The Work and the Glory (143 page)

“That’s true, Oliver,” Joseph said, “and we also still owe thirteen thousand dollars on it.”

Brigham raised his hand again.

“Brother Brigham.”

“We must write to the branches and tell them to stop sending people to Kirtland unless they have a minimum amount of money and have the means for making a living.”

Martin Harris, who had sat back down, now shot to his feet again, giving Brigham a hard look. “That’s easy for you to say, Brother Young. You’re here now. How would you have liked it if back in ’33 we told you to stay in New York?”

“I came with nothing, that’s true,” Brigham said testily, “but I was not dependent on the Church. I worked hard.”

Several nodded in agreement. Brigham was a skilled carpenter and glazier. Many of the finer homes in Kirtland and the surrounding area sported exquisite fireplace mantels or cantilevered staircases, thanks to Brigham Young. He had also directed most of the finish carpentry work in the temple.

“Well,” Martin grumbled, “I say we have to accept these souls, poor or not.”

Brigham’s eyes narrowed a little, but before he could speak, someone behind them said, just barely loud enough to be heard, “Brother Harris, your concern for these poor souls wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that you own several building lots you’re trying to sell, would it?”

Martin whirled, his eyes blazing. “Who said that? Who dares to question my integrity?”

Luke Johnson and his younger brother Lyman, both in the Quorum of the Twelve, were on their feet now too, staring at the men behind them. Several eyes dropped; others met their gaze with open challenge. Hyrum stepped forward. “All right, brethren,” he said calmly, “let’s keep our emotions in check. We’re not here to fight with one another. We’re here looking for solutions.”

Ben finally had had enough. He raised his hand, then stood even as Joseph turned to him. The room immediately quieted, showing the respect in which he was held. “Brother Steed,” Joseph said.

“Martin and Oliver are right. We are in prosperous times, but that prosperity is hollow.” Martin stirred, but Benjamin went on quickly. “That doesn’t mean it is not real, just that it is hollow.”

“Hollow? What’s that supposed to mean?” Luke Johnson demanded.

Benjamin let his eyes sweep around the room. “It means it has no real economic base beneath it. We’re living on credit. Some of us in this room have become so-called wealthy men of late.” He smiled grimly. “But it is only on paper. Unless we get something—land, hard money, some real industry—behind all this credit we’re using, we are just dithering about the problem.”

“You’re the only one dithering at the moment,” Lyman Johnson said with half a sneer.

Benjamin swung around angrily, but Joseph was up instantly. His eyes were sorrowful, and when he spoke his voice was filled with gravity. “Brethren,” he began, “some of you in this room were with me on Zion’s Camp. Have we so soon forgotten those lessons? Have we so soon forgotten how the Lord chastened us when we fell to bickering and contention?”

Heads dropped and eyes looked away quickly as he looked from man to man. “We lost fourteen to cholera!” He passed a hand over his eyes. “Fourteen good people. God warned us if we did not become one, if we did not show more Christian charity for one another, we would have no protection from the scourge when it fell upon us. Is that what it will take again? Do you not remember that God has commanded us to be one, or we cannot be his?”

The challenge hung heavy in the air. The silence became so total that Benjamin noticed for the first time the sound of the leaves rustling outside the window. No one looked at Joseph now. Every head was down.

Joseph moved back to stand by his chair. His voice dropped again, now to little more than a whisper. “Brethren, the Lord has said that he is bound when we do what he says, but if we don’t, we have no promise. He has promised us deliverance if we will but live his principles. But we are not living those principles. And if we do not repent we shall see the judgments of God in our lives again.” He sat down. After a moment, Frederick G. Williams raised a hand. Hyrum nodded for him to speak.

He looked to Joseph. “Brother Joseph, I think you need to tell them about Brother Burgess. That could be the solution to this financial crisis.”

Joseph was impassive for a moment, considering his counselor’s suggestion, then finally he nodded. “I think you’re right, Brother Frederick.” He stood again to face the group. “Something happened yesterday that may prove to be the answer to our prayers. We’re not sure yet, but it may prove to be.”

That caught everyone’s attention, and even the most volatile remained quiet to hear what was coming.

Joseph let his eyes sweep over them all. “Some of you know Brother Burgess, who recently came to us. Well, Brother Burgess has brought us some exciting news. As a boy he grew up in Salem, Massachusetts. As you may know, Salem is an important seaport a short distance north of Boston. Brother Burgess says he knows of a house in Salem where years ago a large treasure was buried in the cellar.”

Benjamin’s head came up sharply.
Buried treasure?
His eyes leaped to Joseph’s face, but Joseph was watching Brother Williams.

Williams continued. “Brother Burgess says he is the only man alive who knows where the treasure is hidden.”

“How much is it?” someone called out.

Joseph smiled for the first time. “He isn’t sure. It’s been a long time since it was put there. But it’s a large treasure. Enough to solve our problems once and for all.”

Joseph! Joseph!
Benjamin couldn’t believe the sharpness of his disappointment.
Surely not buried treasure.
He spoke, his voice filled with scorn. “And what percent of the total does Brother Burgess get?”

“Pa!” Nathan whispered in dismay.

“Well,” Benjamin said to his son, not caring that Joseph could hear, “that’s a fair question.”

Joseph nodded. “Yes, it is, Benjamin.” There was a soft note of rebuke in his voice. “Brother Burgess is asking for no part of it. He is willing to meet us in Salem and help us locate the treasure. If we find it, everything goes to the Church.”

Brother Williams faced Benjamin. “Maybe the Lord’s hand is in this. After all, it was building his house that got us partly into this debt in the first place. Maybe he will bless us now for it.”

“And maybe my crop of peas will produce pansies.”

Hyrum, still standing by Joseph, sighed. “Maybe it is a wild-goose chase, Brother Steed, but we would like to go to New York City and talk to some creditors anyway. Salem is not that much farther.”

Nathan gave his father a sidelong look, not wanting to offend him but clearly troubled by his sudden negative turn. “Joseph, I think it would be foolish not to see if what Brother Burgess is saying is true. It could be such a simple solution. It could be the answer to our prayers.”

“There are no simple solutions to this!” Benjamin shot back, giving his son a hard look.

“I think we have to try,” Joseph said quietly.

“Amen,” two or three called out.

Benjamin started a retort, but when he saw Joseph watching him steadily, he pushed it back down and just shook his head slowly.
Buried treasure?
He couldn’t believe it.

* * *

By the time they came out of the temple, it was into that time of twilight when the sky was gray-violet and the forms of the trees and the buildings were becoming muted and soft.

“Benjamin, may we speak with you a moment?”

Benjamin turned. Martin Harris was with three members of the Quorum of the Twelve—Luke and Lyman Johnson and John Boynton. Warren Parrish was also with them. Parrish was serving as Joseph’s personal secretary, but recently he had started to display a critical attitude about some things Joseph was doing.

Nathan touched his father’s arm. “I’d better get on home and help Lydia get the children to bed.”

“All right.” Benjamin watched for a moment as his son strode off, then turned and walked to the group. He didn’t like Parrish at all, and he found the Johnson brothers and Boynton a little too emotional for his tastes. They evidently sensed his hesitation, for they chose to let Martin speak for them.

Martin took his arm and turned him away from the temple, where the last of the brethren were still exiting. “Well, what did you think of the meeting?” he asked abruptly.

Benjamin hesitated, not sure yet what was on Martin’s agenda.

Martin didn’t wait for an answer.   “What do you think about Joseph going to Salem?”

“I thought I made myself quite clear on that matter. I think it’s an exercise in foolishness.”

“I agree,” Martin said darkly. “I don’t know what has gotten into Joseph lately.”

Benjamin looked at his old friend more closely. “Joseph is worried. Can you blame him? Twenty thousand dollars’ worth of debt. That’s a lot to worry about.”

“Then why doesn’t he let those of us who
can
help do something about it instead of chasing off after buried treasure?” The others were nodding now, but still kept their peace.

“Before I say what I’m going to say,” Martin went on, lowering his voice, “let me make one thing clear, Ben. No one is questioning Joseph’s spiritual leadership. We all know he has been chosen by the Lord.”

“Yes,” Benjamin said warily.

“But when it comes to financial matters . . .” He shook his head.

“What?” Ben asked. “When it comes to financial matters, what?”

Martin shoved his hands deep into his coat pockets. It was full cut and well tailored. Martin Harris was prospering, and it showed in the way he dressed. “Joseph was called by God to restore the gospel and the Church to the earth. His job is to build up the kingdom.”

Parrish finally spoke. “A prophet is a prophet. That doesn’t make him a financial genius.”

Martin’s hand shot out and grasped Benjamin’s arm. “His strengths lie in spiritual things, Ben, not temporal things.”

Ben felt a flash of irritation. At them. At himself for making them think he might be one of them. “Seems to me he hasn’t done too badly so far. Sure, we’re in debt, but most of that has come from building the temple.”

Martin hooted softly. “Do you think the Lord’s inspiring him to go look for buried treasure?”

Ben opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again.

“Neither do I,” Martin hissed. “That’s what I mean. Joseph needs to stick to the spiritual things. Let some of us with better business sense take charge of the other side. You’re one of those, Benjamin.”

Benjamin didn’t answer. He felt a great sense of loyalty to Joseph, but he had been shaken by Joseph’s determination to follow after this Burgess fellow. It was pure foolishness, in Benjamin’s mind.

Martin seemed to sense he had pushed far enough. “Let’s wait and see what happens. If Joseph comes home from Salem with a wagon full of treasure, I’ll be the first one to say I was wrong. But if not . . .”

He let it hang there a moment, then nodded at the others. They murmured their farewells and walked away, leaving Benjamin alone with his thoughts.

Chapter Twelve

The prairie north of the Missouri River rolled in gently undulating swells for about as far as the eye could see in any direction. Occasionally it would flatten out for some distance, but only from the highest knolls could you see very far. There were no trees, except along the occasional stream bed; mostly this land was an oceanic expanse of waving green grass and clumps of wildflowers.

It bothered people from the East, this mind-bending openness, but Jessica loved it. Though she had to admit that the forestlands of Ohio had their own beauty, they were more confining than she liked. Her father had brought her to Missouri from Kentucky in 1826. So in many ways this felt like home to her.

As she crested a small rise, the darker line of trees and shrubbery that lined Shoal Creek greeted her eyes. She stopped, letting her knapsack drop off her shoulder. She squinted against the afternoon haze. Quickly she identified the gentle bend in the stream that signalled the location of the settlement of Haun’s Mill. Though there were no telltale columns of smoke—in this mid-July heat there would be no fires except for cooking the evening meal—she quickly found the squat dark shapes of the cabins and the larger block shape of the blacksmith’s shop.

She stood motionless, enjoying the moment of pause. Without conscious thought, she began to wiggle her toes, liking the feel of the powdery, hot dust of the wagon track on her bare feet. She had shoes in her knapsack, but they were far too costly to wear out on long empty roads where there was not another person to be seen for hours at a time.

Jessica looked up at the sky and smiled. She was pleased with herself. Immensely pleased. It would give her great satisfaction to return to the settlement and report on her success. Everyone—including Sister Lewis, with whom she was staying—had tried to dissuade Jessica from setting out to find families that needed a tutor for their children. Even the few scattered settlers in this part of northern Missouri knew about the Mormons. They were resentful of their coming and suspicious of their motives. But after two rather sharp encounters, Jessica decided to acknowledge right up front who she was and get to the point of her coming. “Good morning, sir (or ma’am),” she would say. “My name is Jessica Steed, from the new Mormon settlement over on Shoal Creek.” And then before they could react, “I’m going to be coming through here twice a month, teaching reading, writing, and arithmetic to children.”