The Work and the Glory (475 page)

“What is it, Sheriff? Who is that after you?”

He had to bend over slightly. His chest was rising and falling like a blacksmith’s bellows. “Men from Warsaw!” His words came out between huge gulps of air. “They’re determined to kill me. I command you in the name of the state to protect me.”

Porter and the others turned to peer at the riders, who were now milling around in confusion as they tried to determine what to do. Porter and his companions all had the same thought: this was the same group of men who had been burning out the Saints. Rockwell’s mouth was tight. “We
will
protect you. We have two rifles here and about fifty rounds.”

“Thank the Lord,” Backenstos breathed. “I thought they had me.”

“What’s going on?” Joshua demanded. “Why are they after you?”

Backenstos removed his hat and wiped at his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. “A mob drove me out of Carthage yesterday afternoon. They were so enraged at me for trying to raise a posse to stop the burnings. I finally went to Warsaw last night.”

“That’s not the safest place for someone who’s viewed as a Jack Mormon,” Joshua observed dryly.

The sheriff didn’t answer for a moment. His eyes were fixed on the group of riders, who, for the moment at least, were not coming any closer. Then he looked at Joshua. “I thought I had friends there. But by this morning, word got out that I was there. It was worse than in Carthage. I wasn’t sure I was going to get out alive. I finally prevailed upon one of the leading citizens to escort me out of town. He didn’t want to—he hates the Mormons more than anyone—but fortunately, he didn’t believe in killing sheriffs either.”

He stopped, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “He rode with me about a mile out of town, then warned me that if I saw any riders, I’d better run for it, because there were deep plans laid to kill me. A few minutes later, I saw this group on the next road over from me, so I took off. I was far enough ahead of them, I thought I could outrun them. But then they found a road that would cut across my track.” He shook his head. “I thought they had me.”

“They’re coming!” Nathan cried in a low voice.

All heads jerked around toward the riders. They were advancing, but at a cautious walk. One man was out ahead of the others. He had a pistol in his hand. They came forward about fifty yards, then stopped again. The leader raised his hand to his mouth. “You there! At the wagon! Who are you?”

Backenstos stood up and cupped his hands to his mouth. “They are my deputies, sir. I just deputized them. Now, turn around and go home.”

There was a low muttering cry but it was indistinguishable as to words. They started moving again. Porter Rockwell leaned forward, resting the rifle on the side of the wagon box, taking aim at the man.

“All we want is Backenstos,” the leader yelled. “Go away and you won’t be harmed.”

“It’s over,” Backenstos shouted back. “Go home.”

“All we want is Backenstos. Whoever the rest of you are, just turn and walk away and you won’t get hurt.”

“I think they’re Mormons,” someone cried out. He started to curse. “Backenstos has found him some stinking Mormons to help him.”

The leader of the riders pulled his rifle out of the saddle holster. The others followed suit. “Get away from him, Mormons, or we’ll gun you down like dogs.” And with that he started forward again, still coming slowly, but coming nevertheless.

“Don’t do it!” the sheriff yelled, his voice touched with desperation now.

They didn’t stop. The five men behind the wagon watched as the riders came closer. Seventy-five yards. Fifty yards. Forty yards.

“Fire!” Backenstos yelled into Rockwell’s ear.

Porter Rockwell had been sighting on the spot where the lead rider’s belt buckle would be. He took a quick breath, let part of it out, then squeezed the trigger. The blast of the rifle made Nathan jump and there was the instant smell of gunpowder.

Forty yards away, the man leading the charge was blown from his saddle as if by some unseen puff of wind. The pistol went flying from his hand as he went head over heels over the rump of his horse and hit the ground with a thud that was clearly heard by all.

That did it. Screaming, cursing, swearing, the other men jerked their horses around and raced away, leaving the body of their leader sprawled in the muddy roadway, facedown, not moving.

“You’re positive it was Frank Worrell?” the sheriff asked, standing now to stare at the body about forty yards from where they were.

Porter Rockwell and Nathan nodded at the same instant. Both had walked out to see who it was that Porter had shot.

Porter thought it might be Worrell, but Nathan was sure. Fifteen months before, Nathan had been in Carthage with Joseph and Hyrum Smith. He had seen Frank Worrell face-to-face. “Yes,” he said to Backenstos. “It’s Frank Worrell.”

Backenstos sighed, clearly troubled, and yet angry too. “Well, Worrell has been one of the ringleaders in all of this.”

“I am sorry that a man has died here today,” Porter said in a low voice, “but with Frank Worrell, there is some justice in having him come to this kind of an end.”

“And you’re sure he’s dead?” Joshua asked. He too was grim. He didn’t blame anyone. He had been ready to fire on the riders too, but Porter’s single well-fired shot had eliminated the need. But Frank Worrell! He knew the name as well. It would send a fire through the ranks of the antis. They had a martyr now too.

A half an hour had passed. The four Mormons and the sheriff of Hancock County were still there by the brook, crouched down behind the wagon, watching to see what might happen. They did not dare go forward for fear that the men they had spooked might sneak back to ambush them.

Then Redden straightened. “Here comes someone.”

They moved closer together, all of them behind the protective cover of the wagon box. A lone rider appeared coming up the narrow road that led to Worrell’s body. A moment later, a wagon pulled by two mules appeared behind him. They watched closely, looking for others. There were none to be seen. Both rider and wagon came on slowly.

Nathan saw that the rider was waving something back and forth. “He’s carrying a white flag,” he said to the others.

Rockwell had the rifle cradled in his arm, and for a moment Nathan thought he would drop into the shooter’s crouch again and prepare for action. But he straightened fully now, then set his rifle in the wagon bed. He lifted both arms high. “We’ll not be disturbing you,” he shouted. “You are free to come and get your man.”

There was no response except that the three men came on until they reached the body. All were clearly frightened. Their heads kept jerking in the direction of the sheriff and his “deputies.” But when it was clear that the five men by the crossing were not going to try and stop them, the man on the horse and the second man in the wagon got down. One took Worrell’s arms, the other his legs. In a moment, they had him in the wagon. In a few moments, the wagon was backed around and started west again. The white flag was tossed aside, and finally the road was empty.

Without a word, Porter Rockwell climbed up onto the wagon seat. Return Redden followed. Joshua and Nathan untied their horses and mounted. Jacob Backenstos went to his buggy. He patted the horse and rubbed its now dry neck softly. Then he too climbed up. He looked to his four benefactors. “Much obliged, friends. Go with care.”

“We will. Thank you for what you’re trying to do,” Redden answered back.

Porter clucked at the horses and snapped the reins. The wagon started off. Joshua watched them for a moment, not moving, then looked at Nathan. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

Nathan felt the unhappiness all the way through him. “Yes.”

Grim-faced, Joshua said nothing more. He kicked his heels gently into the horse’s flanks and started after the wagon. After a moment, Nathan fell in behind him.

Caroline looked up as the door opened. It was almost nine-thirty, and normally she would have been in bed by now. Though fifteen months had passed since the accident, she still found that she tired easily. But like Lydia, whose lamp still could be seen in the window across the street, Caroline had determined she would not be going to bed until her man returned safely.

She set the book aside. “I’m in here,” she called, rising to greet him. They met in the hallway and she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Joshua, I am so glad to have you back.”

He bent down and kissed her lightly. “I’m glad to be home.”

She caught the tone of his voice and gave him a closer look. “Did everything go okay today?”

“We brought back the last three families.”

His evasiveness only raised her concerns higher. “What’s the matter, Joshua?”

He looked around. “Are the children all asleep?”

“Well, except for Will and Alice. Jenny and Matthew invited them to supper with Peter and Kathryn to talk about wedding plans. They shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Oh. Maybe I’ll run over and get them.”

She took his arm and pulled him back around as he turned away. “Joshua? What is it? What’s wrong?”

He sighed, his eyes hooded and weary, realizing that the news couldn’t wait until morning. “There was some trouble today. On the way down.”

Her fingers tightened on his arm. “What?”

“Some of the antis were chasing Sheriff Backenstos.”

“Sheriff Backenstos? But why?”

“He tried to raise a posse to stop the burnings.”

“What happened?”

“He saw us and asked us to help him. Deputized us, actually.” He was looking past her now, remembering.

“And?” she prompted.

“And when the men after him wouldn’t stop, he commanded us to fire. Porter Rockwell shot and killed their leader.”

One hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no!”

“Yes. Frank Worrell.”

The name sounded familiar to Caroline, but she didn’t know it well enough that it meant anything.

“It couldn’t have happened to a much nicer guy,” he said sarcastically, “but it’s not good, Caroline. They took his body back to Warsaw.” He didn’t have to say any more than that. If anyone on earth knew about the virulence of the hatred that resided in Warsaw, it was Caroline Steed.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said after a moment of watching her carefully, “but there will almost certainly be a backlash. And I can’t risk having Alice get caught up in the middle of it. Walter will get word of this in two or three days and be worried sick.” He stopped. “I guess Alice didn’t hear from her father today?”

Now it was Caroline who sighed. “No. I asked her about it and she admitted that she never sent the letter she wrote to him. She was too afraid of what he’s going to say.”

He threw up his hands. “You mean he doesn’t even know any of this yet?”

“No. Even Will was surprised.”

That made up his mind. “I’m sorry, Caroline. I hate to leave you again so soon, especially when there may be trouble brewing. But they’ll not dare come against Nauvoo. They’ve only got enough courage to hit the isolated settlements. But we’re catching the first boat out of here tomorrow. I’ll take Alice down there and—”

“No, you—meaning you and Will—will take her down there. Will had already made up his mind that he needs to go to St. Louis and talk to Walter personally.”

“He is going to be absolutely furious.”

“That’s why Will needs to go too, Joshua.”

He considered that for only a moment. “Yes, you’re right. He’s got to face it sooner or later. It may as well be sooner. The only thing in their favor is that Judith is going to be ecstatic when she learns they’ve decided to marry.” Then he groaned softly. “But Walter! Oh my, when he learns she wants to be a Mormon, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

“What can he do? She’s of age.”

“He’ll cut her off, that’s what he’ll do. He’s a reasonable man, but he thinks this whole Mormon thing is an abomination. He’s already threatened her, told her that if she even thinks about becoming a Mormon he’ll not have her in his house. Then what will she do?”

“She’ll become part of
our
family,” Caroline answered steadily. “If she loses her father and mother, she will gain a father-in-law and mother-in-law.” She gave him a hard look. “Or do you plan to reject her as well?”

“You know better than that.”

“Do I?”

“Yes. You know I think Alice is a wonderful girl. I think she will make Will a very good wife.”

“And the fact that she’s being baptized?”

“You were baptized. Will was baptized.” There was a doleful grin. “I suppose one more Mormon in the family won’t make that much difference.”

“Then help her, Joshua. Alice loves her parents very much, but especially her father. If Walter forces her to choose between him and Will and the Church, it will be terrible. For her and for him.”

He was shaking his head even as she spoke. “Caroline, Walter thinks that by taking a hard line, it will make her change her mind. In other words, he thinks that if she has to choose, she’ll not choose the Church. It’s going to be hard to convince him otherwise.”

“Joshua, do you know what finally helped Alice decide? It was Lydia.”

“Lydia?”

“Yes. Jenny told her that Lydia had faced a similar experience when she was trying to decide whether or not to marry Nathan. That night Alice went over and spent a long time talking with Lydia. I don’t know what Lydia told her, but it was after that that she made up her mind.”

“Is that really fair?” he said, a little peeved.

“I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “You and Carl talked your heads off to try and convince her not to be baptized. Melissa shared all of her reservations about plural marriage. Is that really fair? Why do you who are opposed to her joining get to say what you want and Lydia doesn’t?”

He sighed, and then finally smiled. “You’d think, after nine years of marriage, I would have learned that debating with you is like wrestling with a Brahma bull. It’s not very often I come out the winner.”

She looked up sweetly at him. “Was that your way of saying, ‘Yes, Caroline, you are right about what I just said’?”

“Yes, Caroline. Do you have to keep rubbing my nose in it?”

“No,” she answered contritely. She took him by the hand and led him back into the sitting room. She sat down on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. “Joshua?”