The Work and the Glory (259 page)

Twelve-year-old Kathryn leaped up to stand beside her sister. “And if Jenny and I were along it would leave Derek and Matthew free to drive the wagons and care for the stock and—”

Jenny had whirled, her face flashing surprise and irritation, but instantly she saw the wisdom of it, and grabbed Kathryn’s hand. “That’s right. There’d be two of us to help.” She turned to her mother, who looked as if she were reeling. “Oh, Mama, that would be two less mouths to feed here. Kathryn and I could stay in Quincy and help keep house and watch the children while Matthew and Derek come back for you.”

Sister McIntire threw up her hands. “Hold on, lass. I’m drowning in your words. Give me a moment to catch my breath, please.”

Jenny blushed even more deeply and stole a quick glance at Matthew. He was staring at her in wonder, but there was no mistaking the admiration in his eyes.

Then, shocking almost everyone, Benjamin turned slowly to face the woman who had left her home because of the Book of Mormon and come to throw her lot in with the Saints. “There is some wisdom in what your daughter is saying,” he mused. “What do you think of the proposition, Sister McIntire?”

She sat back, her eyes searching those of her two daughters. Kathryn nodded, her dark hair dancing as her head bobbed up and down. “Oh, please, Mama. We’ll be all right.”

Nancy McIntire turned slowly to Matthew. “Would you look after my daughters, Matthew? So I’d not have to be a-worrying overly much about them?”

“Aye,” Matthew said soberly.

Derek leaned forward. “And I as well,” he said. Then a smile stole across his face. “Though I’d probably have to spend most of my time watching out for Kathryn and leave the task of minding Jennifer pretty much to others on the journey.”

Emily, Lydia’s six-year-old, was staring up at her uncle. “Look!” she cried. “Matthew’s embarrassed.”

That broke the tension and everyone in the room laughed. “Come on, Emmy,” Nathan chuckled, “leave Uncle Matthew alone. He’s having a hard time of it right now.”

As the laughter subsided, Benjamin turned and looked at his wife. “Mother? What do you think?”

Mary Ann held his gaze for a moment. Then she let her eyes go around the room, taking in Matthew and Jenny, Rebecca, Jessica, Derek. Finally she bobbed her head up and down slowly. “I think we don’t have a lot of choices anymore.”

Benjamin nodded back at her. “I agree.” Then he looked to Derek. “I think you should try to be ready to leave day after tomorrow.”

Chapter Notes

The delaying of the departure of the Prophet’s mother and father is told by Lucy Mack Smith. They were able to leave a short time later, traveling with Don Carlos and with the Salisbury and the McCleary families (the families of Lucy’s two married daughters, Catherine and Sophronia), and arrived safely in Quincy sometime before the first of March. (See
Mack Hist.,
pp. 294–97.)

Emma and Mary Fielding Smith did make a trip to Liberty Jail to see their husbands. Mary was still deathly ill, but felt compelled to try to see Hyrum before leaving the state. (See
MFS
, pp. 82–83.)

Emma’s taking of the manuscripts and her incredible crossing of the Mississippi are presented in the novel virtually as they happened, though specific conversations and personal thoughts are the additions of the author (see Richard Neitzel Holzapfel and Jeni Broberg Holzapfel,
Women of Nauvoo
[Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1992], p. 10;
CHFT,
p. 213).

Mary Fielding Smith and Mercy Fielding Thompson did leave Far West as described here, as did Amanda Smith. Having them travel together and with the Steeds is the author’s device. (See
MFS
, pp. 89–94.)

Chapter 34

   In the little party moving eastward across the bleakness of Missouri’s northern plains, there were twenty-three people—two men, six women or older girls, and fifteen children, ranging in age from Amanda’s Willard Smith, who would be twelve in May, down to Hyrum and Mary’s little Joseph Fielding Smith, just barely three months old.

The weather was still cold, uncommonly so from what the old settlers were saying. The party had left Far West in a steady rain. Then about one o’clock, as they could see the tree line of Shoal Creek and the now deserted cabins of Haun’s Mill off in the distance, the wind shifted around to the north, the temperature plummeted, and the rain turned first to sleet, then to a heavy snowstorm.

There were only three wagons, so all except the youngest children took turns walking beside the wagons. Of the three wagons, only one had been designed for moving people and goods. Amanda Smith’s wagon had been purchased by her husband in Kirtland for the move to Missouri in the spring of 1838. It was not a large wagon. The box was no more than about eight feet long and four feet wide. Amanda’s two little girls, Jessica’s two youngest boys, and Jessica’s baby, John Benjamin, would sleep in the wagon. The rest would make their bed beneath it.

The other two wagons had been designed as lumber wagons. Their wagon boxes were slightly wider and more than two feet longer than those found on normal wagons. This gave more room, but there were no springs and so the ride was considerably rougher in these wagons than in Amanda’s. The first of these two wagons carried most of the goods that the two Fielding sisters had been able to bring. Those were shoved to the front, leaving room at the back for a bed for Mary and her baby. The second wagon carried Mary’s other five children and Mercy and her baby, as well as the food and water for the trip. These two wagons had not been built with covers, so the families had had to find their own. But the canvas they had located was lightweight, and within an hour of their departure the rain was dripping through, wetting the blankets and other things inside. So in that sense, the snow was a blessing.

The snow also turned the prairie into something beautiful. The muddy wasteland quickly took on a mantle of white, and the sound of the wagon wheels grew muffled as the snow became an inch deep, then two, then four inches by late afternoon.

Jenny McIntire was out in front of the little train, walking along to scout the road. With the snow and the drop in temperature, the puddles were starting to freeze and cover over with snow. Her task was to spot the worst of the potholes and steer the party around them so that they didn’t bog down and have to stop.

Derek was driving the lead wagon, the one with Mary Smith in the back. Kathryn McIntire sat on the wagon seat beside him.

Next came Amanda’s wagon. She and Jessica sat together on the seat, with Amanda driving. Willard Smith, Amanda’s oldest, and Rachel, Jessica’s oldest, slogged steadily alongside, their heads down, Willard’s hat and Rachel’s bonnet covered with white, making them look like angels who had lost something in the clouds and were peering downward trying to find it.

Matthew drove the third wagon with Mercy Thompson and Mary’s other children. Like Willard and Rachel, Lovina, the oldest from Hyrum’s first marriage, walked alongside. So did her aunt. Mercy’s baby was sleeping at the moment, inside with the other children, and so Mercy had decided to lighten the load. At this point, not yet one full day out, the children were still in good spirits. They were cold, but they were playing some game inside the wagon, giggling softly so as not to wake the baby.

It was eerie in a way. There was no wind, and so the snow came straight down. The only sound was that of the wagons creaking along and the soft clopping of the horses’ hooves. There were no other signs of life. They had passed some homesteads, abandoned now by their Mormon owners, but nothing moved. It was just one great, vast world of white silence, and they were momentary specks of blackness transversing their way slowly across it.

* * *

It was about a quarter to five and growing dark rapidly when Derek leaned forward, peering ahead through the falling snow. Ahead, barely discernible, he thought he saw a darker line against the whiteness. He raised a hand.

“Whoa!” he called, pulling on the reins. Behind him, the other two wagons pulled up too.

“What is it?” Matthew called forward.

“I think that’s Tenny’s Grove.”

“What?” Jenny came back to the wagon, shielding her face from the falling flakes.

Derek pointed forward. “I’m pretty sure that’s Tenny’s Grove. That’s our first stopping place.” He turned and he shouted back. “We’re almost there.”

Amanda had stood up when the wagon stopped, trying to see beyond the lead wagon. When she heard Derek’s call, she nodded and sank back down beside Jessica. Both of them were soaked through—coats, bonnets, shawls, dresses—and were totally miserable. Amanda looked over at Jessica. “I hope so,” she muttered. Then she shook her head. “One day down,” she said grimly.

* * *

As they pulled in under the trees, Derek saw that they weren’t the only occupants of the grove. A horse, still tied to a small cart that was loaded and covered with a bedsheet, stood with its head down. Its legs were little more than sticks, and its sides looked like a half-finished barrel with the staves showing through. It didn’t even lift its head as the wagons pulled in.

Three small children, the oldest no more than six or seven, stood around the cart. A man knelt on the ground nearby, trying to strike a fire but without success. Even here under the trees, which were nothing more than stripped, leafless branches mostly open to the sky, the ground was snow-covered. Any wood was long ago soaked through.

At the sound of the wagons, the man looked up, then jumped up. He strode quickly over to Derek. “Now, you’re a welcome sight,” he said, obviously greatly relieved. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Brother Eli Barton.”

“Derek Ingalls,” Derek said, shaking his hand. He waved a hand over his shoulders. “And a whole bunch of others.” A movement caught his eye and he turned. A woman came out of the trees. She was dragging branches she had stripped off some of the underbrush. Her dress was soaked, and her hands were red and shaking. Her face was pale, and she looked to be on the verge of collapse.

Barton went to her, taking one elbow and steadying her. “This is my wife, Betsy.”

Matthew got down, and he and Jenny came forward. Derek introduced them. Then Amanda and Jessica and Willard and Rachel joined them. He introduced them as well. Derek glanced around. Mercy was checking on her own and Mary’s family.

Jessica was watching Sister Barton. When the latter swayed slightly, Jessica jumped forward. “Here, let us help you.”

Sister Barton surrendered the branches without protest, looking grateful. “Our little cart is not big enough even for my children to sleep in. I was hoping to find enough branches to get them off the wet ground.”

“Are you traveling alone?” Derek asked.

Barton nodded, and his wife murmured a quick, “Yes.” Derek fought to keep his face impassive. No wonder they were relieved to see someone! This close to Far West there were still plenty of the mob element out looking for Mormons to harass, especially any traveling in small parties.

“Bring your children to our wagon,” Amanda said. “Let them get out of the snow for a while. You come too.”

Eli Barton pushed his wife forward gently. “You go, Betsy. I’ll bring the children.” His eyes dropped to the wet stick he held. He let it slide out of his hands. “There’ll be no fires tonight,” he said glumly.

Derek nodded. He had come to that conclusion about three hours before.

As they turned toward the children, Barton looked beseechingly at Derek. “You wouldn’t have any grease with you, would you?”

Derek was surprised. “A little, for the wagon axles. Why?”

The man looked stricken. “We didn’t have enough money for shoes for everybody.” He looked away, shame heavy in his eyes. “I barely had enough to buy two wagon wheels and enough lumber to make that small cart. There was nothing left after that.”

Derek cocked his head slightly. Shoes? What did that have to do with building a cart or needing axle grease? Then, like a bolt, it hit him. His eyes jerked to where the children stood by the cart. Of the three, only the oldest, a boy, had shoes, and they were worn and scuffed and now wet from the snow. The other two did not; they wore heavy socks—two pair, Derek saw, as he looked closer. But surely they had not had to—

He glanced at the cart. There was no wagon seat. You didn’t ride this cart; you led the horse that pulled it. His eyes moved backward. Underneath the sheet that they were using for a covering, Derek could see that the cart was filled. The wife had said there was no room for the children to sleep in it. As he looked at it, he doubted there was any room for the children to ride. Maybe one, stuck on the very back. But not three. And not a wife.

Next to him, Jenny drew in her breath sharply. “Oh!” she cried softly.

Derek looked away from the cart. The youngest child, a beautiful little four-year-old girl with long blond hair and large gray eyes that seemed to hold the sorrow of the world behind them, had started toward her father. She was holding out her hands, whimpering softly and hobbling painfully as she took two or three steps. But Derek’s eyes had leaped to what Jenny had seen, and what he saw there made his stomach drop in a sickening lurch. Where the stocking feet had been planted in the snow, there were two large, round crimson stains.

Jenny was to her in an instant and swept her up in her arms. “Oh, you poor thing!” she cried. She pulled the girl in tight against her, burying her face in her hair. “You poor little girl.”

The second boy—age five or six, Derek guessed—hadn’t moved. He just lifted his arms toward his father. “Papa, help me,” he implored.

His father moved to him and picked him up. He too left bloody imprints where he had been standing. Barton looked suddenly very old. “Betsy thinks if we could just grease their feet a little,” he said faintly, “they might not crack so bad.”

Derek swallowed hard, then nodded. “Yes,” he said quickly, “we have plenty of grease.”

* * *

Emma Smith went to the door fully expecting that it was another member of the Church with some request or another for help. In the week since she had arrived in Quincy, she had received a constant stream of people asking for help or advice, or wanting to know about family members still back in Far West, or sometimes simply coming by to let her know they had arrived safely in Illinois.