“The fiends,” Lydia said angrily. “Have they no heart whatsoever?”
Jessica knew the answer to that. Amanda’s coming had brought back with searing sharpness the memories of that hor-rible afternoon. It made her sick even now—men on horseback, painted like savages, whooping and screaming, shooting down men and boys, firing at women and children as they scattered for cover.
Fiends
was a term that didn’t half describe them.
“All I could do was show them my Alma,” Amanda was continuing. “Obviously he couldn’t be moved, not even enough to turn him over in his bed. Even the very little I had to move him to put cloths under his back so he wouldn’t get bedsores made him scream out in agony.”
“And they accepted that?” Rebecca asked, the horror making her voice almost a whisper.
“Yes, finally, but they continued to harass us. The leader, he came one day and said we could stay until we could move our wounded, but we were forbidden to do anything religious. We couldn’t have any meetings, or even call the family together for prayers. They said they would shoot us if they caught us praying vocally alone.”
Her lips tightened and her eyes were suddenly fierce. “I decided I could not—would not—stand this godless silence. So one day I went down into a cornfield and crawled into a shock of the corn which had been cut and stacked. You know where I mean, Jessica. Across the stream in the field next to Brother Haun’s.”
“Yes,” Jessica said softly. “I know exactly where you mean.”
“Well, after making sure no one could see me or hear me, I started to pray out loud. I raised my voice and prayed till my soul felt satisfied.”
“Did they catch you?” Lydia breathed.
“No. But a most marvelous thing happened. As I left the shock of corn and started back toward the cabin where we were now staying, all of a sudden I heard a voice. It was a sweet and wonderful voice, and it sent chills through my whole body.”
Sister McIntire’s eyes were wide with amazement. “What did it say?”
“Do you know our hymn ‘How Firm a Foundation’?” Amanda replied.
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, the voice repeated a verse from that wonderful hymn. The seventh verse, in fact, just as it is found in our hymnal.”
“Which is . . . ?” Sister McIntire asked.
Amanda closed her eyes and leaned back, the memory softening her features. Then she began to quote softly. “‘The soul that on Jesus hath lean’d for repose, I will not, I cannot desert to his foes. That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, I’ll never—no, never, no never forsake!’”
Her eyes came open again and she looked around at the women’s faces. “I can’t begin to tell you what sweetness that brought to me. From that moment forth I had no further fear of the mob. I was so certain of God’s protecting care that I went right home and gathered Willard and my two daughters around me. I told them that as long as they had faith and that if they would conscientiously do right, the Lord would shelter us from harm.”
They all leaned back now, awed by the power of this simple woman and the story she had told them. Finally Jessica spoke. “And what of little Alma? How is he doing?”
Amanda sat up and clasped her hands together, her eyes shining with excitement. “You haven’t heard?”
Jessica shook her head. “No. Heard what?”
Amanda laughed and turned. She and her children had been taken in by a family with whom they had come out from Kirtland. The family had gone out, leaving Amanda to visit with her friends. “Willard!” She cupped her hand around her mouth. “Willard, come here for a moment.”
A moment later a young boy stuck his head into the room. “Yes, Mama?”
“Where is Alma?”
“He’s in the bedroom, Mama.”
“Will you fetch him for me?”
Lydia was shaking her head. She turned to Jessica. “Is that the boy you told us about? The one who helped those little girls who were hiding under the bed?”
Jessica nodded. “Yes, that’s Willard.”
Mary Ann felt her eyes burning. “You must be very proud, Sister Smith. I know you lost your husband and a son, but to have one like that . . .”
“Yes,” Amanda said soberly. “I was very proud of Willard that day.”
Just then there was the sound of footsteps and Willard came back in, this time leading a boy three or four years younger than himself. Amanda smiled. “Alma, these sisters would like to meet you.”
Alma bowed slightly. “How’d ya do,” he intoned. He was towheaded and slender, with an impish twist to his nose and mouth.
Jessica was staring at him, unbelieving. “But he’s walking.”
Amanda turned back and started to reply, then had to stop. Her lower lip was trembling noticeably now. “Yes,” she whispered happily.
Jessica turned to her family, her mouth round with amazement. “But I saw his wound. The whole hip joint was gone.” She turned back to stare at him. “I can’t believe it.”
Amanda motioned to her son. “Alma, turn so they can see your leg.”
He turned and extended his leg so that it stretched the trouser material tightly over the skin. Now all the women gasped. At his hip there was a depression about the size of a man’s fist beneath the material. It looked like someone had scooped part of the leg away.
Now Amanda began to speak again, not taking her eyes off her youngest son. “Alma lay in the same position for about five weeks while the wound was healing. But then one day—this would be in early December—I had taken a bucket to the spring for water. Suddenly I heard the children screaming back at the house. My heart nearly stopped. I thought the mob had returned.”
She stopped, overcome for a moment. She held out her arms and Alma came over into them. “You too, Willard,” she said. He came and stood behind the sofa, laying a hand on her shoulder.
“When I rushed inside the door, the children were all running around the cabin, with Alma in the lead, him crying, ‘I’m well, Ma, I’m well!’” She pulled Alma tightly against her, for a moment too moved to continue. Finally, she sniffed back the tears. “Yes, I lost Warren and Sardius that day, but the Lord did not forsake me. He has given us a miracle, and I shall ever sing his praises for his glorious mercy and love for me and my family.”
* * *
The others talked excitedly as they walked back toward their own homes, but Lydia lagged behind, not wanting to speak and break the wonder that filled her soul. Suddenly she dropped her head, staring at the ground.
Dear Lord, forgive me. Forgive my murmuring tongue. Forgive my foolishness that I should think I am tested beyond measure. I thank thee for reminding me of thy marvelous power and of thy wondrous love and mercy. I miss my Nathan fiercely, but I shall murmur no more. Be with him and Joshua in their task, then bring him home safely to us, if it be thy will. Strengthen my faltering heart and feeble knees, O Father. Help me to be strong. In the name of Jesus, amen.
Opening her eyes fully, she raised her head, then moved forward more sharply. In three steps she was up to her mother-in-law and slipped her arm through hers. As Mary Ann looked at her in surprise, Lydia smiled happily. “Let’s all have supper together tonight, shall we?”
* * *
Derek was waiting for Rebecca and Lydia at the front porch. He was grinning like a child with a secret too marvelous to share and too wonderful to keep. “Hello, dear,” he said, kissing Rebecca on the cheek. “Hello, Lydia. You look well today.”
Lydia looked up in surprise. “I
am
well, thank you. Very well. How are the children?”
He laughed in delight. “Better than they have been for many days.” That puzzled Lydia even more, and she looked at him more closely. But his smile only broadened, sending the mischievousness spreading across his face. “By the way, we sent Jenny home.”
“Oh?” There was something she was missing, but she wasn’t sure what. “Is the baby asleep?”
“No.”
“Oh. So Joshua’s watching her?”
He was enjoying himself immensely. “No, I don’t think so. Nor Emily either.”
“Derek!” Rebecca said, getting exasperated. “Then who has the baby?”
He smiled, stepped to the door, and, with a sweeping bow, opened it. “I think she is in good hands, but why not go in and see for yourself?”
He pushed the door open wide. Thoroughly baffled now, Lydia started in, giving him one last quizzical look. But he merely gestured with his head for her to enter and chuckled all the more deeply. Then she was inside and turned to look for her children. She had lifted her hands to untie the scarf around her neck, but they froze in midair. Nathan was sitting in the rocking chair, Elizabeth in one arm, Nathan on his lap, and Joshua and Emily standing by his side.
“Hello, Lydia,” he said happily.
“See?” Derek chortled. “I told you she was in good hands.”
* * *
Lydia reached over and stroked Nathan’s cheek with the back of her hand. “You must be exhausted.”
He reached up and took her hand. “Actually, I’m so excited to be home again, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep all night.”
She laughed softly. “It’s fine with me. I only have about a hundred million things to tell you.”
He turned over on his side so that he was facing her. Now he took both of her hands in his and squeezed them. “I’m so sorry that it took so long, Lydia. I feel—”
She jerked one hand loose from his and clamped it over his mouth. “No!” she scolded. “Don’t you say it.” Then she went up on one elbow, removed her hand from his mouth, and kissed him hard. Still up, she stared at him in the dark and began to trace the shape of his lips with her fingertip. “I can’t believe it. You’re really here.”
“Yes. I was going to write from Savannah, but we left the very next day. I figured we were going to beat any mail that could have been sent. When I left St. Louis it was the same thing. I figured I would make better time than the mail coaches.”
“Hmm,” she murmured, kissing him again. “This is much better than some dry old letter.” Then her mouth turned down. “What will they do?”
Her sudden switch of thought caught him off guard. “Who? You mean Caroline and Joshua?”
“Yes. About Will. What can they do?”
“There’s nothing now they can do. We spent two more days looking. He’s gone without a trace. We found people who had seen him, but no one after that night. They’re hoping he’ll head south to Savannah, looking for his mother. If he does, the Montagues will ship him right back north again.”
She shook her head. “It must be awful for him,” she replied. “As far as he knows, his father is still dead.”
“The problem is, if he comes back to St. Louis he’s got that marshall waiting for him.”
Lydia dropped back to the bed and put her hands under her head. “I can’t believe that he really did it. Not Will. He wouldn’t shoot somebody down just like that.”
“That’s what Caroline says. She absolutely refuses to accept the fact that Will shot them.”
“What do you think?”
There was a pause, then a slow shake of his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think Will just walked in and shot them. There were signs of a struggle. A table was knocked over. And there was another pistol found at the scene as well. It had been fired once too.”
Lydia’s head came up sharply. “You didn’t tell me that. Maybe Will is wounded.”
“No, the only blood to be seen was around the two bodies.” He shook his head again. “I don’t know. Something went on in that warehouse, and we can’t figure out what. What I can’t believe is that Will had the courage to go against those two men. They were both animals. They’d shot his father. What in the world was he thinking of?”
“He’s blind with grief and shock. He and Joshua were so close.” Then Lydia didn’t want to think about that anymore. It was too depressing. “And Caroline and the girls were all right?”
“Yes, fine. Wonderful. She wouldn’t hear of not coming back with us to look for Will.”
“And what will they do now? They can’t go back to Jackson County?”
“No. Joshua has his businesses there in St. Louis with Samuelson and his other partners. Those two men are dead, so he thinks there’ll be no more problems from what happened here.”
“I’m so glad you stayed with him until you found Caroline,” Lydia said, changing tracks again. “I missed you terribly, but I would never have forgiven myself if you hadn’t gone.”
“Nor I myself,” he said. “Joshua’s leg makes it difficult for him to get around without someone there to see to things.”
They both lapsed into silence, occupied with their own thoughts. After a few minutes, his breathing began to deepen a little. She nudged him with her elbow. “See? I told you you were exhausted.”
“Well,” he admitted, “maybe more than I thought.”
“That’s all right, we’ll have all day tomorrow to talk.” She curled up against him, murmuring happily. “And the next day and the next and the next.”
“Mmm.”
She wasn’t sure if that was agreement or not. She went up on one elbow again. “Nathan?”
“Hmm?”
“I don’t care where we go now,” she said with great soberness. “You’re here. I can face anything. Thank you for coming home.”
He didn’t answer her, just reached out and put his arm around her and pulled her close to him. He extended his one arm and she snuggled into it, laying her face against his shoulder. This was her favorite place with him when they were together. “I love you, Lydia,” he murmured.
“And I love you, Nathan Steed,” she whispered, blinking back the sudden tears that sprang from nowhere. “Go to sleep, my darling. I’ll be here when you awaken.”
* * *
On January 16, 1839, the First Presidency, signing themselves as “prisoners for Jesus’ sake,” wrote from Liberty Jail a letter to Brigham Young and Heber C. Kimball, the two senior Apostles in Far West. “Inasmuch as we are in prison,” they wrote, “for a little season, if need be, the management of the affairs of the Church devolves on you, that is the Twelve.” Further on in this letter they stated: “If we live, we live; and if we die for the testimony of Jesus, we die; but whether we live or die, let the work of God go on.” Also included were these words of encouragement: “Brethren, fear not, but be strong in the Lord and in the power of His might. . . . Neither think it strange concerning the fiery trials with which we are tried, as though some strange thing had happened unto us. . . . Rejoice in your afflictions, by which you are perfected and through which the Captain of our Salvation was perfected also.”