The Work and the Glory

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Carl, did you know that your son has been hiring out to cut wheat? Did you know that?”

  He flinched a little.

  “Yes. He went out with a party east of town. It could easily have been him with that group up at Pontoosuc.” She was trembling now, fighting against letting her emotions take over. “If you had seen those men . . .” She shuddered. “It was horrible.”

  “I know, I know,” he soothed. “And I’m not trying to say it wasn’t. But that doesn’t mean we are in imminent danger. More and more of the Mormons are leaving every day now. Once they’re gone, then things will be all right.”

  There was a short, bitter laugh. “Have you forgotten so soon?”

  “Forgotten what?”

  “You say ‘more and more of the Mormons’ are leaving. Iam a Mormon, Carl. And now it’s not just in name only anymore. I am one of them. If anyone asks, I will tell them I am firm in my faith. I will no longer deny what I know to be true. So how do you plan to deal with that little embarrassment, Carl? Tell me that.”

  He hadforgotten for the moment that complication. It was another thing that made him want to swear. Not that he cared a lot one way or another what she believed; but before, it didn’t matter that much. Now, if she really insisted on going around waving the flag of faith, it could prove to be a challenge.

  She watched him, shaking her head sadly.

  He took a quick breath. “Once the main body of the Church has gone, things will be all right again. The antis are just angry because your people promised to leave by spring.”

  “Shall I tell you something else, Carl? It is more complicated than that.”

  “What?” he asked warily. “What is more complicated?”

  “You have three sons who want to be Mormons too.”

  She sat back, watching the impact of her words on his face. Tears now welled up and filled her eyes. “I know what you think, but it’s not true. I haven’t tried to sway them while you were gone. They talked among themselves, and then Carl came and talked to me. They want to be baptized.”

  “No.” It came out like a hammer blow on a piece of cold steel.

  “They want to go west and join the rest of our family.”

  “No!” He jumped to his feet, pacing angrily now. “You didn’t have to try and sway them. They’ll do whatever they think you want them to do.”

  “That makes it easier for you, doesn’t it? If it’s my fault, then you don’t have to face the fact that your sons might actually believe it’s true.”

  “They’re just boys, Melissa.”

  “Why is it that they’re men when you expect them to work with you, and boys when it comes to what they believe?”

  “I’m not going to argue with you. We’ve talked about this. I will not go west. There is nothing out there, Melissa. Nothing! I predict that within the year, Brigham Young is going to come slinking back looking for somewhere else to put his people. There’s nothing for us anywhere else but here. So get that into your head, Melissa. We are staying here. I will see that you are safe.”

  “How much did you get for the lumber?”

  It came from a totally unexpected direction and it took him back a step. “What?”

  “Why haven’t you been bursting to tell me the news from St. Louis, Carl?”

  “I . . .” She had totally flustered him. “We did all right. Not as good as we hoped, but we have . . .” He hesitated for a split second, which he instantly knew gave him away. “We have about a thousand dollars.”

  There was a sad smile. “I guess it could have been worse.”

  That infuriated him. He kicked viciously at the nearest trunk, hitting it hard enough that the lid, which was propped against a chair, slammed down. “I did the best I could, Melissa! We didn’t just stand around with our hands in our pockets, you know. There’s too much lumber down there right now. We were lucky to get what we did!”

  Her face was incredulous. “Is that what you think, Carl? That I’m disappointed in you? No! I know you’re trying. But when are you going to see that we have nothing here anymore? Nothing! The store is a pile of ashes. The brickyard is all but closed. What are we going to do, Carl? You tell me. How are we going to survive?”

  “I’ll find something else. Once things settle down, business will pick up again. We’ll rebuild the store. Sell the brickyard.”

  “All the time you’re hiding the fact that your wife and sons are believing Mormons?”

  “My sons are not Mormons!” he shouted. “And don’t you forget it.”

  The tears spilled over now. “Carl, what’s happening to us? Why can’t we ever talk things through anymore?”

  “I think you know the answer to that,” he snapped. “Since you turned religious again, you don’t listen anymore.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide and filled with pain.

  “I . . .” He started toward her, but then let his anger take the reins again. He clamped his mouth shut and looked away.

  He heard her turn and walk slowly to the hallway. She stopped. He looked up. Her back was still to him.

  “Perhaps the next time you choose to go off and leave us here alone, we won’t wait to finish packing our things.”

  He stepped forward, fists clenched, mouth tight. “What are you saying? Are you telling me you’re going to run out on me?”

  “I’m telling you that I love you, Carl. I do. But I love my children too. I will not stand by and watch them be put in danger because you are too blind to see what is happening right before your very eyes.”

  “So you’d leave me?” he flung back at her.

  Her chin dropped and now the tears flowed freely. “I don’t know. Somehow I was hoping I wouldn’t be forced to make that decision.”

  The morning of Thursday, the sixteenth of July, dawned bright and clear. By eight o’clock it was already promising to be a hot and humid day. Three things of great significance would take place on this day.

  First, Brother Ezra T. Benson would be ordained and set apart as a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles to take the place of John E. Page, who had fallen into apostasy.

  Second, after hearing Wilford Woodruff’s report of a leadership crisis in England, the Quorum determined that Reuben Hedlock and Thomas Ward, who had been left in charge there, be disfellowshipped for refusing to follow counsel. At the same time it was voted that Elders Orson Hyde, Parley P. Pratt, and John Taylor be sent to England to put the affairs of the Church there back in order.

  Third, Companies A, B, C, and E of the newly formed Mormon Battalion gathered together on Redemption Hill, on the eastern bluffs above the Missouri River, and were officially mustered into the United States Army of the West.

  The entire Steed clan crossed over on the ferry and walked up the eastern bluffs. The children were as excited as if this were a great holiday. The adults were considerably more subdued. By afternoon the day was sweltering, and they were all sweating by the time they reached the assembly area. That did little to diminish the euphoria the children were feeling. Emily and Rachel, the oldest of the female cousins, raced up to Mary Ann as they came in sight of the gathering out ahead of them. “Grandma, can we go find Uncle Derek and Aunt Rebecca?” they clamored.

  She smiled and nodded. “Yes. Just don’t get in the way.”

  “I’m going too,” Luke hollered and took off after his sister. That was all it took. Half a dozen of the oldest cousins were off with a whoop. Lydia watched Josh carefully. He and Luke had been walking together—they were close to the same age—but Josh watched them go without stirring. She sighed. Once it was over, once they were actually gone, it would be easier, she thought. She wanted to reach out and touch him, reassure him that this was right, but she knew it wasn’t the time.

  In a moment, Mark appeared again, running and waving. He was accompanied by Christopher, Derek and Rebecca’s oldest child. “They’re up here!” Mark shouted. “Come on.”

  For a time it was little more than a pleasant and happy state
of confusion on Redemption Hill. Men ran back and forth between their tents and their packs, grabbing last-minute items they had forgotten. Children raced everywhere, screeching and yelling just for the sheer joy of it. The officers and noncommissioned officers for each company, chosen from the ranks of the Saints themselves, shouted out orders, trying to get some control. They had little impact on anyone except those within a few feet of their voices.

  At two o’clock the atmosphere suddenly changed. Several of the Twelve had arrived by then, including Brigham Young. A bugle sounded and everyone turned toward the sound. Mary Ann couldn’t see who had blown it, but in the silence that followed she heard a bellowing voice. “We’ll form into companies in a hollow square in ten minutes. Brethren, now is the time to say farewell to your families.”

  The clamor erupted again, but now any sense of celebration was gone. There were cries of disappointment and calls for the children to come together. The reality of separation was suddenly very much upon them. The crowd quickly separated into dozens of smaller groups to say good-bye to fathers and brothers, uncles and cousins—and, in some cases, mothers and sisters and aunts.

  Mary Ann took a breath and moved forward to Rebecca. Till now her youngest daughter had been filled with excitement, talking animatedly about what lay ahead for her and her family. Her face was flushed and her eyes flashed happily. Then her mother stood before her. There had been promises all around not to cry, but no one remembered them now. The others held back as Mary Ann stepped forward slowly and faced Rebecca and Derek. For a moment no one moved; then Rebecca’s shoulders began to shake and she threw herself into her mother’s arms.

  “Oh, Mama! How we shall miss you!”

  “I know,” Mary Ann soothed. “And we shall miss you.” She looked at Derek, who was blinking quickly to stave the burning in his own eyes. “You take care of her and the children, now, do you hear me?”

  “I will Mother Steed. I promise.”

  She went to him, hugged him fiercely, then turned to the children. As she took Christopher’s hands, she tried to laugh through the tears, but it came out more like a sob. “Shame on you,” she scolded. “You’re not even sad to be leaving your grandmother, are you?”

  Christopher had his father’s build. At seven, he was already nearly as heavy as his mother. He also had Derek’s even temper and mild disposition. He tried to smile, knowing that Mary Ann didn’t mean it, but instead his lower lip started to tremble, his eyes filled, and he threw his arms around his grandmother and began to sob.

  “It’s all right,” she said through a choked voice. “It’s all right, Christopher. It will only be for a year.”

  Josh stood back as the family went one by one to make their farewells. Derek, watching him through it all, finally motioned him over. Josh was now two or three inches taller than his uncle, but Derek pulled his head down until their foreheads touched. “Josh?”

  “Yes?”

  “There are many ways and many places to serve God.”

  “I know.”

  “We have chosen one way, and I know you wish you were going, but it isn’t the only way. It may not even be the best way.”

  “I keep telling myself that.”

  Derek nodded. “You’re a good boy, Josh. The Lord will use you where you can do him the most good.”

  Josh nodded, unable to fully push aside the gloominess, then shook Derek’s hand. “You take care, Uncle Derek.”

  “We will.”

  Behind them, listening and watching intently, Lydia began to cry again. Nathan too was watching and knew that his wife’s tears weren’t just for Derek and Rebecca now.

  The bugle sounded again, this time running up and down the scales in the call for assembly. Amid the final cries, the last handshakes, the last hugs and kisses and tears, the four companies began to assemble.

  “How come there’s no Company D?” Luke asked his father.

  Solomon shrugged. “They still haven’t had enough people volunteer, is what I hear. Why it’s Company D that’s short and not Company E, I’m not sure.”

  In five minutes the four-hundred-plus men of the Mormon Battalion were lined up by companies, one to each side to form a hollow square. Now came the formalities. One by one the Twelve spoke briefly to the assembled men. There were good wishes, promises of doing the Lord’s will, reassurances that their families would be cared for. Willard Richards caused the greatest stir when, after reminding them that they were serving not only their country but also their God, he said, “Brethren, I feel to say something to you. I know you are marching off to war, but I tell you, if you are faithful in keeping the commandments of God, not a man of you shall fall by an enemy.” He stopped again as the impact of his words raced through the crowd. “Yea, there will not be as much blood spilled as there was at Carthage Jail, and as one who was there, I say that gives me great comfort.”

  Finally, President Young turned to where Lieutenant Colonel James Allen, recently promoted from captain, stood at stiff attention. “Colonel Allen,” he said loudly. “I hereby present to you this Mormon battalion and commend them to you as good and faithful men.”

  Allen saluted smartly and stepped forward. He unrolled a paper in his hand and held it up high. “By virtue of the authority given me by Colonel Stephen W. Kearny, commander of the Army of the West, I hereby assume command of the Mormon Battalion, raised at this place for the service of the United States. We shall now march to Traders Point, where you will receive the first of your equipment. Thereafter, you will be held in readiness to march at the shortest notice, and as soon as the fifth company is filled, all will be ready for our departure.”

  He stopped. The silence across the field was total. Then Allen straightened and threw out his chest. “Companies! Ten-hut!” There was a snap of feet and the slap of hands against trousers as the men came to attention. “For-ward. . . march!”

  Company A immediately began to move forward in a column of twos. The men in the other companies began marching in place, waiting for their turn to fall in behind. Though they were not in uniform and there were several who were out of step with each other, it was a stirring sight nevertheless. There were a few wives and mothers who were weeping, but for the most part all were smiling and waving.

  Lydia turned to see how Josh was taking all of this. To her surprise, he was no longer standing behind her. Nathan saw her looking around and motioned with his head. She turned and looked, not sure what she was looking for. Then she saw a solitary figure walking slowly away from them up the knoll that was Redemption Hill. His head was down, his hands were thrust in his pockets, his back was turned.

  Lydia finished nursing Tricia. “All right, my little ball of butter,” she said, putting her on her shoulder and patting her back. “I think that’s enough for now.” She got two great burps from her, then wrapped her in her blanket and tucked her into her crib. She stood for a moment to be sure she was going to sleep, then went outside.

  Josh was there by the wagon, working on something in a deep gloom. He didn’t look up, and she decided there was no sense in saying anything to try and change things. Once the battalion was completely gone, it would get better. She heard the sounds of a horse coming on the run and turned. It was Nathan, coming back from across the river. He pulled up, not dismounting. “Lydia?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s something you need to see.”

  “What is it?”

  “You’ve got to see it for yourself.”

  “Where?”

  “At the bowery. Come. You can ride sidesaddle behind me.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Josh. You watch the children.”

  “Yes, Pa.”

  Lydia moved tentatively toward the horse. Nathan reached down and grasped her forearm, then pulled her up smoothly.

  “Tricia’s asleep, Josh,” she said. “The others are over at Aunt Jessica’s.”

  “Yes, Mama.” He waved as Lydia put her arms around Nathan and they rode away.

  Chapter Notes<
br />
  It was 16 July 1846, just a little more than two weeks after Captain James Allen rode into Council Bluffs, when the first mustering of the Mormon Battalion took place. Even after vigorous recruiting by Brigham Young and the Twelve, they were still about a hundred short of the five hundred requested by the army. It was while the Twelve were speaking to them that Elder Willard Richards made the remarkable prophecy about their safety. They were then marched about seven miles to the Indian trading post where they were issued the first of their provisions. (See SW,pp. 33–34.)

  Chapter 15

  They were fortunate in that they had to wait for only about five minutes for the eastbound ferry. As usual, going back across the river the ferry was not crowded, and Nathan and Lydia dismounted and walked the horse directly on.

  Once they were across, he pushed the horse into a steady trot, and in ten minutes they came up Mosquito Creek to where the bowery was. As it came into sight, Lydia could see that there was a table set up beneath its shade and two men in uniform were seated at it. In front of them a line of men snaked down the length of the bowery, leaving the last four or five men in the sun.

  Nathan slowed the horse to a walk and spoke over his shoulder. “We may be too late. It’s been more than half an hour.”

  “Too late for what?” Lydia said, seeing now where he was taking her.

  “He was near the end of the line. I didn’t think they’d be done that soon.”

  “Who would be done that soon?” she asked in exasperation.

  But Nathan was peering now at the line of men, trying to see into the darker areas beneath the bowery. Then he was pointing. “There he is, Lydia. Third man back.”

  “There who is?” she started to say, but then her eyes followed his hand and she saw. Her jaw went slack and there was a soft gasp. It was William Hendricks, the oldest son of Drusilla and James Hendricks. And there was no question about what he was doing. He had a bedroll tied with a rope slung over one shoulder and a small battered suitcase in the other. He was watching intently as one of the lieutenants signed up the man at the table.