The Work and the Glory (523 page)

For several long seconds his wife said nothing, but he could feel her mind weighing that. “You’re not thinking of going to Nauvoo and just bringing her back, are you? Not without telling Joshua.”

He frowned into the darkness, not sure what he was thinking.

“Nathan!” Her voice was urgent and low. “He’d be absolutely furious.”

“Maybe.” That was way too optimistic, he thought, so he amended it a little. “Yeah, he would be. At first. But then, I wonder if he wouldn’t be glad. He’s worried about them, you can see that. Maybe in the long run he’d thank me.”

“Maybe. I watched him tonight when you were talking about it. But . . .” The idea that Nathan had just dropped on her was enormous in its potential hazards.

“Nauvoo is not a safe place, Lydia. We both know that. Oh, I don’t think they are in imminent danger, but there’s still  trouble brewing, and it won’t be over until every faithful Latter-day Saint has left.”

“Faithful Latter-day Saint?” Lydia repeated softly.

Nathan’s frown deepened. “Yes, I know. Mother wants Carl and Melissa to come too, but I don’t have much hope there. But Melissa isn’t alone with no husband to watch out for her.”

“Carl promised to watch out for Caroline and the children. He’ll be good in that way.”

“Yes, he will. But he’s not her husband. And Caroline doesn’t want to stay. She wants to be here with Joshua, you know that. So does Savannah.” He half chuckled in the darkness. “I’m a little surprised that we haven’t found her stowed away in some of the baggage by now.”

Again Lydia was silent for a considerable time. Then, “You really are serious about this?”

He blew out his breath in exasperation. “I don’t know. I won’t be surprised if I have to go all the way back to find something to trade for. And if so, then of course I’ll stop by and see her. Carl and Melissa too.”

There was no answer. So after a minute, he let go of her hand and went up on one elbow. “You don’t think it’s a good idea, do you?”

“I . . . I’m not sure, Nathan. You know how happy I’d be to have Caroline here. How happy she would be. But Joshua? It could really be bad. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do. But darn it all, why is he being so stubborn? I think he’s made up his mind that once we find a place in the West and get settled, he’ll bring his family out. So why won’t he just give in now?”

He stopped again, coming back to a major reason behind all this. “And I promised Mother I’d do something.”

“Have you told her what you’re thinking?”

“No.” He hadn’t dared express his thoughts out loud, even to himself, until now.

He could hear her breathing evenly in the darkness and could feel her mulling it all over in her mind. Finally she turned her head to face him. “You know that I trust your judgment, Nathan.” It was a simple statement, not a question.

“Yes. And you know that I trust yours. That’s why I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Have you prayed about it?”

“I’ve been praying about it since Mother told me her dream. Then when everything happened today, I thought, maybe this is the answer.”

“And maybe it is.”

“But you’re not sure?”

“No. And neither are you.”

“I know,” he answered glumly.

“Why don’t you talk to Brother Brigham?” she said on sudden impulse. “You said you wanted to go by anyway and tell him that we would be laying back until we can get the wagon fixed and team situation solved.”

There was instant relief at that suggestion. “Yes. That’s a good idea. He knows the situation well enough to give good counsel.”

“He does.”

“Thank you, my love.” He felt the tension easing out of him just that quickly. “Maybe now I can get some sleep.”

She laid her hand on his chest, smiling softly at him in the darkness. “It’s hard being Benjamin, isn’t it?”

Chapter Notes

During the first week of March the weather over Iowa mellowed considerably. It was a blessing in one way, but many of the primitive roads the Saints were following quickly turned into a morass of nearly impassable mud. On the afternoon of the third of March, after several wagons were broken, Brigham Young called a halt to the camp for a time of rest and repairs. They laid over for the fourth as well. The first wagons had left the city on the fourth of February. It had been one full month now, and they were still less than thirty miles from Nauvoo. (See CN, 9 March 1996, p. 12.)

Chapter 5

  If this isn’t a good time, Brother Brigham,” Nathan started, watching the President of the Quorum of the Twelve as he peered into the small mirror hung from a tree branch and finished shaving, “I could—”

“No, no, Nathan.” He got the last vestige of shaving soap off, reached for a towel, and scrubbed at his face. “In fact, with us laying over here today, this is a good time. Better than most.”

Nathan looked around as the Apostle wiped the straight razor and put it back in its case. Brigham’s camp was laid out with his fifteen wagons forming a rough square. In his group alone there were nearly three dozen people, more than the Steeds had with all of their families. Nathan wasn’t sure how many wives Brigham had now—he had never felt it proper to ask. Rumor said as many as twelve, some said nine, others many more. Some of those women, such as Lucy Ann Decker, Nathan knew for certain had been taken as a direct result of Joseph’s commandment to the Twelve to live the principle of plural marriage. More recently, some had been taken as wives because they were women who had lost their husbands through death or divorce or abandonment and had no way of going west. So Brigham had married them and taken them in, and in some cases their children too, and made them part of his own family.

Though it was a large camp that Brigham kept, it was neat and well organized. Many campsites were strewn with bedding or clothing or other personal belongings. Some cooked a meal and then, too tired to walk to the nearest stream, would pack their pans and kettles back in the wagons with only a cursory scraping. Not Brigham, even though he had a far better excuse for neglecting personal things than most.

As if to verify Nathan’s thoughts, Brigham picked up his razor, the razor strap, the towel, and his hairbrush and walked over to the nearest wagon. He slipped them into a box, laying the towel across the top so it could dry out. He said something to someone inside the wagon, then came back over to Nathan. “All right. How about we walk? If we stay here . . .” There was a sudden wry grin. “Let’s just say there sure are a lot of people who want Brother Brigham to solve their problems.” His voice became mimicking. “ ‘There’s not enough grease in the grease bucket.’ ‘The bacon is rancid.’ ‘Brother Brigham, so-and-so borrowed my hammer and now they won’t give it back.’ ” He took Nathan’s arm and steered him away from the wagons. “Sometimes I feel more like Mother Brigham than Brother Brigham.”

Nathan started to chuckle, but then instantly sobered. “And here I am bringing you another problem.”

Brigham looked startled for a minute, then laughed heartily. “I wasn’t thinking about you, Nathan. And I didn’t mean to complain. We’ve got a lot of good families, like your own, that are taking care of themselves. They’re just out there being faithful and dependable. But we’ve also got a whole lot of people who somehow think that it’s the responsibility of the Twelve to lace their boots and sugar their mush and tuck them into bed every night.”

Seeing that he wasn’t helping Nathan’s mood, he clapped him on the shoulder. “Tell you what. If I think you’re bothering me with something frivolous, I’ll turn right around and send you back to your wagon. Fair enough?”

“Fair enough.” Nathan took a breath and plunged in. He didn’t have to say much about Joshua because Brigham knew the whole situation well. He had even talked to Joshua personally about going west some months before. It had done no good, but the President had been pretty direct with him. So Nathan mentioned only briefly the circumstances he was facing now, beginning with his mother’s dream. From there he moved to his conversation with Lydia the night before.

They were now some three or four hundred yards out away from the wagons on a slight knoll that gave them a clear view of the camp below them. Brigham tested a patch of grass with the toe of his boot to see if it was wet; then, satisfied, he sat down, motioning for Nathan to do the same. Once settled, Brigham folded his arms across his knees and rested his chin upon them.

Brigham Young was nearly forty-five years old now. Unlike some others in the Quorum, Brigham was still clean shaven. That and the fact that he wore his hair to his collar and that it naturally turned under in what women called a bob made him look younger than he was. But Nathan could tell the responsibility of being “Mother Brigham” was wearing on him. As President of the Quorum of the Twelve, he had led the Church for almost two years. Nathan thought he could see some deepening lines that were probably the direct result of that.

Brigham’s face had filled out some over the years, and there was the first hint of gray in his reddish brown hair, but the blue-gray eyes were not dimmed in any way. They gazed out now on the sprawling camp before them, alert, thoughtful, perceptive. When Nathan finished and sat back, the Apostle finally turned and looked directly at him. “So you’re asking me if I think you ought to fetch Caroline and the children without Joshua knowing beforehand?”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Nathan answered, a little lamely. “I’m really torn on this one. I feel so strongly that Caroline and the children need to be out here with us—with him.”

“I couldn’t agree more on that point.”

“We’ve tried everything to convince Joshua of that, but . . .” He shrugged. “Well, you know Joshua.”

“Yes, I do know Joshua. And so do you. And I suspect that’s one of the reasons why you’re not sure this is a wise thing to do.”

Looking away, frustrated and confused, Nathan nodded.

“He might eventually accept it and thank you for it. Or it could do some pretty serious damage.”

Nathan nodded glumly. That was what was giving him fits in this whole thing.

Brigham’s head came up. “But there’s a great principle here, isn’t there?”

“Are you talking about agency?”

“Well, yes, that too. A man’s family is his own stewardship—” A wry smile flashed suddenly. “And we need to be careful about minding another person’s stewardship. But it really wasn’t agency I was thinking about. I was thinking more along the lines of faith.”

Nathan caught himself. “Faith?”

“Yes, faith. Did you happen to be in the meeting last December where I read to the people a letter from Elder Orson Pratt? It was his farewell letter to the Saints in the East, including those that would be taking sail on the Brooklyn.”

“I guess not.”

“Well, Brother Orson was exhorting them to come west and join with us—or take the ship around the horn of South America. And he said something like this: ‘Do not be fainthearted or slothful, but be diligent and courageous. Be prayerful and faithful and you can accomplish almost anything that you undertake. What great and good work can we not do if we have faith and ambition?’ ”

Brigham’s eyes were pensive now as he tried to recall the exact words. “ ‘We can do almost anything, for our Father in heaven will strengthen us if we are strong. He will work according to our faith. If we say we cannot go west, God will not help us. But if we say, in the name of the Lord, that we will go, and set ourselves to do it, then we will go and he will help us.’ ”

Nathan was nodding vigorously. “Exactly. If Joshua had even a touch of faith, there wouldn’t be any problem. And that is really troubling to me. He’s seen so much. He should be dead, but he was blessed by the priesthood and survived a terrible wound. He was there when Joseph blessed Pa and saved him from dying. On that same day, he went across the river and watched Joseph raise Elijah Fordham from his deathbed.”

“I know,” Brigham said quietly. “I was there that day too, remember?”

“Yes, that’s right. So why can’t Joshua believe? He’s a good man, President. You know that, but he’s just so darn stubborn.”

There was an enigmatic smile now on the senior Apostle’s face. “Actually, Nathan, when I referred to faith, I wasn’t thinking about Joshua’s faith—or lack of it.”

Nathan blinked in surprise. “Oh?” And then he saw Brigham’s expression. Nathan’s eyes suddenly widened. “You’re talking about my faith?”

“Or lack of it,” Brigham answered gently.

“But . . .” He sat back, completely astonished.

“Nathan, you said you came to me for counsel.”

“Yes, I did. I—”

“Do you remember what Joseph always used to say? When he was asked how he governed his people, he said, ‘I teach them correct principles, and they govern themselves.’ ”

“Yes, I remember that.”

The wry smile that made Brigham seem suddenly more like a young boy broke out again. “Actually, I’ve thought that what Joseph might have said was, ‘We teach them correct principles, and we teach them correct principles, and we teach them correct principles, and then they govern themselves.’ ”

Nathan laughed aloud at that. How true that was!

“Be that as it may. Rather than counseling you, Nathan, let me teach you a principle or two, and then you can decide for yourself what is best.”

“Yes, sir,” he said meekly, still too dumbfounded by Brigham’s accusation to do anything but listen.

“I wish I had thought to bring my scriptures,” Brigham went on, “but I’ll give you one reference as best I can. It comes from the Doctrine and Covenants. It’s one that has taken on special meaning for me in these last few weeks.”

“All right.”

“This was a revelation given back in eighteen thirty-four, I believe. You remember back then, Nathan? We were still building the temple in Kirtland. We had hundreds of people coming to Kirtland with nothing but what they carried. They expected the Church to help them. We had no money. No resources. And yet there we were, building this massive building to our God.”

“Yes, I remember it well.”

“Well, near the end of this revelation the Lord said a remarkable thing. Joseph and the Church were deeply in debt at that time, so the Lord started out by saying, ‘It is my will that you should pay your debts.’ When you think about it, that alone is a little strange. This is God, remember, and it was his house that we were building. He could have simply said, ‘Don’t worry about paying back those worldly men who have given you money. All things are mine anyway, so forget about paying it back.’ But he did not. He said that it was his will that Joseph pay off his debts. Then what follows is very profound. I’ve thought about it over and over.”