The only men at the house were Joseph and Hyrum. The other Smith brothers were taking turns at the store so that Joseph could be here with Emma. The two brothers had fetched water or wood when necessary throughout the morning, but by midafternoon Mother Smith had grown tired of Joseph’s hovering and sent him and Hyrum outside.
The kitchen had been crowded for most of the morning. The women worked shoulder to shoulder, boiling water, preparing clean sheets and towels, and cooking the food for the crowds that would surely come in the next few days to congratulate Joseph and Emma on their good fortune. But as the day wore on, things got done, food was finished and put aside, everything was washed and in readiness. By two p.m., except for Mother Smith and Hyrum’s wife, Mary, who were in Emma’s bedroom with the midwife, the rest of the women were sitting around the kitchen or the adjoining parlor talking quietly.
When they heard the door above them open and then the sound of footsteps on the stairs, the room went instantly quiet and every head turned to the hallway. Mother Smith appeared. She stopped, surveying the room, then smiled. “We’re down to about three minutes apart now. It shouldn’t be long. Agnes, can you be sure the water is still boiling?”
The widow of Don Carlos Smith nodded and stood immediately. Mother Smith looked at Lydia. “Why don’t you go out and let the boys know how things are coming.”
“All right.” Lydia stood and went to the coatrack by the door. She took down her coat and scarf and put them on. Young Lucy—as everyone still called her, even though she was twenty years old and married now—came over and did the same. “I’ll go too,” she said. “I can’t stand just sitting here waiting anymore.”
Lydia smiled at her. Lucy was Joseph’s youngest sister, and Lydia had always liked her a great deal. “Me too. I’m glad for anything to keep my mind occupied.”
The two “boys,” as Mother Smith still called them, were standing out by the springhouse, which was on the south side of the home, near the river’s edge. Even though it was February sixth, it was a relatively pleasant day outside. The snow from a few days previous was all but gone. The temperature was in the low forties. As the door opened, both of the brothers turned around. Joseph started toward the women, his face anxious.
Lydia shook her head. “Nothing yet,” she called.
As Lydia and young Lucy went down the step and out to join Joseph and Hyrum, Joseph’s shoulders lifted and fell. “And Emma?” he asked.
“Mama says things are progressing nicely,” Lucy answered. “How are you two doing?”
Hyrum smiled. “Joseph and I are solving all the problems of the kingdom.”
“Well, that’s good, then, isn’t it?” Lydia laughed.
Joseph gave her a wry look. “Now all that’s left is to make it come to pass.”
Lucy slipped an arm through Joseph’s. “And what wonderful things have you decided?”
“Actually,” Hyrum answered, “Joseph was telling me the latest about Brother Hyde.”
“Orson Hyde?” Lydia asked. “Have you heard from him again?”
“Yes, I have received two letters in recent weeks. He has reached Jerusalem, dedicated the land for the return of the Jews—just as he saw himself doing in vision—and now is on his way home again.” A frown momentarily crossed his face. “Well, actually, at his last writing he was in quarantine at Trieste in Italy, but he expected to be released soon.”
Lydia was nodding. “I remember now. He spoke of his vision in conference, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” Hyrum said. “He saw London, Amsterdam, Constantinople, and Jerusalem. The Spirit spoke quite directly to him as he saw the peoples in those various cities. ‘Here are many of the children of Abraham,’ it said, ‘whom I will gather to the land I gave to their fathers, and here also is the field of your labor.’ And he saw himself in Jerusalem, standing on the top of a mount, with pen and ink, writing out a prayer of dedication.”
“And from what he wrote in his letter, that is exactly how it happened,” Joseph went on. “It is a great thing he has done.”
“Yes,” Lydia said. She couldn’t think of anything else that would say it better than that. “Yes, it is,” she repeated.
“And how glad we are that you are here, Lydia. I am so appreciative of your coming.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “I wouldn’t miss this for anything, Joseph. You know how I feel about Emma.”
“I know. And I know how she feels about you. She wanted you to be here for her.”
“It’s been difficult for her these last few months.”
Joseph was very sober. “I worry about her.”
Lucy spoke up. “We all try to get her to take it easy, but you know Emma. She’s always up and doing something, even when she ought to be resting.”
“And unfortunately,” Hyrum added, speaking to Joseph, “at your house there is always something to keep her up and doing it.”
Joseph blew out his breath in discouragement. “I know. It seems like there’s hardly a meal when we don’t have someone at our table. People coming and going all the time. And I fear they don’t pay much attention to the time.”
Lydia nodded. Just a few weeks before, Joseph and Emma had taken four additional children into their home. A family by the name of Walker, who had been faithful members of the Church since the early days of Kirtland, and who had ten children, had lost their mother. Joseph and Emma immediately volunteered to take in the four oldest children for a time to help the grieving father cope with his loss.
“But that’s why everyone loves her, Joseph.”
He smiled, somewhat sadly. “I know, Lydia. But it is very difficult for her.”
He turned and put an arm around his sister. “Well, shall we go in? I’m not sure that we can be of any use in there, but I want to be close for Emma when the time comes.”
When Lucy Mack appeared at the door, everyone looked up. The instant they saw the look on Lucy Mack Smith’s face, they knew.
Joseph shot to his feet, his face twisting in horror. “No!”
Mother Smith looked exhausted. One hand passed over her eyes as she nodded dumbly.
“Oh, please, no!” Joseph cried.
Mary Smith and Hyrum were up now too. Every other person was frozen in place. Lydia felt as though someone had wrenched her stomach in a violent twist.
Not again! Not another loss for Emma. Especially not now.
Great tears welled up in the eyes of Joseph’s mother and her face crumpled. “It’s a silent child,” she whispered. “A little boy. He never took a breath. You’d better go to her, Joseph.”
During the time that Nathan was in Wisconsin, Benjamin found a twenty-five-acre parcel of land just east of town and secured it with a hundred dollars earnest money. He had corresponded with two major banks in the state capital and arranged possible financing, but they would not finalize such a major transaction through the mail.
On Saturday, February nineteenth, Nathan and Benjamin left for the capital city. About a hundred and twenty miles southeast of Nauvoo, Springfield was approached by well-traveled roads; but a three-day thaw, followed by only mildly cold weather, had left the prairie highways a morass of mud and hub-deep ruts. It was a bone-jarring, teeth-rattling trip with delays and detours, and by the time they reached the city on the fourth day they were totally exhausted.
After a decent night in a small hotel near the state capitol building, Benjamin and Nathan were ready to start the business for which they had come. They spent most of that day at the two banks with whom they were dealing. Though they had good collateral, their being from Nauvoo made the bankers a little nervous and neither was willing to lend the full amount they needed. Thus both banks were brought in on the arrangements. With sample contracts in hand, Benjamin decided they should have some legal counsel before actually signing the papers. They asked for a recommendation for a local lawyer from one of the bankers and readily got one, but Benjamin was leery. He suspected that the recommended law firm probably did considerable work for the bank and would be inclined to favor the bank in any counsel they gave. At the hotel that night, Benjamin and Nathan asked the proprietor for his recommendation. He confirmed their suspicions, and suggested the small but independent firm of Logan and Lincoln. “Stephen T. Logan is one of the greatest lawyers to ever practice law in Illinois,” the man affirmed solemnly, “but if it were me, I’d go for the junior partner. He gives legal advice for a reasonable fee. And he’ll tell you straight out if there’re problems you need to look out for.”
“Sounds like exactly what we need,” Nathan observed.
“Yep,” the hotelier nodded. “Don’t let his looks fool you. Mr. Lincoln ain’t much to look on, but he’s got a gift for knowing what matters and for saying things in a way that even a jury of twelve unschooled farm folk can understand. Not that you’re expecting any problems with this, but if it ever has to go to court, you’ll want Lincoln in the chair beside you.” He laughed. “Besides that, he’s one of the best darned storytellers in all of Illinois.”
Benjamin agreed that Mr. Lincoln sounded like what they were looking for, and the next day they went down to the small offices of Logan and Lincoln, attorneys at law. The man had been right. Lincoln was a man to bring you up short when you first looked at him. He was tall and lanky, still carrying himself like a gangly teenaged boy outgrowing his own body, and his movements were slow and deliberate. Gray eyes peered out from beneath heavy brows above a large nose, a firm mouth, and a prominent chin. His expression seemed to carry an air of eternal sadness about it—until he smiled; then the eyes literally danced with inner amusement and the mouth broke into a generous grin.
They spent only half an hour with him. He looked over their contracts, made three or four minor suggestions, and charged them a dollar. As they stood and moved toward the door, Mr. Lincoln came out from around his desk and joined them. “Did Noah warn you about my being a strange-looking duck?” he asked with a droll smile.
“Noah?” Benjamin asked, taken aback a little by the directness of the question.
“Yes, Noah Goodson, the proprietor at the hotel. Usually he also tells people how strange I look.”
Nathan laughed in spite of himself. “Yes, he did, as a matter of fact.”
“Well,” Lincoln drawled, “it’d be a little harder to swallow if it weren’t so true.” He chuckled, and it was a deep rumbling sound down inside his chest. “In fact, one time, while I was out riding circuit, I was just sitting down for supper in a small country inn. A man came up to me, staring at my face. Then suddenly he pulled out a pistol and pointed it right at my head.
“ ‘Beggin’ your pardon, sir,’ he said, obviously in great distress, ‘but I’ve always told myself if I ever found a man who was uglier than me, I’d shoot the poor fellow and put him out of his misery.’”
Benjamin was staring at him, not sure if Lincoln was serious or not. “What did you do?”
Lincoln seemed totally dejected. “Well, I looked him up and down real slow, and then I said, ‘Sir, if I really am uglier than you, you go ahead and shoot, because life ain’t worth living.’ ”
Both Nathan and Benjamin exploded with laughter. After a moment, Lincoln, now smiling, reached out and shook both their hands. “Gentlemen, thank you for your business and good luck with your land investments.”
They left and returned to the hotel and told Noah Goodson the story. The hotel keeper roared even more loudly than they had. That afternoon they went back to the two banks, signed the amended contracts, and received the notes for the necessary funds. The following morning, they were back on the road west.
Chapter Notes
The revelation concerning the Twelve’s taking part in the running of the
Times and Seasons
was given on 28 January 1842 (see
HC
4:503). Joseph then appointed Wilford Woodruff and John Taylor in the positions mentioned (see
HC
4:513–14).
Orson Hyde left Nauvoo on 15 April 1840 and did not return until almost three years later on 7 December 1842. He worked, preached, wrote, and published on three continents. He journeyed over twenty thousand miles under difficult and sometimes perilous circumstances. It was one of the longest and most significant missions in the early history of the Church, one that rivals in many ways the missionary journeys of the Apostle Paul. (See
CHFT,
pp. 235–38.)
On 6 February 1842, Emma gave birth to her eighth child (see J. Christopher Conkling,
A Joseph Smith Chronology
[Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1979], p. 161). It was a stillborn son. It was the fourth child to die at birth or within hours of it, and the sixth child (including one of the adopted twins and Don Carlos) that she lost in death.
Chapter 16
Mary Ann watched the women of the family file into Caroline’s parlor, their cheeks red from the cold air outside. There were four missing from the original council—Jessica was in Ramus now with Kathryn. Jenny Pottsworth had stopped coming after she announced formally that she and Andrew Stokes were promised, and her mother gradually stopped coming after that. Finally, as Rebecca and Melissa came in together and found a place on the long sofa beside Olivia, Mary Ann stood. Immediately the chatter of conversation died away and all eyes turned to her.
“Thank you for coming on such short notice. I know that meeting on an evening other than the Sabbath day is not convenient, but something has come up. I felt like we needed to decide on it immediately rather than delay.”
That interested them all and now every eye focused intently on her.
“As you know, winter is almost gone. Our linsey-woolsey project has been very successful. The families we chose to help have been benefitted by all of your work. Several have expressed their deep thanks to me, as I am sure they have to some of you as well.”
Several heads nodded in confirmation of that.
“With the coming of spring, the needs of those families will diminish and our work will be mostly finished for a time. Yesterday I was feeling a little saddened by that thought. But then this afternoon I happened to meet Sarah Kimball down at the post office. Do you all know Sister Kimball?”