* * *
The missionary work in Preston had gone so well in the little over two weeks since the arrival of the brethren from North America that on August sixth Heber organized a branch of the Church in Preston—the first branch to be organized outside the North American continent. The “dippers,” as all the townsfolk were calling them by then, had baptized twenty-eight souls in Preston. And many more were flocking to the meetings and listening to their preaching.
With that kind of success taking place, four of the missionaries were sent on August first to nearby communities—Willard Richards and John Goodson to Bedford, and Isaac Russell and John Snyder to Alston, in Cumberland. Then an unusual set of circumstances took Elder Kimball to Walkerfold, a small village about fifteen miles from Preston. A young woman by the name of Jennetta Richards had come to Preston to visit the Thomas Walmsley family. She soon met Elder Kimball and had a lengthy discussion with him about the gospel. At his invitation, she went to an evening meeting and listened to him preach. Much impressed, she came a second night and then, the next morning, requested baptism. She was baptized that morning, along with Peter and Derek Ingalls and Mrs. Pottsworth and her daughter, Jenny. That night, Heber C. Kimball penned a letter to Willard Richards in Bedford. “Willard,” he wrote, “it may interest you to know that I baptized your wife today.”
The day following her baptism, as Jennetta prepared to return home, she burst into tears. Surprised, Heber inquired as to what was wrong. She was the daughter of Walkerfold’s most prominent minister. She was fearful at what her father would say when he learned she had joined another church without consulting him. Elder Kimball took Jennetta by the hand and said firmly, “Sister, be of good cheer, for the Lord will soften the heart of thy father, and I will yet have the privilege of preaching in his chapel, and it shall result in a great opening to preach the gospel in that region.”
That prediction had created a small stir among the members. Word of the success of the Mormon missionaries was spreading among the English clergy, and opposition was mounting. But a few days later a letter came from Jennetta. With it was a letter from her father inviting Heber C. Kimball to come to Walkerfold and preach to his church. That had been over two weeks ago, and the Preston branch had been anxiously awaiting word ever since.
Now more than fifty people were packed into Mrs. Dawson’s sitting room, listening eagerly as Elder Kimball reported on his labors. He had started by giving them the details of his trip there on foot and of how the Richardses had received him warmly and given him supper. He even began to tell them what the Richardses had served at the meal.
Mrs. Dawson was the landlady of the small boardinghouse in which the missionaries were staying, and was therefore close enough to them to be quite open with them. She wagged her finger at Heber. “Brother Kimball, all of these details are most interesting, but what we’re all waiting to hear is, did you or did you not get to preach in the reverend’s church as you promised his daughter?”
Heber just gave her an impish smile; then, imitating their own west Lancashire accent, he said, “I cahn’t believe you bloomin’ Englishmen. Ya got no patience at all. Won’t even let a gentleman tell a proper story, ya won’t.”
Good-natured laughter rippled through the group as Mrs. Dawson blushed. Heber was well liked, and his teasing with them endeared him to them all the more. He waited for things to quiet again, then went on. “The next morning, being the Sabbath, I accompanied the reverend and his family to his church at the hour appointed. It was a goodly congregation. Fine people.” He smiled as Mrs. Dawson stirred again, then hurried on. “When the meeting started, the reverend gave out the hymns and prayed, and then he called on me to preach to those present.”
There were numerous exclamations of satisfaction.
“I preached to an overflowing congregation on the principles of salvation. I likewise preached in the afternoon and the evening. By the time we finished, nearly the whole congregation was in tears. I preached again on the following Monday and Wednesday.” His voice softened. “And on Thursday six individuals came forward for baptism. That seemed to alarm Mr. Richards. I think he was beginning to see all of this as a threat to his livelihood. But fortunately, unlike the Reverend James Fielding here in Preston, I’m pleased to say that Mr. Richards did not turn bitter—at least, not for now. He continued to manifest a kindly spirit and warm hospitality toward me. The following Sunday he once again gave out an appointment for me to preach. I baptized two the following day, and more are awaiting my return and will enter the kingdom soon.”
A murmur of excitement and gladness swept through the group. Heber turned to Elder Orson Hyde, his fellow Apostle. “Brother Hyde informs me that he has received a letter from our companions in Cumberland, and as you can see”—he motioned to where John Goodson sat—“Brother Goodson has come down from Bedford and brought us a letter from Brother Richards there. I am happy to report that the work progresses well in both places. They have already baptized nineteen in Bedford and formed a branch there. And in Alston, the brethren there have baptized about the same number. Not to mention the success that Brother Hyde and Brother Fielding have continued to have in this area.”
Now the group buzzed with excitement. Derek felt it too. The work was growing. Already nearly a hundred baptisms and that many more coming to meetings. That thrilled him. He was so on fire with the joy of the gospel, he wanted to shout it to the world. He had already started to quietly share the message with some of his fellow workers at the factory. Two of them, both women, were here tonight. One had her husband and two sons with her.
His thoughts were pulled back as he realized Heber was talking again, but now his face had grown very sober and his voice was subdued. “My brothers and sisters, the news is gratifying in many respects. The work rolls forward like the stone Daniel saw which was cut out of the mountain without hands. But it does not go unopposed. We know that the adversary is violently opposed to what is happening. He is starting to rage in the hearts of men. In Walkerfold, for example, some of our people are being ill treated by their neighbors because they have joined those ‘Mormons from America.’ In Cumberland, some of the younger brothers and sisters who have requested baptism are being thrust from their homes by their parents unless they renounce the faith.”
As cries of shock and disappointment erupted, Derek felt a tug on his sleeve. He turned. To his surprise, Peter was smiling at him. “What?” he mouthed.
“At least we don’t have that problem in our family,” Peter whispered.
Derek smiled back. “No, Peter. That’s one problem we don’t have.”
* * *
When Joseph returned from Canada in the closing days of August 1837, he was greeted with the grim news of what had been happening in his absence. The report of the near riot in the temple grieved Joseph deeply. Such actions could not be ignored. He called for a conference of the Church to be held on the following Sabbath, September third. One of the primary items on the agenda was the sustaining of the Church leaders and dealing with those who had violated the sanctity of the house of the Lord.
Brigham Young—who had been away on a business mission and had returned to Kirtland on August nineteenth—knew that the opposition was determined and organized. He feared they would try to get enough support so that Joseph would not be sustained. So early that Sunday morning Brigham rose and dressed, and then went quietly from house to house, visiting every brother whose vote could be relied on. He asked that they be to the temple early and occupy the pulpit seats and the most prominent benches.
When Sidney Rigdon, First Counselor in the First Presidency, stood and called for a vote by the priesthood quorums, Joseph Smith was unanimously sustained as the President of the Church. The vote for Sidney as First Counselor also carried unanimously. But the Saints refused to sustain Frederick G. Williams as Second Counselor. For months he had openly, and sometimes bitterly, criticized the Prophet. The Saints had had enough and found him unworthy of such a high office. Joseph then proposed that four assistant counselors be chosen. Joseph Smith, Sr.; John Smith, an uncle to the Prophet; and Joseph’s brother Hyrum were accepted without hesitation. But the fourth name, that of Oliver Cowdery, was not. Oliver had not completely broken with Joseph, but the congregation had serious reservations about him too. Joseph asked the priesthood brethren to pray for him so that he might yet “humble himself and magnify his calling,” and finally he was sustained.
John Boynton and Luke and Lyman Johnson, of the Quorum of the Twelve, were rejected and disfellowshipped for their general apostasy and also for their part in the attempt to take over the temple. Several other troublemakers, including Warren Parrish, the man who had once served as scribe to Joseph, were also disfellowshipped.
Another conference was called for later in the month, and the meeting was adjourned. To the vast relief of most present, things had gone with comparative smoothness, and relative calm seemed to settle over Kirtland again.
* * *
Dinner later on that same Sunday afternoon was not much like the usual Sabbath gatherings that had become traditional at the Steed house. The lighthearted bantering, the lazy conversation, the happy melee of the children racing around the house and yard—all of those were missing. Benjamin Steed had sent word to both of the married couples that they should make arrangements for someone to take the children immediately after dinner. There was to be a council of the Steed family, and it would be best if their attention wasn’t diverted by the activities of the children. Sensing that something significant was happening, both couples—Lydia and Nathan, and Melissa and Carl—independently decided not to bring the children at all.
The mood through dinner was quiet and subdued. Rebecca barely said a word. Carl Rogers, Melissa’s husband, was particularly restrained. Melissa looked as if she had been crying before she arrived. Nathan seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts and only responded with a murmur or grunt when directly spoken to. Benjamin and Mary Ann kept looking at each other, but neither chose to give any hints about what was coming, and both kept what conversation there was directed toward general topics.
Lydia kept finding herself stealing glances to where Benjamin sat at the end of the table. And each time she did, she winced inwardly. It had been exactly three weeks since that night he had gone to the Parrish house. Most of the swelling around his eyes and mouth had disappeared. But the bruises, once a shocking black or deep purple, were now a sickly yellow or dull brown. He still moved slowly, especially when he sat down or stood up. Occasionally, if he forgot himself and moved too quickly, the pain would slash across his face. The doctor said his three broken ribs and a punctured lung were healing well, but it would be another month before he was back to normal.
Finally dinner was done, to everyone’s vast relief. Mary Ann stood and reached over for Benjamin’s plate. Immediately, Rebecca, Melissa, and Lydia started to rise. Benjamin raised his hand, looking up at his wife. “The dishes can wait. Let’s move into the sitting room.”
Mary Ann gave him a quick look. “Do you want pie?”
He shook his head and pushed his chair back. “Let’s talk first.” For the first time, a tiny smile played around the corners of his mouth. “If we stay around this table much longer, someone’s going to have to start singing a funeral dirge.”
Mary Ann smiled, then nodded in agreement. She turned to her children and in-laws. “Let’s go in where we can be more comfortable.”
Benjamin stood by his favorite chair until they were all settled, then he moved around and sat down. He reached across to the small table where he kept his scriptures and picked up the copy of the Doctrine and Covenants. For a long moment he held it, his eyes looking down, his finger stroking the spine of the book slowly. Finally he looked up. He seemed surprised to find everyone watching him intently.
“I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading in the last couple of weeks,” he began. He turned to Nathan. “Should have been out with you helping with the harvest, but . . .” He shrugged.
“We’re makin’ on fine, Pa. You’re in no shape to be doing hard work.”
Benjamin acknowledged that, then looked to his wife. “We used to spend a lot of time worrying about our properties here in town, but we’ve lost all those too now, so I seem to have a lot of time on my hands of late.”
“You need to take it easy,” Melissa said. “You’ve been through a lot.”
Again he absently acknowledged the comment with a nod, then he opened the book and began thumbing through it. He found what he was looking for almost immediately. He read silently for a moment, then looked up. “I love the Doctrine and Covenants,” he said. “It’s really our book. Even the Book of Mormon was given to an ancient people.” He held up the book. “This book was given directly to us.”
Carl Rogers stirred slightly, and Melissa reached out quickly and laid a hand on his knee. If Benjamin saw the little interchange, he gave no sign. He lowered the book again and found the place he wanted. “I’d like to read you something the Lord said around seven months after Joseph came to Kirtland.” His finger went down to the page, moved quickly for a moment, then stopped. His voice softened as he began to read. “‘I willeth not that my servant Frederick G. Williams should sell his farm, for I the Lord willeth to retain a strong hold in the land of Kirtland. . . .’” He paused, then more slowly, and with greater emphasis, continued. “‘I the Lord willeth to retain a strong hold in the land of Kirtland,
for the space of five years.’
”
Now there was not a sound in the room. Every head was turned toward him, every eye watching the tiniest movement of his face for clues as to where this was going. Every eye, that is, except for Mary Ann’s. She sat beside him, her hands folded calmly in her lap, her head turned so she could watch him, but without anxiety, or without questions.