He lifted his hand, about to shout, then dropped it again. There was no other movement—no swinging of an ax, no thudding as wood was tossed up on the stack. A slow grin stole across Nathan’s face. Joshua had fallen asleep. That was the only explanation. For that, he would deserve a ribbing. Moving even more carefully than before, Nathan crept forward.
He had gone only a few steps when he saw Joshua. He was not stretched out somewhere but rather was sitting on a fallen log, his back to Nathan. His head was down, his chin in one hand. For a moment, Nathan thought he might have dozed off, but then his head came up and stared out into the trees ahead of him. Then it dropped again. His hand moved, reaching for something on his lap. There was a momentary flash of white. He was reading something.
Nathan felt a sudden sense of being an intruder and he changed his mind about trying to startle his brother. “Joshua?” He called just loudly enough for his voice to reach him.
Joshua shot to his feet, jerking his head around. “Nathan!” He fumbled quickly, not turning his body, as if he were shoving something inside his coat. Finally, he turned around, looking a little sheepish.
Nathan went forward, walking more swiftly now. “Hi. Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” Joshua called back, forcing a laugh. “You startled me.” He buttoned the bottom of his jacket, even though the air was not that chilly, then reached down and picked up the ax that was lying at his feet. He walked to the wagon, meeting Nathan there.
Nathan gave him a strange look, but Joshua only smiled blandly. “I was just getting ready to leave. Sat down for a minute to rest.”
“Looks like you’re done,” Nathan said, noting the full wagon and the ground littered with chips and small branches that Joshua had cut from a fallen log.
“Yep. That should last us for a while, don’t you think?”
“I would think so.”
Joshua put the ax beneath the wagon seat, then walked to the head of the oxen. “What are you doing out here anyway?”
“Looking for you.” Nathan again looked at him closely. “Do you know what time it is?”
There was a momentary start and Joshua looked up at the sky, where the sun was nearing its zenith. “Oh!” He shook his head. “It’s getting later than I thought.” He shrugged, recovering swiftly now. “Sorry. I lost track, I guess.”
Nathan nearly said something. He was also almost certain Joshua had been reading something, but there was nothing in his hands now. If he had been reading, he didn’t want Nathan to know about it. Nathan decided to let it pass. “Caroline is over by the creek. Solomon and Josh are on the other side.”
“My, my,” Joshua said, chiding just a little now. “I wasn’t that late.”
“I know. We thought maybe you could use some help. Caroline said she wanted to get out and walk.”
“And she was worried just a little, I’ll bet,” he answered.
“Yes, that too.” Nathan jerked his head toward the east. “I told her to stay close to the creek. I’ll take the load in if you want to go find her.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
“You’ll hear her as you get closer. She’s been calling.”
“Okay. See you back at camp.”
Joshua swung around again and moved off, not turning back. Nathan watched him curiously. In a moment he disappeared into the subdued light, and finally Nathan shrugged. He walked to the oxen. “All right, boys, let’s get going. You’ve got people waiting to get a meal started.”
Joshua stood motionless behind a large hickory tree until he could no longer hear the sound of the wagon. With a quick movement of his right hand, he reached inside his coat and retrieved the book that he had jammed up under his arm. For a moment he stared at the dark stain on the cover, then looked up again, staring at the spot where he had last seen Nathan. Had his brother seen that he was reading? He thought about that, then shook his head. Nathan had been behind him. There was no way he could have. But he would have to be more careful from now on. The last thing he needed was to be interrogated by an overeager family. He was curious, that was all. Over the past few days he had read here and there in the book, browsing more than reading. But the encounter with Drusilla and James Hendricks had left him wondering what it was that drove them.
He stepped out from behind the tree, looking once more to make sure Nathan was gone. The forest was silent. Reaching carefully around to the back of his trousers, he tucked the book into the waistline, then pulled his coat down lower in the back. Satisfied, he spun around and started walking again. He raised his head. “Caroline! Caroline! It’s me! I’m over here.”
It was expected that spring would bring rain to the Great Plains. That was as sure as mosquitoes along the Mississippi or falling leaves in autumn. But the spring of 1846 brought rains like no one had ever seen, at least in the memory of any white man. It was as though Iowa Territory saw the burgeoning stream of refugees pouring across the river and onto her prairies as a personal threat and fought back with the only means at hand—the weather. It would rain for days on end, stopping the companies dead. But the Saints would not turn back. The moment the roads began to dry, they were out again. They had not learned their lesson. So once again it would start to rain.
They were stopped for twelve days at Richardson’s Point, ten days at the Chariton River. Finally, on the first day of April, the order came to move west again. The first and fourth companies of fifty moved out about nine a.m. But not all were ready, and it was not until the night of the second that all of the companies reached the next camp on Shoal Creek, just six or seven miles west of the Chariton River. That night the wind started to blow, signalling the next storm. This time Brigham wouldn’t give in. They had to keep moving. So on the morning of the third, they pulled their coats around them, lowered their heads, cinched down the wagon covers, and moved out, slogging straight into the teeth of the storm.
It proved to be one of the worst of days in what was becoming a never-ending march of miserable days. It rained and blew hard all day. Oxen and mules sunk up to their bellies in the bogs. Even the slightest rise of land required double and triple teaming. Some teams became mired as they were going down the far side of hillocks and ridges. Incredibly, they made fourteen miles, one of the longest marches since they had left Nauvoo. But by nightfall, when they reached Hickory Grove, about a mile from the east fork of Locust Creek, dozens of wagons had been left behind, mired deeply.
Finally Brigham saw there was no point in battling the inevitable. Once again, as the rains came down in blinding sheets, Brigham ordered a halt. The next day, Saturday, April fourth, saw continued rain in the form of scattered showers. Most rested in camp, but several teams were sent back to help retrieve those who had been stranded the day before. The next day, the fifth of April, was Sunday. It dawned cold and clear, but most of the camp would stay put this day. That afternoon Brigham took advantage of the respite to ride out a few miles west and survey the area around the east and middle forks of Locust Creek. He returned to the main camp about sunset and announced that they would be moving out tomorrow at sunrise. But once again it started raining during the night. Nevertheless, on Monday morning part of the camp moved about three miles west, crossing the east fork and the middle fork of Locust Creek and stopping on the west bank of the middle fork. Here they began pitching their tents. Their spirits were lifted when near sundown the sky cleared and there was a beautiful sunset. They should have been wiser.
As darkness fell, the clouds came scudding in and the wind began to rise. About eight o’clock the heavens let loose in such fury that it would prove to be the worst storm seen thus far. Lightning and thunder crashed all around, shaking the trees and making even the ground tremble. Tents were torn loose and blown down. Wagon covers were ripped away. Stock panicked and stampeded. Bedding and clothing were instantly drenched. The rain came in horizontally, peppering bare skin like pebbles flung from a boy’s flipper.
It was April sixth, 1846, the sixteenth anniversary of The Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
It cleared nearly as quickly as it had come, but it was followed by a severe drop in the temperature. By the morning of the seventh, there was snow on the ground and the thousands of puddles had become miniature ice ponds. Locust Creek rose six feet into a raging, muddy torrent, blocking any passage. Once again, man recognized the superior force. For the next ten days the Saints would hunker down in the Locust Creek Camp to wait for a kinder and more gentle response from the weather that seemed to be fighting them at every hand.
It was nearly ten o’clock on the morning of April eighth when Josh came splashing through the water and mud in search of his father. The weather had improved somewhat—the rain was intermittent now and not nearly as heavy as it had been—but it was still very cold and windy. Nathan, Joshua, Solomon, and Derek were out with the stock, letting them graze on the browse of the heavy willows along the Locust Creek bottoms.
Nathan was prodding at the neck of one of his oxen. The animal was bent on heading directly into the roiling waters of Locust Creek, and Nathan was trying to persuade it otherwise. Derek called to him, and when Nathan turned, his brother-in-law jerked his head in the direction of an oncoming figure. When he saw his son, Nathan gave the ox one tremendous whack with the palm of his hand, which finally turned it away from the stream, and then he trotted over to meet Josh.
“Is it Mama, son?”
“Yes. She wants us to find Sister Sessions.”
The others came in around father and son now too, faces anxious. “Is it time?” Solomon asked.
Josh nodded. “I think so. Mama wants us to find the midwife.”
“Is she all right?” Nathan asked, handing his ox goad to Derek.
“She said she’s fine. Not to worry. Just get Sister Sessions.”
“All right,” Nathan said, taking his son by the elbow. “Let’s go.”
Patty Sessions was known all over camp, as she had been in Nauvoo, as being the best midwife among the Latter-day Saints. She was the wife of David Sessions, a wealthy farmer who had joined the Church back in 1835, one year after Patty had been baptized. Patty and her family had come to Kirtland in 1837 just in time to leave the city in the hands of the apostates before going to Far West. And then in 1839 they were driven to Nauvoo. Caring, cheerful, competent, Patty was a source of great comfort to Nathan. He stood back with the rest of the men, watching as she directed the Steed family women like a sergeant at arms—empty Nathan’s tent, prepare a bed, boil water, find clean dry cloths and dry bedding, no mean feat after days of incessant rain.
As she turned to go back into the tent, she stopped and looked over to Nathan. There was a quick, warm smile. “It will be all right,” she called. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Nathan felt the knot in his stomach loosen just a bit. Maybe it was just her way of trying to reduce his tension, but he didn’t think so. Lydia had thought the baby would come the last week of March. They were now into the second week of April. That was always cause for concern, and yet Lydia had been doing remarkably well. She kept telling Nathan that she was probably just too early in her calculations. Nevertheless, there had been their “silent baby” born back at the Morley farm outside of Kirtland in 1834. Then they had lost little three-year-old Nathan to the ague during that first summer at Nauvoo. Both had devastated Lydia. Nathan lay awake nights now worrying about what another tragedy might cost her.
With a jerk, he turned to Matthew, who had recently rejoined the family for a time. “Let’s start chopping some firewood. There’s no sense just standing around waiting.”
It was shortly after two p.m. when Patty Sessions stepped outside the tent, looked around until she spotted Nathan, then waved for him to come over. He dropped the ax and trotted over to face her. His heart dropped as he saw the gravity on her face, but as he reached her she broke into a broad smile. “It’s over,” she said. “Lydia is just fine. The baby too.”
“What is it?”
There was a soft chuckle. “That’s not for the midwife to say. Why don’t you go in and see for yourself.”
He took her hand and wrung it fervently. “Thank you, Sister Sessions.”
“No,” she said quickly, still smiling, “thank you. Thank you for having confidence in me.”
He nodded and slipped inside the tent. Lydia’s head turned and her eyes opened. Her face was drawn and pale, but she was radiant with joy. Cuddled up against her left arm was a tiny bundle of white. He moved swiftly to her side and dropped to his knees, taking her hands. “How are you?” he whispered.
“Fine.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Tired, but fine.”
He looked down. “What is it?”
Her eyes followed his, her mouth softening. “It’s a girl, Nathan. It’s a little girl.”
“Wonderful!”
She laughed softly. “Actually, she’s not so little. Sister Sessions guesses she’d weigh in at about nine pounds.” She reached down and pulled back the blanket.
For a long moment, Nathan just stared. Lydia was right. The little face was round and fat, the cheeks looking almost as though they were stuffed with food. Her skin was still red and flushed from birth but smooth and without flaw. Her eyes were closed, but long dark lashes showed against the cheeks. Her head was covered with black hair, almost an inch long, and very thick. Gingerly he reached out and touched it. It felt like silk. “Oh, Lydia,” he breathed, “she’s beautiful.”
“I know.” Tears had welled up in her eyes. She smiled through them, reaching out to squeeze Nathan’s hand. “I know.”
Josh’s head appeared suddenly in the tent door. “Brother Brigham’s coming.”
Nathan and Lydia both looked up in surprise. “Here?” Lydia blurted.
“Looks like it.” Josh withdrew again.
“I’ll bet Matthew sent word to him,” Mary Ann said. She was in one corner, sitting beside Emily, who was rocking the baby back and forth, cooing to it softly.
“Quick, Nathan, get me my hairbrush.”
Smiling, Nathan complied. He wanted to argue with her, tell her she didn’t need anything. He couldn’t remember her ever looking more beautiful. She had slept for two or three hours this afternoon and awakened much refreshed. But he knew better than to dispute with her over this and crawled quickly to the chest and retrieved the brush for her.
“Is the baby still dry?” she asked Emily as she began to brush her hair with long, quick strokes.
Emily felt beneath the blanket. “Yes, Mama.”
“Maybe Brother Brigham is just passing by.” She lifted her hair and began to twist it. “Nathan, get me my whalebone hair clip.”
He gave his mother a look, but Grandma Steed only smiled, so he went to the trunk again.
Outside now they heard Josh’s voice. “Good evening, President Young.”
“Good evening, Brother Brigham.” Elizabeth Mary, Josiah, and little Joseph, who would all be sleeping in the wagon tonight, sang out their greeting together.
“Good evening, children. I understand you have a newcomer at your house.”
“Oh,” Lydia said, piling her hair into a bun and jamming at it with the clip Nathan had gotten her. “He is coming here.”
“You look wonderful, Lydia.”
“You do,” Mary Ann agreed. “You look fine.”
There was a rap on the canvas flap, and then it pulled back. Nathan stood up and walked over to greet the senior Apostle. “Hello, President.”
Brigham reached out and took his hand, pumping it vigorously. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he exclaimed, looking past Nathan to where Lydia now sat straight up in her bed. “Evening, Sister Lydia. Evening, Mary Ann.”
As Brigham came in, Josh followed him and let the tent flap drop again.
“Good evening, Brother Brigham,” Mary Ann answered. Lydia just nodded demurely.
“How are you?” Brigham asked, moving around Nathan to kneel down beside Lydia.
“Very well,
all things considered.”
“That’s what Sister Sessions said too. I’m glad.”
“So she’s the one who told you?” Nathan asked.
“Well, that and Matthew came over, as proud as if he were the father himself.” He peered more closely at Lydia. “You look really good, Lydia.” Without waiting for a response, he swung around to Emily and pointed to the baby. “So is this her?”
“Yes,” Emily said proudly. She twisted her body so that the baby’s face was visible.
“My, my,” Brigham said, reaching out to take the baby from Emily. “She’s like a little china doll! And so tiny.” He pulled the blanket back further. “And would you look at that hair!”
“That comes from Lydia’s side of the family,” Mary Ann laughed. “The Steed family babies get nothing like that.”
The tent door opened again and the other children trooped in. They weren’t about to miss a visit from President Young. He patted the ground beside him. “Come here, you young’uns, and tell me about this new baby sister of yours.” As they settled in around him, he looked at them with sudden solemnity. “What are you going to call her?”
They all turned to look at their mother for permission to speak.
“You can tell him,” Lydia smiled.
“Patricia,” Elizabeth Mary said shyly. She would be eight soon, and of all the children she looked the most like her father. She was also the one who had most hoped for a little sister.
“Patricia Ann,” five-year-old Josiah said.
“But we’re gonna call her Tricia,” little Joseph, not quite three, sang out, wanting to be heard too.
“It’s for my grandmother on my mother’s side,” Lydia explained. “She was always my favorite grandmother.”
“Little Tricia Steed.” Brigham turned and winked at Emily. “I think she’s going to look just like you,” he said.
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