“I can’t,” he said softly.
“But why? It’s been over ten years. Surely they’ve forgiven you by now.”
He shook his head slowly, not meeting her eyes.
“Joshua,” she pleaded, “they can’t be that unreasonable. They keep writing to you. I know you and your father came to blows, but it’s done. It’s over. It’s been nearly eleven years!”
He was staring at his hands. “It’s more than that.” The fingers clenched into fists. “That night when I told you about my past . . .” He opened his hands and spread them out, palms down. “I didn’t tell you everything.”
The hurt in her eyes was like a spear thrust in his side.
“It is something I can barely bring myself to think about,” he added, knowing how totally weak it sounded.
Now it was she who looked away from him. “Then maybe it’s time you did, Joshua.”
It took him almost ten minutes. It came out in halting, stammering, pain-filled phrases. About how his brother Nathan had come to Jackson County looking for him in the summer of 1834. About his shock and yet his elation at seeing a family member again. Then had come the bitter words, the terrible recriminations, the blind fury. And Joshua had walked out, turning his own flesh and blood over to the men with the bullwhips.
For a long time after he finished, the house was completely quiet. Finally, Caroline stood and walked to the window. She pulled the curtain back and stared out. After several moments, he spoke. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It’s not that I was trying to hide it. It’s just . . .” He took a breath. “Even after four years it makes me ill to think about what I did.”
She didn’t answer, nor did she turn around.
“Now,” he said, his voice bleak, “now do you see why I can’t face them?”
At last she turned. She shook her head. “No, Joshua. Now I feel all the more strongly about it. You have to face them. You have to face Nathan. Tell him what you’re feeling. Tell him you’re sorry.”
“Sorry!” he exploded. “I am responsible for having my own brother—the brother I was closest to all the time I was growing up—I am responsible for having him beaten senseless, whipped until his back was a bloody pulp, and I’m supposed to go and say I’m sorry! Doesn’t that seem just a little inadequate to you?”
“You have to,” Caroline said, her voice trembling in response to his own anguish. “You have to, Joshua.”
He dropped his head into his hands. “I can’t, Caroline. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
* * *
On April twelfth, 1838, the high council court in Far West, Missouri, found Oliver Cowdery guilty of six of the nine charges brought against him. Two were not proven and one was withdrawn. He was excommunicated from the Church. When his brother-in-law, David Whitmer, learned that charges were being drawn up against him, he withdrew his name from the records of the Church rather than face the high council court.
In Kirtland, the faithful Saints were abandoning the city in droves now, leaving or preparing to leave for Missouri. Martin Harris, completely disaffected and disheartened by what had happened during the past several months, had been excommunicated the previous December. He decided that Missouri held nothing for him and stayed behind to salvage what he could in Ohio.
And thus within a period of a few short months, all Three Witnesses to the Book of Mormon were excommunicated from the Church of Christ, or the Church of the Latter-day Saints, as it was variously called.
On the twenty-sixth of that same month, April 1838, Joseph Smith received a revelation from the Lord calling on the members of the Church to gather to northern Missouri and build the kingdom there. Among other things the Lord also declared that his Church should officially be called The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Chapter Thirty
It was Sunday, the third day of June, 1838, and with the final worship service of the day finished, the Steeds had gathered to the home of Benjamin and Mary Ann. Even on normal occasions the Sunday gatherings taxed the home’s capability. Benjamin had lost almost everything in the financial difficulties in Ohio, and so far they had been able to secure nothing more than a few acres west of town and the cabin Matthew had received from John Griffith in trade for the farm at Haun’s Mill. Matthew had started to add two small rooms at the back by the time Benjamin and Mary Ann had arrived the first part of November. Over the winter Benjamin and Matthew had finished those rooms, but the cabin was still small and only modestly furnished. And today there were more Steeds than normal.
The previous day Jessica and John Griffith had driven over with their children from Haun’s Mill to spend the weekend, which meant there were eighteen people in all at the Steed home—counting the two new babies. And that really tested the limits of the small three-room house. But fortunately the weather had stayed pleasant, and they had eaten outside. Now things had settled a little. Both babies were asleep, and the children were out back playing a spirited game of “statue tag,” with Peter serving as referee. The adults had gathered on the front porch or around the steps to visit. They chatted lazily, not wanting to rush the time when John and Jessica would have to start for home.
As Mary Ann looked around, she reflected on what an odd collection the family circle was turning out to be—two grandparents, three natural children, two daughters-in-law (she still thought of Jessica that way, though she had not been married to their son now for several years), a step-son-in-law, six natural grandchildren, and two stepgrandchildren. That made sixteen Steeds in all. Their two “adopted” sons from England, Derek and Peter, made up the total of eighteen.
The men, including Matthew and Derek, were talking about the weather and the need for rain now that they had the wheat and corn crops in. The women were talking about Emma Smith’s new baby boy born the day before, and that naturally led the conversation to Jessica’s and Lydia’s newborns. As they went on, a great contentment settled over Mary Ann. She noted that John reached out and took Jessica’s hand while she was speaking. She did not stop, but turned and smiled warmly at him. Nathan and Lydia were already touching, her hand resting lightly on his arm.
Mary Ann had worried herself nearly into exhaustion over these two women of hers. When Jessica announced she was with child, the nagging fears started immediately. In several pregnancies, only once had she been able to carry a child full term. Mary Ann went to the settlement on Shoal Creek and spent the last three weeks of Jessica’s time with her. On March fifteenth, when the baby came out as healthy as a lumberjack and weighing almost as much, Mary Ann had dropped to her knees and wept out her thanks to the Lord. They named him John after his father and Benjamin after his grandfather.
And Lydia had been no less an emotional drain on Mary Ann. When the letter came in late January announcing that she and Nathan were leaving Kirtland to come to Missouri as soon as possible, Mary Ann had a whole new source of concern. Here Lydia was, less than three months from delivery and traveling eight hundred miles with three young children in the worst of the winter season. But in late February they had finally arrived, and there had been no ill effects. Elizabeth Mary Steed came out pink as a Vermont sunrise and with a pair of lusty lungs that could be heard three houses away in any direction.
There was still the empty ache inside whenever she thought of Melissa and Carl and the three grandchildren in Kirtland. But while she had lost a daughter, she had also regained a son. Her eyes moved to her youngest, and something deep inside her smiled. It was so good to have Matthew back with them. His natural cheerfulness and perpetual love for people always cheered her. And he was always sneaking up behind her and surprising her with a hug or a quick peck on the cheek. And to see him working the land side by side with Benjamin gave her great satisfaction.
She turned slightly. Derek was standing at ground level, looking down at Rebecca, who sat on the step. He was talking animatedly about his recent trip with Brother Joseph and some of the brethren to the northern part of Caldwell County and into Daviess County to scout out new locations for settlements. As she watched her daughter, Mary Ann’s thoughts turned to Arthur Wilkinson, the young man who had proposed marriage to Rebecca about two years before. How grateful she was that Rebecca had had the foresight—and courage—to tell him no. It had cost her. Mary Ann had wept over that pain too, a pain that didn’t end like the pain of delivering a baby, because Arthur Wilkinson turned viciously bitter. Mary Ann had prayed much over this sweet and gentle daughter of hers. She wanted her to be happy. So it was wonderful to see what was starting to happen between her and Derek.
Rebecca’s face was a study in concentration. She would watch Derek intently, nodding or murmuring at the right places, then suddenly she would smile softly to herself as he dropped his
h
’s or used some other peculiarly English expression. It was too early to make solid predictions, of course, but both Mary Ann and Benjamin were cheering Derek on. He was so painfully shy around Rebecca, and strangely, she was much more reticent around him than she was with anyone else. And so the relationship was developing very slowly. But Derek was a fine young man. The world would probably call him simple and unlearned, but his spiritual depth was remarkable, and his openness to life in America and as a Latter-day Saint was constantly refreshing to all of them.
With a sudden start Mary Ann remembered the patriarchal blessing Rebecca had received from Joseph Smith, Sr. After her experience with Arthur the words had been particularly comforting both to Rebecca and her mother. “You will find a righ-teous man,” the Lord had promised through Father Smith, “a worthy priesthood holder who will make you the queen of his home.” Sudden tears sprang to Mary Ann’s eyes. She had not thought of it before, but here, not two feet away from Rebecca, stood Derek Ingalls from Preston, England. In the blessing the Lord had told Rebecca to be patient, but promised her if she was, the blessing would be forthcoming. And now Derek was here, had come within the very circle of the family so that he could not possibly miss her. Mary Ann shook her head, marveling. How great was the goodness of God!
Derek was making some comment to Rebecca about “Adam-ondi-Ahman,” which brought Jessica’s head around. “What was that you called it?” she asked.
“Adam-ondi-Ahman.”
Jessica looked puzzled. “What is that? I know there’s a hymn about it, but I’ve never really understood what it’s all about.”
“That’s right,” Nathan said, “you and John haven’t heard Derek’s report. Derek went north with Joseph and some others to check out the lay of the land. Tell them what happened, Derek.”
Derek was a little flustered to be the center of attention, but he was also pleased. “Well, we went up into Daviess County, up where Lyman Wight has a settlement and a ferry service across the Grand River.”
“Yes,” Jessica said, “I know Colonel Wight.”
Derek glanced quickly at Rebecca, then back to Jessica. “It’s beautiful country. So green.” His voice turned wistful. “It reminds me in some ways of England. Peter would love it.”
“So,” Nathan broke in, “tell Jessica about Di-Ahman.”
“Di-Aham?” she said, looking confused.
“That’s short for Adam-ondi-Ahman,” Derek explained. “Anyway, the morning after we arrived, Joseph took us about a half mile upriver, near Wight’s Ferry, to a place the brethren there call Spring Hill.”
“Spring Hill,” Rebecca corrected him, her eyes teasing him. Derek had dropped the
H
as he often did, pronouncing it
’Ill.
“This is one time your Lancashire pronunciation loses something of the meaning.”
Derek pulled a face at himself. “Spring Hill,” he said, forcing out the
H
with exaggerated breathiness. “Anyway, that’s where Brother Joseph wants to start a settlement. But then he surprised us all. ‘You may call this Spring Hill,’ he said, ‘but the Lord has named it something else.’”
“Adam-ondi-Ahman?” Jessica guessed.
“Yes.”
“But what does it mean?” her husband asked.
“Ah, that’s what was so exciting,” Derek went on eagerly. “Brother Joseph said the Lord revealed to him that Adam-ondi-Ahman is the place where Adam, or the Ancient of Days, shall come just prior to Christ’s second coming, as was seen in vision by the prophet Daniel.”
John Griffith shook his head. “I guess I’m not familiar with that.”
“It’s in the seventh chapter of the book of Daniel,” Lydia said. When Derek had returned to report what had happened, the family had gathered together and found the account in Daniel and read it together. It had thrilled them all deeply. “It will be a wonderful thing,” she went on. “Christ will come and receive the kingdom the Saints have been preparing for him. Then he will assume his rightful power and dominion over all the earth in preparation for the millennial reign. Daniel says there will be ten thousand times ten thousand of the Saints there.”
Jessica was suitably impressed, as was her husband. He looked at her. “When we get home tonight, I would like to read that. It sounds wonderful.”
Derek again looked at Rebecca, then away quickly. “Now that Sister Emma has had the baby, Brother Joseph is going back up north again to lay out the city plat. They’re going to call the new settlement Adam-ondi-Ahman.”
“Hmm,” Benjamin said. “I didn’t know he was leaving again that soon. But it’s a good thing they’re establishing another place. With Kirtland emptying out and new members coming in from all over, Far West just can’t handle everybody anymore.”
“I’m going with him,” Derek said quietly.
Rebecca looked up quickly. “Again?” she asked.
He looked away. “I’m going to ask for an inheritance up there.”
“What?” Matthew blurted.
“You’re what?” Lydia exclaimed.
Mary Ann’s head had come up sharply, and she was staring at him in dismay. But no one was as shocked as Rebecca. She looked stunned. And betrayed.
Derek rushed on. “I’ve thought a lot about it. It’s good farmland up there. And there are just too many families here in Far West who need land. It’s easier for us to go, Peter and me.” He finally looked at Rebecca. “Up there I can get a start.” He laughed, but it came out hollow and forced. “There ain’t—isn’t—much call for coal shovelers out here. I know I’m not much of a farmer yet, but Nathan and Matthew and Father Steed have taught me a lot.”