The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  He nodded. “Thank you for answering honestly.” He pushed the harnessing away and it fell from his lap to the ground. She could feel he was starting to skitter away from her, like a wild thing that wanted what she held in her hand but was too fearful to come and get it.

  “Tell me,” she said, reaching out with her hand to hold him from standing up and moving away from her. “Just answer me this one question. Is there anything you are sure of?”

  Her directness took him aback a little. “Well . . . ,” he began. Then his body seemed to relax. “The other day, Nathan said something that struck me hard. He said that in the Church, families could be bound together in a way that time could not undo and death could not destroy.”

  “Yes.” She wanted to cry out to him. Oh, Joshua, can’t you see? That’s what I want. But she just watched him, waiting for him to continue.

  “I’ve thought a lot about that.” Now he turned toward her and took her by the hand. “You know that you and the children are the most important thing in my life, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do.” There were no reservations of any kind in that answer.

  “The burning of the stable, the loss of the money, Walter’s selling me out so I lost all the businesses. I look back on those now and it’s like, so what? I have Caroline. I have the kids. That’s why I’m out here now, so that our family can be together with each other and with the rest of the Steeds.”

  “I understand.”

  “So the idea of being together forever is easy for me to accept. I want that very much, and if that were the only thing, I would be baptized this morning.”

  She tried not to stare. He had said it so casually. “So what else is there?” she asked softly.

  He stood up now, pulling free of her grasp. “I don’t know,” he exclaimed. “It all just seems so unbelievable, so unreal, so . . . so impossible.”

  “When you say ‘all,’ Joshua, what do you mean?”

  “This whole thing about Christ dying for us, giving his life so our sins can be taken away. I mean, I understand it better now. Nathan has helped me there. But it still seems like a fairy tale, like something that was made up so we could feel better about ourselves. How can I join the Church when something as fundamental as that is still bothering me?”

  With a flash of insight that left her suddenly a little breathless, Caroline knew with perfect clarity that he was doing it again. Brigham was right. He wanted everything put in a box and sealed up tight. He wanted a guarantee up front. It was not that what he was telling her was a deception. She knew he really was troubled by certain aspects of the Atonement, but this was not the real thing holding him back.

  And then, in wonder, she understood why. It was fear. He was afraid, and now she saw what it was that frightened him so terribly. He was afraid that he would surrender and give himself over to God, and that God would not accept him.

  She stood slowly and faced him. She took his face in her hands. “Do you find it strange that I should love you so much?” she asked.

  “I do,” he whispered.

  “Would you say that my love for you was unbelievable?”

  He seemed puzzled by her persistence. “Yes.”

  “Unreal?” Her eyes searched his, and she saw that he understood now.

  “Yes, unreal.”

  “A fairy tale?” she asked in a bare whisper.

  He looked away. After a long moment, he nodded mutely.

  “But it is true. Do you have any question about that?”

  His voice cracked a little. “No. None.”

  “You just think about that. If our love for each other is something you can believe in, why can’t you believe that our Heavenly Father would have that kind of love for us, only that his love would be perfect?” She smiled and put a finger over his lips before he could say more. “And now, I think we’d better wake the children and get them up and going. You’re going to need a good breakfast if you spend all day working on the bridge.”

  Melissa burst into Carl’s office at the brickyard, then pulled up short. There were three other men there. She knew none of them. “Oh. I beg your pardon.”

  Carl looked surprised. “Melissa? Is anything wrong?”

  She hesitated; then, far too filled with anxiety to simply back out again, she nodded. “Stephen Markham has returned.”

  His brow furrowed slightly. “Stephen Markham?”

  “Yes, Colonel Markham, one of the commanders in the Nauvoo Legion. He’s just come back from Brigham Young.”

  He nodded. “I know. He has met with us already.”

  The other men looked at each other and something passed between them. One of them glanced at Carl and shook his head ever so slightly. Carl saw it, nodded back, then turned to Melissa. “Melissa, I don’t think this is any concern of yours.”

  To her surprise, the anger inside her flared and her mouth went tight. She had just been dismissed, not even with a pat on the head. “Carl, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  Carl stood up quickly. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  She stalked outside, moving far enough away that they would not be heard.

  “What is it, Melissa? We’re working on this. We know about Colonel Markham.”

  “Carl!” She couldn’t believe he was casual about it. “Brigham Young sent Colonel Markham back here to help.”

  “Melissa.” There was a note of warning to his voice. “The new citizens committee is well aware of what is happening—”

  “Do you know there is a mob of anti-Mormons camped just outside the city?”

  To her surprise, he turned it around on her. “Did you know that nine of our committee have been out to meet with the group—not a mob—and have refused them entry as they have requested?”

  “You have?”

  “Did you know that Sheriff Backenstos has already called for reinforcements and that most of the antis have turned around and scooted for home?”

  “No, I . . .” She peered at him more closely. “Are you sure, Carl?”

  “Absolutely. You think our new citizens committee is a hollow shell. Well, you’re wrong.”

  His eyes had narrowed and his mouth was tight, and she knew she was pushing him. There had already been too many words between them over the new citizens group. They were all non-Mormons, most of them newly arrived, who had banded together to protect the property they had purchased at ten cents on the dollar. Suddenly all this mob activity wasn’t to their liking. Who would make sure that the angry men out there knew who was and who wasn’t Mormon?

  She reached out and laid a hand on his arm. “Carl, Colonel Markham has called a meeting. Just go and listen to what he has to say.”

  “We did listen, Melissa. It’s under control. Now, go home and see to the children.”

  He had almost calmed her fears, leaving her feeling a little foolish, but his last comment, delivered with such a patronizing tone, infuriated her.

  She whirled on him again. “Carl, if you don’t want to leave Nauvoo, I can’t say a word about that, because it was my stubbornness, my feelings that got us to this point. So I will just have to live with that.”

  “That’s not entirely—”

  “But my children—our children!—are in danger, and I will not stand by and do nothing. I will do anything it takes to help protect them.”

  He blew out his breath, thoroughly exasperated. “Melissa, you can’t be going off and doing something foolish. You can’t.”

  “You just wait and see what I can or can’t do.”

  Shocked and bewildered, he finally saw that this was not some emotional cracking on her part. He took her hand. “Melissa. Listen. This is why we are meeting. I’m concerned too. We all are. Let me finish with the meeting and then we’ll talk. I promise.”

  “What happened, Carl?”

  She was waiting for him and was on the porch before he was even through the gate. He walked up to her and kissed her lightly. “It’s going to be all right, Melissa.”


  “What?”

  “Between the new citizens and the forces Colonel Markham can muster, we’ve got seven to nine hundred men.”

  She looked at him closely, making sure he was not just telling her something to put her fears to rest. “Really? What are you going to do?”

  “Circulate the word that we have seven hundred men and watch all those brave warriors melt away into the night.”

  “You think they will?”

  “Yes. Like I said, some have already fled. Their leader is furious. They require three things to prop up their bravery—a bottle of liquor, a gun in the hand, and odds that favor them by four to one or more.”

  He spoke so confidently that she felt the fear ebb back a little.

  He took her arm and turned her toward the door. They went inside. Sarah and Mary Melissa had been put to bed. The three boys were still up. They jumped to their feet as their parents entered. “How did it go, Pa?” twelve-year-old David asked quickly.

  “It went fine. Everything’s going to be fine.” Then, before they could ask anything more, he spoke again. “It’s past nine, boys. We’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow. I think it’s time you went to bed.”

  It was more their mother’s face than their father’s tone that cut off any further debate. Young Carl nodded. “Yes, Pa. Come on, Caleb and David. Let’s go upstairs.”

  When they were finally gone, Melissa turned to her husband. “Thank you for sharing that with me, Carl.”

  “You’re welcome. I didn’t mean to make you angry today.”

  “I know. I was just so upset.”

  “I know. These are not easy times.”

  “So let’s move, Carl.”

  He had started away from her toward the kitchen, wanting a drink. He stopped. “Melissa, let’s not start that again.”

  “I’m not asking you to go west, Carl. I’ll go to Kirtland if you want. Even if we go to Fort Madison or down to St. Louis for a time. I just don’t want to be here right now.”

  He sighed wearily. “I’ve told you, Melissa. If we leave, even for a short time, there won’t be anything for us to come back to.” “If we get ourselves killed, it won’t matter if we have something to come back to or not.”

  “We’re not going to get ourselves killed.”

  She looked away. “I’m terribly frightened, Carl. I know you’re not. But I am. I don’t want to stay.”

  “It’s going to be all right,” he said shortly, his tiredness showing through now. “You’ll see. Word of our raising armed resistance will scatter those goons like baby chicks before the chicken hawk.”

  The pioneers finished the bridge over the middle fork of the Nishnabotna on Wednesday, June tenth, and began to move west again immediately. On the eleventh, they reached the west fork and bridged it easily. On they went, making good progress now. On Saturday afternoon they reached the banks of Mosquito Creek and halted again while the men set to work to build yet another bridge. There was a sense of excitement in the air now. In the distance they could see the line of trees that marked the Missouri River. Rumors were flying through the camp that this was the last creek to be crossed before they, at long last, reached their winter stopping place.

  Matthew poked his head inside the wagon cover, where Jenny and Mary Ann were playing with the two girls. “Hi.”

  “Hi, Papa,” Betsy Jo said happily.

  “How’s my girl?”

  “Fine.”

  Jenny smiled at her husband. Her older daughter had missed Matthew terribly in those weeks when he had been out ahead of them. On more than one occasion she had cried herself quietly to sleep, wanting a good-night kiss or story from her daddy. But even though it had been only five days since they had been reunited, all the previous sorrow was forgotten. Matthew was gone most of the day, smoothing roads, preparing fords, cutting wood for bridges, and Jenny still had to manage the wagon with the help of Luke, but she could cope with that. He was back each night, and she and the children were happy.

  “This is a nice surprise,” she said. “Are you through with the bridge?”

  “Yep, about half an hour ago. We’ll start crossing in the morning.”

  “So we just wait here for our turn?” Mary Ann asked.

  “Yep. We’ll pack up in the morning,” Matthew said, his eyes sparkling with delight now. “But I do have a surprise for you now.”

  “For me?” Betsy Jo cried, coming fully alert.

  “For you and Mama and Grandma.”

  “What about Emmeline?” Betsy Jo demanded. She was always very protective of her baby sister.

  “Oh, I don’t think Emmeline would like this surprise very much.”

  Betsy Jo had inherited a generous share of her mother’s looks, including the sprinkling of freckles across the cheeks, which seemed to be multiplying every day now that the summer had come. She jumped up, her brown hair bouncing lightly. “What is it, Papa? Tell me.”

  He had even piqued Jenny’s curiosity now. “Yes, what is it, Matthew?”

  “You have to close your eyes.”

  Betsy Jo did so, tightly enough that it put little crinkles around the corners of them.

  “Come on, Mama and Grandma, you have to close your eyes too.”

  “Hurry, Mama,” Betsy Jo cried. “Close your eyes.”

  “All right,” Jenny laughed, “my eyes are closed.”

  Matthew withdrew his head, then a moment later came back with a small half-bushel basket. He reached inside the wagon and set it down. “All right.”

  They all opened their eyes, and for a moment they stared without comprehension at what he had brought. Betsy Jo came forward slowly. “What is it, Papa?”

  Mary Ann, who was holding little Emmeline, leaned forward. “Strawberries?” she exclaimed in astonishment.

  “Yes. Wild ones.”

  Jenny came over to the basket and dropped to one knee. “They are strawberries. Where ever did you get them?”

  “Along Mosquito Creek. There are huge patches of them and they’re just coming ripe.”

  Mary Ann reached across and took one and bit into it, then closed her eyes in sheer pleasure. “I can’t believe it. This is wonderful.”

  “Can I have one, Papa? Can I?”

  “Yes.” He took one to show her. “You don’t eat the green part on the top here. Just bite it off like this.” He ate it and rubbed his stomach. “Oh, that’s good.”

  She watched him, then carefully chose the biggest one she could see. Jenny followed suit, not waiting for her daughter. “Now, that is delicious,” she murmured immediately.

  Betsy Jo brought her strawberry up tentatively to her mouth, then delicately took a bite. Instantly her face screwed up into a fierce pucker. “Ooh,” she exclaimed, “they’re sour.”

  “Not sour, Betsy Jo,” Jenny laughed. “The word is tart. That’s what makes them so wonderful.” She took another one and ate it. “Oh my, we’ll have to be careful, or we’ll all have a tummy ache.”

  “We can mash them and have them with bread and cream tonight,” Mary Ann said, also sampling another one.

  Betsy Jo finished hers, then immediately took another.

  “Hey,” Matthew said, pulling at her arm. “I thought you said they were sour.”

  “Not sour, Daddy, tart. And I like ’em.”

  “Good. So do I.”

  “Matthew, are you ready in there?”

  It was Joshua’s voice. Matthew withdrew his head. “Be right there.” He looked back inside. “Come on. We’ve got another surprise, but we’re going to have to take a bit of a walk for this one.”

  “Goody!” Betsy Jo cried. “What is it, Papa?”

  Matthew climbed half in the wagon and reached out to his mother. “Let me take Emmeline. You get your bonnets and we’ll go see.”

  It was a fair walk, two miles or more, but they were eager to take it. They walked across the simple bridge that George Miller’s party, and others such as Matthew, had put up across the swift-flowing creek. The land had turned int
o rolling hills along here, and they moved along the top of one of them toward the southwest. The whole family was with them now, except for Josh, who stayed behind to watch their stock.

  “Are you ready?” Joshua said to Caroline as they finally climbed a slight rise.

  She could see that they were coming to the edge of the hill in what looked like a series of bluffs overlooking a low spot. She nodded, guessing what this might be and feeling a sudden stir of excitement. “I am.”

  Joshua trotted forward a few steps, then threw out his arm. “There it is.”

  “It” turned out to be a beautiful vista—a broad floodplain lined with cottonwood trees, huge stands of willows, and thick underbrush. Through it all, like a huge brown serpent, ran the broad, muddy river. There were gasps and aahs as the family stared down at the scene before them. This was not a river like the Des Moines River or the Chariton or the Grand or the Nishnabotna, all of which they had crossed since leaving Nauvoo. It was another Mississippi. It was not as broad—maybe only two-thirds the width—but this was a real river, with that majesty that brings a sharp intake of breath when first seen.

  Emily finally turned to her father. “Is that the Missouri, Papa?”

  “Yes, Emily. We are finally here.”

  “Three months and thirteen days, three hundred and twenty-seven miles,” Derek said softly, “but yes, we are finally here.”

  “Is this where we’re going to stay, Pa?” It came from Christopher, Derek’s oldest, who had turned seven just three days before.

  “That’s what Brother Brigham says,” his father answered. “Tomorrow we’ll look for sites for our encampment, but yes, this will be our home until next spring, Christopher.”

  Rachel looked at her cousin. “We’ll have to write this in our journals tonight, Emily.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Lydia, who was holding baby Tricia, moved closer to Nathan. “Is it really over for now?” she murmured. “Are we really here?”

  Nathan nodded. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”

  “It seems like we’ve lived our whole life in a wagon,” Rebecca said. “I don’t know if I can remember what it’s like to have a real bed.”

  “Well,” Joshua cautioned, “don’t get your hopes too high. If you look carefully you’ll see there’s not a whole lot of timber down there. And we’re only staying until spring. We won’t be building two-story homes like we had back in Nauvoo.”