And then, before he could answer—if he had wanted to answer—she stood. “I really am very tired, Joshua. Let’s go to bed.”
“All right.”
They moved across the darkened room and into the hallway. Now the pale illumination from the lamp above shed more light on them. As they reached the stairs, Caroline stopped and turned to face him again. “Joshua?”
He sighed wearily. He was
not
going to say anything more about today. “Caroline, I don’t want to—”
She lifted a hand and touched his lips, cutting him off. “Did you mean what you said to Nathan today? Do you really think the crisis is over?”
“Yes. Sidney is through.”
“Then can we stop talking about leaving Nauvoo?”
It was her eyes that cut off his retort and kept him still. By “crisis” he assumed she meant the leadership crisis and he had answered accordingly. The other was another matter altogether. Walter Samuelson mentioned it in almost every letter he sent. His sources from Quincy and Warsaw were reporting that the opposition was intensifying, deepening, consolidating. He had some wonderful business opportunities for the family in St. Louis. Every day they delayed increased their danger. Joshua didn’t feel the sense of urgency that his partner did, but he knew that the death of Joseph had not satisfied his enemies. His mouth opened slightly but then shut again. There was so much weariness there on her face, in her eyes, in the way her body seemed to droop, and he knew it was more than just the result of a long and tiring day. With Olivia’s fatal accident and her own brush with death, Caroline’s physical and emotional reserves were drained. She needed something to hold on to.
Finally he nodded. “All right,” he said softly.
He saw the flicker of concern and knew that she knew what he was thinking. But it was enough, what he had said, and he also saw her instant gratitude. “Thank you, Joshua.”
He slipped his arm around her waist and started up the stairs, helping her, feeling her lean against him as though the effort of climbing was too much for her all of a sudden.
She didn’t speak again until she was in bed, propped up against her pillows, watching him fold up his shirt. When he finally turned and saw her watching him with those large green eyes, he stopped. “What?” he asked.
“What are you thinking about? You are frowning something horrible.”
He chuckled. He had not been aware that his thoughts were showing so clearly on his face.
“Come on. Be honest now.”
“I was thinking that I need to go to St. Louis. Walter has had to deal with all that flood damage by himself and—” He stopped, surprised by the smile on her face.
“I know you have to go, Joshua. And I know why you haven’t dared leave me before now. But I’ll be all right now. I really am doing much better.”
He set the shirt on the top of the dresser. “Will is pretty good at taking care of you. If it weren’t for—”
“Take Will with you, Joshua.”
He turned, startled.
“I have your family. There is more help around than I can accept. Take Will with you.”
“But why?”
She gave him a pitying look.
His eyes widened. “You mean Alice?”
“I mean Alice.”
He reared back, his face wreathed with sudden pleasure. “Do you think something is developing there?”
“I think it has potential.”
His eyes narrowed. “How can you tell? They’ve been such friends for so long, I didn’t notice any difference when she was here.”
She laughed. “That’s why you married me.”
He came over to the bed, reached down, and kissed her. “I didn’t know just how smart I was that day I asked you,” he murmured.
She kissed him back. “I did,” she said with a wise smile.
He shook his head in wonder. Then he straightened, his mind going back to his original question. “You’re sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’ll be fine. You take Will and go. Everything is going to be fine now.”
Will waited until he could stand it no longer. They were walking along Front Street, the street that ran alongside the bank of the Missouri River, a block or two before it joined the Mississippi. As soon as dinner was over, Alice had suggested that they come down here so Will could see with his own eyes the extent of the damage done by the great flood of two months previous. As they walked along, she pointed out this and that, chatting gaily, obviously happy to be in his presence. But now he could bear it no more.
“Alice?”
“Yes?”
“Have you started reading the Book of Mormon yet?”
Her step slowed and her chin dropped slightly, so he couldn’t see her eyes. “Yes,” she finally said.
“And?” he asked, half holding his breath.
She glanced at him briefly, then suddenly turned, pointing. “Look! There’re the Baker warehouses,” she said. “Old Mr. Baker wouldn’t believe Papa. He moved his cotton to the loft and said it would be fine. Papa says he lost almost half a million dollars’ worth of raw cotton.”
Will had fallen a step behind her. He was staring after her. Had she not heard?
But as they moved forward, she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. She darted here and there, rattling off facts about the greatest flood in St. Louis history—how many acres of farmland were ruined, the number of cattle that were drowned, the smell that filled the air, the businesses that had been damaged.
He listened, his mind only half on it. Clearly she had sidestepped his question and didn’t want to answer it. He felt a deep gloom settle in on him. This was not a good sign.
Suddenly she dropped back and grabbed his hand. “Oh, come, Will! You must see this. They just put this up.”
“What?”
She pulled him over to the side of the street, near a three-story warehouse and office building. There, beside one corner, was a stone monument, towering upwards eight or ten feet above the street. As they approached, he could see that letters had been chiseled into it.
“What is this?”
She didn’t answer but pulled him around to the front of it. The inscription was simple. About two feet above Will’s head a line had been cut into the stone across the width of the monument. Below it were the words: “High Water June 27, 1844.”
“Oh,” Will said, understanding now.
“Yes,” Alice said eagerly. “That shows how high the water got. Eight feet above flood stage.”
“No wonder,” he said softly. Eight feet! How did you protect your cotton—or anything else, for that matter—from something eight feet above flood stage? He half closed his eyes, trying to imagine what this whole district must have been like.
“It was awful,” Alice said, subdued now. “They’re still not sure how many people died. There were riverboats up on the banks, like they had been pulled there by some angry giant of a child. Some buildings just collapsed from the pressure of the water.”
Will leaned forward, peering at the inscription again. “June twenty-seventh?” he asked.
“Yes. That was the day it reached its highest point.”
“Do you know what day June twenty-seventh is?”
She shook her head, puzzled. “No.”
“It is the day that Joseph and Hyrum Smith were killed at Carthage.”
“Hmm,” she said, digesting that. “So?”
He shrugged. “Nothing. It’s just an interesting coincidence. On the very day that the world made its ultimate rejection of the Lord’s prophet—an act that would cause many Missourians to rejoice—you were undergoing a tragedy of your own down here.”
“Are you saying that God caused this as a punishment?”
“No,” he said quickly, wishing now he had said nothing. “I don’t think God works that way. I was just struck by the oddity of it, that was all.”
That seemed to satisfy her. She looked up at the sky. The sun had set now and evening was coming on quickly. “Maybe we’d better go,” she suggested. “Front Street isn’t the best place to be after dark.”
“Okay.”
She looked up and grinned at him. “So you like my word, do you?”
“Yep. I use it all the time now. Is that okay?”
“That’s okay!” she said, laughing. And they turned around and started back the way they had come. They went about a block, when Alice glanced up at him, and then away again. “Will?”
“What?”
“I want to do this on my own.”
That took him by surprise. “You want to do what on your own?”
“Find out about your church.”
She ignored his astonished look and hurried on. “I don’t want you asking me questions.” There was a quick, impish grin. “If
I
have questions, I’ll ask you, but I don’t want you asking me how I’m doing. When I’m ready, one way or the other, I’ll tell you. Fair enough?”
He was stunned. So she
had
heard his earlier question. And now here was her answer. “Of course,” he finally said.
“Good.” And with that it was as if the subject were totally forgotten again.
Chapter Notes
Though it was actually put in place a few months later than shown in the novel, there was a stone monument erected on Front Street in St. Louis commemorating the high-water mark of the great flood of 1844, which occurred on 27 June (see
HC
7:316).
Chapter 10
With the death of Joseph and Hyrum Smith, the enemies of the Church assumed that they had pulled the linchpin on the Church. The “Mormon problem” was solved. As news of the internal dispute over who should be the next leader leaked out, the anti-Mormons rejoiced. Surely this was the first sign of the foundation cracking. Even when Brigham Young—“Brigham who?” they scoffed—took over the reins, it did not raise their anxieties much. Whatever else they might have said about him, however strongly they may have hated him, no one disputed the fact that Joseph Smith was a powerful leader, and with his death the power was gone.
But such was not the case. Since the organization of the Quorum of the Twelve in 1835, Joseph had been grooming the Apostles for leadership, giving them more and more responsibility and greater and greater voice in the kingdom. Then, in an extraordinary council meeting held in March of 1844, the Prophet conferred the keys of the kingdom on the Twelve and specifically told them they were now empowered to lead the Church.
Many years later, President Wilford Woodruff, speaking of that meeting, said: “I remember the last speech that he [Joseph Smith] ever gave us before his death. It was before we started upon our mission to the East. He stood upon his feet some three hours. The room was filled as with consuming fire, his face was as clear as amber, and he was clothed upon by the power of God. He laid before us our duty. He laid before us the fullness of this great work of God; and in his remarks to us he said: ‘I have had sealed upon my head every key, every power, every principle of life and salvation that God has ever given to any man who ever lived upon the face of the earth. And these principles and this Priesthood and power belong to this great and last dispensation which the God of Heaven has set His hand to establish in the earth. Now,’ said he, addressing the Twelve, ‘I have sealed upon your heads every key, every power, and every principle which the Lord has sealed upon my head.’ . . .
“After addressing us in this manner he said: ‘I tell you, the burden of this kingdom now rests upon your shoulders; you have got to bear it off in all the world, and if you don’t do it you will be damned.’”
How little did they comprehend on that day that the time for the exercise of those keys would come so swiftly! They went east thinking they were going to help foster Joseph’s candidacy for president of the United States. In actuality, Joseph sent them away so they would escape what lay ahead. During July and August of 1844, they returned to Nauvoo one by one or in small groups. They came home thinking to mourn their beloved Joseph. Instead, they found others already there clamoring for the crown.
In the days following the meeting in which Brigham and the Twelve were sustained to lead the Church, the Quorum met together often. They immediately began to exercise their leadership and to put in order the organization of the Church. Bishops Newel K. Whitney and George Miller were appointed to the office of trustee-in-trust for the Church so the Twelve could be relieved of demanding day-to-day supervision of the financial affairs of the Church. Individual members of the Twelve were given specific responsibilities. Wilford Woodruff was sent back to England to preside over the work there. Parley P. Pratt was asked to go to New York City and serve as president, publisher, and emigrant agent for the Church in the East. Lyman Wight went to Texas to look for a possible site for resettlement of the Church, an assignment given to him by Joseph before his death. John Taylor, still recovering from his wounds, was reassigned as editor of the
Times and Seasons
and later the
Nauvoo Neighbor
as well. Willard Richards stayed on as Church historian and recorder. Amasa Lyman was sustained as an Apostle once again. William Smith, one of the Twelve and the last surviving son of Joseph Smith, Sr., was appointed as Patriarch to the Church.
Other organizational changes were made so as to better administer a rapidly growing Church. The seventies were organized into quorums and seven presidents were called to preside over them. The United States and Canada were divided into Church districts, and it was decided that high priests would be called to preside over them. Aaronic Priesthood holders, which in the early days of the Church were mostly adult males, were brought into action as well. In Nauvoo and the other settlements around it, the teachers quorums were admonished to visit the homes of the Saints and to watch over the Church as had been outlined in the revelation given on the day the Church was organized. Deacons were asked to help the bishops in caring for the poor.
Not everyone was satisfied with the way things had gone on August eighth. Just as there had been during Joseph’s life, there were opposing forces here too. Sidney Rigdon publicly accepted the vote of that day, but privately he was bitter and angry. Quietly he tried to undermine the leadership of Brigham Young. When he continued to maintain that his authority was superior to that of the Twelve, he was excommunicated on the eighth of September, one month to the day following his failed attempt to become guardian of the Church.