The Work and the Glory (515 page)

* Brigham Young, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and head of the Church; three months short of his forty-fifth birthday as the novel opens.

Though too numerous to list here, there are many other actual people from the pages of history who are mentioned by name in the novel. James and Drusilla Hendricks, Eliza R. Snow, Ezra T. Benson, George Miller, Stephen Markham, Orson and Catharine Spencer, and many others mentioned in the book were real people who lived and participated in the events described in this work.

Key to Abbreviations Used in Chapter Notes

Throughout the chapter notes, abbreviated references are given. The following key gives the full bibliographic data for those references.

CN  Church News

Iowa Trail  Susan Easton Black and William G. Hartley, eds., The Iowa Mormon Trail: Legacy of Faith and Courage (Orem, Utah: Helix Publishing, 1997.)

LDSBE   Andrew Jenson, comp., Latter-day Saint Biographical Encyclopedia, 4 vols. (1901–36; reprint, Salt Lake City: Western Epics, 1971.)

MHBY Elden J. Watson, ed., Manuscript History of Brigham Young, 1846–1847 (Salt Lake City: Elden J. Watson, 1971.)

“Voyage”  Lorin K. Hansen, “Voyage of the Brooklyn,” Dialogue 21 (Fall 1988): 47–72.

Brethren, shall we not go on in so great a cause? Go forward and not backward. Courage, brethren; and on, on to the victory!

—Joseph Smith, 1842

Doctrine and Covenants 128:22

Chapter 1

They were out in the open, gathered around the common fire the men had built within the tight circle of their wagons. Supper was over—plates of beans with slivers of bacon to give them flavor, hard biscuits—and the dishes had been scrubbed out in the frigid waters of Sugar Creek. Now, while the women bedded down the youngest in the tents, the others stood around the fire, talking quietly or just staring into the flickering flames.

The air that had turned cold enough to make an ice bridge across the mighty Mississippi still held them in its grip. Small clouds of mist burst from their mouths, gleamed momentarily gold from the fire, then dissipated into nothingness. Three days ago, when they had arisen and started their preparations to depart, the thermometer on Joshua’s barn registered six degrees above zero. The night before that, it had been twelve below. It was a miracle, of that Nathan had no doubt. The miracle was not that the mighty river had frozen solid—it had done that before—but that it had done so this late in the season and at just the right time. Probably two hundred wagons had crossed with them that day, something that would have taken a week or two had they waited for the ferries. Hundreds more had come since then. If the weather continued to hold—unlikely, since this was the last day of February—perhaps everyone who was ready to go could cross. So in that sense the cold was a blessing. But as he pulled his coat around him more tightly, feeling the chill seeping through his clothing, Nathan realized the blessing was not without its drawbacks.

He glanced around, taking note of his family. The children, except for the oldest three—Rachel, Emily, and young Joshua—were in the tents or the wagons. The babies were asleep. Inside Matthew and Jenny’s wagon, the other children were playing some game in the dark. There would be an occasional burst of giggles, a soft cry of dismay, some protest over unfairness, followed instantly by the hushing of others lest it bring the parents over to mediate. But for tonight at least, these three who were in their teens were content to be adults rather than children.

There were twenty-five of them here in their little portion of the Sugar Creek Camp now. A frown pulled at the corners of Nathan’s mouth. There should have been eleven more. If you counted Carl and Melissa and their five children and Caroline and her three children, there would be eleven more. It saddened him to think of that. Carl and Melissa refusing to come. Caroline aching to but Joshua steadfastly refusing.

His face suddenly twisted. Not eleven more! Twelve! It was as if the bitter cold had suddenly coalesced into a single blade and pierced his heart. There should be another Steed at the fire this night. But Benjamin Steed had seen the flash of Savannah’s blue dress in the murky waters and dove in without hesitation. Savannah now lived, but Benjamin lay in a frozen grave overlooking a frozen river. That had been almost three weeks ago now. How long before the pain became bearable?

His eyes pulled away from the fire. He glanced at his mother to see if she was thinking the same dark thoughts that he was, but her head was down, and he looked away again. He couldn’t make himself watch her for more than a moment. That was a major source of his hurt—knowing her pain and feeling her loneliness. Benjamin Steed—beloved husband, esteemed father, adored grandfather, patriarch to the Steed clan—should have been sitting right there at the head of the circle beside Mary Ann. But he was not and never would be again—not in this life—and the circle seemed only half of what it should be because of it.

He forced his thoughts away to other things, too tired to hold the pain so close to him. There were now close to three thousand people in the Sugar Creek Camp, but without stars or moon, the blackness hid all but the dull glow of campfires. Around the nearest ones he could see shadowy figures moving about or sitting motionless as he was. How many fires now? he thought. A hundred? No, three hundred, at least. Maybe more. He shook his head. Just as well he couldn’t see more. Morning’s light would reveal the ugliness that was Sugar Creek Camp now. The ground would be chocolate brown, churned by thousands of boots and shoes and hooves. Scattered among the wagons, like the aftermath of a children’s party, would be the tents and the makeshift shelters and, in too many cases, the bedrolls laid out on the open ground. On the perimeter, the stock—an insane mix of beef and milk cows, oxen, mules, horses—would be seen and heard and smelled. Smoke from the fires would hang in the still, cold air, filling the trees and brush along the creek with its own fog that stung the eyes and irritated the throat.

He felt a touch of guilt. The camp was a muddle of disarray, but for the Steeds this would be only their fourth night here. Some had been here for over three weeks now. Three weeks! He could barely imagine that. Had the tragedy with Benjamin not occurred, they would have come here on the ninth and been here ever since. So they had no reason to complain.

Beside him, Lydia straightened and stretched, rubbing her hands as she held them out toward the fire. She took one look at his face and reached up and took his hand. Her hand was cold, but he welcomed it and what it said to him.

Seeing the movement, Mary Ann looked up, clearly brought out of her own reverie. “William Clayton came by a while ago.”

Nathan turned to his mother in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, while you and Joshua were out seeing to the stock.”

Lydia, who had gone with them to help milk the cow, was also surprised. “So he’s out of Nauvoo?”

“Yes. He arrived yesterday afternoon. He came to pay his respects for Benjamin.”

Jessica spoke up. “That’s a good sign, don’t you think?” She sat alone tonight. Their baby was asleep in the tent and she made Solomon stay with him. Solomon was still recovering from pneumonia resulting from his plunge in the river to help save Savannah.

Derek and Rebecca were seated on a log beside Joshua, Rebecca leaning back against her husband to keep warm. “A very good sign,” she agreed.

Joshua looked a little puzzled. “William Clayton? Wasn’t he one of Joseph’s clerks?”

Mary Ann nodded. “Yes. He is also a clerk for Brother Brigham and the Twelve.”

“So why is that a good sign?” Joshua, Nathan’s eldest son, spoke up.

Jessica turned to him. “Well, young Joshua, if I am correct, that means—”

Young Joshua’s hand came up. Jessica stopped in surprise. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Aunt Jessica, but may I say something?”

Lydia was a little surprised. It was not like her oldest child to break in like that. He of all her children was always the most polite. “What is it, Joshua?”

“Why does everyone keep calling me ‘young Joshua’? I’ll be fifteen in May.”

Nathan laughed. That seemed like a strange thing, coming out just like that right now. “We do it so we can distinguish between you and your uncle.”

“So should we call Uncle Joshua ‘old Joshua’?”

Joshua hooted aloud at that one. “I think not.”

“Why not just call me Josh? That’s what all the younger children call me anyway.” Now a little bit embarrassed, he turned back to Jessica. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. But I’ve been thinking about this a lot.”

“I’m glad you said something,” Jessica said warmly. “Josh is a good solution, I think.”

The other adults were all nodding. “Josh it is,” his father said.

“Anyway,” Jessica went on, “Solomon heard that one of the things Brother Brigham has been waiting for is for Brother Clayton to bring the Church property across so we can leave.”

Derek spoke up now. “Heber C. Kimball brought the first of it across in some of his wagons. We heard that Brother Clayton and others were to make sure the rest was brought out.”