The Work and the Glory (116 page)

Nathan’s hand was on the doorknob. He stopped, then slowly turned. Josiah McBride fell back a step. Lydia felt as though she had been slapped. It was the most haunted look she had ever seen on a man’s face.

“I am not an Apostle,” Nathan said quietly. “I don’t think I will ever be one. But if it’s the marks of discipleship you are looking for, then please accept mine.”

In one swift, savage move, he grabbed his shirtfront and ripped it open, sending the buttons flying. He threw the shirt off, then reached for the long cotton undershirt tucked into his pants and yanked it upwards, baring himself from waist to neck.

Lydia gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth, and for a moment she thought she would be sick. Somewhere, far off, she heard her mother cry out too. The pattern of the bullwhip was there for all to see, each scar a long stripe, some running from shoulder to belt line. And all of the wounds were still new enough that they were dark and red and ugly.

Nathan turned around. Lydia gasped again, and bit down on her lower lip so hard that she drew blood. There was no pattern now, no single, distinguishable lines like those on his chest. From shoulder to waist, the whole expanse of flesh was one obscene, horrible mass of crisscrossing scar tissue.

Lydia pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to blot out the vision of what lay before her. As she did so, she suddenly remembered something. Since he had come to her two weeks ago, Nathan had never removed his undershirt in her presence. She had thought it very peculiar at first, but he had brushed aside her comments, saying something about the discomfort of being in her parents’ house. She had finally dismissed it and said no more about it, though it had continued to trouble her.

The sound of the door brought Lydia up. She opened her eyes in time to see that Nathan had dropped his undershirt and gathered up his shirt and tucked it under his arm. He looked at her and smiled faintly. “I’ll be late, Lydia. Don’t wait up.”

A moment later he pulled the door softly shut and left the McBride family sitting there, staring at the door.

It was close to midnight when the door to her bedroom opened slowly. She didn’t move as Nathan stepped inside, moving on tiptoe so as not to wake her. She lay on her side, watching his shape move about in the darkness. He took off his shoes, then his shirt and trousers. Now she could see the lighter color of his undergarments. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes again and began to trickle down the side of her face.

Carefully, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, trying not to bounce the bed with his weight. He adjusted the covers for a moment, then lay still. But in a moment he raised again and turned and felt the pillow with his hand. He turned it over to its other side.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. When her pillow had become soaked with tears she had traded hers for his dry one. That had been over an hour ago. “I forgot it was still wet.”

He turned his head. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’ve not been asleep.”

“Oh.”

She waited for a moment, to see if he would say more. When he didn’t she spoke again. “How’s Parley?”

She could sense that he smiled in the darkness. “Parley is Parley. It’s wonderful to see him again.”

She felt a pang. There hadn’t been many things that were wonderful in Nathan’s life lately.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” he said slowly. There was a long pause. “I shouldn’t have done it. It proved nothing.”

Her heart twisted inside her, as though it were going to break. “Why didn’t you tell me, Nathan?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“There’s not much to tell. Once the camp was disbanded, I went across the river into Jackson County to try and find Joshua. I—”

“Joshua did this to you?” she cried in horror.

Again there was a long silence before he spoke. “No. It was my fault. I did something very stupid.”

In an instant she slid next to him and buried herself against his side. She choked back a sob. “I never knew, Nathan. I’m so sorry.”

He brought his arm up and pulled her into his protective embrace. He rubbed her shoulder over and over. “It’s all right, Lydia. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. It’s all right.”

After a long time, she lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m sorry about Papa.”

“Don’t be. He’s doing what he feels is necessary.”

“I’m sorry that I made you come here, that I made you take the store. I know how you’ve hated—”

He reached out and gently put his hand over her mouth. “I said it’s all right, Lydia.” He pulled her closer and held her tightly. “I love you. That’s all that matters. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

She pulled her head away from his hand and came up on one elbow. “No, it’s not all right. I’ve been a fool. We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

“I’m the one who’s been the fool,” he murmured. “In so many ways. I’m sorry that I didn’t understand what you were going through, that I was so blind. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly she started to giggle softly.

He looked up in surprise.

“If either one of us says, ‘I’m sorry,’ one more time, I think I’m going to be sick.”

He laughed in spite of himself. “I guess we do sound pretty awful.”

She sat up and crossed her legs, brushing at the last of the tears that were still in the corners of her eyes. “Can you get a candle from the hallway? I want to read you something.”

He looked puzzled, but nodded and went out to where they kept the candle burning in the hall to provide some night light for the children. When he came back Lydia had retrieved the letter from Emma and was sitting back on the bed again. He wedged the candle in a holder on the desk, then got in bed again, sitting by her side.

“Emma is such a dear,” Lydia began. “With all she’s got going, she still takes time to write.”

“What does she say?”

She held up the paper. It was only a third filled with writing. “Very little. She inquired after the children. Asked how we were doing.” Her voice broke and she shook her head quickly, fighting for control. “She said that she and Joseph pray for us every night and morning. Other than that, it wasn’t much.” She looked up at him. “Except that she sent me a copy of the revelation the Lord gave her back in Harmony.”

“The one where he told her to compile a book of hymns?”

“Yes.” Lydia pulled the second sheet of paper out from behind the first. This sheet was nearly covered with Emma’s neat, precise handwriting. But Lydia laid it in her lap again and stared out at the room. “She could have said so much, you know.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that she has buried four of her children, I have only lost one. Like the fact that Joseph is gone three or four times as much as you have been. He’s always gone here to this branch to preach, or off to that town to ordain someone to the priesthood. It’s a mission here, then Missouri there. He’s gone all the time.” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “It makes my problems look pretty small compared to hers.”

“Emma’s problems don’t make yours any less real.”

She reached up and touched his face. “Thank you for saying that. But I’ve lain here for the last three hours thinking about this, thinking about Emma. And I feel pretty small right now. Just take one example. Living with others. My parents have really opened their house to us here, but I still hate it. I hate not having my own house, my own kitchen, my own flower garden. I hate having to worry about Emily crying in the night and waking my parents.

“Yet look at Joseph and Emma. For most of their married life, they’ve lived with others—her parents, his parents, the Whitmers in Fayette, the Whitneys in Kirtland, the Johnsons in Hiram. How she must have detested it, being passed from family to family, depending on their charity, never being alone.”

She reached out and took Nathan’s hand, interlocking her fingers with his. “I came to Palmyra because I couldn’t face the possibility that you might be killed in Missouri. But Emma”— she blew out her breath in amazement—”she’s seen Joseph arrested, hounded, tarred and feathered, insulted, abused. They have to have bodyguards sleep in the house with them. It must leave her constantly terrified.”

Nathan was nodding, remembering a day in Palmyra, several years ago now, when he had intervened in Emma’s behalf, stopping a group of men from mocking and insulting her. “She’s come in for a fair share of abuse herself.”

“I know,” Lydia answered bleakly. “She told me one day what it’s like to be the Prophet’s wife, always on display, always being criticized for this thing or that thing which doesn’t measure up to people’s expectations.”

Lydia turned to him now, her eyes shining. “That was a good part of my tears tonight, I guess. Thinking about Emma. She has challenges so much worse than mine, yet she continues on, standing by Joseph’s side, always so gracious, always so beautiful.”

“You
are gracious. You are beautiful,” he said gallantly.

“Will you stop being so nice?” she laughed. “I’m trying to do some repenting here.”

His eyes filled with mock gravity and he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

She picked up the second sheet of the letter from Emma, the one that contained the copy of Emma’s revelation. “Let me read you some things.”

“All right.”

“The Lord starts out by calling her his daughter. He also calls her an elect lady.”

“Hmm. That’s a nice title.” He smiled at Lydia. “Elect lady? Yes, I like that. You are an elect lady, too, you know. I knew that that very first day when Joshua introduced us right outside the store. Do you remember?”

She laughed. “Of course I remember. I can even tell you what I was wearing that day. Can you?”

He gestured toward the paper in her hands. “It’s getting late. Tell me what the Lord said to Emma.”

She laughed, taking his hand again. It had been so long since they had laughed together like this. It felt wonderful. She looked down, found the place she wanted, and started to read. “ ‘Behold thy sins are forgiven thee’ “—she squeezed his hand, and he squeezed it back—” ‘and thou art an elect lady, whom I have called.’”

She took a quick breath. This was going to be harder than she thought. Slowly now, she continued, her eyes finding the lines and words she wanted. She chose only those things that had impacted her with such force earlier.

“‘The office of thy calling shall be for a comfort unto thy husband, in his—’ “ Her voice caught, and instantly tears filled her eyes again. She swallowed quickly, forcing them back. “‘The office of thy calling shall be for a comfort unto thy husband, in his afflictions with consoling words, in the spirit of meekness.’ ”

She lowered the paper. “You read it,” she said, her voice husky.

Nathan reached out and took it from her hands. She pointed at the spot where she wanted him to go on.

“ ‘Continue in the spirit of meekness,’ “ he started, his voice steady and firm, “ ‘and beware of pride. Let thy soul delight in thy husband. Keep my commandments continually, and a crown of righteousness thou shalt receive.’ ”

“Don’t you just love that phrase?” Lydia whispered. “ ‘Let thy soul delight in thy husband.’ ”

His eyes were thoughtful. “Yes. The same would be true for a man, I think. I know that my soul delights in you, Lydia.”

“And mine in you,” she breathed. Straightening, she took the paper from him. She folded it carefully and placed it back in the envelope.

“Those are beautiful words, Lydia.”

“They are, but they are more than that,” she said softly. “They are my answer, Nathan.” She looked up at him, her eyes wide and filled with love. “They’re also
your
answer.”

“My answer?”

“Yes. Don’t you think I know what you’ve been praying for?”

“I’ve been praying that I can make you happy again.”

She reached up and kissed him softly. “I know. And now you have your answer.”

“I do?”

“Yes, I’m happy.” She kissed him again. “I’m so very happy.”

He seemed a little dazed.

“So let’s go back to Kirtland.”

That brought his head up with a snap, then he immediately frowned. “You don’t have to do that for me, Lydia. I can be happy here if you wish.”

She shook her head, then moved around so she was partially behind him. Slowly she reached down and grasped the bottom of his undershirt. His eyes widened, but he did not move as she lifted it enough to expose his chest. Tears streamed down her face now as she began to trace, ever so softly, the welts with her fingertips. “They did this because you were a Mormon?” she asked, her voice barely audible.

He closed his eyes, then finally nodded.

She let the shirt drop back into place, and put her arms around him. “Then, how can I not go back to Kirtland? I have things to do, covenants to keep.”

He whirled around to face her. “Do you mean that?” he cried. “Do you really mean that, Lydia?”

Her chin came up and she smiled through the tears. “How else can I ever expect to become an elect lady?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

T
he eighteen months between the fall of 1834 and the spring of 1836 provided a much-needed time of peace and relative tranquility for the Church of the Latter-day Saints and its members. For the most part, the Saints in Missouri lived in harmony with the citizens north of the river, though all agreed this would not serve as a permanent solution and Church leaders there began looking toward the northern, uninhabited areas of the state as a possible settling place. In Kirtland, the swelling numbers of Mormons pouring into Ohio still created some tension between member and nonmember, but at least for a time, in both states, there were no serious outbreaks of violence.

With the return of the men from Zion’s Camp, work on the temple intensified. The walls, only about four feet high when Zion’s Camp returned, went up quickly thereafter. Men gave a “tithing” of their time, most working at least one day a week on the building. During the winter, when farmers were idle, they donated much more. Each Saturday, the brethren would gather with their teams and wagons at the stone quarry south of town and, with Joseph acting as foreman, would cut and haul enough stone to the temple site to keep the stonemasons busy for the coming week.