The figure ahead of her stopped and whirled around. Jessica called out softly. “It’s Jessica Steed.”
“Oh.” There was tremendous relief. “Mary Elizabeth Rollins.”
Jessica smiled to herself and moved over to join the girl. Mary Elizabeth Rollins and her sister, Caroline, were heroines among the Missouri Saints. Word had spread quickly of their courage on that July day when they had braved the mob to save several copies of the Book of Commandments. Since then, Jessica had gotten to know Mary Elizabeth better and had come to love her pluck and her persistently positive outlook on life.
“Evenin’, Sister Steed.”
“Evenin’, Mary Elizabeth. What are you doing out on a dark and rainy night like this?”
“Putting out some lines for catfish.”
“You’re fishing? Tonight?”
“Brother Higbee suggested we might catch enough to give to the ferryman tomorrow. Maybe he’ll take that as payment.”
“Oh.” Jessica felt bad that the thought had not occurred to her.
“If we have faith, the Lord will provide.”
Jessica laughed softly. “You really believe that, don’t you, Mary Elizabeth?”
“Yes’m.” There was not the slightest hesitation in her voice.
“There are some who are saying the Lord has abandoned us.”
Mary Elizabeth tossed something and there was a soft plop. “I know,” she said matter-of-factly. “They’re some of the same ones who refused to humble themselves when Joseph told us that we in Zion would have to repent or suffer.”
She walked another few feet down the riverbank, Jessica following, and looked for a proper spot. Again she leaned over, tied a line to a tree, then tossed the hook and bait out into the river. She stepped back, wiping off her hands on her dress.
Jessica had a sudden thought. “Would you mind if we prayed together? Before we go to bed?”
Mary Elizabeth nodded emphatically. “I wanted to pray anyway. We need some fish if we’re goin’ to get across this river tomorrow.”
Jessica reached out gratefully and touched her hand. It was so refreshing to stand in the presence of such simple and direct faith. They both bowed their heads, unmindful of the rain, and Mary Elizabeth began to pray.
“Sister Steed! Sister Steed! Come quick! Come quick!”
Jessica stooped down to glance out through the low opening to their shelter. Mary Elizabeth Rollins was coming on the dead run, pigtails flying, hands waving frantically.
Sister Lewis gave Jessica a questioning look, but Jessica could only shrug.
“Watch the children, Jeremy,” Sister Lewis said. Then she and Jessica both ducked through the door and went outside. Brother Lewis was out chopping wood. He moved over to join them as Mary Elizabeth came running up.
“What is it?” Jessica asked.
“You’ve got to see this. Come on.” Without waiting for a reply, she turned and hurried back in the direction from which she had come. Still puzzled, the three of them fell in behind her.
Suddenly Jessica understood. “Did you catch some fish?” she asked eagerly, catching up to the girl now.
Mary Elizabeth just smiled and shook her head. “You’ve got to see it.”
They came to the lean-to where the Higbee family was staying. Brother Higbee was standing with a huge catfish in his hands. It was easily two feet long, and Jessica guessed it weighed close to fifteen pounds. She had never seen one quite that big.
As they came up to Brother Higbee, Jessica was awestruck. “You did it!” she said to Mary Elizabeth. “It’s a miracle.”
Mary Elizabeth’s eyes were wide as she shook her head slowly. She stepped to Brother Higbee, who lifted the fish higher as she did so. Now Jessica could see that the fish had been slit up the gut. Brother Higbee had started to clean it. Curious, she and the Lewises stepped closer too.
Mary Elizabeth reached out and put her hand on the fish’s stomach where it had been slit. “No, Sister Steed,” she said triumphantly,
“this
is the miracle!” She lifted the skin.
For several seconds Jessica just gaped, not believing what her eyes were seeing. She heard a gasp behind her and realized that Sister Lewis was staring too, as dumbfounded as she was. There in the midst of the blood and entrails, lying in what had been the stomach sack, were three bright, shiny silver half-dollars. At fifty cents per family, it was exactly enough to get the Lewises, the Higbees, and the Rollinses across the river to join the rest of the Saints.
Joshua Steed looked up as Clinton Roundy entered the saloon. Roundy gave him a quick glance and motioned with his head. Joshua took a drink from his glass, then stretched. He laid down his poker hand. “Count me out of this one,” he said to the others seated at the table.
Casually he got up and walked to the bar. After a moment, Roundy sidled over to join him.
“Well?” Joshua asked.
“They’re gone.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. The ferryman said he took the last three families across this afternoon.”
“And Jessica was with them?”
Roundy shrugged. “He said there was a single woman with a little dark-haired girl.”
Joshua nodded, finally satisfied. For a long moment they stood there in silence. Then Joshua looked at Roundy, his eyes darkly bitter. “I hope I live long enough,” he said softly.
“Long enough for what?” Roundy asked.
“Long enough to see every Mormon rotting in hell.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
On the twenty-fourth day of February, 1834, three things took place almost simultaneously, though at the time none of those involved were aware of the other happenings.
In Missouri, Governor Dunklin finally agreed to prosecute those who had perpetrated the lawlessness against the Saints. Charges were sworn and twelve of the Church leaders living in and around Liberty in Clay County were subpoenaed as witnesses for the state and called to come to Jackson County to testify. The governor agreed to provide military protection to assure that the Saints would not be harmed. W. W. Phelps, John Corrill, Bishop Edward Partridge, and others crossed the river from Clay County under the escort of Captain David Atchison and fifty men from the “Liberty Blues.” By the time the group arrived, the citizens of Jackson County, fueled by considerable stores of whiskey, were in an ugly and violent mood. Attorneys, judges, law officers—anyone associated in any way with the trial—were threatened with the direst of personal consequences if they took the Mormon side. Lacking the courage to stand up against such opposition, the court dismissed the case and ordered the witnesses and their escort to march out of town at quick time to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.”
Conditions in Kirtland were, at this time, not particularly wonderful either. There was much that was positive to be reported—continuing success in the missionary work, the building of the temple moving ahead, the Saints sacrificing their time and goods to help the poor and move the work forward. But the construction of the temple and taking in hundreds of newcomers had also left the Church deeply in debt. The poor continued to flock to Ohio, bringing little more than additional hungry mouths and a desperate need for immediate shelter. Opposition from the enemies of the Church was on the rise. Feelings were running so high that it became necessary to put a guard on the temple site during the night. In early January, an unknown group had fired thirteen rounds of cannon shell at the site one night. Because of threats to his life, Joseph now had appointed some of the brethren to serve as his bodyguards around the clock.
Within the Church, petty jealousies, selfishness, and general disregard for the commandments were cropping up. Some of these things were not much more than minor annoyances, but reflected a spirit not compatible with the requirements of discipleship. Joseph was arrested on a writ sworn out by a salesman who tried to get Joseph to try out a newfangled cooking stove and then convince the Saints to purchase them as well. When Joseph refused, the man used the writ as a ploy to make Joseph change his mind.
On another occasion, Joseph finally had to put a public notice in the newspaper that he could no longer accept COD mail. Postage in America was very expensive at this time—twenty-five cents for a letter, or about half a day’s wage for some folks. Usually that was paid by the sender, but it was permissible to send a letter COD and have the postage paid by the receiver. People began to flood Joseph with mail, much of it filled with the most trivial questions, some of it sharply critical of him. Of course, they sent it COD.
But there were things of much greater consequence. With increasing frequency the members fell into squabbling with one another or began to transgress the laws of the Church. One man brought charges against Bishop Newel K. Whitney because, according to him, he had been treated rudely by Bishop Whitney while in his store. Another man was charged with selling “revelations” to the members. Some bitterly criticized the Prophet for not doing enough for the poor, others because he was doing too much for them. Even Martin Harris was brought before a council for claiming that Joseph was drunk while he translated the Book of Mormon. He apologized and admitted the charges were not true and was forgiven, but this case was indicative of some of the challenges facing the Church in Ohio.
That was the climate in Kirtland when Parley P. Pratt and Lyman Wight arrived from Missouri on the twenty-second day of February. Commissioned by the leadership in Zion to go to Ohio and report on the condition of the scattered and destitute exiles, the two men had traveled eight hundred miles in the dead of winter, with virtually no money and little food. When they arrived, they were emaciated and exhausted, their clothes ragged and their boots in tatters. Joseph called for a meeting of the Kirtland high council, formed just the week previous, along with other priesthood holders to hear Parley and Lyman’s report.
So it was on the afternoon of the twenty-fourth that a most somber group of priesthood brethren gathered in Joseph Smith’s home and heard the full extent of the tragedy that had befallen the Saints in Missouri. It was a disturbing report they brought, and it caused much consternation among the Church leadership. What could and should be done to restore Zion and get redress for her children? When the two men had finished their report, Joseph inquired of the Lord: What is thy will concerning Zion?
In a previous revelation received in December, the Lord had given a parable in which he compared Zion to the vineyard of a nobleman. The nobleman, the lord of the vineyard, instructed his servants to build a tower so they could be prepared for the time when the enemies came to spoil the vineyard. But the servants fell into discord and did not heed the warning of their master. While they were thus contending amongst themselves, the enemies overran the vineyard. After rebuking the servants for their slothfulness, the nobleman called on one of his servants to gather all “the strength” of his house and return to the vineyard and redeem it.
Now, on this afternoon of the twenty-fourth, a second revelation came. “Verily I say unto you, my friends,” it began, “behold, I will give unto you a revelation and commandment, that you may know how to act in the discharge of your duties concerning the salvation and redemption of your brethren, who have been scattered on the land of Zion.” What followed was electrifying. Joseph Smith was specifically identified as the “servant” in the parable who was to rally the strength of God’s house and redeem Zion. The call was to go out to the “young men and the middle aged” of the Church and ask them to volunteer to go to Zion and support the governor of Missouri in restoring the Saints to their lands. Joseph and seven others were instructed to leave immediately and extend the call throughout the various branches of the Church in the East. If five hundred could not be found, then four hundred; if not four, then three. But in no case, the Lord said, should there be less than a hundred men go up to Zion.
When Joseph finished reading the revelation to the assembled body, he gazed at them for several moments, then said solemnly: “Governor Dunklin of Missouri has promised to reinstate the Saints if they can find a way to protect themselves once they are back. God has called upon us to lead an army of righteous priesthood holders back to Zion for that purpose. I am going to Zion to help redeem it. Are there others present who will volunteer to join me in this?”
Thirty to forty men raised their hands. One of the first hands up belonged to Nathan Steed.
The third event that unfolded that afternoon took place in a cabin out on the Isaac Morley farm. Earlier that morning, Lydia Steed had given in to Nathan’s suggestion that she stay in bed and not worry about fixing breakfast. She was heavy with child now, the baby being due in less than two weeks, and had had a difficult night. He would feed himself, he promised. He would also see that little Joshua and Emily were dressed and fed before he took them to a neighbor who had volunteered to tend them so Lydia could get some rest. Then he left for town to join in the meeting at Joseph’s home.
Shortly after noon, the neighbor, worried that she had not heard any word from Lydia, went to the cabin. She found Lydia collapsed on the floor just inside the door, hemorrhaging badly. Lydia reported later that she had awakened with severe stomach cramps, managed to get out of bed and pull herself to the doorway, but there fainted with the pain. As the word went out and sisters rushed to Lydia’s aid, one of the brethren was sent to town to find Nathan. Unfortunately it was mistakenly reported that he was working at the temple site. So it took the messenger almost an hour to finally locate him at the Prophet’s home.
By the time Nathan rushed back home, Lydia had already delivered a six-pound baby boy. He was perfectly formed in every respect, with a thin sheen of dark hair, dark eyelashes, and tiny little fingernails. But it was not enough. He never took a breath; his eyes never opened. The boy they had planned to call Nathan Morgan Steed was stillborn.
Mary Ann looked around the table with pride. It was the afternoon of the last Sabbath in April, and she had every one of her children with her.
Except for Joshua, of course,
she reminded herself. It had been so long, sometimes it seemed he wasn’t part of the family anymore. Even though her children lived in the Kirtland area, this was the first time they had all been together in almost three months. Lydia’s pregnancy, then near death and the loss of the baby had precluded any big family get-togethers until now, and so Mary Ann was grateful to have everyone finally gathered around her again.