The Work and the Glory (230 page)

Amanda reached out and took him by the hands, looking him in the eye. “Son, listen to me. Heavenly Father protected you today. Do you believe that?”

He nodded instantly. His escape had been too miraculous for him not to believe that.

“And he will protect you now. Everything will be all right. I need Sister Griffith here with me to help with Alma. You have to do it.”

Jessica was watching him, her heart aching. He had faced so much this day. And now to be sent out to face the night alone . . . She stood. “Willard, I have a piece of hickory shagbark in the cupboard by the sink. I’ll make you a torch so you can see.”

Willard pulled back his shoulders, swallowing hard. “All right.”

“Good boy.”

Jessica got him the torch and got it lighted from the coals of the cooking fire. Then she went back to the tent to join Amanda. She knelt down beside her, watching her stroke her son’s face for a moment. Then she couldn’t hold back any longer. “Amanda, how did you know about the ashes?” She gestured towards Alma’s still figure. “How do you know what to do?”

Amanda’s head came up slightly, and suddenly her eyes were glistening again. “After we prayed?”

“Yes?”

“A voice began speaking in my mind. It has been telling me exactly what needs to be done to save my son’s life.”

Chapter Notes

Willard Smith was the first one to enter the blacksmith shop after the massacre at Haun’s Mill. He carried his brother Alma out and there met his mother. Amanda Smith’s prayer and the treatment of her son as directed by the Spirit are told in Willard’s own account of that terrible day. (Found in
By Their Fruits,
pp. 182–83.)

Chapter 19

   Mary Ann moved slowly around the cabin, even the simplest task now draining what little reserves of energy she had left. Suddenly she felt an arm slip around her waist and she turned in surprise. Lydia was standing beside her. “Come sit down for a moment, Mother Steed,” she said softly.

“No,” she protested feebly. “I’m all right.”

“The children will sleep for another hour or two. We can take time to rest for a moment.” The seven children—four of Lydia’s and three of Jessica’s—were asleep on straw mattresses placed on the floor behind the blanket-curtain that partitioned off the one end of the cabin.

Rebecca put down the crock she was filling with corn flour and walked over to join them. “Mother,” she said, taking Mary Ann’s arm, “Lydia’s right. We’re almost done. Come sit down.”

Mary Ann was too tired to protest further. The exhaustion seeped through every cell of her body. She let her daughter and daughter-in-law lead her to the sofa, and they all sank down heavily onto its threadbare cushions. The clock on the fireplace mantel showed ten minutes after five. It would start to get light in just over an hour. That meant they had been working quietly but steadily for almost eight hours.

Ever since the coming of the army to the outskirts of Far West the previous evening, the city had been in an uproar. The Steed men, including Peter, were out with the brethren. Barricades were being hastily thrown up all around the city to prepare for a siege. The women stayed at home, making their own preparations—packing up essentials, hiding valuables, consolidating meager food supplies, separating out needed clothing, folding enough bedding to see them through cold nights if they were forced from their homes.

“There’s still so much to do,” Mary Ann said, looking around the cabin.

“It can wait for five minutes,” Lydia replied. Lydia’s face was deeply lined too, though it was difficult to tell whether it was from weariness or worry. By unspoken agreement, they had avoided discussing what might be awaiting them with the coming of the sun.

Mary Ann stifled back a sigh, not wanting them to know how delicious it felt to be off her feet. She reached out and took their hands in hers. There was a fleeting smile. “I guess I’m getting old.”

“We’re all very tired, Mother,” Rebecca said. “It’s not just being up all night,” she murmured. “It’s the fear and the worry. It’s being sick about Jessica and John not being here. It’s . . . it’s wonderin’ if sometime today Derek is going to have to . . .” Her lip started to tremble and she looked away quickly.

Mary Ann squeezed her hand tightly. There was nothing to say to that. Putting words to the circle of pain in which each of them was enveloped only made it the more unbearable. From time immemorial, women had sat together like this, trying to comfort one another as their sons and fathers and husbands and brothers went off to war. So they sat quietly, shoulder to shoulder, content not to speak.

* * *

Five minutes later Mary Ann, Lydia, and Rebecca were still sitting together when the door opened. Peter and Derek came in first, rubbing their hands together to warm them from the cold. Benjamin followed, taking off his coat even as he came through the door.

All three women were up instantly. “Where’s Nathan?” Lydia demanded.

“Him and Matthew are down with Parley Pratt, working on the last of the barricades,” Benjamin answered. “They should be along in a few minutes.” He hung his coat on a peg.

Mary Ann went to Benjamin. “How has it gone?”

There was a slow shake of his head. His face was smudged and his hands were dirty. “We’ve used about everything we could lay hand to. But if they’ve got cannon, like they say . . .” There was no point in finishing the statement.

“Come,” she said, slipping one arm around his waist. “We’ve got half a dozen eggs. There’s no sense trying to save them. We’ll have some breakfast. It should be light in about an hour now.”

But as she turned toward the fireplace, there was a heavy clunk on the porch outside. Even as they turned toward it, the door flew open. Nathan stood there. His eyes were wide and filled with horror. Matthew was beside him. In the lamplight, Mary Ann saw that there were streaks through the dirtiness of his face. He had been crying.

“What?” Lydia cried. “What is it?”

For a long moment Nathan just stared at them, his eyes moving from face to face. Then his gaze dropped and he stared at his hands. “A rider just came in from Haun’s Mill.”

Mary Ann was to him in three steps, grabbing at his shirt. “What, Nathan? What happened? Was there trouble?”

He looked up, his eyes stricken. “They were attacked yesterday afternoon. It was a massacre.”

Mary Ann gasped. Rebecca’s hand flew to her mouth. Lydia gasped and fell back a step.

“Half the men are dead. Even some children were killed. I guess . . .” He swallowed, and turned away, not able to finish.

Mary Ann reached out and took Nathan’s shoulder, turning him back around to face her. “Jessica?” she whispered. “John?”

“The messenger doesn’t know,” Nathan answered. “There was so much confusion. He’s not sure who—”

There was a scream from behind them. “Mama! Mama!”

They spun around. Six-year-old Rachel was standing at the edge of the curtain that sectioned off what served as a bedroom. Her hair was tangled from sleep. The large blue eyes that were usually so sober and thoughtful were filled with terror. “What happened to my mama?”

Mary Ann and Benjamin were to her instantly. Benjamin gathered her up in his arms, holding her tight to him as Mary Ann soothed her. “It’s all right, Rachel. It’s all right.”

Nathan watched for a moment, then turned to his wife. Lydia had never seen a look of such terrible anguish on a man’s face. Holding out her arms, she gathered him in. He crushed her to him, clinging to her desperately. Then great shuddering sobs began to rack his body. “I told them to come back with us,” he cried hoarsely. “I told them. I told them. I told them.”

* * *

“General Lucas isn’t going to like this, Captain.”

Joshua didn’t even turn his head. He looked at the rest of the men. Fortunately they had no love for Lieutenant Carter and were grinning a little at the fact that their captain kept putting him in his place. But Joshua could also see that they were nervous about what he was about to do. “Keep the horses quiet,” he said confidently. “If I need you, I’ll fire one shot. Then come in quick and hard.”

“Captain!” Lieutenant Carter’s voice had risen to a whine. Joshua didn’t glance back. He moved away in long strides, headed for the line of trees and undergrowth that marked the streambed of Shoal Creek. Beyond that line lay the village of Haun’s Mill.

* * *

“There’s a man coming!” “Who is it?” “It’s a Missourian!” “He’s alone.”

Only gradually did the ripple of panic that was sweeping through the group finally register in Jessica’s mind. Fighting for control, she finally looked away from the corpse that lay at her feet—the cold, gray body that until yesterday had been her husband. Women were huddling together nervously, pointing. Children started to whimper. A couple of the men ran for their rifles.

Jessica turned, looking to see what was causing the stir. And then she was leaning forward, staring. “Joshua?” She took one step forward. She rubbed at her eyes quickly, then slowly lifted a hand. “Joshua?” she said again, only then realizing that she had spoken in a bare whisper. She started waving. “Joshua!” she shouted. “Joshua! I’m here.”

He broke into a quick walk, pushing his way through the gathered crowd. “It’s all right,” he said as he passed them, “I’m Joshua Steed. I’m her brother.” He lied without hesitation. This was no time for a complicated explanation of relationships. He was focused on one thing, and one thing only, and that was getting Jessica and her family out of Haun’s Mill.

* * *

They stood together, looking down at the body of John Griffith. Jessica wept silently while Joshua stared at the work of yesterday’s mob. The bodies were lined up along the ground. A few feet away there was a pile of dirt and a hole where someone had started to dig a well. Then he understood. The well was to be the common grave for those who hadn’t survived. There was no time for funerals or going to the cemetery with freshly made coffins. These people had no guarantees that the mob would not be back. And Joshua couldn’t give them any either. He was nearly as frightened by the possibility as they were, not for himself but for Jessica.

He reached out and touched her shoulder, bringing her back to him. His eyes widened. For the first time now he saw her bandaged hand. He moved to her and took it gently. The rag that was wrapped around it was dirty and bloodstained. “What happened?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll be fine.” She spoke woodenly, without looking at him.

He had to bring her out of her stupor. He shook her gently. “Where’s Rachel?” he asked. “Where are the boys? Are they all right?”

Jessica’s head came up. A momentary flicker of relief crossed her face. “Nathan and Matthew came day before yesterday. They took Rachel and the boys to Far West.” She bit her lip. “They wanted me and John to go.” Her eyes flooded with tears. “We didn’t,” she whispered. “We were going to but . . .”

Joshua closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to find a way to lessen the pain for her. But the time for solace was going to have to come some other time. “What about the baby?”

There was no answer.

He shook her more firmly. “Is baby John . . . ?” He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Her eyes finally focused and she shook her head. “He’s all right. Amanda’s children are watching him. Over at the cabin.”

The relief washed over him, making him weak. “All right. Let’s go get him.”

* * *

As they crossed the board bridge that spanned the millrace, Joshua stopped and looked at Jessica. “Jessie?”  

She was holding the baby tightly against her body, looking down into the bright eyes that looked out from the blanket.

“Jessie!”

Her head came up slowly, and when he saw her eyes he realized that she was still in deep shock.

“Jessie, I’m with some other men.”

Her mouth rounded into an “oh” and there was instant fear.

“It’s all right. I’m their captain. No one is going to hurt you.”

She didn’t answer, but he was pleased to see understanding register on her face. “Jessie, this is very important. They can’t know we’re related. They can’t even guess that I know you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. No matter what I say, don’t let on.”

“All right, Joshua.” She turned and looked back toward the village. “I . . . Should I be leaving Amanda, Joshua?”

He grabbed her by the shoulders. They had gone over this three times already. “Jessie, you have children in Far West. Rachel is there. Mark. Luke. You’ve got to think about them now. John is dead.”

“But Amanda—”

“She’ll be all right. The men said they’ll watch out for her.”

“Why can’t she come with us?”

“If she could, I would bring her. But she can’t move that boy. Not with his hip like that.” He shook his head, squeezing her shoulders with soft pressure. “She can’t come with us, Jessie. You know that.”

Finally she turned back. “I know, Joshua. I know.”

* * *

Joshua swore bitterly, then grabbed Lieutenant Carter by the lapels of his uniform jacket. Even the uniform infuriated him. Most of the higher officers bought their own uniforms, but the lower officers and the enlisted men rarely had them. This was a state militia. It was activated only in times of emergency. But Lieutenant Carter had bought himself a uniform. It was so typical of his pompous arrogance.

Joshua shoved his face right up against Carter’s. “You listen to me, Lieutenant. You can tell General Lucas any miserable thing you want. But we are not going to leave this woman here.” He let go of Carter’s jacket and gave him a little shove. The lieutenant, who was about four inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter than Joshua, stumbled backwards. The rest of the men stood in a half circle, watching their two officers closely.

Jessica stood just to Joshua’s left, holding the baby, watching the whole thing impassively. It was as if she were an onlooker to something that had nothing to do with her.

Carter was sputtering as he caught his balance. “You can’t do this! General Lucas will hear about this. He told you not to come here. He’ll have you court-martialed.”