Hannah let him have his say without trying to stop him. When he finally finished, she simply folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. “I’m going to write her.”
For a moment he just gaped at her, but only for a moment; then he exploded. “I forbid it!” he shouted. He spun around and strode across the room, then whirled back, his chest rising and falling. “There will be no contact, Mrs. McBride! No word! No concessions! None! Do you hear me?”
Again she completely shocked him by the unexpectedness of her reaction. She shook her head slowly, calmly. “Josiah, listen to me.” She waved the envelope at him. “This is a cry for help. Your daughter is discouraged. She’s depressed. She’s lonely. For the first time since their marriage she is frustrated with her husband.” She took a breath, amazed at her own daring. “If you ever want to win her back, get her away from all Joe Smith stands for, there will never be another time. Not for us.”
Her husband had one fist raised, ready to shake in her face. Slowly he lowered it to his side.
“If we don’t answer her now, we’ve lost her forever. Is that what you want?”
He didn’t answer for several seconds, then stepped forward slowly. “Let me see that.”
She handed him the envelope and he opened it again. This time he read slowly, read it clear through once, then again. Finally, his head came up. “She don’t sound to me like she’s ready for any change.”
Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. He was thinking about it, and that was a major step in the right direction. “She’s not ready for a change. But she is ready to be loved.”
“You tell her if she’s ready to renounce that disgusting religion of hers, we’ll write to her every day. Otherwise no.”
His wife just shook her head, her eyes thoughtful now. “No, I won’t tell her anything like that. For now I’m just going to write and tell her we love her, that we miss her, and that if there’s anything we can do to make her feel not so lonely, I want her to let me know.”
Her head came up and her eyes caught her husband’s and held them, challenging, unflinching. “That’s what I’m going to do, Josiah. I just wanted you to know.”
Nathan Steed stopped in front of his father’s home late in the afternoon of April twentieth, 1832. He was footsore, dusty, weary beyond belief, and hungry for anything more than the hard wheat bread and stream water they had lived on for the past five days since leaving Kentucky. He had no money in his pockets, had cast away all his clothes but those he wore (they had not been worthy of saving), and had given his knapsack to a young lad they met in Columbus who was on his way west.
As he reached the small picket fence that lined his father’s yard, he stopped, blinking hard to fight the sudden burning in his eyes. He had left this spot during the first week of October of the previous year. He had raised a hand in farewell, then turned and walked away from his wife and his son. It had been almost six and a half months.
Six and a half months!
He saw the curtain on one of the windows part slightly, then jerk back. A face was suddenly pressed up against the glass, nose squashing flat like a piglet’s, the blond hair a flash of white through the window. Then he heard the faint cry. “Nathan! Nathan!”
He grinned, and opened the gate. The front door burst open as if it had been blown inward by a cyclone. Matthew came exploding out, his legs pumping. “Nathan! Nathan! Nathan!” Becca was hard on his heels, pigtails flying, apron coming off one shoulder.
They nearly took his wind away, hugging him fiercely, jumping up and down, Matthew pounding his back. Then suddenly Nathan stopped. There were three figures in the doorway. His mother had her hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her face. His father, one arm around her shoulder, was nodding at his son, smiling broadly. But it was the third person who arrested Nathan’s eyes. Lydia, heavy with child, held a young boy in her arms.
Nathan’s heart lurched. When he had left, his son had been a baby. Now at eleven months, he was a little boy, with dark hair just starting to grow, light blue eyes, and his mother’s fine chin and perfect nose.
Matthew and Becca stepped back. Lydia was crying now too. She stepped forward, coming off the porch, and stopped again. Slowly, with an effort, she lowered the child. He stood, a little wobbly, holding on to her one finger, gravely looking across the distance at the stranger who stood before him.
“That’s your father, Joshua,” Lydia whispered. “It’s your father.”
Nathan went down on one knee and stretched out his arms, a lump in his own throat all of a sudden making it very difficult to breathe. “Come, Joshua,” he called softly, not wanting to frighten him.
Little Joshua turned, looking up, first at his mother, then at his grandmother.
“It’s all right, Josh,” Mary Ann smiled. “Go see your papa.”
Matthew dropped beside Nathan and held out his arms. “Come on, Joshua,” he called. “Come see Uncle Matthew.”
The blue eyes appraised Nathan once more, then shifted to Matthew. A smile broke through the somberness and his eyes came alive. Then his short, stubby little legs began to move, and step by very tentative step, he toddled his way toward them.
With a sob, Nathan reached out and scooped him up, holding him to his chest, and burying his face against the small but wiry little body.
On April twenty-ninth, Melissa Mary Steed Rogers was delivered of a healthy, nine-pound baby boy. Though his hair was dark, almost everyone agreed that when the sunlight hit it, there was a definite touch of auburn in it. Predictions were common that he would be a redhead, most likely with freckles, like his father. They named him Carlton Hezekiah Rogers, being the first son for Carl and Melissa and the first grandson for the Rogerses.
Six weeks later, Carl Rogers traveled out with Melissa to the schoolhouse near the Isaac Morley homestead for a worship service. There Nathan, uncle to the new baby, named and blessed young Carl by the power of the holy priesthood.
The night before, Nathan went to Melissa’s home and spent some time talking with Carl about the ordinance. Carl stated that he had no objection to Melissa’s having the child blessed however she wished, but he resisted, amiably but firmly, when Nathan tried to talk with him about the Book of Mormon.
After the services were over and the blessing done, Melissa pulled Nathan aside and quietly suggested he not try and talk religion any further with her husband.
It was the fourteenth of June, and the mosquitoes swarmed in the lingering heat of the evening air. The horse kept its tail moving constantly, but Joshua Steed paid the insects no mind, brushing at them absently as he pulled to a halt in front of the small sod hut. “Excuse me, neighbor.”
The man was at a grindstone, his leg pumping on the lever to keep the stone wheel flying. Sparks showered from the ax blade that he was sharpening. He lifted the ax, but his foot kept moving up and down out of habit. “Good evening.”
“Could you tell me where I might find the home of Joshua Lewis?”
The man took his foot off the grindstone lever and let the wheel come to a stop. He stood, taking off his hat to brush at the sweat on his brow. “I’m Joshua Lewis. What can I do for you?”
Joshua swung off the horse and tied the reins to a small bush. He didn’t move any closer. “I’m looking for Jessica Steed. I understand she lives with you.”
The man, definitely a sodbusting farmer, nodded slowly, his eyes suddenly suspicious as they carefully took in Joshua’s trail garb, his heavy beard, and the tired, weary eyes. “And who might you be?”
Joshua’s eyes didn’t move from the man’s face. “I’d like to speak with her. Ask her to come out please.”
The man was half a head shorter than Joshua and probably weighed forty or fifty pounds less, but if he was intimidated by Joshua’s size, or by the pistol that was stuck in his belt, his expression didn’t show it. Again he sized Joshua up and down, then stuck one hand in his pocket. “I’ll be happy to fetch her if I know who it is I’m tellin’ her to come out and see.”
There was a flash of irritation, but Joshua pushed it down. He had arrived in Independence around noon, taken time only to bathe and eat, then started out to find her. All the way out he kept seething over the fact that Jessica had become a Mormon. Somehow Joseph Smith was seeping into his life again, messing things up. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. But he kept promising himself he would keep his temper in check, so now he forced a brief smile. “My name is Joshua Steed. I’m Jessie’s husband. I’m just in from Santa Fe today.”
Lewis’s eyes narrowed. Whatever friendliness had been there was instantly gone. “I’m not sure she’ll want to see you, Mr. Steed.”
In an instant Joshua’s irritation flared into full anger. “She’s of age,” Joshua said coldly. “You just go tell her.”
The hostility was unmistakable now, but the farmer finally turned and went into the house.
Twice Joshua saw the door open a crack and small, curious eyes peer out at him, but it was almost five minutes before Jessica finally stepped out. He saw instantly that she had on her best dress and had hastily brushed through her hair. He also saw that she carried a little bundle in her arms.
Behind her, Lewis stood at the door. He glared at Joshua for a moment, a child peeking out from behind his legs, then touched Jessie’s arm. “You need me, Jessica, you just holler.”
“Thank you, Brother Lewis. I’ll be fine.”
He nodded, then slowly shut the door behind her. For a moment she stood there, her eyes wide and unreadable. Then, she came forward a few steps. “Hello, Joshua.”
“Hello, Jessica.”
“Pa said he wrote you and told you to come back.”
“Yes.”
“He was afraid you’d gone on somewhere else, hadn’t got the letter.”
“I was up in Pueblo with a load of mercantile goods. I didn’t get the letter until about two weeks ago.” For a moment he was angry with himself for feeling that he had to explain. Then he let his eyes drop to her arms, and he softened a little. “Your pa told me about the baby. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Yes, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”
He made a rueful face. “No Doctor Hathaway, I assume.”
She laughed softly. “No, no Doctor Hathaway.”
Jessie stepped up to him, pulling the blanket away from the baby’s face. She was sleeping, the tiny features peaceful in repose. He bent over, peering at his daughter in wonder. “Clinton told me you’re going to call her Rachel,” he murmured. He reached out and tentatively touched the slender fingers.
“Yes, for my mother.”
“She’s beautiful.”
Jessica smiled down at her daughter. “I think so too. Would you like to hold her?”
He fell back a step.
“Go ahead, it’s all right. She sleeps well when she’s full.”
Gingerly he took her, cradling her in his arm. He pulled the blanket away from her body so he could see her full length.
Jessica watched him, her eyes soft. “She’s growin’ real good. Sister Lewis says she eats like the strongest pup in the litter. And she’s got a real good disposition. She hardly ever fusses.”
A mosquito buzzed in and circled for a moment over the baby’s head. Joshua flicked his hand at it, then wrapped the blanket around her again. “She’s real sweet, Jessie. I’m real happy for you. You always wanted a baby so bad.”
“So did you,” she whispered.
He stood there uncomfortably for a moment, then handed Rachel back to her mother. “Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, I did.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His hands plucked at the bone buttons on his deerskin jacket. “Jessie, I...”
She waited, watching him steadily.
“I’m sorry about what happened that night. I was so out of my head drunk. When I lost everything, I went crazy. I...” He shook his head and looked away.
“What’s done is done. I’m not bearing a grudge, Joshua.”
“I should never have hit you.”
She thought about that, then shook her head. “No, you shouldn’t have. But I healed.”
He looked down again. “And now you have a baby.”
She smiled. “Not
a
baby, Joshua. Our baby.”
“I know.”
“Did Pa tell you why I have the baby? why I was able to go the full time?”
He frowned. “He said Nathan came.”
“Yes, he gave me a blessing by the priesthood—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
Her head came up slowly. “Nathan also baptized me a member of the Church—”
He spoke sharply. “I said I don’t want to hear it. I know all about Joseph Smith and his wild tales. It angers me, Jess, that my own brother would come out here and fill your head with all that nonsense—”
“Joseph Smith was here, Joshua.”
He stopped. “He was?”
“Yes, not long after you left. I met him. I watched him. I listened to him, Joshua. By the time Nathan came, my mind was already made up, so there ain’t no use you blamin’ your brother for this.”
“That don’t surprise me none. Joseph’s always had a way of swaying people with his lies and foolishness.”
“I’ve been baptized, Joshua. It’s done, and I won’t have you talking about Brother Joseph that way.”
“Brother Joseph?” he hooted. “Brother Joseph? Is that what we’ve come to now?”
Jessica half turned back toward the house. “Sister Lewis,” she called.
In a moment the door opened. A farm woman in a plain dress and no shoes stood there.
“Can you take Rachel and put her back to bed?”
“Of course.”
She came to Jessica, keeping her eyes averted away from Joshua, lovingly took the baby, then returned into the house. When she was gone, Jessica turned back to Joshua, her face calm and serene. Joshua fought down the anger, cursing himself for letting it get away from him. For several moments, neither spoke, then he cleared his throat. “So, what now?”
Jessica gave a soft laugh, not without a bitter edge to it. “You tell me, Joshua? What now?”
“Well, I’m back. We still have the house. It needs some cleaning up but—”
She was shaking her head.
“What?”
“I’m not unhappy here, Joshua.”
He looked incredulous. “A one-room sod hut on the prairie, ten, twelve miles from anything?”
“These people took me in. They’ve been good to me.”