Joshua looked beyond her at Will and Olivia. They were staring at their parents, their mouths half-open in shock. Olivia shrank back against her brother, her eyes large and wide and frightened. Joshua turned back to Caroline. “Then I suggest they find somewhere else to be while we talk.”
Her shoulders came back. “Or maybe you’d better find somewhere else to be until you can calm down enough to stop talking like a wild man.”
His mouth opened, then clamped shut again. The muscles along his jaw stood out like cords of rope. For a long moment he stood there, chest rising and falling. Then without another word, he spun on his heel, and without bothering to get his hat, he stalked out of the door, slamming it behind him.
* * *
Joshua was playing a desultory game of small-stakes poker in the far corner of Clinton Roundy’s saloon on Main Street. When Joshua had come storming into the bar like a Missouri twister, Roundy knew instantly that his former son-in-law was in a black mood; but he had long ago learned that with Joshua you didn’t ask questions until he let it be known it was all right. Roundy just drew large mugs of beer for Joshua and himself, then gathered up three or four other regulars and started a game. Now, two hours later, he could tell that Joshua’s mood had flattened out considerably.
It was a warm evening outside, and Roundy had propped the two front doors open. A movement there caught his eye. He had been about to call for more cards, but he stopped short. Caroline Steed was standing just outside, looking in. Lowering his cards, he shot Joshua a warning look. For a moment Joshua was too busy concentrating on his own hand and missed it, but finally his head came up. Roundy motioned slightly with his head toward the door. Everyone at the table turned to look. Slowly Joshua put his cards down too.
For a long moment their eyes locked. The sound in the barroom dropped to an instant hush. Finally, Joshua shoved his chair back. “Give me a minute,” he grunted. As he stood, Caroline backed away and disappeared again.
When Joshua stepped outside, Caroline was a few feet down the board sidewalk, her back to him, hugging herself as though it were cold. He moved quietly up behind her and stood without speaking.
After a moment she stirred slightly. “Is that what it’s come to?”
“What?”
“Whiskey and poker again?”
He stiffened. “I’ve won a whoppin’ seventy-five cents in the last two hours,” he said sarcastically. “And I’ve drowned my sorrows in about three-quarters of a glass of warm beer. If that qualifies as ‘whiskey and poker,’ then I guess I’m guilty as charged.”
Slowly she turned around. In the half-light from the windows behind them, he couldn’t tell if she had been crying or not, but now she definitely was not. Her eyes were luminous but unreadable. Finally, she dropped her chin a little. “All right, that was uncalled for. I’m sorry.”
He nodded slightly but didn’t say anything.
“And shall I take the children and move into the hotel for the night?”
One eyebrow went up. “Why would you do that?”
“So you won’t have to wait around here all night to be sure I’m asleep before you feel like it’s safe to come home.”
Again he bit his tongue and waited for a moment until he could speak calmly. “You’re the one who told me to go find someplace to be until I could stop talking like a wild man.” A tiny hint of a smile toyed at the corners of his mouth. “How am I doin’?”
A little of the tightness in her face softened. “Much better.”
“I was going to come home in a little while.”
“After I was asleep?”
He started to protest, then finally shrugged. “Probably.”
“So?” she said, her eyes challenging him.
He grinned more openly now. “As I recollect, that was the word that got us into trouble in the first place.”
This time she didn’t smile. “So? Do I go to the hotel or not?”
He peered at her more closely. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Joshua, when Donovan Mendenhall found me working in my mother’s dress shop and took me away, everything was wonderful between us. He was handsome, he was rich. I never challenged him on anything.” She shook her head, looking away, the pain evident on her face. “Then the troubles with Boswell and Berrett began. When I found out what was happening, for the first time there were sharp words between us. I wanted to know what was going on between him and his two—partners.” She spat out the last word with utter contempt. “I was worried sick. Donovan would get angry and tell me the business was his business. He’d stomp out of the house, and I’d lay there in bed for hours on end, brooding and practicing my lines over and over for when he returned. But he never would, not before he was sure I was asleep. Then the next morning, we’d kind of tiptoe around each other, talking nice and trying to smile. It was too painful to go through it all again, so we’d just pretend everything was all right.”
She stopped for breath, a little surprised at her own intensity. “Well,” she finally said, more slowly now and with soft bitterness, “it doesn’t work, Joshua. Donovan ended up dead, and I ended up trying hard not to hate him for leaving me—a widow with two children—totally dependent upon the tender mercies of Mr. Theodore Berrett and Mr. Jeremiah Boswell.”
She tipped her head back, the challenge evident in her eyes. “So, I’m not going to sleep alone tonight, Joshua. If you’re not coming home, then I’ll get a room and sleep with my children.”
He looked away, not wanting her to see his face. Two conflicting emotions were struggling in him. Part of him wanted to strike back at her. She was the one who’d started it all. All he’d done was make a couple of innocent comments about those wretched Mormons, and she’d come at him like a mother badger protecting her young. But another part of him was watching her with wonder. She rarely spoke of her marriage to Donovan Mendenhall or of her life back in Savannah, and he knew she avoided talking about those things out of respect for his feelings. So this was like a revelation to him.
Once again he felt a familiar sense of awe at the thought that he—Joshua Steed, mule skinner and Missouri wildcat—had been bold enough and lucky enough to convince this woman to marry him.
“Well?” she said.
He pulled a face. “I’m not sure it was a good idea that I stepped in between you and Boswell and Berrett. At the time I thought I was helping you. Now I’m beginning to think I was saving their hides.”
For a moment she looked startled, then instantly her lips compressed into a thin, hard line. She whirled around and started away, her shoulders squared, her back stiff. Joshua swore under his breath and went after her. He reached out and grabbed her arm. “Caroline!”
She jerked away. He grabbed her again, this time turning her around to face him. “Caroline,” he said more gently.
Finally her head came up. “I guess I’m not in much of a mood for jokes right now, Joshua.”
He shook his head in frustration. “Listen—,” he started. But again she pulled free and started away from him, her shoes making sharp staccato sounds on the boards.
“So that’s how it is,” he snapped. “You can tear into me, and I have to stand here and take it, but the moment I try to talk to you . . . How about
you
listening for a minute?”
She stopped. She didn’t turn around, but finally she nodded. “All right, I’m listening.”
He took a breath, feeling like he was fighting a losing battle. “I ain’t very—” He caught himself and started again. “I’m not very good with words, Caroline. I always feel like I’ve got a mouthful of prairie sod when I try to talk with you.” He shrugged helplessly. “All I was tryin’ to say was, you are some kind of woman, Caroline Mendenhall Steed. And you’re right. I shouldn’t have stomped out, and I shouldn’t have stayed away.”
He paused, then spoke more softly. “It was my way of tryin’ to say, don’t go to the hotel, Caroline. I don’t want you sleepin’ alone either.”
He dropped his hands to his sides. “That’s what I was hopin’ to say. I’m sorry if it sounded like I was making a joke.”
Slowly she turned around. Her eyes were shining in the faint light. “No, Joshua,” she murmured. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I . . . I’m just wound up so tight right now.” She came back to him. After a moment, she reached out and touched his hand. He opened his arms and she came against him, laying her head against his chest.
“I’m sorry, Caroline.”
“So am I, Joshua. I
wasn’t
listening, and I’m sorry.” She looked up at him and smiled faintly. “But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“Don’t ever say you’re bad with words, Joshua. Sometimes you are absolutely wonderful in what you say.”
* * *
“I think I understand at least some of your feelings about the Mormons, Joshua.”
He swatted impatiently at a mosquito that was humming around his ear. “No,” he said wearily, “I don’t think you do, Caroline, or you wouldn’t ask me to change how I feel.”
She was sitting on their front step. He was leaning against the hitching rail that ran about half the length of their porch. When they had arrived home, she had stepped inside only long enough to make sure the children were still asleep, then suggested they stay outside in the pleasantness of the summer’s night.
She watched him for a moment, then leaned forward, looking down at her feet. “Have you never wondered how I feel about religion, Joshua?”
The question caught him by surprise. “I . . . no, I guess I haven’t. You never talk about it.”
“I know.” She folded her hands in her lap, still looking down. Her voice took on a faraway sound. “My mother was a devout Methodist. My papa too before he died. So when Donovan and I were married in the home of a justice of the peace in Baltimore, I thought I had risked my eternal salvation.” She gave a quick, soft laugh. “It was probably the most ‘terrible’ thing I had ever done in my life.”
She finally looked up at him. “I guess what I’m trying to tell you is that during all the time I was growing up, religion was very important to me. I went to church services every Sabbath day. I said my prayers night and morning. I read from the Bible usually at least once a day, often more.”
He was really surprised, almost shocked. They had been married for well over a year now, and she had never—not once—made even the slightest reference to her feelings about church or religion or God. “What happened?” he asked.
She looked away again. “Donovan was much more liberal about religion than I was. To him, church was more of a social thing than a religious one, so he didn’t mind if I continued in my beliefs. When Will was born he said I could teach him whatever I chose. Then we moved to Savannah. It seemed like all the people who were important to us were members of—” She shook her head quickly. “Well, it doesn’t matter. But it wasn’t the Methodists. Suddenly, Donovan got ‘religious.’ We became very involved in the congregation there. I still gave money to the Wesleyan Methodist church. Donovan didn’t mind as long as I didn’t make too much fuss about it. After a while I decided it really didn’t matter so much which church you belonged to, as long as you believed in God.”
She shook her head, her eyes half closing. “Jeremiah Boswell and Theodore Berrett were pillars in that same congregation. In fact, they were the ones who got Donovan and me involved there.”
“Oh,” he said slowly.
She didn’t seem to hear him. “It couldn’t have been more than a month after Donovan’s death. The minister got up that Sunday. He was so excited, he could barely contain himself. The church was adding a new wing. It seems that Mr. Berrett and Mr. Boswell had just given a very substantial contribution to the church.
Very
substantial.” There was a short, bitter laugh of derision. “Why not? They had plenty to spare with what they had taken from Donovan and me.”
Now her voice dropped to a low, mocking whisper. “The minister preached a whole sermon that Sunday on what God-fearing men these two fine gentlemen were. He said the Spirit testified clearly that mansions on high awaited them. Whatever minor sins they might have committed would surely be swallowed up by this one grand act of generosity.”
She looked up at Joshua. “I never went back. I quit praying that very day. I took the Bible and locked it in a chest.”
He was nodding slowly. “I understand.”
She whirled now, her voice filled with sudden passion. “No, Joshua, you don’t understand. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I was so filled with hate, so torn with bitterness. It wasn’t aimed at just those two. I hated the minister. I hated the congregation for how they gushed all over them after the services.” She took a quick breath. “I hated God for doing this to me. He’d already taken my husband. Now it was like he had to drag it beneath my nose. Well, I thought, I’d show him. I’d withhold my devotion. I’d turn my back on him.”
He was beginning to see now where she was going. He didn’t like it and started to speak, but she went on quickly. “I don’t know much about the Mormons, Joshua. I don’t know much about what they did to you, except for the little you told me. I don’t know what they believe. It doesn’t matter. What matters is what my hatred did to me and what your hatred for them is doing to you.”
“There’s a difference between the hypocrisy of those two fancy-dressed blowhards and downright evil, Caroline. The Mormons are not just another religion that doesn’t practice what they preach, they’re—”
“It doesn’t matter, Joshua!” she burst out. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What matters is what’s happening to you.”
His eyes hardened. “There are some things you can’t change, Caroline,” he said stubbornly.
She gave an incredulous laugh. “Did I hear you right?”
His jaw tightened. “Yeah, you heard me right. I haven’t begun to tell you all that has happened to me because of Joseph Smith and those who follow him. You don’t know—”
She cut him off. “You’re telling me that the man who came out to Missouri with nothing but a few dollars and naked willpower and built one of the largest freight businesses in the western United States can’t do anything about how he feels?” She stood now, her eyes softening. “You’re telling me that the man who came to Savannah and convinced an independent-minded, bitter-hearted widow to marry him and run off with him to Missouri is helpless in the face of what’s inside him?” She smiled, her lips barely touching. “Sorry, Mr. Steed, but I find that hard to accept.”