The Work and the Glory (89 page)

Then she remembered. There were two rivers that drained the water from the central highlands of Jackson County into the Missouri. East of town was the Little Blue River; west of town, the Big Blue. That meant she was not far from Kaw Township. She felt her spirits lift a little. There were settlers starting homesteads out here on the prairie. Perhaps she could find someone who would take her in until Joshua’s fury cooled enough that she could reason with him.

She squeezed the last of the water from her handkerchief, dabbed at her cheekbone one more time, then moved back onto the road. She turned her face to the west and began to walk again.

Kaw Township embraced all of that part of Jackson County that lay west of the Big Blue River and from the Missouri River south to the county line. The western edge of the township also served as the western border of the United States of America. Beyond that was Indian Territory, that vast reserve of land which President Andrew Jackson had set aside for the resettlement of the various native tribes.

Mostly the land was rolling prairie, an undulating sea of grass and wild flowers that always left newcomers from the East a little breathless with the vastness of its scope. Along the creek and river bottoms the timber was heavy and varied—oak, hickory, black walnut, elm, cherry, honey locust, mulberry, cottonwood, and maple. Plum, grapes, crab apple, wild raspberry, blueberry, and a multitude of other smaller trees and shrubs made the lowlands an almost impenetrable tangle. But beyond that, it was as though the land had been carefully cultivated and cared for.

With the limited timber, most of the settlers’ houses were low and squat, made either of double-hewn logs or, more commonly, from slabs of sod cut from the incredibly wiry prairie turf, so tough it took two span of oxen to pull a plow through it.

The home in which the missionaries to the Lamanites had chosen to live was a mixture of both. The walls were of logs, but only shoulder high. The roof line was low enough that a grown man had to stoop to enter. Cedar shingles were a luxury beyond the reach of any settlers in Kaw Township. Instead, a tight cross-hatch of tree limbs and thick willow sticks formed the base. Over that, slabs of prairie sod were laid. It was a functional, if not an attractive, shelter. The climate in western Missouri was much milder than that in New York and Ohio. The worst problem occurred when it rained hard enough to soak through the sod and begin to drip streams of mud on everything inside the house.

But today Oliver Cowdery was not worried about rain. It was already on its way to becoming a hot day in mid-July and he was in the small garden area behind the cabin, hoeing out the morning glory that was taking over their patch of sweet corn. Ziba Peterson and Peter Whitmer were about a hundred yards behind him, down by the creek, gathering dead sticks and tree limbs to be used for their cooking fire. Frederick G. Williams was in Independence, tending to the small tailor shop they ran to keep them in funds.

“Sir?”

The quiet voice brought Oliver around with a jerk. For a moment he just stared, his mind not registering what his eyes were seeing. Then he dropped the hoe and ran to the battered figure that was standing there, hands open, eyes pleading.

“Can you help me, sir?”

Oliver barely caught her as her knees buckled and she collapsed into his arms.

It was the next morning, about the same time, that Oliver was once again in the garden, trying to complete the task he had started the previous morning.

“Halloo the house.” The sound came floating across the fields gently, almost like an echo.

Oliver straightened, squinting into the bright sunshine. Peter Whitmer, near the front door, pounding out some cornmeal, looked up too, then leaped to his feet. Down by the road that ran between Independence and Kaw Village there were five—no, six—men walking briskly toward him. They all had hats on and knapsacks and bedrolls slung over their shoulders. These were traveling men, not some just come out for the day from the village. Oliver peered more intently. They all had traveling gear except for one, the one in the lead. He carried no pack. Now Oliver could clearly recognize that it was Frederick Williams. He was bringing company home.

Oliver started. He raised his hand to shade his eyes, not daring to believe. But there was no mistaking it. The man just behind Williams was tall, broad of shoulder, and striding along like no other man Oliver knew.

“Joseph?” he whispered in awe.

“It’s Joseph!” Peter cried.

“And there’s Martin Harris,” Oliver shouted. He threw the hoe down and leaped across the vegetables. As he broke into a run for the road, Peter Whitmer was hard on his heels, crying, “Joseph! Joseph! Joseph!”

“I can’t believe it,” Oliver said again, for at least the tenth time. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

The five newcomers were eating elk stew, mopping it up with johnnycake and corn dodger and washing it down with warm milk from the brindle cow the missionaries kept behind the cabin. The new arrivals were seated at the split log table while the four missionaries stood around watching them eat.

Joseph looked up at Oliver and smiled. “After eight hundred miles, the last two hundred or more on foot, neither can we, right, brethren?”

They all groaned.

“And there are others coming too?” Oliver asked after a minute.

“Yes, Oliver. We left Newel Knight and the entire Colesville Branch in St. Louis waiting for a steamboat. Brother Sidney Rigdon is with them.”

Martin shook his head ruefully. “They wanted us to wait and come with them, but you know Joseph; he’d rather walk two hundred miles on foot than wait three or four more days doing nothing.”

“They shouldn’t be many days behind us,” Joseph Coe spoke up.

“There’s a river steamer due in here next week,” Peter Whitmer said. “On the twenty-fifth, I believe. The
Chieftain.”

“That’s the one they’ve got passage on,” Martin said.

“Nathan Steed is with them,” Joseph said to Oliver.

“Really?” he cried. “That’s wonderful. What about Lydia?”

“No. He won’t be staying. Nathan is just helping Newel get the Colesville group here. He’s also most anxious to find Joshua.”

Oliver’s face fell. “Now, there’s a tragedy, then.”

“Why?”

“Joshua’s gone.”

“No!”

“Yes, and good riddance to him too.” He quickly told Joseph of the woman who had shown up on their doorstep the previous day. Joseph’s mouth tightened as Oliver described her condition.

“We have taken her to the Lewis family, not far from here. They are a good family who were baptized a few months ago. They will care for her well.”

“But Joshua is gone.”

“Yes,” Ziba spoke up. “We went into town to press charges against him. What he did to her is shameful, just shameful. But he’s disappeared. No one knows what’s happened to him. They’ve got the constable out looking for him now.”

“That is going to be a hard blow for Nathan.” Joseph sighed. “And his family. They were so excited to have finally located him again.”

Oliver’s face still showed his disgust. “He’s a man filled with anger. I met him some time ago, tried to talk to him about you. He boiled over almost instantly.”

“I know. I had hopes of talking with him too, putting some of the old feelings behind us.”

“Well,” Frederick Williams said, “there’s no chance for that now.” He straightened a little. “So tell us, has the Lord revealed the location of Zion yet?”

Joseph brightened. “No, Brother Williams. But he promised that if we would come here to Missouri, he would reveal the place to us.”

“Wonderful,” Ziba exclaimed. “That’s wonderful.”

“It is to be the gathering place for his people,” Martin breathed. “The Colesville Branch will only be the first of many.”

“Will you then leave Kirtland?” Oliver asked.

“No,” Joseph said firmly. “For now, at least, we are to build up both places.” He pushed his plate aside and leaned back. “We are trail worn and weary. We would like to rest for today, then tomorrow we shall have you show us around this country. Maybe then the Lord will show us his will concerning Zion.”

“Brother Lewis?”

“Yes.” The farmer stood in the doorway, framed by the light from within.

“My name is Nathan Steed. I’m with the group of Saints that just arrived from Ohio this morning.”

“Oh yes,” Lewis said. “Come in, come in.”

Nathan didn’t move. “I understand you have a woman living with you now, Jessica Steed?”

“Yes, we—” His eyes widened. “Nathan Steed did you say?”

Pain filled Nathan’s eyes. “Yes, I’m her brother-in-law. If you don’t mind, I wonder if I might speak to her outside.”

There was some concern in the man’s eyes, but he finally nodded. “I’ll ask her to come out.”

“I don’t blame him anymore,” Jessica said softly as they sat on a log out behind the Lewises’ sod hut. “I betrayed him in a way. I can see why he got so angry.”

It was not yet full dark, and in the soft light, the bruises around her eyes and mouth were muted, softened considerably. But even in the fainter light, and even after close to a week of healing, they still contrasted so starkly with her fair skin that it made one gasp to think of what must have caused them. Nathan’s jaw set, and he shook his head angrily. “There is no excuse for what he did to you, Jessica. None!”

She sighed, her eyes filled with a different kind of pain now. “He wasn’t always like that. But when he drank...” She couldn’t finish and looked away.

Nathan changed the subject and began to talk of his family. He told her about his mother and father, about Melissa and her beau. His eyes were soft with loneliness when he began to describe Matthew and Rebecca. She asked questions, hungry to know more. Finally, she looked across to him. “And what of your wife?”

So he began to talk about Lydia, told of her beauty, told of her decision to join the Church even at the cost of losing her family. And then he told her about little Joshua, told of his experience when he blessed him. His eyebrows pulled down into a deep frown. “Now,” he said, “I am all the more puzzled as to why I was to call him Joshua.” He shook it off. “Anyway, I’d really like you to meet Lydia sometime,” he finished.

She gave a short, soundless laugh. “I’ve always hated her, you know.”

That really startled Nathan, and this time she laughed out loud. “Strange, isn’t it? I’ve never met her, and yet I’ve hated her—or rather, I’ve hated what she was in Joshua’s mind.” And it all began to come out. Jessica had never had anyone to talk to about the hurt and the loneliness and the longings she had felt. But somehow the kindness in Nathan’s eyes and his burning indignation over what Joshua had done to her opened up a gate inside her and it all came flooding out. She talked quietly but steadily for almost fifteen minutes. She told him of how Joshua had come to her that night, drunk and hurt, and asked her to marry him. She told of his long absences, of his drinking, and of his poker. And eventually she told him of Doctor Hathaway and the curse she bore in her body. It was as though she had been carrying around a burden for so long that now that she had a chance to set part of it down, she wanted to set it all down.

When she finished, they sat silently for a long time, listening to the final night songs of the birds and the whispering of a breeze in the prairie grass. Finally, Nathan stirred. “Jessica?”

“Yes?”

“Once we get the Saints settled here, I’ll be going back. Why don’t you come with me? Come live with my family.”

Now it was her turn to be startled. She had not expected that. After a moment she shook her head.

“Why not? My father has a spacious house. You need a family now, Jessica.”

She sighed, not unhappily. “I’ve only been with the Lewis family about a week now, but they have asked that I stay with them permanently. I could help with the children.” She paused, becoming more sure of herself even as she spoke. “Missouri is my home now. And the Lewises are really wonderful.”

For a moment Nathan considered pressing the issue, but he could sense that Jessica had spoken from her heart, and so he only nodded.

“I’m reading the Book of Mormon now.”

“Really?”

She nodded.

“And?”

“Brother Lewis is going to ask Joseph if I can be baptized.”

Spontaneously, Nathan reached out and touched her arm. “That’s wonderful. I would like to be there.”

Her eyes widened for a moment with a thought. “Could you do it, Nathan?”

“I...well, yes, of course. I’m an elder.”

“I would like that, I think.”

“So would I.”

A thought jumped into Nathan’s mind. He gave her a sharp look.

“What?”

“Jessica, I...” His mind was racing. “In the Church we have the priesthood. The priesthood is the power to act for God on the earth.”

“Yes, Brother Lewis has talked about it.”

“In the book of James, in the New Testament, it says that when we are sick we should call for the elders of the Church, and they shall pray for the sick and anoint them with oil, and the Lord shall raise them up.”

“But...” She was totally perplexed. “But I’m not sick, Nathan.”

“Not in the normal sense,” he said, his voice eager now, the words coming in a rush. “But something’s wrong with your body that you can’t carry a child.”

She looked away. “I know.”

“But that’s just it,” he cried. “Let us give you a blessing. Let us bless you by the power of the priesthood which we hold. I can’t promise you anything, but it is worth a try.”

For a long, long moment Jessica stared into his eyes. “All right,” she finally said. There was little hope in her voice as she spoke.

Chapter Seventeen

T
hough not nearly as large or comfortably furnished as the home Benjamin had built for them in Palmyra, the new Steed home, purchased from one of the early settlers, was still one of Kirtland’s finer places to live. It was one story along the front, but the roof was built after the New England, Cape Cod style, sloping upward to the back of the house, then dropping vertically. This allowed for an attic in the back part of the house large enough to provide bedroom space for all three children, though Matthew and Becca shared one of the two rooms so that Melissa could have the other to herself.