* * *
For a long time after the wagon had disappeared from sight, Benjamin and Mary Ann and Rebecca stood together in front of the store. Carl and Melissa had left immediately. Lydia and Nathan, along with Matthew, had taken the children home to try and get their minds on something other than Rachel’s leaving.
Benjamin watched his wife and youngest daughter with a great feeling of tenderness. The two of them were standing together, eyes still red, not feeling a need to speak but only to be there for each other. Mary Ann had been just shy of eighteen when Benjamin had first met her and started courting her. Now Rebecca, at that same age, looked so much like Mary Ann had then, it made him feel as though no time had passed at all. And she had so much of Mary Ann’s nature. He stepped up beside them. “They’ll be all right. They’re traveling with good people.”
Mary Ann turned and managed a smile. “I know. It couldn’t have worked out any better.” A group of Saints from Missouri, including most of the leaders, had come to Kirtland in the past few months to be present for the temple dedication. Now they were returning. Hyrum Smith had loaned the Knights a wagon, team, and driver to get them to the upper Ohio River, where they planned to take a steamer. The Knights had promised to take good care of Jessica and her daughter and see that they arrived safely in Missouri.
“I just worry,” Rebecca said, “their being alone, without family, and all.”
“Don’t underestimate Jessica,” Mary Ann said. “She is very strong.”
Benjamin said a soft inward amen to that. When the Saints had been driven out of Jackson County, Jessica had fled into the night wearing nothing more than a nightdress, a shawl, and a thin pair of moccasins. She had carried Rachel, not yet two, in her arms for more than twenty miles. The prairie was covered with a thin sheet of sleet and ice. By dawn, she was leaving bloody footprints on the prairie. Yes, Jessica was strong.
Mary Ann took a deep breath, turned to look once more down the road where the wagon had disappeared, then slipped her arm through Benjamin’s. “We’re not doing Jessica and Rachel any good standing around here. Let’s go home.”
* * *
“Will we ever get to see Aunt Jessica and Rachel again?”
Lydia looked up at her older son, then let her sewing drop into her lap. He was sitting across the room from her. The picture book he had been looking through was closed. Now as he looked at her, his light blue eyes were clearly troubled. Her first impulse was to soothe him, cushion the hardness of the reality a little, but then she knew she couldn’t do that. Not with young Joshua. He was so much the child at times, then in an instant could turn into a little five-year-old adult. Like now.
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know, Joshua. I hope so.”
Emily looked up, the dark bangs around her forehead bouncing slightly. She had a square of slate and a piece of soapstone. She was laboriously drawing a stick family in front of a building. What was obviously a wagon and a horse were nearby. Just thirteen and a half months younger than Joshua, Emily had neither his maturity nor his basic seriousness. “I’ll bet we do,” she said matter-of-factly, always the optimist.
Joshua only saddened the more. “Emmy, you don’t know how far Missouri is. It’s a long, long ways. And it’s dangerous.”
She shrugged that aside. “Aunt Jessica said she will help Rachel write to me.” As if that made everything perfectly all right.
Lydia smiled brightly at her children. “And she will, I’m sure, Emily.” She looked at her eldest. “Joshua, you must make yourself stop worrying about them. They will be all right.”
But she knew it sounded forced. Like her son, Lydia had this terrible dread that they might never see Jessica and Rachel again. But it was more than that. In addition to a difficult journey, there was the stark reality of what awaited them once they arrived. The citizens of Clay County, who had kindly taken in the exiles from Jackson County two years earlier, were now saying that the Saints had overstayed their welcome. The leaders there had written to Joseph. Plans were being made to look for a haven elsewhere in the state, but for now, tension in Clay County was mounting. It wasn’t a good time to go to Missouri.
There was a sound in the hall, and Lydia turned. Nathan had been putting six-month-old baby Nathan to bed. Evidently he had been able to hear part of the conversation, because he moved directly over to Joshua and dropped into a crouch, facing his son. “Your mother’s right, Joshua. Aunt Jessica and Rachel aren’t traveling alone. Besides the Knights, they’ll also have the Lord with them.”
There was a momentary look of surprise, then Joshua’s lower lip shot out into a pout. He gave a stubborn shake of his head and looked away.
Nathan was a little startled. “What?”
There was no answer. Nor did the head come around.
“Come on,” Nathan prodded gently. “What is it?”
“It was the Lord who took Aunt Jessie and Rachel away from us.”
“Joshua!”
Nathan held up one hand toward Lydia. “No, Mother, in a way Joshua’s right. Jessica said she felt a strong prompting to return to Missouri. So in that sense it was the Lord who took them away from us.” He turned to his son again. “Do you think Heavenly Father did that because he wanted to hurt us?”
There were several seconds of silence, then a barely murmured, “No.”
“I don’t either. It does hurt. We’re going to miss them a lot, but Heavenly Father always does what is best, even if sometimes it hurts others a little.”
Emily had pushed her slate aside. She stood and came over to her father, putting one arm around his shoulder. “Can’t Heav’nly Father make it so nobody hurts?”
Nathan sat down on the floor and took his daughter in his lap. “Come here, Joshua.” He patted the floor next to him. As Joshua did so, Lydia’s mouth softened into a smile. Her two children were looking up at their father, their eyes wide and trusting. She knew what was about to happen, and she felt a great upsurge of love and gratitude for this man who was her husband. This was something she had never had from her own father. He had always been there, had always loved her. But, in his mind, it was a woman’s place to show affection, to hold and cuddle the children, talk to them, teach them. He had never been harsh or unkind, just aloof and distant. Nathan had given her a whole new perspective on what it meant to be a father.
“Joshua,” Nathan was saying, “Emily has asked a very important question. Can Heavenly Father make it so no one hurts?”
The handsome little face twisted in deep thought. “I don’t know.”
“Did Jesus ever hurt?”
Emily nodded soberly. Joshua did the same. Lydia stood and set her sewing aside. She moved over and sat down next to them. She wanted to be part of this. “Could Heavenly Father have made it so Jesus didn’t have to hurt?” she asked.
Emily nodded immediately. Joshua, more slowly, was shaking his head.
“Why not, Joshua?” Lydia asked softly.
“Because Jesus had to die for us.”
“Do you think Heavenly Father
wanted
him to hurt?” Nathan asked.
“No,” he finally said, again after some thought. “I don’t think so.”
“Then why did he let him suffer so much pain?”
Now Joshua understood. “To help us?”
Nathan reached out and touched his arm. “Exactly, Joshua. Sometimes doing what’s best may cause some people to be hurt or be sad, but we have to trust Heavenly Father. He always knows what is best.”
“Papa, do you think we’ll ever get to see Aunt Jessica and Rachel again?”
Nathan took a deep breath, then let it out slowly as he considered that. “Yes, Joshua,” he finally said. He saw his wife’s eyebrows raise, but he went on more firmly. “I don’t know when. I don’t know how. But I have a feeling we’ll get to see them again.”
Joshua’s large blue eyes appraised his father’s for a moment. Then he seemed satisfied. “Good,” was all he said.
Lydia watched her son’s face closely, noting once again how strong the resemblance between him and his Uncle Joshua was becoming. Was this why the Lord had inspired Nathan to name him as he had? She had not seen Joshua Steed for over eight years now, but his image was still clear in her mind. And young Joshua had the same handsome features, the same dark hair, the same habit of jutting out his chin in stubborn defiance when someone was trying to make him do something he did not want to do.
She remembered with perfect clarity the day Nathan had taken their infant son in his arms to name and bless him. Beforehand they had both agreed they would call their firstborn Nathan Benjamin Steed, after his father and grandfather. Nathan had begun the blessing normally enough, but suddenly his voice had changed. And then he had stunned everyone, including himself.
“His name shall be Joshua Benjamin Steed.”
Later, others had felt bad for Lydia. But she did not. At the very moment Nathan was speaking the words, Lydia had felt a thrill shoot through her. Like Nathan, she didn’t fully understand why the Lord wanted their son called Joshua, but that he did was not a question in her mind.
Nathan stood up, swooping Emily up in his arms. “Come on, kids. We got you up early this morning. It’s time for bed. Let’s say our prayers.”
He walked over to the large sofa and let Emily down gently, then knelt beside her. Lydia took young Joshua’s hand and led him over, and they both knelt down too.
“Can I say the prayer tonight, Papa?” Emily asked.
He started to nod, but Lydia answered quickly. “I think we ought to let Papa say it tonight. Have him say a special prayer for Aunt Jessica and Rachel. And ask that Heavenly Father will keep our family strong.”
Emily nodded immediately at that and dropped her head to her hands. Joshua followed suit. Lydia smiled at her husband as they took each other’s hands, then bowed their heads as well.
* * *
Lydia leaned over the bed and pulled the blanket up under Emily’s chin. She gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Emmy.”
“Good night, Mama.”
“Good night, Joshua.”
“Good night, Mama.”
She turned to Nathan and gave him a stern look. “Don’t wake the baby.”
He looked offended that she would even imply such a thing. She smiled as she left them. He always lingered for a few minutes after Lydia had kissed the children good night. Supposedly it was to talk softly to them until eyes became heavy and they drifted off to sleep, but as often as not, he would get them giggling or squealing in delight. No wonder they loved him so much.
Out in the hallway she stopped and leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling a great surge of happiness. What a good life! What a wonderful, rich life they had! Surprised at the depths of her feelings, she walked into the living room, went to the chair, and picked up her sewing again. But she just held it in her lap, not wanting to lessen the feelings that had welled up in her. She and Nathan had three healthy, lovely children who were the delight of her life. The love between them was deepening to the point that she found herself a little bit awed by it. Not many couples had what they enjoyed.
They were not rich, by any means, but compared to many of the Saints in Kirtland, they were doing well financially. The two farms Nathan was running for his father had produced their second bountiful crop. Lydia no longer substituted for William McLellin at the Kirtland School, but her experience in her father’s store had prompted Newel Whitney to bring her in one day a week for a few hours to help out in his store. He paid in goods, and it proved to be a small but appreciated addition to their other income.
A knock at the door brought Lydia out of her thoughts.
Nathan was just coming out of the bedroom. “I’ll get it.”
“Brother Nathan. Good evening.”
Nathan blocked her view of the door, but there was no mistaking that booming voice. It was Heber C. Kimball, one of the Twelve Apostles. That surprised her a little. Not that it was that late, but Heber ran a pottery business on the Painesville Road, some distance northeast of town. She stood and went to join Nathan.
“Well, hello, Brother Heber,” Nathan said. “This is a pleasant surprise. Come in, come in.” He stepped back, holding the door open.
“Good evening, Brother Heber.”
“Good evening, Sister Lydia. It’s good to see you again.”
He swept off his hat, which showed his balding head, the hair in some disarray. Heber Kimball was the son of a blacksmith and had spent the first years of his life working in his father’s shop and performing other tasks on the family farm. He was as strong as any two men, and built somewhat along the lines of a two-hundred-year-old oak tree. He often said he was the only man alive whose chest measurements were the same from side to side as they were front to back. But he was a pleasant man, quick to laugh, and always congenial, especially with women and children.
“Can I get you some bread and a glass of milk?”
He smiled broadly. “Thank you very much, Sister Steed, but I’m on an errand just now.” He turned to Nathan. “I was wondering if you might help me, Brother Steed.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Normally I get Brigham to help me, but he’s not available. Brother Joseph is away right now with President Williams. I stopped at Brother Sidney’s house, but he has company. Then I thought of you.” He looked at Lydia. “I hope you don’t mind me coming this time of night.”
“Not at all. What do you need?”
He sighed, turning back to Nathan. “Of late I’ve felt a great concern for Brother Parley Pratt.”
Lydia felt a little start of surprise. As they had walked home from the Whitney store that morning, she and Nathan had somehow started talking about the Pratts. They had moved to Kirtland a few months ago from the town of New Portage, which was about fifty-five miles south of Kirtland. Word was that Parley, who was also one of the Twelve, felt the need to go on another mission but was totally destitute. His wife, Thankful, who had been stricken with consumption for the past six years, was quite ill.
“We have had some concern as well,” Nathan was saying. “What would you like me to do?”
“I’ve been thinking that perhaps Parley could use a blessing,” Brother Kimball said. “I need a good, faithful elder to assist me.”