“I know,” Mary Ann said softly, “but until spring, this will be home. For now, that’s enough.”
They stood in silence for another few minutes, then turned to start back. As they did so, they saw Brigham Young striding toward them.
“Well, what do you think?” he boomed happily as he reached them. “Isn’t it beautiful?”
“Yes,” several of them said in unison.
“Do you know yet where we will actually set up the settlement?” Matthew asked his former employer and mentor.
“Not yet. Some of the Twelve plan to go scouting tomorrow to find a place where we can camp for now. Then we’ll start exploring up and down the river and look for something more permanent.”
“Where’s the trading post?” Joshua asked. “I thought someone said there was an Indian trading post close by.”
Brigham raised a hand and pointed downriver. “It’s a little hard to see, but you can see a smudge of smoke, right there where the river takes the bend to the left.”
“Oh, yes,” Jenny cried. “I see it.”
“I assume that’s it.”
The others looked more closely, then exclaimed aloud and began pointing for the children. After a moment, Brigham turned and looked back to where they could see the wagons waiting on the far side of Mosquito Creek. “Well, we’d better get going. I wish we could get the wagons across tonight, but starting tomorrow should be acceptable.”
With some reluctance they turned away from the vista below them to look where their leader was gazing. “Nathan,” Brigham said, “could you and Matthew help supervise the crossing tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
Some started back and the others fell in behind them. Brigham watched them for a moment, then casually spoke again. “Oh, Joshua. Could I see you for a minute? I want to show you something. You can come too, Caroline.”
Surprised, and suddenly suspicious, Joshua turned. He looked at Brigham closely, but the face seemed innocent enough. They gave the two younger children into Savannah’s charge, and then he and Caroline came back to where Brigham stood waiting for them.
Brigham was looking at the river below and seemed barely aware of their presence. He waited a full minute until the others were out of earshot before turning. There was a doleful smile when he finally turned to face them. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure you were still speaking to me.”
Joshua pulled a rueful face. “I’ve always said I’d rather deal with an honest tongue than a slippery one, but sometimes that’s not without its pain.”
Brigham nodded soberly. “I didn’t mean to offend, Joshua, but I felt I had to say what I said.”
“You didn’t offend,” he responded. “I’m all right.” He glanced at Caroline quickly, then laughed and shook his head. “Unfortunately for me, my wife agrees with you.”
“Good for her. That’s a good woman you’ve got there, Joshua. You’d better be treating her right.”
“He does, Brother Brigham,” Caroline said quickly. “He really does.”
“Good.” Now his face grew more earnest. “I’m not going to preach to you anymore, Joshua, but I’d like to ask you a question. Will you give me an honest answer?”
Joshua was still clearly wary but he nodded. “Sure.”
“Do you think I am an honest man?”
An eyebrow rose. “Of course.”
“No, I want you to think about it. Do you think I would lie to you?”
Joshua thought about it. Then he grinned wryly. “No, I might question your tact sometimes, but I would not question your honesty. I have no reason to.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because there’s something I want to tell you, and it’s important that you believe me.”
“What?” he asked slowly.
The blue-gray eyes were thoughtful now, lost in reflection. “Heber and I came out here a couple of hours ago,” he finally said, “almost to this very spot, as a matter of fact. As I was looking down on the river and thinking about what it all meant—to finally be here, where to make the settlement, how to handle the thousands still coming behind us, about going on to the Rockies—I suddenly had a powerful thought strike me.” Now he turned and looked squarely at Joshua.
Seeing the look in Brigham’s eyes, Caroline held her breath.
“I thought,” he went on slowly, “I thought to myself, ‘Before we cross that river, before we go any farther west, Joshua Steed must be baptized.’ ”
The only change in Joshua’s expression was a slight tightening along the jawline.
“At first,” Brigham went on, “I thought it was just me, just my own strong hope that you would make that decision. But as I thought about it, I realized it was much more than that. It was a very strong impression, Joshua. Very strong.”
“So you think it was from the Lord,” Joshua said. He hadn’t meant to let it, but a touch of sarcasm edged into his voice.
“No,” came the firm response. “I know it was from the Lord.” One hand came up quickly to ward off further protest. “I know that doesn’t prove anything to you, but hear me out. I told you the other day that the Lord wants you in the kingdom, Joshua. He has a work for you to do. An important work. I have felt that strongly for some time now, but today the Lord made it known that he feels the same way. It’s important to me that you know that I wouldn’t just cook up a story like this to convince you to join the Church.”
Joshua sighed. Would this never go away? Would it never be resolved? “I believe you,” he finally said. “I believe you had an experience of some kind.”
“But you don’t believe it’s from the Lord.” It was not a question; it was a statement of obvious fact.
Joshua rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands. “I don’t know what I believe anymore, to be honest with you. I know it’s easy to think the Lord’s speaking to you when you want something badly.”
“Yes, it is,” Brigham agreed. “It’s one of the most common mistakes good people make. So it comes down to just one question, doesn’t it?”
“What question is that?”
“Was it the Lord or wasn’t it?”
“And how do you propose we answer that?”
“What if I could?” Brigham came right back. “If I could convince you that it really was from the Lord, that it really was him saying, ‘Joshua Steed, you just stop stalling and get yourself into the waters of baptism,’ would you do it?”
Joshua turned and looked out across the river, out beyond where there was nothing but endless prairie and somewhere very far away the Rocky Mountains. Caroline watched him, her hands clenched, her body rigid with tension.
Finally, he turned back. “Yes. If I really knew that, then yes. I would be baptized.”
Brigham visibly relaxed. He let out a long sigh of satisfaction. “Then all we’ve got to do is help you find out, isn’t it? Have you been asking the Lord whether or not the Book of Mormon is true?”
Joshua’s eyes couldn’t meet his. “Yes,” he finally said, “in my own way.”
There was a kindly smile. “Maybe that’s the problem. You’re not the one setting the conditions here. You have to do it the Lord’s way.”
There was a quick, startled reaction. “What did you say?”
“I said that it’s not up to you to set your own conditions. You have to—”
He saw that Joshua was staring at Caroline, who was suddenly smiling at him through tears. Brigham saw that something had just passed between them. “What?” he asked in surprise.
She half turned. “That’s exactly what I told him the other day,” she murmured, “that he can’t set his own conditions.”
That seemed to help Brigham make up his mind. “All right,” he said to Joshua. “I have a request.”
“You want me to be baptized,” Joshua drawled sardonically.
“Of course,” Brigham chuckled, “but that’s a hope, not a request. Tell you what, I’ll make you a promise. If you do
what I ask, and it doesn’t work like I hope it will, you’ll not ever hear another word from me about you becoming a member. Fair enough?”
At that, Joshua laughed aloud. “Now, that’s tempting.”
“Okay, then it’s a deal?” Brigham said with a triumphant smile.
“You haven’t told me what the request is.”
“It’s simple. I’ll walk Caroline back to camp. I want you to go off somewhere, maybe drop down off the bluffs to the river. Stay at least until dark. When you find a place where you are alone, you go down on your knees and you ask one simple question of the Lord. None of this just standing around thinking about things and assuming that constitutes a prayer. You get down on your knees and you close your eyes and you speak out loud and you ask the Lord this question: ‘Was that you speaking to President Young, or was it just old Brother Brigham huffing and puffing as usual?’ ”
“And you’ll think I’ll get an answer?” he said skeptically.
“If you don’t, then you won’t be bothered by me again.”
Joshua stood motionless, searching the older man’s face. Caroline was frozen as well, hardly daring to hope.
“And that’s it?” he finally asked. “No other conditions?”
“None.”
There was a slow, thoughtful nod. “All right.”
Caroline felt her whole body go weak with relief.
“Good,” Brigham exclaimed, grabbing him by both shoulders and shaking him gently. “Good for you.” He turned to Caroline. “Well, Sister Steed, I think it’s time for us to leave this man for a time.”
Joshua also turned to Caroline. He leaned over and kissed her lightly. “Don’t wait supper,” he said in a low voice. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away, dropping out of sight over the bluff as they both watched him go.
Chapter Notes
Conditions in Nauvoo continued to deteriorate as the enemies of the Church put more and more pressure on those who still remained in the city. The conditions described here—including the doings of anti-Mormons, the arrival of Stephen Markham, the actions of the new citizens committee (made up of non-Mormons living in Nauvoo), and the panicky exodus of the Saints—are all accurately portrayed. (See Iowa Trail, pp. 65–66; MHBY, pp. 581–84.) When the anti-Mormons learned that an army of about seven hundred men—members and nonmembers of the Church—had been organized in defense of Nauvoo, they disbanded and returned to their homes. As time would prove, however, the anti-Mormons had not changed their minds, only their schedule.
As the Saints reached the western boundaries of Iowa Territory near the middle of June, several journals report their finding large quantities of wild strawberries, which provided a welcome change in their diet, even if it was only a temporary one (see CN, 15 June 1996, p. 5).
On Saturday, 13 June 1846, the company led by Brigham Young reached Mosquito Creek, and a bridge was built over it. From the hills near Mosquito Creek, the Missouri River was within sight. Fully two full months behind schedule, the pioneers greeted the sight of this important intermediate destination with great joy. The following day, which was Sunday, Brigham and a few others rode ahead about seven miles and found a good campsite in the river bottoms. Just before noon, the wagons began rolling over Mosquito Creek and down the bluffs. By five p.m. the wagons had formed a hollow square on the banks of the Missouri River. While they were far behind schedule, they were cheered by the fact that the last hundred miles, or about one-third of the total journey, had been covered in less than two weeks. This was an average of seven miles per day as compared to the less than two miles per day they had averaged the previous 116 days. (See CN, 15 June 1996, p. 5; 22 June 1996, p. 5.)
Chapter 27
He didn’t go far once he reached the bottom of the Missouri River’s floodplain. There was a small grove of hickory trees, shaded enough by its canopy of leaves that it left the light within subdued and muted. Joshua looked all around once more, including a quick scan of the bluffs above him to see if anyone was observing him. Satisfied, he walked slowly into the stand of trees.
For almost a full five minutes he just stood there, gathering his thoughts, fighting back the sense of the ridiculous that seemed to assail him whenever he got to this point. If it hadn’t been for Brigham’s promise, he might even then have just gone for a walk. Keep moving so the feelings couldn’t catch up to you. Stride out, concentrating on where your feet were landing, so that there was no room for other thoughts. But he had struck a bargain, and Joshua had always been a man of his word.
He found a log and sat down on it. Now he focused on what he might say, what words would be best. He had fumbled so awkwardly before, there as he knelt by the river a few steps from the deer he had slain. How did one properly address a God? What possible things could he say? If He was God, wouldn’t He already know Joshua’s thoughts? Wasn’t that what Caroline had quoted him, that only God knows the thoughts and intents of your heart? So did He already know Joshua’s heart? That was the rationalization that he had always turned to before. Just thinking about these things would be a prayer, in a way.
Then Brigham was there in his mind, pointing a finger and commanding him sternly. I want you to kneel down and close your eyes and then speak aloud. Ask God your question.
Slowly, reluctantly, he turned and went down to his knees, using the log as a resting place for his arms. The silence stretched on again. Joshua could hear the chirping of birds, the rustle of the wind in the leaves above him, a frog croaking happily down by the river. And then he bowed his head and began.
“O God.” He stopped, then started again. “O Heavenly Father. I am here again to pray to you. I’m not very good at this. I don’t know the right words. But I promised Brother Brigham I would come, so here I am.”
He snorted in soft disgust at himself. That was a great way to begin, to tell God that you were only here because someone twisted your arm until you gave in. “I . . . That’s not completely true. I want to know too. I want to know about you. I want to know if it was you who said that to Brigham Young this afternoon, about wanting me in the kingdom.”
The sense of foolishness came sweeping in again, but he pushed it away. “Do you want me to be a member of your church? Is it your church?”
This time when he stopped, it was because his mind was mulling over the things that had been troubling him. “I know what I am, Heavenly Father. I know what I have been. A drunkard. A man of violence. Someone who treated people very badly, including my own wife and brother. When I think of those days of darkness and rage, I wonder why I was allowed to go on living. I was always the fool, always the hothead.”
He took a deep breath, readjusting his position so that more of his weight shifted to the log. “Nathan says that you sent your Son to pay for things like that. That he came down here to make everything better. Frankly, God, I don’t see how that is possible. No one made me do those things. I just lost control. I was—” He shook his head. “Why would your Son ever forgive something like that? The Book of Mormon talks about making a sacrifice of a broken heart and a contrite spirit. I think I’m way past those kinds of feelings. It would take so much more than that to bring me back.”
Now it was almost as if he were half talking to himself. “Why would you forgive me, for that matter? Giving me Caroline and my family is more blessing than I could have hoped for. I have no right to ask for anything more. I don’t know what ever could make me whole again.”
There was a snap of a twig somewhere off to his left, and his head jerked up. He searched the gloom of his sanctuary, but saw nothing. A rabbit, or maybe a fox, he decided. He lowered his head again.
But he was out of words. Feeling ever more like the fool, he could think of nothing but Brigham’s instructions. “I ask you again,” he said lamely, “was that really you who spoke to Brigham? Do you really want me in your kingdom? Don’t feel like you have to say yes. I understand perfectly if you don’t. I’m not sure I would take me back.”
And then the
words just petered out. After a few moments he said, “Amen,” and got slowly to his feet. He glanced up at the sky. It was probably no more than three o’clock. Five hours till dark, at least. He kicked at the leaves beneath his feet, searching inwardly to see if he felt anything different.
Thoughts and feelings. That’s what Caroline had said. God spoke to people through thoughts and feelings. He sat down on the log again, waiting hopefully, “listening,” if that was a word that fit here. But the primary thought that kept creeping in was that it was going to be a very long time until dark.
Darkness had closed in around them. They had waited supper half an hour later than usual, but finally started to eat. A three-quarter moon was just rising in the eastern sky, bathing the landscape in pale light. Caroline kept stealing glances in the direction toward where she and Brigham had last seen Joshua, barely able to concentrate on her eating. When she had returned, the family had been curious, of course, but she simply said that President Young had asked Joshua to go down to the river and look around a little. That seemed to satisfy them, though Nathan did give her a probing glance. How she had been able to go about her work, outwardly calm, participating in the conversation in a normal tone of voice, was beyond her. It was as if her whole stomach had been twisted on a stick until it was the size of a clenched fist.
“There’s Papa,” Charles said suddenly.
They swung around. He was just stepping out from between two wagons, coming from a completely different direction than she had expected. “Hi, big fella,” he said, walking up to Charles and ruffling his son’s hair. Livvy nearly dropped her plate as she got to her feet and ran over to greet him too. He swung her up and into his arms, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Hello, pumpkin.”
“Supper’s still hot,” Mary Ann said, getting to her feet and moving toward the fire. “Let me dish you up some.”
“Thanks, Mama.” His eyes met Caroline’s for a moment, then moved away, revealing nothing. He let Livvy slide to the ground and shooed her back to finish her plate.
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