The Work and the Glory (437 page)

Mary Ann reached up and pushed the sunbonnet back just a bit and wiped at her forehead. “It’s going to be another hot one.”

Savannah didn’t seem to hear. She was still engrossed in her own thoughts. As they approached Main Street, Mary Ann moved toward the Mansion House, which was on the northeast corner of the intersection of Main and Water Streets. Suddenly it registered on Savannah that that was where they were going.

“Why are we going here, Grandma?”

“Because this is where Mother Smith is.”

Savannah’s face screwed up into a puzzled frown. “But Emily says Mother Smith has a house of her own.”

Mary Ann opened the gate. “She did, dear, but then Father Smith and Don Carlos—that was her son—died and young Lucy got married and—”

“Why do they call her young Lucy?”

“Because Mother Smith’s name is also Lucy, so they call her daughter young Lucy to distinguish her from her mother. Anyway, Brother Joseph and Sister Emma asked Mother Smith to move in with them some time ago and—”

“Do they call Mother Smith ‘Old Lucy’?”

Mary Ann smiled. “No, dear, they don’t.”

“How come?”

Mary Ann shook her head. “Because ‘Old Lucy’ doesn’t sound very flattering.”

“Why not?”

“It just doesn’t.” They went through the gate and up on the porch. As Mary Ann reached for the door knocker, she saw Savannah’s pursed lips. “What?”

“I don’t think ‘Young Lucy’ is a very good name either. She’s old too, isn’t she?”

“Well, she’s old enough to be married, but—”

“Nobody better call me young Savannah,” she muttered darkly.

Mary Ann laughed aloud. “All right. I’ll warn the family.”

“And I’m not going to name my daughter Savannah either. I don’t want them calling me Old Mother Steed.”

Thoroughly amused now, Mary Ann kept her face serious. “After you marry, Savannah, your name won’t be Steed anymore.”

That stopped her short. “Why not?”

“Because you’ll take your husband’s name. Just like Jenny used to be Jenny McIntire, but now that she’s married to Matthew she’s Jenny Steed. And Aunt Rebecca used to be a Steed, but now her name is Ingalls because she married Derek. And Aunt Jessica changed her name to Garrett when she married Uncle Solomon.”

Savannah stood still for a moment, letting that slide into the proper slots in her mind. Then something else occurred to her. “How come Matthew never calls Jenny ‘Jennifer Jo’ anymore?”

Mary Ann chuckled. The way that young mind worked was fascinating. “Because for a while there, when Will was fond of Jenny Pottsworth, we always had two Jennys around, so Matthew always called his Jenny ‘Jennifer Jo.’ But now that Jenny Pottsworth is married and lives across the river, Matthew slipped back to calling her Jenny like the rest of us do.”

Savannah nodded. Still smiling, Mary Ann lifted the door knocker and rapped sharply.

“I’m going to marry Billy Carver.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Except he tried to kiss me yesterday.” There was deep disgust in her voice.

“Really?” Mary Ann said.

“Yes. Abner Kellogg dared him.”

“And what did you do?”

“I hit him in the stomach.”

“Oh dear. Billy or Abner?”

Savannah looked up, sensing that her grandmother might be teasing her now. Her eyes were filled with innocence and at the same time were so perfectly impish that Mary Ann had to resist the impulse to take her in her arms and hug her. “I hit Billy,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Abner ran home before I could get him too.”

Mary Ann was still laughing when the door opened and young Joseph Smith III stood before them. His eyes narrowed slightly in the brightness; then he smiled quickly. “Good morning, Sister Steed.”

“Good morning, Joseph.” A shadow of pain momentarily darkened her face. Joseph would be twelve in the fall, and in only a couple of years would be the same age as his father when he had first gone into the grove to ask which church was right. It was like seeing the young Prophet Joseph standing before her. With an effort, she kept her eyes on his face and smiled pleasantly. “Is your grandmother up and about yet, Joseph?”

The grin broadened noticeably. “Grandma Smith is always the first one up at our house. Just a minute. I’ll tell her you’re here.” Then, remembering his manners, he did a little bow in Savannah’s direction. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Joseph.”

“Come in and I’ll go get her.”

He saw them seated in the front parlor, then trotted upstairs. He had barely disappeared when two dark heads appeared around the corner of the hallway that led back to the kitchen. Savannah was up in an instant.

“Hi, Freddie,” she called brightly. “Hello, Alexander.”

“Hi, Savannah,” they said in unison. The two boys stepped into full view, grinning shyly. Frederick, named for Frederick G. Williams, was a year older than Savannah. Alexander, named for Alexander Doniphan, the attorney who had so often befriended and defended Joseph and the Saints in Missouri, was a year younger. Savannah and Elizabeth Mary, Lydia’s daughter, often accompanied their mothers here to see Emma, and the two girls had become fast friends with Emma’s two sons.

“Can you play?” Alexander asked, glancing sideways at Mary Ann.

Savannah whirled. “Can I, Grandma? Can I?”

“I suppose. I don’t know how long we will be, Savannah, so don’t go far. And stay away from the river.” The rising waters of a week ago were starting to subside, but the river’s edge was still just a few feet below the yard of the Old Homestead across the street.

“Yes, Grandma.” She was down the hallway as Freddie and Alexander led the way out the back. The door had barely shut when she heard Savannah give a whoop. “Watch yourselves, boys,” Mary Ann murmured, “you’re playing with a very lively filly there.”

Lucy Mack Smith was born on the eighth of July, 1775. In one year she would turn seventy, Mary Ann thought, a rarity among women in these days when so many died before they reached forty. She was in her late sixties now, but her mind was as quick as that of a twenty-year-old. And she had the energy of a teenaged girl. But now, for the first time, she looked closer to her real age. And little wonder. A husband, three sons, a son-in-law, and two grandsons—all dead within the last three years. Two of the sons had been gunned down just ten days before at the hands of violent men. And now, with Samuel growing worse, another tragedy loomed over this woman.

As she spoke of Samuel and his worsening condition, the tragedy seemed written in every line of her face, the sorrow so ingrained in her that it filled her eyes with an enormous sadness. Mary Ann watched her with a growing sense of her own frustration. You could come and comfort, but what could be done to take away this kind of hurt?

“Do you know what, though?” Mother Smith suddenly said, as though sensing that Mary Ann was troubled.

“What?”

“I remembered something last night and it gave me great comfort.”

“What was that?”

“You well remember that horrible time in Far West after Colonel Hinkle betrayed my sons into the hands of the Missourians.”

Mary Ann felt a little shudder run through her. Benjamin had ended up in chains from that one as well. “I remember it well.”

“You can imagine the shock and distress that Father Smith and I felt at the loss of our sons. Their enemies were threatening to shoot them at any moment. I was not allowed to even say a proper good-bye. We didn’t know if we would ever see them again.”

“How can any of us ever forget what you went through?”

“Well, for some time our house was filled with mourning and grief. We were at a loss as to what to do. But then, in the midst of my grief, I found solace which surpassed all earthly comfort.”

Mary Ann leaned forward. “What?”

“I was filled with the Spirit of God, and by the gift of prophecy I received the following words: ‘Let your heart be comforted concerning your children. They shall not be harmed by their enemies. And in five years from this time, Joseph will have power over his enemies.’”

Silence filled the room. Mary Ann watched the wrinkles smooth a little.

“That was in November, eighteen thirty-eight. The five years were up this last November.”

Mary Ann nodded slowly. “No wonder you find solace in that promise,” she murmured. “What a wonderful thing.”

“Yes,” Mother Smith said firmly, “the time has elapsed. The promise is fulfilled. Joseph and Hyrum are where no one can hurt them now, and they have triumphed over all their enemies.” Her eyes dropped. “And if the Lord sees fit to take Samuel as well, how can I forbid him to unite these brothers again?”

“I understand how you feel,” Mary Ann sighed. Then, after a moment, she added, “It’s not fair, you know.”

“What isn’t fair?” Mother Smith asked in surprise.

“I come here to try and comfort you, and you end up comforting me.”

There was a sad smile. “It is the Lord who comforts us both,” she said, “and we can both be grateful for it.”

They heard a noise and looked up. Young Joseph was standing at the entrance to the sitting room. “Grandma, Sister Jane is here.”

“Jane?” Then her shoulders straightened. “Jane Manning?”

“Yes, Grandma.”

“Oh, do show her in.” Both of them stood as Joseph left, and then in a moment, he came back in with a young black woman in her mid-twenties.

“Mother Smith,” the woman said, and opened her arms. They embraced, rocking back and forth slowly. “I’m just back from Burlington. I hear that Samuel is not well.”

“No, Jane, not well at all.”

“I tried to see Sister Emma before we left, but young Joseph said she was still too distraught for visitors. How is she doing?”

“Poor Emma. She has been devastated by the loss of Joseph. Hyrum’s wife is greatly bereaved as well, but it has not laid her low in the same manner as it has Emma.”

“Emma’s being with child must surely be part of that,” Mary Ann spoke up.

Jane Manning looked at her and smiled. “Good morning, Sister Steed. I should have known you would be here.”

She came over and took Mary Ann’s hands. “It is good to see you again, Jane,” Mary Ann said. “I heard you and Angeline had gone off for a time.”

“Yes, we went to visit family and have just returned. Then I heard about Samuel. That is terrible, just terrible. As if killing two of the Smith sons were not enough. And I wanted to come see Mother Smith as well.” She smiled cheerfully. “I needed some cheering.”

Mary Ann nodded knowingly. “I was just speaking to her about that, as a matter of fact.”

Jane turned back to Joseph’s mother. “I saw the boys outside. They seem to be doing well.” She looked at Mary Ann for a moment. “And your granddaughter. She is going to be a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Yes, quite. And I pity the man who marries her who doesn’t have a very large sack filled with answers.”

They all laughed at that as they sat down now. As Jane began to quiz Lucy about how things were going, Mary Ann sat back and watched. Jane Manning had been a servant girl at the Mansion House for several months during the previous winter. Born a free black in Connecticut, she and her family had heard the gospel and then left to come out to Nauvoo with a group headed by one of the missionaries. Emma had told Caroline and Lydia that Jane’s family had come with great difficulty, that when they got to Buffalo, New York, the steamship captain refused them passage because they were colored. Jane and her family had to part with the main group and ended up walking the whole distance. When they arrived, Joseph and Emma had taken them in—all nine of them—until they could find homes. A week later they had all found homes and work, except for Jane. Joseph and Emma invited her to stay on as a hired servant to help Emma with the housework and with the guests who  frequently stayed at the Mansion House. Intelligent, cheerful, and a hard worker, she had not only been a great help with the work but also provided Emma and Mother Smith with pleasant companionship.

“So you are not working for Emma any longer?” Mary Ann asked.

Jane shook her head. “No, Emma and Brother Joseph were thinking about selling the Mansion House because it is so costly to run. That meant there was not enough for paying servants. Now with Joseph gone”—she shrugged—“I went to live with my mother.”

“Oh,” Mary Ann said, and sat back again. The effects of the death of Joseph were still rippling outward. Where would it stop?

As they walked back up Granger Street, Savannah walking quietly beside them but constantly looking up at Jane Manning, Mary Ann gave her a sideways look. “Jane, have you work?”

There was a slow shake of her head. “Not really. I’ve thought about going to Brother Robinson and asking him if there’s work at the Mansion House, but I’m not sure it would be the same now. Emma is so forlorn, and with Brother Joseph gone . . .”

“Yes, I know. The Mansion House used to be one of the happiest places in all of Nauvoo. Now it breaks one’s heart to even pass by it.” Then she came back to her original point. “Let me start asking around, see if we can’t find you something.”

“That would be wonderful,” Jane answered. “Thank you, Sister Steed.”

“Call me Mary Ann, please.”

“Sister Manning?”

Jane turned and looked down. “Yes, Savannah?”

“Why is your skin so brown?”

Mary Ann’s mouth dropped open. “
Savannah!
”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the sharpness in her grandmother’s voice. “What, Grandma?”

“You don’t ask things like—”

Jane’s hand went out, stopping her. “It’s all right,” she said. She slowed her step, looking at the young girl, whose face was filled with curious innocence. “Can I ask you a question first?”

“Sure.”

“Why is your hair so red?”

That seemed like a fair question to Savannah and she answered immediately. “Mama says God gave it to me to make me pretty.”

“And my Mama says God gave me brown skin to make me pretty.”

“Oh.” That seemed eminently reasonable. She nodded. “I think you’re very pretty, Sister Manning.”

Jane reared back a little, caught off guard by the open genuineness of the compliment. “Why, thank you, Savannah. What a nice thing to say.”