Matthew turned to face his mother. Nothing was said, but after a moment she bobbed her head ever so slightly, just once. Matthew hugged her quickly and fiercely, then spoke to Brigham. “I’ll bring the team in. Where and when shall I meet you?”
“At the ferry. We’re going to try and get as many wagons across the river today as we can. We’re hoping to get two drivers for every wagon and some extra teams, so they can push into the night. What about Derek? How close is that baby to coming?”
Mary Ann answered for Matthew. “Not until June. Rebecca will be fine. Derek will want to go.”
“And I’ll bring Peter too,” Matthew said eagerly. “He’s still young, but he can spell us off from time to time.” He looked at his mother. “What about Nathan?”
Brigham shook his head. “With Benjamin still recovering, we can’t send every Steed. You tell Nathan to stay and care for the family.”
Matthew nodded, then reached down and grabbed the box of food and started away.
“Matthew?”
He stopped, turning around to look at his mother.
“Put that box in the wagon,” she said. “They’ll need it worse than we do. We could also spare some of that flour Joshua purchased for us.”
“Yes, Mama.”
“May the Lord bless you both,” Brigham murmured huskily. His shoulders seemed to lift perceptibly. Then he swung around to Matthew. “When this is over, Matthew, we need to talk. Are you still interested in working with a crusty old New Englander in setting up a carpentry business?”
A grin split Matthew’s face and pleasure danced in his blue eyes. “I sure am!”
“Good. When you get back let’s talk about it. I’m really serious about it.”
“Yes, sir!” Matthew cried. He turned and strode away, hardly mindful of the weight he carried in his arms.
For a moment, they stood there, watching Matthew walk away. Then Brigham put on his hat. “Thank you, Mother Steed. I knew I could count on you.”
Hyrum Smith leaned over and whispered into his brother’s ear. “Look, Joseph, it worked.”
Joseph didn’t turn his head, but Hyrum saw the quick nod against the firelight. The five prisoners were stretched out on the prairie sod, a few yards away from where Sheriff William Morgan and three of the four other guards were now asleep beneath their blankets. One of the sleeping men—probably Sheriff Morgan—was snoring loudly, sounding much like an old boar pig rooting through a garden patch.
In the faint light from the dying fire, Hyrum could see the whiskey jug. It was tipped over on its side now, all but empty. He smiled to himself. That had not been a bad investment. Earlier in the day, when the guards expressed a desire for a jug of corn whiskey sweetened with honey, the prisoners had chipped in some money to help pay for it. There had been broad hints from the sheriff and his men that their getting drunk might give the prisoners a good opportunity to escape.
The one guard who was still awake and who had not imbibed sat apart from the rest; he was the one who had probably been the most overt about his willingness to help the prisoners escape.
It was a strange set of events that had brought them to this place. At the conclusion of the Richmond hearing back in November, Joseph and the four men now with him—his brother Hyrum, Lyman Wight, Alexander McRae, and Caleb Baldwin—had been charged with treason committed in Daviess County, and Judge King had ordered that they be confined until they could be tried at the Daviess County court in the spring. Since there was no jail in Daviess County, however, Liberty Jail in Clay County had been chosen for their prison. After their having spent over four months in that miserable jail, about ten days ago Judge King had hurried the prisoners off to their trial before a grand jury in Daviess County. No doubt the bitter anti-Mormon judge was fearful that the prisoners might receive a change of venue, which the prisoners themselves anticipated would be granted them. A hotbed of anti-Mormon sentiment, Daviess County was hardly the place for a fair trial, and King knew it.
At the Daviess County trial, the grand jury had brought an indictment against Joseph and the others for “murder, treason, burglary, arson, larceny, theft, and stealing.” Joseph had dryly commented that only the Missourians didn’t know that larceny, theft, and stealing were all the same things. At last, however, the prisoners received a change of venue to Boone County, which was southeast of Daviess County some distance. The Daviess County sheriff, William Morgan, was put in charge of transferring Joseph and his companions to the new location. And then the rumors started. En route, the sheriff began to drop hints that he had been counseled to let the prisoners escape, since there was no chance they could be successfully prosecuted. The continuing imprisonment of Joseph Smith and the other Church leaders on such flimsy evidence was an embarrassment to the state.
Hopeful but cautious, the prisoners waited patiently for events to unfold. During the journey, with clothing and a promissory note they had bought two horses from the guards. Then, today, they had donated money for the purchase of the whiskey and after dinner had quietly watched the Missourians empty the jug. Sheriff Morgan openly told them that he was going to “take a good drink of grog and go to bed” and that he didn’t care what the prisoners did after that. No one said anything more, but both the guards and the guarded knew what was happening.
“What do you think, Joseph?” It was Alexander McRae, who was on the other side of Hyrum.
Joseph rose up on one elbow. He listened for a moment, as the sheriff snorted in his sleep. Then he smiled grimly. “What do I think?” he whispered. “I think we would be better suited to flee this land of oppression and tyranny and once again take our stand among a people in whose bosoms dwell those feelings of freedom and a love for the republic which gave rise to our nation.”
“Amen!” Lyman Wight breathed fervently.
“Do you mean—?” Caleb Baldwin started.
But Joseph cut in with a grin. “I mean that I think the Lord has provided us with a favorable opportunity, brethren. And if that is the case, well, I’m not one to displease the Lord. I suggest we take our leave of these kind gentlemen and that we do so in a manner that we do not disturb their sleep. And if I’m not mistaken, I think our wakeful friend over there might even help us get on our way.”
The rain of the previous two days had gone now, the clouds scudding on eastward, leaving the skies over Missouri and Illinois so clear and clean it almost took the breath away. The coolness of the morning was dissipating rapidly, and the sun was warm on the faces of the Steed women.
They had brought their chairs outside to sit in the sun. Like the children, the women were unable to bear the crowded cabin a moment longer. The breakfast dishes were done. The men were gone—Derek, Matthew, and Peter to Missouri, Benjamin and Nathan to a meeting called that morning by Brigham Young. The children were up on the small bluff behind the house. After two days of being confined to the house, they were frolicking like day-old lambs.
Mary Ann raised her head. “Listen!”
They turned, cocking their heads to better catch the sound of the children. They were out of sight, just over the brow of the hill, but their voices carried clearly. Lydia smiled. “It’s ‘London Bridge.’ I wonder whose idea that was.”
They all laughed at that. Emily, Lydia’s little mirror image of herself, had been pushing hard for that particular game even before the children left the cabin. Her brother Joshua felt they needed something more active—“red rover” or maybe a good tug-o’-war. He had even found a stout piece of rope. But obviously, and as usual, Emily had carried the day.
“I don’t know about that girl,” Lydia said ruefully. No one missed the obvious touch of pride in her voice.
“Now, now,” Mary Ann shushed, “I think it’s delightful that she knows her mind.”
“She does that,” Rebecca agreed. She patted her stomach twice. “And if this one’s a girl, I hope she’s just like her.”
“Hello!”
The call of greeting pulled all their heads around. Coming up the road from the direction of the main part of town were Jenny and Kathryn McIntire. The women’s faces were immediately wreathed in welcoming smiles, and they raised their arms and waved.
“Good morning,” Jessica called out, truly happy to see these two young women. The McIntire girls had become almost a part of the family after living with them in Far West for several weeks. Sister McIntire had found a place for them with a family in Quincy, but the girls were out to the Steed house frequently. Jenny was seventeen, Kathryn four years younger. She would be thirteen in less than two weeks.
There were quick hugs all around and clasped hands. “How’s your mother?” Mary Ann asked Jenny.
“Fine, fine. She almost came, but Sister Poulsen, who lives with us, is feeling poorly this morning, so Mama thought it best to stay and help.”
“That’s just like your mother,” Lydia said.
“I guess you haven’t heard anything from Matthew and Derek yet?” Jenny asked Mary Ann. Her eyes had lowered and she blushed slightly.
Jessica watched her, fully understanding her anxiety. Until every Latter-day Saint was out of the state of Missouri, there was good reason for concern. If anyone understood the cost of hatred, it was Jessica.
“No,” Mary Ann answered. “But it’s just barely a week tomorrow since they left. I suspect it will still be another week at least, maybe ten days, before we hear anything.”
Jenny looked crestfallen. “I know. I just keep hoping.”
Rebecca nodded. Like the others, she had little doubt that before this year was over, Jennifer McIntire would be Jennifer Steed. They were already treating her as if she were their sister. “I don’t blame you for being worried,” Rebecca said. “I’ve been miserable since Derek left. I miss him terribly.”
Jessica’s head came up slowly, and suddenly her eyes were glistening, but no one seemed to notice. They were all watching Rebecca and Jenny.
Lydia nodded somberly. “It is hard, isn’t it? Whenever Nathan’s gone, it’s like half my life has been cut away from me. And the children, too. We’re so happy when he returns again. It’s like—”
Jessica was shocked to find herself on her feet, her fists clenching and unclenching. The world was swimming before her eyes and she blinked quickly, surprised at how hot the tears were. She was barely aware that the book that had been lying on her lap had now tumbled to the ground. The only thing of which she was fully conscious was the searing pain, so pointed and so intense that she felt her knees trembling.
Lydia’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Jessica,” she gasped. “I . . . I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking . . .”
Jessica shook her head blindly, waving a hand to try and show she wasn’t blaming them.
Rebecca was stricken now too. “Oh, Jessie, I didn’t mean . . .” She couldn’t finish either, the enormity of their blunder hitting her fully now.
“No,” Jessica stammered. “It’s all right. I just . . .” There was one half-strangled cry of agony, then she turned and plunged away.
They were all on their feet now, watching Jessica’s stumbling flight down the same road that Jenny and Kathryn had just come up. “Oh, Mama,” Rebecca said, her own tears coming. “I wasn’t even thinking about her losing John. I’m so sorry.”
Lydia too was ready to weep. “How thoughtless of me. Shall I go after her?”
After a moment, Mary Ann shook her head. “No. I think it’s best to give her some time alone.”
Brigham Young raised his hands. “Brethren, could we settle down again now and deal with the next item of business?”
He got what he asked for almost instantly. The hush which swept across the meeting was total. Nathan turned and gave his father a questioning look, but Benjamin merely shrugged. To this point the meeting had been lively, but nothing really out of the ordinary. Several items of business had been handled, matters having to do with getting the last of the Saints out of Missouri and with meeting the needs of the thousands now gathering in Illinois. One important item had been the sustaining of George Albert Smith to fill one of the vacancies in the Quorum of Twelve. George A., as almost everyone called him, was Joseph Smith’s cousin. He was not yet twenty-two years old, but he had proven himself faithful on Zion’s Camp and throughout the troubles in Kirtland and Missouri. He was sustained unanimously by those present.
There were only four other members of the Twelve present. Brigham, as senior Apostle, presided. He was joined by John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Orson Pratt. Others of the Twelve were not available. David W. Patten was dead, martyred at the Battle of Crooked River. Parley P. Pratt was still in jail in Richmond, Missouri. Heber C. Kimball was supervising the Church in Far West. Willard Richards, who had been named to the Quorum the previous July by the voice of the Lord, was serving as a counselor to Joseph Fielding in presiding over the mission in England and had not yet been ordained. John E. Page was somewhere between Far West and Quincy, trying to get his family out of the state of Missouri. Thomas B. Marsh and Orson Hyde had committed acts of apostasy (Marsh being excommunicated the month before as a result of his actions), and William Smith was disaffected.
Joseph Smith, Sr.—Father Smith—still looking very frail after the wagon ride from Far West, was there as Patriarch to the Church. Many other leaders were also in attendance.
Satisfied that he had their total attention, Brigham reached down to the table and picked up a piece of paper. He opened it up, studied it for a moment, then set it down again. “Brethren, I think you know what I have before me.” Even if they didn’t, he didn’t wait for them to say so. “I have here the revelation given by the Lord on the eighth of July last, given to Brother Joseph in response to the request, ‘Show us thy will, O Lord, concerning the Twelve.’ ”
He picked it up again. “As you know, in this revelation the Lord said that the Twelve were to set out the following spring—which would be now—on a mission to England. The Lord further directed that we take our leave from the city of Far West, from the temple site, on the twenty-sixth day of April next, which is now just nine days away.”
He laid the paper down, then took the spectacles from his nose and began to rub them with the corner of his vest. A buzz of whispering and murmuring had exploded around him. Father Smith was looking at him, dumbfounded. Only the other members of the Twelve were not surprised. Brigham finally replaced the spectacles and looked up. “Brethren, we are here to determine what your feelings are concerning this revelation.”