mother went on, sensing that she had struck some kind of chord within him. “It’s the same principle. A sign seeker says, ‘Show me first, give me the proof, and then I will believe.’ The Lord asks just the opposite. ‘Believe first. Act on that belief. And then I’ll give you the confirmation.’ ”

  He didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure what to say. There was no anger in him, only a sudden hollowness, a sadness that it would never be that clear for him, that uncomplicated. He bent down and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Mama. Thanks for trying, but I’m afraid I’m hopeless.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Hopeless? That means you’re without hope. If you were hopeless, you wouldn’t be here, and neither would your wife and children. So let’s have no more of that talk, you hear me?”

  He laughed and took her in his arms. “Oh, Mother. You are wonderful.”

  She punched him lightly in the stomach. “Don’t you patronize me, young man.”

  “Yes, Mother,” he said meekly, holding her close and hoping that she could feel just how much he loved and admired and respected her.

  Half an hour later the women returned. They were laughing merrily and talking all at once as they approached. Mary Ann came out of her tent at the sound of their voices and stood beside Joshua, who was building a fire for the midday meal. “You’d think they had just come from a party.”

  He nodded. When Lydia looked up and saw the two of them, she raised a hand and began to wave it back and forth. She held something small and white. “Mother Steed,” she called. “A messenger has arrived from Nauvoo. We have a letter from Melissa and Carl.”

  They sat around the fire after supper was done. As usual, the adults gathered to talk. The children were nearby, scattered about in the tents and wagons or just lying on blankets on the grass, reading books or playing quiet games together. And this felt almost as good as the warm day had. Between the men’s trip to Nauvoo and the rush for the family to catch up with the camp, the last two days and nights of which were in incessant rain, there had been little opportunity for a family gathering. Lydia hadn’t realized until this moment how important times like this were to them all—and especially now to have Caroline and the children in the circle too.

  She was brought out of her thoughts as she realized that Emily had spoken to her. “What did you say, Emmy?”

  “Do you think Brother Pitt’s band will play tonight, Mama?”

  Nathan spoke up, answering for his wife. “I don’t think so. They probably need a break after being so busy the past while.”

  There was a murmur of disappointment at that from several around the fire. A night of music and dancing would have been a perfect end to the day.

  Seeing their faces, Matthew explained. “The concerts they’ve been doing for the locals are proving to be of great benefit. Brother Clayton told me that two nights ago at Keosauqua, the people paid the band twenty-five dollars in cash.”

  “Really?” Jenny exclaimed. “Twenty-five dollars?”

  “Yes,” Matthew answered. “And they received such a welcome that they went back last night and earned another twenty dollars.”

  “They were out in that terrible weather last night?” Mary Ann asked in surprise.

  Derek had been with Matthew cutting willows for the oxen when William Clayton had passed by. Since Derek and Clayton were both Englishmen, it was natural for the band member to stop and talk. Derek broke in now. “In fact, they didn’t get back until three this morning. It’s about ten miles. But think of it. Forty-five dollars in cash. Think how much corn and wheat Brigham can buy with that.”

  “But where did they play?” Rachel asked. “Did they play outside in the rain?”

  Derek shook his head. “No, the two concerts they got paid cash for were held during the evening inside the courthouse. But Brother Clayton was saying that the first afternoon they went there they were also asked to go through town and play at various places, including some stores.”

  “Which reminds me,” Matthew said eagerly, “Brother Clayton said that at one store the storekeeper was so pleased, he told each band member to take anything they wanted. So they each took a little. Before they could leave, the next storekeeper sent someone to get them. When they went there the same thing happened. They were highly popular.”

  “That is wonderful,” Jenny said. “Surely the hand of Providence is in all of that.”

  “What is wonderful?” Rebecca said. She had been in the tent nursing little Leah, who had turned one year old three days previously. Now she came out to join them.

  Jenny told her quickly about the band and its success. Then the conversation turned to Melissa’s letter.

  Rebecca turned to Lydia. “Read me again what Melissa said about Mary Fielding Smith.”

  Nodding, Lydia reached into the pocket of her apron and withdrew the letter. In the spring of 1836, Nathan had accompanied Parley P. Pratt to Upper Canada on a mission. There they met and converted a British family, John and Leonora Taylor. The Taylors introduced them to another family from England, Joseph Fielding and his two sisters, Mercy and Mary, and they too were baptized. The following year, the two families came to Kirtland and met the rest of the Steeds. Though there was seventeen years’ difference in their ages, Mary Fielding and Rebecca Steed hit it off immediately and became fast friends.

  Lydia found the place in the letter and read in a clear voice so that all could hear. “ ‘Carl and I saw Mary Fielding Smith day before yesterday. She was coming out of the Webbs’ blacksmith shop as we passed by. We had a wonderful visit, and she inquired after each of you. She especially wished me to convey her greetings to Rebecca.’ ”

  Lydia looked at her sister-in-law and smiled. “That’s just like Mary, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. Even with all she has to worry about, she remembers to think of us.”

  Lydia continued reading. “ ‘She and Mercy, and their brother Joseph Fielding, are having difficulty preparing to leave. As you know, Hyrum
Smith had considerable property both in and near Nauvoo. He had some fifteen building lots in the city and about two hundred and fifty acres on his farm east of here. Mary has been trying to sell that off to raise sufficient funds to purchase teams, wagons, and supplies. She also needs funds to leave something with Hyrum’s oldest daughter, Lovina, who is now married and will not be going yet either. Mary feels Hyrum would want Lovina to have part of his inheritance. Thus far, however, she has had no success in finding a buyer who will pay even half of what the property is worth. Knowing Mary, this next will not surprise you. She seemed not at all discouraged and is sure the Lord will bless them.

  “ ‘Carl—much to my surprise, I might add—inquired of Mary about the rest of the Smith family. He had heard that they were putting much pressure on Mary to change her mind about leaving. At that inquiry, her mood did darken somewhat. She told us that Emma and the others have been pleading with her not to leave. William Smith, the Prophet’s hotheaded brother, who has now turned very bitter against the Church since the Twelve excommunicated him, came to Mary’s home a short time ago. Evidently young John Smith, Hyrum’s oldest son and Mary’s stepson, quietly left with Heber Kimball’s party and is going west with all of you. This infuriated William and he showed up at Mary’s home in a fit of temper. He accused her of letting the Church leaders “spirit away” Hyrum’s son and demanded that she bring him back. As you know, William has a violent temper, and when she refused, for a time Mary was in fear that he might strike her. But she stood her ground and eventually he went away again.

  “ ‘Young Joseph F., who is the pride of his mother’s eye, was with her when we met her. Bless his heart, he told us that he was upstairs at the time, but could hear everything his uncle was saying through the stovepipe in his room. He said if only he were bigger—what is he, eight years old perhaps?—he would have run down and given his uncle a thrashing for being so harsh with his mother. Anyway, that saddened us somewhat. We have always had warm feelings for the Fieldings and will be sad to see them leave.’ ”

  There was silence around the fire as Lydia refolded the letter and returned it to her pocket. Then Matthew spoke. “Could you ever believe that two brothers could be so different? What a contrast! Joseph, always so kind and cheerful. And William. Now, there’s a real pickle sucker if you ever saw one.”

  “Matthew!” Jenny said, surprised at the vehemence in his voice.

  “Well, he is,” Matthew said, only partially sorry. “He’s got a hot temper and cares only for himself. And he’s as sour as a potful of brine.”

  Joshua had been sitting quietly by, saying little but following the conversation. Now he broke his silence. “I can think of a couple of brothers who were pretty different,” he said quietly.

  For a moment no one was quite sure what to say. They knew exactly what he meant. The differences between Nathan and Joshua had run so deep that it had eventually led to a confrontation that left Nathan’s back and chest scarred in a dozen places or more.

  Then Mary Ann smiled. “I knew two boys like that once too, but the one died a long time ago and a new one took his place.”

  “And the other one finally grew up,” Nathan said, just as quietly.

  Nathan lay on his back, staring up at the canvas above him, listening dejectedly to the pounding of the rain. So much for their beautiful day. Barely one day and then the rain was back. They had one kerosene lantern lit, with the wick turned down about halfway. Elizabeth Mary, Josiah, and little Joseph were all asleep now. Emily and Josh were lying side by side on Emily’s bed, reading from the Bible, which was pushed up close to the lamp so they both could see. Lydia was in the opposite corner, rummaging through her chest.

  Nathan was barely aware of them as he scanned the heavy fabric above him. He and Josh had moved the tent about an hour ago, as they realized that they were in for another night of it. They found a place with a bit more slope to it so that the water would carry on past it. They had been especially careful to make sure the canvas was stretched as tight as possible so that the water would not puddle on it. It was raining as hard as it had before, and it had been doing so for over an hour now, and so far the changes they had made seemed to be working.

  “Nathan?”

  He turned his head. “Hmm?”

  “Have you seen my Book of Mormon?”

  Emily rose up. “It was over in the corner, Mama, beneath your pillow.”

  Lydia frowned, straightening and sitting back on her heels. “That’s what I thought too, but it’s not there.”

  Nathan rolled over. He had seen her put the book away this morning before they had gone out to start the fire and begin breakfast. He lifted the pillow, pulled back the bedding, then patted his hand up and down along the edge that was nearest the tent. Nothing. He sat up, remembering. “I’ll bet Joshua put it away when he was getting the bedding out to dry.”

  “That’s what I thought too,” she said, turning back to the chest and a few other small boxes that held their belongings, “but I’ve gone through everything and I cannot find it.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’ve looked everywhere.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe he took it out with the bedding and put it in the wagon or something. I’ll ask him in the morning.”

  Lydia nodded, turned, and shut the chest again, then crawled over to join Nathan. “Come, children. It’s time for lights out. Let’s say our prayers.”

  Maybe it was the sound of the rain drumming on the canvas above her. Perhaps it was being upset about not being able to find her Book of Mormon. More likely it was because she was so tired that sleep was driven away, as sometimes happened. Whatever it was, Lydia lay there awake in the darkness, lying on one side, with a pillow cushioning the weight of her stomach, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. And finally she was honest enough with herself to face what it really was that kept sleep at bay.

  That afternoon word had spread around the camp that Catharine Spencer, wife of Orson Spencer, was dying. The Spencers were about ten miles behind the main camp now, back near Indian Creek. Already weak from an illness she had had before leaving Nauvoo, Catharine Spencer suffered from a serious cold as she and her family made their way west, and her condition just got worse and worse. Finally, this beautiful, graceful, cultured woman could no longer endure the cold and the wet, the interminable mud, and the thin shelter of a tent soaked with water. The night before, so the report went, she had gathered her husband and children around her and told them that they had to let her go. She felt that it was only their prayers that held her back, and she pleaded with them to let her go. Devastated, Orson had finally found a nearby farmer who was willing to take them in so that she could at least have a dry place to die.

  Lydia grunted softly, feeling the hard ground through the thin straw mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. Two days ago, when the Steeds were still trying to catch up to the main company, they had been near the Spencers’ camp, and now Lydia was feeling guilty that she had let the rain keep her from going out to see Catharine. Lydia and Nathan had not known the Orson Spencer family very well before leaving Nauvoo, the two families having lived in different parts of the city. But when the Steeds crossed the river for the second time and camped at Sugar Creek, Nathan and Lydia ended up only a few tents away from the Spencers and quickly became “neighbors.” It was a friendship that came easily. The Spencers were about the same age as Nathan and Lydia, with six children. They learned that Orson had been a popular Baptist minister back in the East. Catharine was the youngest—and, according to Spencer, the favorite—child of a very well-to-do family. That was not hard to believe. Highly educated, deeply refined, thoroughly cultured, Catharine was a woman of intelligence, grace, and charm. The family was understandably pleased when their youngest chose to marry the popular young cleric and their lives prospered.

  Then came the day when the Mormon missionaries came to town. When they heard the message of the Restoration, both Orson and Catharine knew it was true a
nd determined to be baptized. Their decision was met with bitter opposition from both families, and threats of rejection and banishment were used to try to dissuade them. But they had received their confirmation and nothing could sway them from it. With that simple decision they lost their popularity, their employment, their friends, their home, and their families. Eventually they came to Nauvoo to be with the Saints, undeterred by what they had sacrificed when they chose to follow their Savior.

  And now she was dying.

  Just a little over a week ago, when Lydia and Mary Ann went to visit the Spencers, Orson had told them a story that had nearly broken Lydia’s heart. Once the decision was made to go west, Orson said he wrote to Catharine’s parents. Because her health was so poor, he asked if they would take Catharine into their home until the Saints could find a place to abide, and then he would send for her. The answer came back. It was short. It was blunt. “Let her renounce her degrading faith and she can come back, but never on any other condition.”

  That had struck Lydia hard. And what followed struck her harder, for it brought back a flood of memories. When Orson had read the letter to Catharine, he asked if she wanted to consider her parents’ request. She asked him to get the Bible and turn to the book of Ruth. And then she had asked him to read the very words that Lydia had had Nathan read some sixteen years before. “And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.”

  Where thou diest, will I die.

  Lydia closed her eyes, trying to shut out the drumming rattle of the rain. This was not weather for dying. It needed to be bright and clear, perhaps with a night sky spangled with stars. She sighed. It was not weather for birth either, but that hadn’t stopped that from happening any more than it postponed death. A few days before, a hut had been hastily thrown together with walls formed from blankets hung from poles and a crude bark roof overhead. Here a woman gave birth as friends and sister Saints stood around holding dishes and pans to keep the rain from showering the mother and her newborn.