by Diane Noble
Hannah loved this cozy room when the day’s chores were done and she and Sophronia could sit and talk and laugh. She especially loved the sound of Sophronia’s voice when she said Hannah’s name, making the word sound full of love.
Her aunt showed Hannah how to pop dried corn in a wire basket over the flames, and they spent hours telling tales as they munched on the corn’s fragrant, snow white goodness.
“You’ll see soon enough that here in Nauvoo we’re part of a big family,” Sophronia said one afternoon.
“We’ve got other relatives?” Hannah asked, reaching for another fistful of popcorn. “Pa only told me about you.”
Her aunt chuckled. “No, child. That’s not what I mean.” She hesitated, for a moment merely watching the licking flames in the fireplace. Then she looked back to Hannah and smiled, her eyes bright. “I’ve found religion.”
“You have?” She crunched on another bite of popcorn. “You’re not a Holy Roller, are you?” She had heard about them from her brothers, who would imitate the wild gyrations of a snake-handling group that gathered not far from Wolf Pen Creek.
Sophronia laughed. “Oh, goodness no, child. Nothing like that!”
“What then?”
Her aunt chuckled again. “We’re called Saints.” Then, noticing her niece’s quizzical look, she patted her wild curls and grinned. “I don’t look much like a saint, do I?”
“You do to me—though I don’t reckon I know what one looks like.” She hesitated, thinking. “These Saints … they’re the ones who are your family?”
“Our family now. Yours and mine. For all eternity. Our Prophet will rejoice to add another to our fold.”
Hannah wrinkled her nose at all the new words. “They care about me?
Again, Sophronia laughed. “Our Prophet is holy and ordained of God. Our first was Joseph Smith, who was killed last year, and now we follow God’s second Prophet and the president of our Church, Brigham Young.”
“And we’re all family? How many?” Hannah didn’t much like the idea of sharing Sophronia with anyone else. Her aunt was plenty enough family for her.
Sophronia seemed to sense her confusion. “We take care of each other, Hannah. Live in harmony, sharing our worldly goods. Everyone—from the smallest baby to the feeblest widow—is cared for. We want to merely live in peace.” A shadow crossed her aunt’s face. “I need to be honest, child. It hasn’t always been peaceful. And it isn’t now.”
Hannah frowned as she noticed her aunt’s expression.
“Mobs from the outside—we call them Gentiles—have attacked our families, sometimes entire settlements. There have been beatings and killings. Things I can’t even speak of have been done to our women and children.”
Hannah leaned back and rocked her chair in thoughtful silence. She wanted to ask what things couldn’t be spoken of. Her aunt’s words caused frightening images to whirl through her mind. Her stomach felt sick. But she didn’t want her aunt to stop talking.
“Why?” she finally asked. “Why did these people—the Gentiles—do these things?”
“People are always afraid of what they don’t understand. They were just afraid of the ideas.”
“What ideas?”
“Well, for one, the idea that God was once a man and that through good works he worked his way up to becoming God.”
“That doesn’t sound so awful.”
“Others thought it was blasphemy. Then they found out that the Prophet said God had revealed that every man can be a god. If he lives right—obeys the revelations of our leaders, does good work throughout his life—after he reaches heaven, he’ll someday be the god of his own world.”
Neither one spoke for several minutes. Hannah bit her lip. People becoming gods. This would require more thought later. She suddenly wished Mattie could be there with her, hearing Sophronia’s words, mulling them over and deciding what they meant.
Sophronia noticed her confusion. “It was all the talk about men becoming gods and our God having been a man—-and other ideas—that made people afraid.”
“But just because they don’t understand, just because they are afraid, they didn’t have to hurt people.”
“I know, dear. The people who hurt and killed probably would never have done such things on their own. But they got together and became riled up, talking and carrying on. Mobs are like one person, strong and meanspirited, a giant that doesn’t know right from wrong. A mob’ll do things a man would never think of doing alone.”
Sophronia reached again for the poker. Sparks sprayed up the chimney as she stoked the fire a few times then placed another log on the coals.
“Why didn’t the Saints fight back?” Hannah asked, feeling angry about anyone trying to hurt someone like Sophronia. “Did they ever fight back?”
Sophronia looked at her with a pleased expression. “Well, yes. They did—finally. And I’ll be getting to that. But first I want to tell you now about what happened in Missouri.” She settled back into the chair. “And I want you to pay close attention. It will explain a lot of things you’ll find out about later. But for now, let me tell you about what happened there.”
Sophronia stared into the fire then went on, her voice low. “This is the part that’s hardest for me to tell.” She took a deep breath. “Two hundred men attacked some families at Haun’s Mill. Some of the Saints, seeing the militiamen coming, ran into the blacksmith shop, but it had so many gaps in the wood sides that the Gentiles just shot right through it. The Gentiles hid behind trees. Just took their time picking off the Saints one by one.
“An old man named Thomas Jones decided to surrender. He handed the Gentiles his gun, and they hacked him to pieces with a corn cutter.” Sophronia’s voice was a whisper now. Hannah reached over and took her aunt’s big, callous hand in hers. Sophronia didn’t seem to notice. Her voice went on without emotion. “When the women ran toward the brush, the Missouri Wildcats shot at them like it was a sport, calling out scores depending on how quickly they felled each one. They laughed while they did it.”
Hannah shuddered. She imagined the women running like deer through the thicket. Wounded. Getting up. Trying to run again. She knew the thrill of hunting, the joy of making a direct hit with a musket. It made her sick to think of men taking that kind of joy in killing women.
“After shooting every Saint they could see, the mob entered the blacksmith’s shop to finish off the wounded. They found two children—brothers named Lucas and Eli—hiding under the bellows. Lucas Knight pretended to be dead. He heard the men drag little Eli from his hiding place. ‘Don’t shoot,’ said one Gentile. It’s just a boy’
“ ‘Nits make lice,’ said the other. Then he placed his rifle near the boy’s head and fired.”
Hannah caught her breath. She had never heard anything so terrible.
“Seventeen people died at Haun’s Mill that day.” Sophronia’s voice broke. Hannah squeezed her aunt’s big, rough hand. “And one of them was a very special man named Jacob.” It seemed the room was filled with Sophronia’s sadness. Her aunt quickly brushed away her tears with her fingers, her wet cheeks glistening in the firelight.
“Jacob had asked me to be his wife just a few weeks before. I hadn’t decided whether or not to take that step—it meant coming into the Church, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to do that. I had my doubts …” She hesitated, peering into Hannah’s face as if wondering how much more to say. She must have decided Hannah was kin, trusted kin, and she could say most anything she wanted, because a faint smile lifted the lines around her eyes and mouth.
She nodded and patted her grandniece’s hand. “I still have those doubts, child. Even now. Someday I’ll tell you why.”
Hannah waited for her to continue, but her aunt seemed set to tell the rest of the Haun’s Mill story instead.
“Mostly, when Jacob asked for my hand, I was thinking that I’d lived all those years alone, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to be someone’s wife. I wish now I hadn’t been so stubborn. Jacob had
wanted us to be sealed in the temple as soon as it was built. We would’ve been sealed for all eternity. But I waited too long. If I hadn’t put it off, I would’ve died right there with him and all the others. I would’ve lived with him forever in eternity.”
“Oh no! I’m so glad you didn’t. Die, I mean. I’m so glad you’re here now. With me.” Hannah paused, thinking about her aunt’s life, then she added quietly, “But you decided to be a Saint anyway?”
“Oh yes, child. I did.” The color returned to Sophronia’s cheeks. “Oh yes. I was taken in among the others like I was blood kin. Cared for and loved. My Jacob—and all of them who died that day—became martyrs. The Church grew by the thousands when word spread of Haun’s Mill.”
“What happened to the child—the boy named Lucas Knight?”
“He’s nearly a grown man now. Seventeen, his last birthday.” Sophronia’s voice took on a happier tone. “He’s a fine work. And you’ve probably guessed that I don’t say that about many people. He lives near here. You’ll meet him one day soon.
“If he hadn’t already been taken in by John Steele, I would’ve adopted him myself.” She chuckled. “Lucas knows I still claim him as my own. He comes by here as often as he can. Busy as he is, he still finds time to bring me fresh rabbit or venison after he’s been hunting. This little house was built because of Lucas. Did most of it himself. A fine boy, that one.”
Sophronia went on. “Our leaders have their eye on him. Everyone knows Lucas Knight might someday lead the Danites, our Avenging Angels, to victory over all our enemies.”
She frowned, then stood and stoked the fire. “Though I wonder about the boy’s suitability—if he’s of the right temperament.”
Hannah swallowed hard, trying to follow her aunt’s meaning. “I don’t understand.”
“The Danites are our secret army. What they do is secret. But I do know—just as all the Saints do—that they atone for the great and terrible sins committed against us. Lucas, of all people, knows the reasons behind the angels’ vengeance. But as to whether he could ever lead the group …” Her voice fell off, and she shook her head slowly.
Hannah stared into the fire, watching the flames lick higher, sending up a sizzling spray of glowing pinpoints of light. She tried to comprehend all she’d just been told.
She might be only ten years old, but she was aware that there was no turning back from where she’d just landed. She wondered about the people who had taken in her aunt. What was it about them that made them the hunted? And now had turned them into hunters?
Whatever it was—whether she liked it or not—she was now one of them. They would care for her, protect her, feed and clothe her.
A loud rapping at the heavy wooden door interrupted her thoughts, and Sophronia rose and moved toward the entry. Moments later, she returned.
“Hannah,” she said, “what did I tell you? Our boy Lucas is here!” Then she looked at Lucas. “This is Hannah McClary.”
Standing beside her aunt was the most extraordinary young man Hannah had ever seen. He was lean and wiry with thick black hair and light eyes that stood out against his angular, tanned face. Sophronia had been right. He was a fine work. Hannah, tongue-tied for the moment, stared wordlessly. Finally she stuck her hand out and shook his hand the way Mattie had taught her. But when she’d finished, Lucas didn’t release her hand. Instead, he held it lightly by the fingertips.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hannah McClary,” he said with a grin. Then he bowed formally and kissed her hand.
Suddenly all of her bashfulness disappeared, and Hannah looked into Aunt Sophie’s and Lucas Knight’s smiling faces. All her life she’d longed for a family to wrap her in their arms. And now it was hers for the taking. If she needed to be a Saint, then so be it.
“I’m glad to meet you, Lucas,” she said, matching his grin and standing as tall as her years allowed. After all, she was in the presence of an angel, an Avenging Angel.
TWO
Two weeks later Hannah sat in a clump of grass on a bluff overlooking the river. As had become her pattern after she groomed Foxfire and Berry and cleaned their stalls, Hannah had climbed the hill just beyond Sophronia’s frame house to sit and think about her new life.
Below the grassy precipice lay the small settlement of Nauvoo, serenely protected by the river’s bend. From here, it seemed to Hannah a little corner of an enchanted toy paradise—patchwork gardens near miniature cottages, horses and carriages moving along the dusty streets, people hurrying about like little tin soldiers.
She rested her gaze on the temple at the heart of Nauvoo. Its steeple gleamed in the sun, so high that even from here it seemed to touch heaven. She sighed contentedly at the thought. Heaven. Maybe she’d found it after all.
Hannah was lost in thought, wondering about Sophronia and her Saints and what the future held for Hannah among them, when the sound of horse’s hooves pulled her from her reverie.
She shaded her eyes against the sun and watched as a man on horseback climbed the bluff along the winding road to Sophronia’s house. The horse was in a full gallop, its rider bent over the saddle, riding as if one with the horse. Hannah grinned in delight as the rider drew closer.
Lifting her long skirts over her knees, Hannah raced down the hill toward the house.
“A rider’s coming!” Hannah called out to Sophronia halfway to her destination. “I think it’s Lucas Knight!”
Sophronia was kneeling, picking squash from their vines in the garden. She smiled up at Hannah, her long, white apron smudged with soil, her wild hair shining in the autumn sun. “What color’s the horse?”
“Black.” Hannah now stood beside her aunt, gulping air to catch her breath. “And he was riding like the wind.”
“That’d be Lucas, then. On Black Star.” Sophronia nodded and, still smiling, snapped off another squash and placed it in the basket at her side. “It’s about time he paid us another visit,” she said, standing and wiping her hands on her apron.
“Hey!” The rider had rounded the last curve and was now in full view.
“Hey, yourself!” Sophronia shouted back with a laugh. “Is that any way to greet your elder?”
The young man, hat low over his eyes, swung from his horse and walked to where Sophronia stood, hands on hips. She lifted a white brow. “I say, young man, is that any way to greet an old lady?”
He stepped closer and, gently holding Sophronia’s shoulders, studied her face. “And calling yourself old doesn’t deserve an answer, Sophie. You’re as young and spry as anyone I ever laid eyes on.”
Then he turned to look at Hannah, examining her from underneath the curled brim of his hat.
She squinted up at him in the bright sun, her nose wrinkled. This young Lucas Knight suddenly reminded her of Mattie. Maybe it was his voice. Maybe the light in his eyes. Sudden tears threatened to rise up from that saddest of all places inside. She bit her lip to stem the flow.
Lucas stepped closer. “Standing here in the sunshine, Hannah, you sure favor your aunt. Anyone ever tell you that before?”
His comment took Hannah’s mind off Mattie, and she gave him a grateful smile. “I think I’d rather favor her than anyone else in the world.”
“Go on, now, both of you,” Sophronia said and wiped her hands again on the apron. “Fact is,” she went on, “I’ve got work to do in the garden. Why don’t you two take Foxfire and Berry out for a ride? Turn Black Star out to pasture. I’m sure he needs a rest.”
Lucas grinned. “Yes ma’am.”
“Just be back in time for supper. Lucas, it’s your turn to make the biscuits.”
Hannah glanced up at him in admiration. “Biscuits?”
“Don’t tell anyone ever.” He said, pretending to scowl. “Only Sophie knows I like to cook. And she’s taught me how to make just about everything—from flapjacks to roast venison.”
“I had him standing on a crate in my kitchen to reach the stove long before he was your age, Hannah. Fact is, th
is boy of mine makes better piecrust than most brides.”
Lucas threw back his head and laughed. “Now, that’s going a little too far, Sophie.”
Sophronia winked at Hannah. “He’s just worried about what the other angels in that army of his might think!”
Suddenly, the young man’s demeanor changed, and Hannah watched, fascinated, as Lucas moved away from them. He hadn’t physically backed away. No, it was as if his mind or his heart had taken a step backward. He lifted his jaw, and a shadow veiled his eyes.
If Sophronia noticed, she said nothing. After a moment, she gave Lucas a quick hug. “You two go riding now. You’re going to be surprised, young man. This little girl will give you a run for your money. She’s a natural on Foxfire.”
Lucas smiled, the earlier hard look gone. He nodded with a grin. “Then let’s go. Want to race to the barn?”
Before the words were out of his mouth, Hannah had lifted her skirts and was racing ahead of him, her face to the brisk wind, her yellow curls flying behind her.
She slammed into the barn door with her hands, breathless and laughing. Seconds later, Lucas touched the door. “Don’t let it go to your head,” he panted. “I’ll beat you next time!”
“Don’t count on it,” she declared. “I’ve got seven brothers, and I could beat any one of them in a footrace.” She lifted her chin triumphantly. “Even Mattie.”
Lucas held the door open to let Hannah step into the barn ahead of him. “Tell me about your brothers,” he said as they walked to the horses.
“There’s not much to tell, except about—”
“Mattie?” Lucas finished for her with a grin.
She gave him a quizzical look, wondering how he knew.
“He’s the only one you mentioned by name. Is he your favorite?”
Hannah slipped a halter over Foxfire’s head and led her from her stall. She patted the mare’s sleek neck as she looped the lead rope over the hitching rail and then turned and paused before getting the saddle off its rack. “Yes,” she sad sadly. “But he ran off. I don’t know where he is or if I’ll ever see him again.” Reddening, she caught herself. Sophronia had told her the horror that Lucas survived. The killing of his baby brother, Eli. She bit her lip. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lucas. Your little brother … what you went through …”
