The Work and the Glory (194 page)

“Hyrum’s wife, Mary Smith. Come on, I want to say hello to her.” She took him by the hand and looked back over her shoulder at her mother. “We’ll meet you by the temple site.”

Derek pulled a face. Since word had gone out about his and Rebecca’s engagement, he had been dragged off by Rebecca and Mary Ann to more than one introduction where he then stood around feeling like a fool while the women talked about him as if he were an ox on display at the sale yard. He definitely did not find these to be enjoyable encounters. 

Sensing his reluctance, Rebecca tugged on his hand. “Come on, you old stick-in-the-mud,” she laughed. “Mary’s not going to bite you.”

“I know that. It’s just that—”

“She’s British too, you know.”

“She is?”

“Yes. She and her sister moved to Canada to live with their brother. She was one of those that Nathan and Parley Pratt converted on their mission to Toronto.”

“Oh,” he said, brightening a little. “Mary Fielding. Her brother is Joseph Fielding. He came to England with Elder Kimball and Elder Hyde.”

“Yes. He’s still over there in fact.”

Derek felt a little better now. “I’ve seen her once or twice since coming here, but I’ve never really met her.”

“Well, now you will. Even though they are quite a bit older than me, when she and her sister Mercy came to Kirtland from Canada last summer, we became best friends.” She was searching the crowd now. “There she is.” She raised a hand and started waving. “Mary! Mary!”

Mary Fielding had been thirty-six and destined in everyone’s mind to be an old maid when she moved to Kirtland in the summer of 1837. Attractive and well educated, she became a live-in governess for some of the more well-to-do families in the city. Then in October, while Hyrum and Joseph were out of state on Church business, Hyrum Smith’s wife, Jerusha, died eleven days following the birth of their sixth child. A few days after the two brothers returned in mid-December, while Hyrum was still grieving over his loss, Joseph said it was the Lord’s will that Hyrum marry the English convert. Stunned but obedient, Hyrum had sought her out and explained what had happened. No less shocked than Hyrum, Mary Fielding nevertheless believed Joseph was a prophet and accepted the will of the Lord. She and Hyrum were married a few days later on Christmas Eve.

She was a relatively tall woman, with long dark hair that she usually wore pulled back and tied in a bun at the crown of her head. A woman of unshakable faith and deep spiritual leanings, she was seen by many as somewhat somber of nature. But those, like Rebecca, who knew her well knew that beneath the outward English reserve was a keen—though dry—wit; a natural love for life; a penchant for rollicking fun, given the right setting and group; and a warm compassion for those in need. In the six months since her marriage, she had won the respect and love of most of the Saints in Caldwell County.

The two women hugged each other tightly as Derek watched. The crowd flowed around them. Derek heard a few people grumble at the blockage of their movement, but when they saw who it was, they smiled and called out their greetings.

“Where are the children?” Rebecca asked as they fell into step with one another, Derek right behind, and began to move with the crowd.

“Mother Smith has the baby. The others are with Joseph’s children and Eliza.” Eliza Snow lived with the Smiths and helped Emma care for the children. Mary stuck out her stomach, which Derek now saw was quite round, and patted it firmly. “I guess they thought my carrying one baby was enough for right now.”

“How are you feeling, Mary?”

There was a soft chuckle, nearly lost in the noise of the crowd. “Very heavy with child. And I’ve still got four more months to go. Or maybe I should say, four more months to grow.” Derek was content to tag along. He was listening carefully to Mary’s voice. It felt wonderful to hear English spoken properly again. When Mary suddenly stopped and took him by the arm, it startled him. Immediately she pulled him across the stream of people until they were out of the main flow.

“There now,” she said soberly, “let’s get a look at this man you have reeled in for yourself, Sister Rebecca.”

Rebecca giggled a little at Derek’s dismayed expression. “Mary, this is Derek Ingalls, my fiancé. Derek, this is Mary Fielding Smith.”

“How do you do?” Derek said, extending his hand.

Mary took it and curtsied slightly. “Very well, thank you.” She stepped back, looking him up and down with unabashed directness. Derek blushed as Rebecca took his hand, smiling and waiting for the verdict.

Finally, Mary gave one curt nod. “My congratulations, Rebecca. While I find these North Americans to be an acceptable lot for the most part—my husband being one of the best, of course—you have shown wisdom beyond your tender years by selecting a man privileged-born in the mother country. Very wise. Very wise indeed.”

Derek was startled. Then, as Rebecca laughed happily, he realized he was being teased—and being approved.

“I understand you’re from Preston, in Lancashire, where my uncle James has a congregation.”

“Yes,” Derek said. Then, emboldened, he cocked his head to one side, as though listening to her more carefully. “And I would dare say you’re from Bedfordshire.”

Mary clapped her hands. “Well done, sir. You are absolutely correct. I was born in the hamlet of Honidon. You have a good ear.”

“My brother and I lived in Bedfordshire for a time, before we came to Preston.”

She sized him up and down one more time, this time with open approval in her eyes. Then she turned to Rebecca. “You have done very well for yourself, Miss Rebecca Steed. He’s a handsome lad, this one.”

Rebecca slipped her arm through Derek’s, who was now blushing furiously. “I know, Mary,” she said. “I know.”

* * *

Caroline once again found herself impressed. At first it hadn’t seemed possible that order could be brought out of the milling ocean of people, but at ten minutes to the hour of ten, Joseph Smith climbed up on a box and began shouting instructions. Immediately design began to impose itself upon chaos and the procession started to form.

“You know the order of march, brothers and sisters,” Joseph was saying. “Everyone take your place.”

First came the infantry, meaning those in the militia who did not have horses. There were no uniforms, and their weapons represented a diversity of arms. One or two of the men even carried muskets that dated back to Colonial times. They lined up in semi-neat rows with some good-natured jostling for positions. But uniforms or no, Lydia’s Emily was so excited to see them, she kept running back and forth, looking up into their faces and calling back excitedly to her parents.

Immediately behind the infantry, a distinguished-looking older gentleman took his place, standing all alone. It was instantly obvious from the comments among the crowd and the few calls to him that he was held in great respect and deference.

Lydia leaned over to Caroline. “That’s Joseph Smith, Senior, Joseph’s father. He’s the Patriarch to the Church.”

“Patriarch?”

Lydia laughed. “I keep forgetting that we Mormons sometimes have a language of our own. I’ll try to explain it later to you. It’s just an important office in the Church.”

“Look,” young Joshua cried, “there’s Brother Joseph and Brother Hyrum.”

“Sure enough,” Nathan said.

Benjamin had Savannah up on his shoulders. He turned to Joshua and Caroline. “Brother Joseph was elected president of the day’s festivities; Hyrum is vice president.”

“They look alike, don’t they?” Will Mendenhall said.

“Yes, very much so,” his mother agreed.

“The man in the blue suit,” Benjamin went on, “that’s Sidney Rigdon. He’s the orator for the day. He’ll speak to us after the cornerstones are laid. The man behind him is Reynolds Cahoon. He’s the chief marshal. The others are assistant marshals and the clerk for the day.”

Savannah babbled something and reached out for her mother. Caroline took her and gave her a quick hug. Nathan picked up where his father had left off. “The next group is the Quorum of the Twelve. They are the Apostles for the Church. After that, you—”

Olivia, always the practical one and always one to speak her mind, looked up to her uncle. “But I only count eight.”

“Olivia!” Will said quickly, embarrassed by his sister’s boldness.

She gave a toss of her head, causing her hair to flash as it rippled in the sunlight. “Well, I do. Uncle Nathan said there were twelve.”

Nathan laughed. “You are exactly right, Livvy.  There are only eight.” Then he sobered. “Sadly enough, in the problems that arose in Kirtland, even some of those closest to Joseph turned on him. Four members of the Quorum of the Twelve were excommunicated.” He looked at Olivia. “That means they left the Church. So now there are only eight. Joseph is in the process of selecting replacements for them now.”

“Oh.”

Mary Ann smiled. “You’re very observant, Olivia.”

“Sometimes she’s very impudent, too,” Will growled.

Before Olivia could retort to that, a cry rang out. It was Joseph Smith. “It’s ten a.m. Let the procession begin.”

Instantly a cheer went up. Someone beyond their sight started beating a measured cadence on a bass drum. Then suddenly band music began. It was noticeably rough, but it was band music nevertheless. Joshua was surprised. He swung around to his father. “You have your own band?”

Benjamin grinned, trying not to look too pleased. “It’s not much yet, but yes, we have a band. Only four or five instruments, but as you can hear, we also have a drum.” He looked at the children. “And you can’t have a parade without a drum now, can you?”

There was a chorus of assent. Jessica’s daughter, Rachel, started clapping in time to the drumbeat. The two Griffith boys, her stepbrothers, picked it up, and in a moment even the adults joined in. Off to their left, Joseph Smith raised one arm, turned to see that everyone had their eyes on him, then dropped it. “Forward march,” he shouted.

It may not have been much in a city like New York or Boston, but for being no more than forty miles from the western border of the United States, it was a grand parade. The militia moved out slowly. For a moment a few were out of step, but there were some quick hops and shuffling and then they went forward in rhythm to the music. Following the Quorum of the Twelve came other Church officers and dignitaries—the presidencies of the Far West and Di-Ahman stakes and the members of their two high councils, the bishop and his counselors, and the architects for the new temple. Then the crowd fell into line. Ladies and gentlemen marched arm in arm; children ran alongside them excitedly, calling to one another.

The Steeds waited until near the end so that young Joshua could have his wish. As the last of the thousands moved away, the men on horseback—the cavalry portion of the militia—wheeled into line behind them. The horses were dancing, their hooves throwing up small chunks of dirt, their shuddering whinnies betraying their excitement.

Young Joshua kept turning around to watch them, his seven-year-old eyes wider than a startled owl’s. His uncle couldn’t help but note his enthusiasm. Finally he moved over and laid a hand on young Joshua’s shoulder. “You like horses?”

“Yes, Uncle Joshua. I love horses. I think they’re just grand.”

Joshua smiled. “Tell you what. When you come down to Jackson County—” He stopped as Nathan’s head jerked around. “The next time me and Will come north to St. Jo,” he corrected himself quickly, “we’ll come by this way and get you.” He turned to Nathan and Lydia. “Think you could spare your boy for a day or two? I could use another driver to get that freight delivered.”

Young Joshua’s jaw dropped. “Really?” he cried.

His uncle laughed. “Really.” He stepped over closer to Nathan and elbowed him in the side. “What do you say, Pa? Maybe you could even come. I could give you a lesson or two in driving a wagon. As I remember, you never could keep a team moving in the right direction.”

Nathan’s face twisted. “Oh, now, that hurts. As
I
remember, it was me who first taught you how to handle a horse.”

Matthew joined in now. “Why don’t you let me come too? Then me and Will and young Joshua can drive, and you old men can sleep in the back of the wagon.”

They were all laughing now. Except for Jessica. She was watching Joshua in wonder. This was a side of this man she had never seen when she was married to him. There was a momentary stab of sadness, then instantly she pushed it aside. Joseph was right. Joshua had changed. And what she had never had with Joshua she now had with John Griffith. It was right to put the past aside. She reached out and took her husband’s hand and joined in the laughter. 

Joshua finally sobered a little and turned to Lydia. “How ’bout it, Mrs. Steed? Can we borrow your husband and son for a few days and try to teach them a few things?”

Lydia’s mouth softened, and suddenly her eyes were shining. “Nathan said he told you how we came to give Joshua your name?”

One eyebrow came up. That was not the answer Joshua had expected. “Yes, he did.”

“Well, I think it would be only fitting and proper that the man for whom my Joshua was named should be the man who teaches him how to drive a team of horses.”

Chapter Notes

The marriage of Mary Fielding to Hyrum Smith shortly after the death of Hyrum’s first wife is accurately described in the novel (see
MFS
, pp. 43–44).

Chapter 3

   The original plat for the city of Far West had been one square mile, but additions were quickly made as the population swelled. A large public square lay right at the heart of the original plat, and it was approached by four main roads, one coming from each of the four principal directions. The other streets of the city were more in keeping with other towns and villages, but these four main roads were a full one hundred feet wide. The effect was to open up the central part of the fledgling city with a great sense of spaciousness. And since Far West stood atop the highest swell of any of the surrounding prairie, one could see for miles in every direction.