“I haven’t seen Joseph all summer,” Nathan said. “Someone said you two had returned to Harmony.”
“Only to get my things,” Emma replied. “We were gone about a month.” A slight frown crossed her face. “My parents did not approve of my marrying Joseph. There’s still a little strain there.”
Surprised at her frankness, Nathan merely nodded.
She turned and looked at him. “Joseph said he told you of what happened in the grove near his home.”
“Yes, I…” He stopped, not sure if she expected a response, or if so, what it should be. He had thought about the conversation many times since then. It still stirred him deeply. Stirred and disturbed. That was one of the reasons why he had been hoping to see Joseph again.
If she noticed his hesitation, she gave no sign. “And the gold plates, did he tell you of those as well?”
Nathan turned and looked at her, then slowly shook his head. The gold plates. They were part of the legion of stories circulating about Joseph, but he had never said anything to Nathan about them, and with the cessation of their employment at the Steeds, Nathan had no chance to inquire further about them. Now Emma was confirming it. Or was she?
She smiled, somewhat wistfully, again not noticing his distraction. “Well, my father finds all this about Joseph as difficult to accept as most other people.”
Nathan gave her a sympathetic nod, wanting to ask for more details but sensing her mind was lost in other things. He determined at that moment to press Joseph further about the matter at the first opportunity.
“Would you mind if we crossed the street?”
Nathan looked up in surprise. Emma had slowed her step, her eyes clearly troubled. About four doors ahead of them, three men had just come out of Lilly’s coffeehouse and tavern. They were staring in their direction. One man’s arm lifted and pointed at them.
“No, of course not,” Nathan said quickly, remembering the day in town when the Murdocks had confronted Joseph.
They stepped off the boardwalk, waited for a large wagon loaded with sacks of grain to pass, then hurried across the street.
“Thank you.” She was on the verge of saying more but stopped abruptly. One of the men had darted back to the door of the tavern and was calling something inside. The other two were cutting across the street, coming directly for them.
“It’ll be all right, Emma. I’m here.”
“I know,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I just hate it so.”
Nathan took her elbow, changing sides with her so he was on the outside and she was next to the buildings. Nathan didn’t recognize either man, but there was no mistaking their intent. One was already leering as the two men stepped onto the sidewalk and planted their feet, blocking the way.
“Well, if it ain’t Mrs. Joe Smith herself,” the older man said, bowing low in a mock curtsy.
“Excuse us, please,” Nathan said firmly, pushing past them.
The second man was shabbily dressed, carried three or four days of whiskers, and had bloodshot eyes. He had obviously had more to drink than his companion, or held it with less dignity, for he weaved precariously as he fell quickly into step alongside them. “Aw, now, Miz Smith. What’s your hurry? Where’s ol’ Joe nowadays? Heard tell he fled the country.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan saw Emma’s lips tighten into a hard line. He moved enough to gently shoulder the man off of the sidewalk. “Mrs. Smith is late for an appointment. Excuse us, please.”
The first man turned and walked backwards so he could face them as he talked. “Why, ain’t that sweet, Luke? Miz Smith here has done gone and got herself an escort.”
Nathan felt his temper rising but he merely increased his step slightly, causing the man to nearly trip and to turn around to walk a step behind them. Across the street three more men came out of the tavern. They stopped for a moment to watch, then hurried across to the sidewalk, blocking any progress now. Nathan stopped, sensing this was quickly getting out of hand. Two women coming in their direction on the same side of the street also stopped, then moved closer, cautious but curious. A passing buckboard with a family in it slowed, then pulled to a stop, close enough to hear without actually joining in.
“Please let us pass,” Nathan said quietly.
“He even says please and excuse me,” the second man said with mock solemnity.
Emma suddenly went up on tiptoes, peering over the heads of the men. Her hand shot up. “Joseph! Joseph!”
Across the street, Nathan saw the tall figure of Joseph Smith striding along. He felt a quick stab of relief as Joseph looked up in surprise, then swerved to come across to them. He pushed through the men and quickly stepped to his wife. “Emma, are you all right?”
“Yes. Nathan was helping me.”
Joseph reached out and gripped his hand. “Hello, Nathan.”
“Hello, Joseph.”
The grip tightened in a squeeze of gratitude. “Thank you.”
Nathan nodded, but it was not over yet. With that mysterious ability of small towns to smell anything out of the ordinary, the people of Palmyra were suddenly being drawn to the scene in the street like ants to a spilled jar of maple syrup. The barber-shop behind them contributed four men, including the barber in his long leather apron. A dress shop just ahead disgorged two clerks and three customers. More men were coming quickly from the tavern. A group of four or five boys, who had been rolling an iron hoop along with sticks, now raced toward them, a mongrel dog at their side barking furiously at, as yet, he knew not what.
“Where you been, Joe?” the man with the bloodshot eyes called. “I hear you been out looking for more treasure down Pennsylvany way.”
“Hey, Joe,” someone else called from the back, “seen the devil lately?”
Joseph took Emma’s arm. “The wagon’s down by the barn. Let’s go.”
Nathan stepped in front of them to make a way through the crowd. The man who had first accosted them fell back before Nathan’s determined gaze, but there was nowhere to go. Those pushing from the back did not move.
“You got that gold Bible yet?” This was a woman’s voice from behind them.
“Make way!” Nathan barked sharply. He straight-armed an older man gently but firmly. The crowd behind him began to shuffle back enough to clear a path. Nathan pushed into it with Joseph and Emma close behind him.
But just as they nearly cleared the crowd, someone stepped directly in front of Nathan. “Make way for what?”
It was Will Murdock, still holding a pewter mug half-filled with beer.
“We’re coming through, Will.” Nathan was finding his patience rapidly disappearing.
“Come on, Nate. We just want some answers from ol’ Joe Smith here,” Will said loudly. “Ain’t nobody gonna get hurt. We just want to ask Joe some questions.” He suddenly raised his arms to the crowd. “Ain’t that it, folks?”
Interestingly enough, many of those looking on would not normally have so much as given Will Murdock the time of day if they had passed him on the street. But if he was willing to take the point for them, now they’d go along with him. “Yeah!” they cried. “Let him ask the questions.” “All we want are some answers.” “Tell us, Joe. Tell us.”
“Get out of the way, Will,” Nathan said sharply. “Leave these people alone.”
Will threw back his head and laughed. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously. “Now that ain’t no way to talk to an old friend, Mr. high-and-mighty Nathan Steed.”
He turned and looked behind him. “This a relative of yours, Josh?”
Nathan was stunned. Joshua stepped forward to stand beside Will Murdock. “Reckon I’d have to say it was,” Joshua said grimly. His eyes were cold and Nathan knew he was still smarting over his presence in the store.
Joseph stepped up to stand beside Nathan, with Emma close behind him. “Hello, Joshua,” he murmured.
“Hello, Joseph.”
“Are you part of this too?” Joseph let his eyes sweep the crowd briefly.
For a moment the calm demeanor and the simple question caught Joshua off guard. His eyes dropped. But Will Murdock swung around to glare at him and Joshua jerked back up again. “Well, to be honest, I’m kind of curious about those questions too.”
“Joshua!” Nathan cried.
Joseph laid a hand on Nathan’s shoulder, still meeting Joshua’s eyes steadily. “No answers today, Joshua,” he said easily. “Emma and I were just leaving.”
Joshua stepped squarely in front of Joseph. “I asked you once last spring, and you wouldn’t answer then either. What about them gold plates, Joseph? Is there such a thing?”
“That’s enough!” Nathan shouted, grabbing at his brother’s arm. “You’ve shamed the family enough. Now let us pass.”
Joshua whirled, flinging Nathan’s hand away, his eyes blazing. Nathan fell back a step before the fury he saw on Joshua’s face.
For a moment no one in the crowd moved, the tension as thick in the air as static electricity before a summer thunderstorm. Then suddenly Will Murdock pushed in and thrust his nose up into Joseph’s face. “Ain’t it true you’re getting close to getting them gold plates, Joe?”
For a moment Joseph looked startled and Nathan saw Will’s shot had hit home. But just as quickly as it had come the look passed. Joseph just shook his head, as though dealing with a naughty child. “Does this mean you believe all them stories you’ve been hearing, Will?”
There was a snicker from several in the crowd. Taking advantage of the sudden lull in the tension, Joseph took Emma’s arm and pushed past both Joshua and Will Murdock. Will’s brother, David, reached out and grabbed Joseph’s sleeve. “Don’t let him get away until he tells us what he knows.”
Joseph turned slowly, staring down into the twisted features of the younger Murdock. He was half a head taller than David and probably outweighed him by thirty or so pounds. For the first time his eyes had turned the color of glacial ice as he looked first at David, then down at the hand clutching at his sleeve.
The boy tried to meet the icy gaze, but finally dropped his eyes and let his hand fall to his side. Without another word Joseph pushed through the last of the crowd and walked away, his back straight, one arm coming up to hold Emma close to him.
There were murmurs rippling through the crowd and a few catcalls as the couple walked away. Nathan whirled. “That’s right,” he cried, “show him what you’re made of.” Eyes dropped as he stared them down, his chest rising and falling. “Go ahead. All you fine Christian people who get your courage out of a bottle or from hiding in the back of a crowd. Show him the color of your bravery.”
One by one heads dropped and people started moving away. Some were whispering, some glanced back over their shoulders, their faces angry. Seething inside now, Nathan turned back to face Joshua and his two drinking companions. Will Murdock smirked openly. David was still trying to recover his swaggering bravado. Joshua just met Nathan’s stare, his eyes hooded and dark.
For a moment Nathan was tempted to hurl one last withering remark, but something inside him warned it might lead to something both would later deeply regret. He finally just shook his head, not trying to hide his disgust, and started away.
“Tell Ma I won’t be coming for dinner,” Joshua called loudly after him. “I wouldn’t want to shame the family.”
Nathan turned back slowly. “Perhaps it’s just as well,” he said quietly.
Joshua spun around on his heel, and he, the Murdocks, and the other men who had poured out of the tavern retraced their steps and disappeared. Nathan didn’t move, just stood and watched them go, vaguely aware the crowd was disappearing now as rapidly as they had assembled.
With a deep feeling of weariness, Nathan finally turned around. He stopped dead. Lydia was standing near the door to the barbershop, her eyes wide, her mouth open, staring at him. Something in him felt suddenly sick. “You too?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
She rocked back. “I just came to see what was happening.”
He shook his head, the revulsion welling up inside of him, and started past her.
“Nathan, I didn’t say anything.”
He stopped, his eyes raking across her features. Another face in the nameless crowd. It hurt him more sharply than he could have imagined. “You didn’t have to,” he said bitterly, and walked away.
Chapter Ten
Sir!”
Nathan had stopped by a rail fence along Stafford Road. An older man was in the field about fifty yards away, raking meadow hay into neat windrows. He looked up, wiping his brow.
“Sir, could you tell me which house is the Smith family’s?”
“Eh?” the man called back, cupping one hand up to his ear.
Raising his voice, Nathan called again, “Could you tell me where the Joseph Smith family lives?”
The man shook his head, and for a moment Nathan thought he was refusing to answer, but he laid the big wooden rake down and came over to where Nathan was standing.
“Sorry, son,” he said, his voice heavy with a Boston twang, “my hearin’ ain’t what it used to be. Say again.”
Nathan smiled. The man looked like a weather-beaten tree stump, lined with proof of the years, but solid as Vermont granite. “I’m looking for the Smith farm. I understand it’s somewhere along here.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, turning to point. “Third house south of here. Another half mile or so. A white frame house on the east side of the road.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded, matter of fact. “Glad to be of help.”
Nathan half turned, then had a thought. “You know the Smiths very well?”
“We been neighbors since 1818. That’s going on ten years now.”
Nathan stuck out his hand. “My name is Nathan Steed. My family bought the farm next to the Martin Harris place, north of town.”
Again came the quick nod, as though the announcement was not news. “Heard tell your pa is doing well for his first season.”
“Yes.”
“Glad to hear that.” He straightened. “Well, third house down, on your left.”
“Tell me about the Smiths,” Nathan blurted, before the man could leave. “We keep hearing all kinds of wild stories.”
The lines around the mouth deepened. “You ought not to be listenin’ to fool talk, son.”
“I don’t,” Nathan amended hastily. “Joseph and Hyrum worked this spring for my pa, helping us clear the land. I thought they were fine young men. That’s why the stories seem a little strange.”