The Work and the Glory (368 page)

“I’ve decided I won’t be baptized until Mother is baptized.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Once we get back, Mother and I can decide how to convince Pa that it’s not going to hurt him if we join the Church. Together I think we can do it.”

“Maybe,” Nathan said slowly, not convinced, but not wanting to dash Will’s hopes. “And if you can’t convince him?”

There was a long silence; then Will answered, trying to say it firmly, but not quite putting the doubts out of his voice. “Then I’ll not wait after that. The answer I got was that I had to live the gospel, then I would know. If I wait too long, I’ll not be true to that.”

“I see,” Nathan said. “Are you going to tell your mother all this?”

“I’ve written her a long letter. Will you take it to her?”

“Of course.” Caroline would be thrilled to know that her son had finally made his decision. She would also understand, better than anyone, what it would mean to Joshua.

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it?”

“What’s that, Will?”

“Jenny wouldn’t make any promises to me because I wasn’t sure if I would ever be a Mormon. Now I’m sure, and it’s too late.”

“You didn’t do this just for Jenny, Will.”

“Oh, I know that,” came the quick reply. “But . . .” And now there was no mistaking the wistful longing in his voice. “It’s just ironic. That’s all.”

It was one of those glorious snows, with not even a wisp of a breeze. The huge flakes floated down like the finest of goose down, so gently and so slowly. At first only one or two came drifting down, but then the skies opened and they came in prodigious numbers. The ground was covered immediately, and in two hours there was a full four inches covering everything in the virgin mantle of white.

It was a perfect snow for making a snowman, or having a snowball fight. It was the second day of February, and the deep cold of the previous weeks had been broken by a brief January thaw. The temperature was just above freezing, so the snow packed easily and clung together just right. All over the city, tiny laborers grunted and called and pushed and shoved balls of snow together. Much effort went into the creation of snow people. Much also went into the making of snow forts and the creation of formidable arsenals. And all across the city, little boys—some in their thirties and forties—succumbed to the age-old temptation to go to war, laughing and squealing and crying foul when hit with the flying missiles.

On Steed Row it was no different. All of the cousins were out now, except the babies. They picked the backyard behind Jessica’s house, because with no one living there now, the entire yard was unspoiled. There were eleven children in all, ranging in age from Olivia, who at fourteen was the oldest, to Caroline’s little Charles, nearly two now, who waddled around in his snow clothes, barely able to bend over and pick up a handful of snow. Mary Ann, Lydia, Caroline, Rebecca, Melissa, and Jennifer Jo were all there to watch and supervise.

They were just finishing the heads on a snow family when a large snowball came hurtling over the fence and splattered on the ground just behind Emily and Olivia. They jumped, swinging around to see where it had come from. On the north side of Jessica’s lot, along Mulholland Street, there was a slat fence. The slats were close enough together that they mostly hid anyone from view. Now, from behind the fence, another snowball was thrown. This one was lobbed up high, giving the children plenty of time to dart away, screeching in warning, before it too hit the ground with a solid whack.

Now all thoughts of the snow family were forgotten. Everyone, children and adults, turned to see who their assailant was. They could see a figure moving behind the fence, but there was no way to identify who it was. Young Joshua, always the daring one, armed himself and moved cautiously forward. As he approached the fence, a tall figure reared up, growling fiercely. He had a scarf wrapped around his face to hide his identity. There were squeals and screams and the children broke ranks and fled. Except for Joshua. He blanched a little, but held his ground, peering at the stranger, trying to see who it was. The man moved to the gate and entered the yard. Still not intimidated, Joshua rushed the man, hurling his snowball with all his might. It caught the man squarely in the chest. There was an agonized cry; then the man staggered back, clutching at himself as though hit by a cannonball. Gasping and wheezing, he sank slowly to the earth and rolled over, one leg shaking spasmodically in a last death rattle.

“I got him! I got him!” Joshua yelled. He scooped another handful of snow up and threw that at the downed man as well. That did it. The others charged in, pelting the writhing figure with a hail of snowballs. The man rolled away, then sprung to a crouch, his back to them, holding his arms up over his head to ward off the missiles. “I surrender! I surrender!” he yelled.

Melissa stepped up beside her mother, laughing. “Who is it?” she asked.

Mary Ann smiled, watching the children swarm the man under. “It’s Brother Joseph. Who else?”

Suddenly with a roar, the “mortally wounded” came to life again. He snatched Elizabeth Mary under one arm and little Christopher under the other. “The snow monster has got you now,” he cackled. “Back to the cave and I’ll have you for dinner.”

That brought a new wave of piercing screams, and the others rushed in to free their comrades. Just then, Savannah, who had broken free from the melee, came running up to the women. Tendrils of red hair poked out from beneath her stocking cap. Her nose and cheeks were as red as if she had put rouge on them. Her deep blue eyes danced with excitement. She had dumped a handful of snow into Joseph’s face while the others had him down, and then thought it best to retreat from the fray before retaliation was forthcoming.

“Go get him, Savannah,” Rebecca urged. “Go get Joseph.”

“No,” she said, her eyes wide with concern. “He said he’s going to eat me.”

Caroline reached down and poked the hair back in beneath the cap. “Well, if you don’t help, he’s going to eat Christopher.”

That was enough. Off she went, running as fast as her little feet could move.

Finally, puffing like a winded horse, Joseph extracted himself from the children and, retreating under a barrage of snowballs, came over to join the women. The children closed in, hands filled with snowballs, but hesitant to throw when their mothers were in the line of fire.

“All right, children,” Mary Ann said, holding up her hands. “Let’s give Brother Joseph a rest for a moment.” Reluctantly they retreated, waiting to see if he might return.

Chuckling, Joseph looked around the yard. “What a glorious day. I wish I dared bring Emma out into it.”

“How is she, Joseph?” Mary Ann asked.

He laughed. “More than ready to have this baby, I think.”

“Is it close, do you think?” Lydia inquired.

“Mother Smith and the midwife are guessing it will come within the week.”

“Will you let us know when it’s time, Joseph?” Lydia asked. “I’d like to be there to help.”

Joseph reached out and touched her arm gratefully. “Actually, that’s why I came by. I was hoping that you could. You’re such a steadying influence for Emma.”

Something in the way he said that raised Mary Ann’s concerns. “Is everything all right, Joseph?”

“Oh, yes, I think so. It’s just that . . .”

“We understand,” Lydia said, remembering Emma’s anguish at the loss of Don Carlos. She had still not fully recovered. “Just send one of the children. I’ll come immediately and—” Lydia’s mouth suddenly opened and she stared at something behind Joseph.

They all turned. A man had just stepped through the gate of the slat fence. He was bundled up against the cold, and his hat hid much of his face. When he saw that he had been seen, he raised one hand and swept the hat off. Lydia gasped. “Nathan?”

“Oh my word,” Mary Ann whispered.

With a cry of joy, Lydia was off the porch and running hard across the snow. “Joshua! Emily! Lizzie! Look! Papa’s home! Papa’s home!”

They left the house just as it was getting light, bundled up in their winter coats and scarfs, their feet crunching softly in the snow that had fallen throughout the night. Lydia left a note for young Joshua telling him they would be back in an hour or so and to get some breakfast for the children. They had tried to find time together the previous evening, but it was not to be. The children needed to be with him. The family came over. And finally when they were alone, Nathan was exhausted. So this would be Lydia’s time alone with Nathan, and she wanted it to be undisturbed.

Now they climbed the gentle slope that led to the top of the bluffs and the temple site. They walked slowly, savoring their time together. There was nothing profound in their conversation. Lydia was just catching him up on all the news she hadn’t been able to put in her letters.

“Tell me more about Jessica,” he said. “Is she happy over there in Ramus?”

“She should be.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, first it is a grand opportunity for her. The school is doing very well and she gets a regular salary.” She smiled up at him. “But more important, I think something might just come of this.”

He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Solomon Garrett.”

“Who is Solomon— Oh, he’s the man who offered her the position?”

“Yes.” Her eyes were dancing with excitement now. “He isn’t married, you know.”

He pulled up short at that. “He’s not? You never told me that.”

“No. He was married to a woman in Kentucky, but they were never able to have children. She died of smallpox several years ago and he’s never remarried.”

“Well, well,” Nathan said, really surprised at that bit of news. If Joshua knew about this, he hadn’t bothered to share it.
How like a man
, Nathan thought. “And you think . . .”

Lydia nodded. “Solomon brought her over for Christmas. He’s a good man. Very kind and gentle. Very strong in his testimony of the Church. Rachel and the other children think he’s wonderful.”

“Has he . . . you know, said anything to Jessica?”

She shook her head quickly. “Of course not. It’s only been three months since they met.” She went suddenly stern. “And you’re not to say anything to anyone else either. But one night when we were alone with her, all of us ganged up on Jessica. You know her. She won’t speculate, but down deep, she thinks it just might work. Kathryn told us he comes over to their house two or three times a week.”

“Well, I can’t think of anything more wonderful,” Nathan said with deep pleasure. “There’s no one who deserves it more.”

Suddenly he stopped, his head coming up. They had just crested the top of the bluffs, and the temple site was only a block ahead of them. “Oh, my,” Nathan said in a low voice. “They’ve really been making progress, haven’t they?”

When he had left for Wisconsin, the temple site had been one huge hole in the ground. They had still been completing the final courses of stone that would bring the foundation walls just above ground level. Now there was no more hole. The basement walls were completed and the trenches around them filled in. A temporary floor had been laid over the basement rooms, and the snow from the day before had covered it completely. The temple was now like a huge slab, sticking a few inches out of the ground, but perfectly flat on the top of it. And where there had been only two small wooden cranes on the site before, now there were three additional ones—tall ones, high enough to reach the upper floors. Between the three of them, they would be able to lift stones into place about anywhere on the walls. Nathan was impressed.

Lydia tugged on his arm. “Come on, I want you to see the baptismal font.”

“You think it will be open this early?”

“I hope so.” But when they went down the stairs to the front room, they saw that the door was locked. Disappointed, Lydia looked around. “Let’s see if anyone is here yet.” She immediately started for the small shack that served as the construction office. To their good fortune, this door was unlocked and slightly ajar. Lydia knocked and it immediately opened. Inside was William Weeks, temple architect.

“Oh, Brother Weeks,” she said. “Good morning.”

“Ah, Sister Steed, good morning to you—” He stopped, peering more closely. “Brother Nathan? I say, is that you?”

Nathan reached him and stuck out his hand. “It is, Brother Weeks. I’m just back yesterday from the Pine Woods.”

“Well, I’ll be.” He shook Nathan’s hand vigorously. “Welcome home.” His New England accent was sharp and easily recognizable. “We received word that you would be coming home early. Is it true? Are the reports from the north as good as they say?”

“Yes,” Nathan answered immediately. “Our camp was a little slower getting started than my brother’s, given all the problems with that rundown mill we bought half-interest in, but it’s fairly humming right now. Our brethren up there think we’ll have eighty to ninety thousand board feet for you by summer.”

“That’s marvelous!” the architect boomed. “We can’t put in the permanent flooring over the basement until we get that wood here, so that is good news.”

“You’ve made great progress in spite of that,” Nathan said.

“Yes. It’s coming along very nicely.” Then he brightened. “I have the plans right here. Would you care to see them?”

“Oh, yes!” Lydia exclaimed.

Weeks stepped back, inviting them inside. The shack was crowded and cluttered with tools and sheets of paper with diagrams and sketches on them. The plans were unrolled across a drafting table with a T square on them. He pushed that aside and pulled back the cover sheet, then two more that showed the plan for the basement level. “Let’s skip the basement for now.” He was to the third sheet now, and smoothed it out. “This is the main floor.”

“Ah,” Nathan breathed as he and Lydia bent over it. It was titled, “Grand Hall for the Assemblage and Worship of the People.”

“It’s very much like the Kirtland Temple, I’m told,” said Weeks.

“It is,” Nathan nodded. Weeks was a relatively new convert, a builder and architect originally from the eastern part of the United States. He had known nothing about the Church during the Kirtland years, but there was no mistaking the similarities between the two temple designs. All but the entryway of the main floor was given over to a large assembly room filled with rows and rows of benches. A neatly penciled note said these would be moveable so they could be turned to face either direction. That was the same as in the Kirtland Temple and for the same reason. Each end of the room was filled with the priesthood pulpits—Melchizedek on the west and Aaronic on the east. Thus, depending on which quorums were presiding, the congregation, by turning the benches, could face either pulpit.