The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  She barely heard him. “I’m sure that’s him. Yes. And there’s Phoebe beside him. Oh, Carl, let’s go say hello.”

  “Why?” he asked bluntly.

  “He may have some word of the family.”

  “Not if he’s been in England.”

  “But I don’t know if he has. Perhaps he’s been out on the trail and has some news.”

  Carl shrugged. It was a beautiful, warm spring day. They were on their way out to a farm east of town to purchase some baby chicks that would become young fryers by summertime. There were no orders at the brickyard for today, and young Carl was minding the dry goods store. The rest of the children were left with a teenage neighbor so that Melissa could ride out with him. There was no set schedule and no particular hurry. Why not? He pulled lightly on the reins, turning the horse toward the other side of the street.

  They reached the gate to the temple yard just as the group was coming through it. “Elder Woodruff!” Melissa called.

  Wilford Woodruff was in the rear, talking earnestly with one of the other couples. He looked up, squinting a little.

  “It’s Melissa Rogers,” she called as they pulled to a stop.

  “But of course,” he said, waving now. He pushed his way through the others, who stepped aside for him. Phoebe came right behind him. “You all go on ahead,” Wilford said. “We’ll be along shortly.”

  Carl and Melissa climbed down from the carriage as the Woodruffs reached them. The Apostle was smiling broadly. “How good to see you again!” he said, taking Melissa’s hands.

  Carl leaned toward him, his mouth opening to say, “Carl Rogers, Mr. Woodruff,” but before he could say a word, Wilford took his hand and gripped it tightly. “How are you, Carl? You’re looking well.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.” He was surprised and pleased to be remembered.

  “How’s the brick business?” And then, at Carl’s look, he frowned. “You’re still making the best bricks in town, now, aren’t you?”

  Carl shook his head. “Not much anymore.” A few years ago it was his yard that furnished the bricks for the fine two-story Woodruff home on Durphy Street.

  “I was by your home just a few days ago,” Carl said now, warming to the memory. “I’ll bet you’re glad to be back to it again.”

  Phoebe’s eyes clouded a little. “We are, but it won’t be for long.”

  “Have you sold it?” Carl asked, genuinely surprised.

  “It appears that we will,” Wilford answered. “We are very fortunate. I have had an offer for a twelve-acre parcel I own out east of town and my house and lot. Six hundred seventy-five dollars.”

  Carl gave a low whistle. “I know it’s worth far more than that, but some people are only getting a pittance of what their property is worth.”

  “We’ve heard,” Phoebe broke in sadly. “We just hope it goes through. We’ve heard of people trading off their homes for a yoke of oxen, or even something like a bed quilt.”

  “Well, people know they’ve got us over a barrel,” Wilford said. “We don’t have much choice but to take what we’re offered. I don’t know why we were so fortunate. Maybe the Lord knows that without a sale, there would be no way for us to purchase a wagon and teams and join the others.”

  Melissa’s face fell. “So you’re just back from England?” she asked. “You’ve not been out on the trail yet?”

  “No, no,” Wilford said. “I wish we were on the trail. We’re anxious to see President Young and my other brethren in the Twelve again, but it will take us some time to get ready.”

  “We were hoping you might have some news of my family.”

  Wilford shook his head. “So they’ve gone, have they?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Joshua and that wonderful wife of his, did they go too?”

  “They did,” Carl said. “I don’t know if you heard about Melissa’s father.”

  The Apostle’s face instantly fell. “I did. Elder Hyde was telling me about that tragedy with Benjamin trying to save his granddaughter. He was a man of unusual grace and courage.”

  “I know.” Melissa managed a smile. “We miss him terribly, of course, but with Mother being alone, Joshua decided to go with her. And then, much to our surprise, about a week later he came back and got Caroline and the children and they all went.”

  “Wonderful!” Wilford said with great enthusiasm. He gave Carl a keen look, then slapped him on the shoulder. “And what about you, Brother Carl? Why don’t you get yourself a team and a wagon, and come on with us when we cross the river? I’m sure there’ll be a need for a brickyard wherever we’re going.”

  Carl was not offended. He had too much respect for the man to respond in that way, and there had been a half-joking tone to the invitation. “Someone’s got to stay and watch over things here,” he said easily.

  Now Wilford frowned deeply. “All jesting aside, Carl, things are not looking good. Brother Young—Joseph Young, Brigham’s older brother, who has been left in charge of the Saints here—he was telling us last night that our old enemies have not gone away. They’re still prowling around, talking brashly and waving their rifles and their whiskey bottles.”

  “There’s always a few who want to stir up trouble,” Carl admitted. The conversation had taken a serious turn and he was starting to feel uncomfortable. “But you can’t jump at every shadow.”

  For a long moment, Wilford’s eyes held Carl’s. “I don’t want to seem pessimistic, my friend, and you know that I respect your right to choose what course you wish to take, but if things turn ugly here, which they very likely could, the fact that you are not one of us may not be enough.”

  “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Woodruff. I truly do. But we’ll be fine. We’re just going about our business, not doing anything to rile anyone up.” He glanced at Melissa, who was staring at the ground. “We’ll be fine.”

  “I hope so. There aren’t many finer people than you two, and it would sorrow us greatly to see you have any hardships. And you know that we’d be right pleased to have you and your family travel with us to rejoin your family, if that was what you chose to do.”

  Carl’s voice was cool now. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “How many wives does Brigham Young have traveling with him?”

  Melissa took in a breath sharply. Phoebe’s head jerked up. Wilford was taken aback too, but immediately smiled. “I’m not sure, not having been here. Maybe ten. Maybe more.”

  “And Heber Kimball?”

  “Several,” Wilford said steadily, not flinching from the anger that was flashing in Carl’s eyes now.

  “How many others have more than one wife going with them out there, Mr. Woodruff?”

  “Carl!” Melissa said it in a low, soft rebuke. He didn’t look at her.

  “I don’t know,” Wilford Woodruff said softly. “Several, I would think.”

  “Then I don’t think we’ll be thinking about joining up with you and the others.” Carl took a quick breath. “I mean no offense, Mr. Woodruff—”

  “No offense taken.”

  “And I have the greatest respect for you personally, but that one thing alone makes it impossible for me and my wife to consider being part of what is happening.”

  “I understand.”

  “If there’s anything you need,” Carl said, forcing some warmth back into his voice again, “a line of credit at the store, help in getting your things packed—anything—let us know. We’d be pleased to be of help.”

  “Thank you. We’re much obliged.” He shook hands with Carl again. Then he gave Melissa a quick hug. “We’ll take your love to your family when we go. And any letters, if you’d like.”

  “Oh, yes,” Melissa said. She stepped back from him, still not meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Brother Woodruff. Thank you, Phoebe.”

  “How good to see you both again!” Phoebe said warmly. “We shall see you again before we leave, I’m sure.”

  They waved and
walked slowly away. Carl watched them go, then turned back to his wife. She was still looking at the ground.

  “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you, Melissa, but they might as well know the real reason. I’m not going to just give all these honeyed phrases that sound good.”

  “I know.”

  He peered at her, reaching out to lift her head. “You’re not changing your mind, are you?”

  She pulled away. “No.”

  “But?” he pressed.

  “But I’m frightened, Carl. What’s it going to be like when everyone is gone?”

  “It will be quiet and peaceful and very, very normal. There won’t be nearly as big a city, but it will be all right.” He stepped forward and put his arms around her, pulling her in against him. “Really, Melissa. We’ll be just fine.”

  She nodded. “I know.” Then she looked up at him. “If you don’t mind, Carl, you go on ahead. I’ll just walk home. I don’t feel much like a ride anymore.”

  For a moment there was a flash of irritation, but then he understood. In spite of it all. In spite of the plural marriage, in spite of the fear of going a thousand miles into the wilderness for nothing, there was always the family. The Steeds were a family with powerful ties to each other, and for Melissa all those were severed now, at least in terms of immediate association. So finally he just nodded and kissed her on the cheek. “I understand,” he said. “I’ll be home before supper.” And with that, he let her go, climbed back into the carriage, and drove away.

  Chapter Notes

  Though at this time the group of emigrants who left Springfield, Illinois, on 15 April 1846 were not formally known as the Donner Party, about thirty-two people were in the company that left then. (It should be noted, however, that a few people in addition to this—such as George Donner’s son, William, and Margret Reed’s brothers James and Gersham Keyes—accompanied the group during the first part of the journey to help them get on their way.) The names, ages, and other details of those who went—including the two Donner brothers and their families, James Frazier Reed and his family, and the various people they had hired to help them—are drawn from history, with the exception of the material about Kathryn and Peter Ingalls, who are of course only characters in the novel. (See George R. Stewart, Ordeal by Hunger: The Story of the Donner Party [Boston: Houghton Mifflin Co., 1988], pp. 14–19; Walter M. Stookey, Fatal Decision: The Tragic Story of the Donner Party [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1950], pp. 60–62; Eliza Poor Donner Houghton, The Expedition of the Donner Party and Its Tragic Fate [Chicago: McClurg, 1911], p. 8; Virginia Reed Murphy, “Across the Plains in the Donner Party (1846),” in Kristin Johnson, ed., “Unfortunate Emigrants”: Narratives of the Donner Party [Logan, Utah: Utah State University Press, 1996], pp. 266, 268.)

  After presiding over the British Mission during 1844 and 1845, Wilford Woodruff set sail from Liverpool in January 1846. He arrived back in Nauvoo on 13 April 1846, and was able to sell his property for the price noted just two days later (see Wilford Woodruff’s Journal, 1833–1898, typescript, ed. Scott G. Kenney, 9 vols. [Midvale, Utah: Signature Books, 1983–85], 3:38–39).

  Chapter 13

  They had come only about four miles since morning because of the late start they had made leaving the camp at Locust Creek. Now, with the sun high in the sky, Brigham Young sent word back along his company that they would “noon” here. A small creek with steep banks meandered through the rolling expanse of prairie land that was otherwise devoid of tree and bush. As the word came back, the advance company, led by Brigham Young and Albert P. Rockwood, fell out of line and moved up and down the creek to let their animals drink and to refill their water barrels.

  Nooning was the word they used to describe the midday stop. Used to give the animals a chance to rest and graze and the people an opportunity to get something to eat, normally the nooning stop lasted an hour and a half to two hours. Because they had not gotten off until after nine o’clock, word was passed back that today the stop would be no more than an hour. This was not a real problem. Usually the noon meal was a cold meal anyway—hardtack, dried fruit or raisins, maybe some bread and cheese. Mostly the people rested, along with the animals, before moving on again. The Steeds ate quickly, then went to the wagons and squeezed in as best they could to try and grab a quick nap.

  Nathan and Josh had volunteered to watch the oxen, which had been unhitched from the wagons. It was not that they worried about them straying too far during the short stop. Rather, it was a new problem which had come to plague them. It was the same reason why the people crowded into the wagons rather than spreading blankets or straw mattresses out on the prairie as they usually did when the weather was dry. The concern was snakes. The three days of warm weather which had finally come over the plains produced a mixed blessing. The roads were drying out, the creeks were subsiding to normal levels, and the campsites were no longer unbearable swamps. And the prairie rattlesnakes were coming out of hibernation.

  At first there had been only one or two, and they were sluggish enough to present no real threat. But the previous afternoon, when the temperature had approached seventy, the serpents had started appearing with alarming frequency. For those walking close to the wagons, there wasn’t any real danger. The noise of the moving company frightened the snakes away. At rest, when all was quiet, it was a different matter.

  The real problem was the stock. Out in the deeper grass one could be almost on top of one of the rattlers before the low buzzing sound sent an instant chill up the back. That meant problems for the grazing animals. Two oxen had been bitten the previous day; three more and a horse had gotten it this morning. The prairie rattler was a smaller snake, usually only a foot or two long, and its bite for a large animal was not typically fatal. But it could make a full-grown ox sick enough that it could no longer pull a wagon or even keep up easily with the rest of the herd. If it was bitten more than once, death could result. Right now the Saints didn’t need that kind of setback.

  Nathan moved ahead of the animals slowly, thumping the grass with the shovel handle he carried. The oxen were bunched behind him, heads down, munching contentedly, as if they knew that he and his son were keeping them safe. Nathan looked to his left. On the other side of the animals Josh walked along, whistling a tune and beating a shovel on the ground in time to the beat of it.

  “Anything?” Nathan called.

  “I’ve seen a couple slither away. How about you?”

  “Only one.”

  His son nodded. “Uncle Joshua was telling me that out on the Sante Fe Trail they saw rattlesnakes that were six and seven feet long and thicker than a man’s arm.”

  Nathan pulled a face. He hated the snakes and couldn’t imagine what it would be like to deal with something so much bigger than these. “Yeah,” he said. “He told me that too.”

  “He said they called them diamondbacks because of an unusual pattern of markings on their skin.”

  “I saw a skin of one of those in Independence once. A teamster had brought it in from Mexico. No question about why they call it that. The pattern was made up of almost perfect diamonds all along it.”

  “Joshua says that if a diamondback strikes your horse, it could die if you don’t do something about it real quick.”

  “Well, thank heavens we don’t have to worry about diamondbacks out here.”

  “Worry about what out here?”

  Both father and son turned to see Lydia coming toward them, picking her way through the grass, watching carefully where her feet were stepping.

  “Diamondback rattlesnakes,” Josh said clearly. He was still intrigued with the whole idea of something that big and that dangerous.

  There was a quick shudder. Lydia had overheard her son’s conversation with his uncle about the big snakes and it had left her skin crawling. She didn’t want to think about it. “How are they doing?” she asked, gesturing toward the oxen as she caught up with Nathan.

  “Fine. They do good on this old dried grass. I’m glad we tra
ded off the horses. They don’t fare nearly as well on this kind of feed.”

  Josh called over to his parents. “Looks like they’re starting to hitch up, Pa.”

  Nathan turned. Across the creek, men and boys were pushing their oxen back toward the wagons. He could see the banner that marked Brigham Young’s wagon and saw that someone was already hitching a yoke to one of his wagons.

  “All right. Let’s turn them around and take them back.” He raised his hands and moved toward the oxen, calling softly. They hesitated for a moment, then began to turn. “You go out in front, Josh,” Nathan said to his son. “Your mother and I will bring them along.”

  “Watch for snakes,” Lydia called anxiously.

  “Yes, Mama.”

  Nathan decided to take her mind off the rattlers. “Is Tricia asleep?”

  “Yep. She ate like a little piglet and then promptly fell asleep again.”

  Nathan grinned, proud and pleased. Little Tricia was proving to be as easy to handle as she was beautiful. She ate greedily about every two hours. Fortunately Lydia’s milk was ample, and they could already see that the baby’s fat little cheeks were rounding out even more than when she was born. She also had a double chin now. Delay the feeding much beyond the two-hour mark and she squalled angrily. But once fed she either went right back to sleep or lay awake with her eyes open, perfectly content to watch what was going on around her.

  Lydia raised her arm and pointed eastward, back over the way they had come. “Oh, look, Nathan!”

  He turned to where she was pointing. “What?”

  “Look at the color of the hill there.”

  And then he saw it too. The gentle rise that started fifty or so yards from where they were rose to the skyline. It was in full sun, which was slightly behind them now. A very subtle shading of green could be seen here and there through the golden brown. It wasn’t dramatic yet. The much higher grass of last summer was still the dominant color, but there was no question about it. The new grass was coming up and would soon replace last year’s dead crop. They had seen the new shoots coming up everywhere beneath their feet the last few days. But this was the first time when you could actually see it on a hillside.