Every one of them was watching him intently now, not sure exactly where he was going with all this.
He took in a breath, then let it come out again very slowly. “We are about to send our two sons off on a very dangerous mission. If there were a choice, we wouldn’t do it. They’re both so young and so—” His voice caught, and he had to look away.
There were wet streaks down Lydia’s and Mary Ann’s cheeks now. Nathan’s eyes were blinking rapidly, and he kept having to swallow. Matthew’s lower lip was quivering. “They are
so
important to us,” Benjamin finished in a half whisper. “So I guess what I’m saying is that I’d like us to kneel and as a family call on God to watch over them. And to protect our family members who are out there in harm’s way until Nathan and Matthew can find them and bring them back safely to us.”
They knelt around the table. Lydia and Nathan held each other’s hands. Benjamin was between Matthew and Mary Ann and reached out and took both of their hands in his. It was not a long prayer, nor was it particularly eloquent. Not in words, at least. But Benjamin Steed spoke the feelings of his heart. He spoke to God as if he had somehow been ushered into his presence. He spoke of the love they all had for each other. He mentioned the fact that Mary Ann and Nathan had accepted Joseph Smith and the work of the Restoration from the very beginning and had never wavered since that time. He pointed out that Nathan was the father of four small children and husband to a fine and faithful woman. It would be a terrible loss if he should be taken. He talked about Matthew’s youth and all that was still ahead of him in life. Then, as a father and grandfather, he simply pleaded with his Father to watch over their children and give them his protecting care.
As they stood again, all were weeping openly now. Nathan took Lydia in his arms and held her tightly, not speaking. Mary Ann gathered in Matthew. He now towered some six inches above her and had to bend down to let her kiss his cheek as she clung to him. Then she turned to her husband and threw herself into his arms. “Thank you, Ben,” she whispered. “You are such a good man. I love you.”
Benjamin could not trust himself to speak. He merely nodded and held his wife tightly in his arms. Then suddenly his head came up. Mary Ann felt it and looked up at him. She gave him a quizzical look, but he did not see it. He was staring across the room. “What?” she finally asked. “What is it, Ben?”
Her voice seemed to startle him, and he finally looked down at her. Then, nodding, half to himself, he turned to Nathan. “Nathan, I don’t want you and Matthew traveling separately.”
Nathan dropped his arms from Lydia and turned in surprise.
“No,” Benjamin said, more confidently now. “You and Matthew are to stay together. Don’t leave each other for any reason.”
“But what about Rebecca and Derek?”
Benjamin went on in a rush. “You are to go there first. Now.” He nodded emphatically as all of them stared at him. “This evening. You need to leave as quickly as possible. Go to Di-Ahman first. Then you can go for Jessica.”
* * *
By ten o’clock, Peter finally admitted that he was hopelessly lost. He had followed the trail of the horse up a dirt road for a couple of miles, moving rapidly because the prints were easy to see. Then the tracks had cut off across a patch of prairie. But they headed for the stretch of trees that marked the path of the Grand River, so Peter had taken off at a trot. But there was no clear ground there either. After a quarter of an hour, it was full dark, and any chance of seeing anything was gone. Heartbroken, discouraged, and starting to get a little bit frightened when he realized how far he had come, Peter set off to retrace his tracks.
Moving slowly in the darkness, he decided that once he found the road again it would be an easy thing to find his way back. But there was no road. By the time he had gone at least twice as far as the distance between the road and the river, he knew he had done something wrong. Fighting a rising sense of panic, he went back and tried again, changing directions slightly. There was no road anywhere.
Feeling more forlorn than he could ever remember, Peter pushed deeper into underbrush along the river and found a place where leaves covered the ground. Hugging his coat tightly around him, he sat down to wait out the night.
* * *
When the knock on the door came, Rebecca was not asleep. She was sitting in the rocking chair she had brought with her from her bedroom at home, slowly rocking back and forth, staring at nothing, willing the night to pass. The soft knock jerked her up with a start. She was on her feet and reached out and turned the lantern up to full flame. She took a step toward the door, then stopped, a little chill going through her. It must be somewhere around four a.m. “Derek?” she called. “Is that you?”
“Rebecca! It’s Nathan. And Matthew.”
“Nathan?” Stunned, she went to the door and unlatched it. For a moment she just stared, and then threw herself into her brother’s arms.
* * *
By dawn the temperature had fallen to the low forties, and Peter was shivering violently as he came out of his cover. He jumped up and down, beating his arms against his body, trying to warm himself. He moved down to the river itself, feeling thirsty. But as he looked at the muddy water he couldn’t bring himself to drink it.
Remembering, he dug into his trouser pockets and brought out the food he had scavenged for the horse the previous afternoon—two apple cores and an old dried up carrot. He had felt a little guilty then about having nothing better to offer the animal. Now he was grateful he hadn’t been able to find him. He ate the apple cores, seeds and all, then devoured the carrot, wishing he had four or five more just like it.
The food wasn’t much, but it cheered him greatly. The sky was overcast, but the light was full enough that he could see clearly. Cautiously he made his way to the edge of the trees and scanned the countryside around him. About half a mile away he could see the outline of the cabin. He felt a great surge of relief. He had passed that a short time before he had lost the horse’s tracks. It had looked deserted—one of the dozens that had been abandoned by either Mormon or Missourian in the troubles that now gripped the county.
The sober realities of being alone and out away from Di-Ahman hit him hard now. And what was worse, he knew that Derek and probably other men from Di-Ahman would be out looking for him. That put them at risk too. It was a stupid thing he had done. Surveying the lay of the land, he decided he could find his way back easily enough, but being out in the open all alone made him nervous. He had basically gone upriver, so he could follow the tree line back almost to Di-Ahman and then come out more safely. Moving back into the trees, he began to walk, as swiftly and silently as was possible.
He had gone about half a mile when suddenly he stopped, his ear cocked to one side. Then he dropped into a crouch, looking around wildly. Just off to his left there was a soft moaning sound. It stopped. After a moment, he heard it again. Gingerly now, truly frightened but curious too, Peter straightened. Ready to bolt at the slightest sign of trouble, he made his way forward. And then as he came around a clump of hazel brush, he stopped again, but this time in shock and horror. He was at the edge of a small clearing. On the opposite side of it, tied to a small cottonwood tree, was a man. His boots were gone, and his shirt was down around his waist, torn into several pieces but still tucked in his waistband. But it was the man’s back that Peter gaped at. It was one solid mass of red. Peter stepped forward slowly, at first not comprehending. Then he nearly gagged. The red was lacerated flesh. The man had been whipped severely. Holding one hand to his mouth, Peter moved forward very slowly.
“Brother Sterling?” Peter barely recognized the face. It was bruised and battered. One eye was dark purple and completely swollen shut. His nose had been bleeding but had dried now. His lips were puffy and cut in two places.
The eyes flickered open. There was a momentary flash of fear, and then they glazed over again. Peter knew him, though not well. The Sterlings were converts from Tennessee who had arrived in Di-Ahman just a couple of weeks before. They had started a simple hut about two miles outside of town.
“It’s all right, Brother Sterling. I’ll help you.” Peter grabbed for his pocketknife and began sawing at the ropes. There was another moan. The bands had rubbed the wrists down to raw flesh. More carefully now, Peter finished cutting the ropes through, catching Sterling’s weight as he did so. He lowered him slowly to the ground, face first so as not to touch his back to anything. For a moment Peter just stood there, wanting to vomit, horrified at what his eyes were registering, but knowing that this man was near death and that he had to do something.
Pulling a piece of the man’s shirt loose, Peter ran to the river and thrust it into the water. Muddy water or not, he had to get something to bathe the flesh. With water dripping from the cloth, he darted back to the clearing.
“I’ve got some water, Brother—” He slid to a halt. Two men were standing next to the prone figure. Both carried rifles. One carried a coiled bullwhip in his left hand and was tapping it lightly against his leg. The man nearest Peter had a cold cigar butt clamped between his teeth. He shifted it enough to speak, suddenly grinning wickedly. The rifle came up, muzzle pointing at Peter’s stomach. “Well, well. And what do we have here?”
* * *
“There’s Derek!”
Nathan’s head came up sharply and he turned to look where Rebecca was pointing. He and Matthew were out in front of the sod hut, saddling up again after grabbing an hour’s sleep and a cold breakfast. He peered through the gray light of early morning to where the six riders were coming up the valley at an easy lope. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Rebecca cried joyously. “It’s Derek.” She went up on tiptoes, leaning forward in her excitement. Then suddenly her face fell. She was counting the horses now. There were only six, the same number that had left last night. And now they were close enough that they could see that each horse carried a single rider. Peter was not with them.
Derek was off his horse and running toward them before the others had even reined up. “Nathan! Matthew! What are you doing here?” He grabbed Nathan’s hand and pumped it up and down. “Am I glad to see you two!”
“You didn’t find him?” Rebecca said.
Derek turned, the light going out of his eyes. “No, not a sign of him.”
Lyman Wight dismounted and joined them. “There’s no telling which way that horse went. It was too dark to track him. Peter could be anywhere.”
“Daylight will help,” one of the other brethren said, “but we thought we’d better come in for fresh horses.”
“We’ll find him,” Derek said grimly. “We’ve got to.” Then he turned back to his two brothers-in-law. “You’re a welcome sight. What are you doing here?”
Nathan explained quickly. Lyman Wight nodded without hesitation. “I agree with Father Steed,” he said. “You need to be together.”
Nathan felt great relief. Wight was a rough-looking man, with full black beard and black eyes that were filled with life and energy. He was renowned for his fearlessness and his determination to protect his people. One of the first settlers in the valley of Adam-ondi-Ahman, he held a commission in the Missouri militia. So Joseph had appointed him to head the Di-Ahman forces. For him to give his approval meant that Nathan wasn’t going to have to try to persuade anyone about taking Derek and Rebecca back with them.
Wight looked at the other men. “Grab yourselves a bite to eat and some new mounts. We’ll meet back here in half an hour.”
“Our horses are rested,” Matthew blurted to Nathan. “Let’s you and me start now.”
Wight had started to swing back up into the saddle. He stopped and turned. “I’m not sure that’s wise. This isn’t the time to be out away from the town in small numbers.”
The thought of sitting around for another half an hour wasn’t to Nathan’s liking much either. “We’ll be careful. We’ll try and pick up the trail of the horse. Rebecca says it was still light when Peter left. He may have tried to follow it.”
Wight considered that and then nodded curtly. “Tell Brother Ingalls here which way you’re headed. We’ll join you as soon as possible. Derek, we’ll be back for you in half an hour or less.”
* * *
“You ruined our ropes, boy. Why’d you go and do that, now?” The man with the whip was at the tree where Sterling had been tied. He was fingering the strands that Peter had cut.
Peter didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure whether or not the men had been drinking, but their mood was foul, and he knew they were very dangerous.
“You take pity on this idiot Mormon, did you?” The other man was standing next to the unconscious man. He reached out with the toe of his boot and kicked him lightly in the ribs. Sterling flinched and groaned.
“Leave him alone!” Peter said hotly. “Haven’t you done enough to him already?”
The man turned about slowly. “Well, well, well.” He looked at his partner. “You hear that accent? I think we’ve found ourselves a bloomin’ Englishman.” Rifle still held level and steady, he walked over and shoved his face close to Peter’s. “Where you from, boy?”
Peter almost said Di-Ahman, then caught himself. “My brother and I are homesteading a small place south of here.”
The eyes narrowed. “How long you been in America?”
“About a year.”
The man with the whip came over now too. “I hear the Mormons sent some men over to England to preach their devil doctrine there.”
The first man leaned even closer, and now Peter could smell the foulness of his breath and his body odor. “You a Mormon, boy?”
Peter’s heart felt like it dropped into his boots. He stared at the man, his mind racing. And then suddenly a scripture popped into his mind. Brother Kimball had used it on more than one occasion in England. It was from the Apostle Paul. The words seared across Peter’s consciousness. “
I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ: for it is the power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth
.”