“Do you think I’m pretty?”
Mary Ann winced, but Jane just hooted. “I think you’re beautiful, Savannah. I think God did it just right when he gave you red hair.”
“Thank you.”
And then without thinking, Savannah reached up and took Jane’s hand in her own as they walked on toward Steed Row.
Chapter Notes
The details of the secret burial of Joseph and Hyrum are given in the official history of the Church (see
HC
6:628). Lucy Mack Smith, mother of the martyrs, tells about the reward that the Missourians were offering for Joseph’s head (see
Mack Hist.,
p. 324).
That fall, as construction on the Nauvoo House progressed, the coffins were secretly exhumed again and buried across the street on the property of the Old Homestead, where Joseph and Emma had lived for most of their time in Nauvoo. The bodies were placed under the “spring house” near the river, but once again the site was kept secret. (See B. H. Roberts,
A Comprehensive History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Century I,
6 vols. [Salt Lake City: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1930], 6:529.)
The story of Samuel Smith’s attempt to reach his brothers, his own brush with the assassins, and his subsequent sickness are told by his mother and also in the official history of the Church (see
Mack Hist.,
pp. 324, 325;
HC
7:110–11). Mother Smith’s being told that in five years Joseph would have power over his enemies is also found in her history (see
Mack Hist.,
pp. 291, 325).
Chapter 3
Caroline moved through the house awkwardly, feeling a growing sense of anxiety. One arm was in a sling. One foot had a splint on it. Both were the result of the accident in Warsaw a month earlier. She hobbled about with a cane in her good hand, steadying herself against a wall or a piece of furniture from time to time. She lit no lamp or candle. There was no need. The moon was nearly full, and enough light filtered in through the windows for her to see clearly that each succeeding room was empty. Where had he gone?
She stopped and looked around. She had been almost asleep when Joshua finally came to bed. That had been almost eleven. There had been problems down at the freight yard and he had worked through supper. But Joshua had settled down beside her and gone quickly to sleep, even beating her, since his coming to bed had brought her awake again.
She moved to the fireplace mantel and peered at the clock. It was twenty-two minutes past three a.m. She turned. Surely he would have said something to her if he had decided to go back down to the office.
And then, through the window, she saw a movement. Peering through the curtain she saw Joshua’s dark shape rocking slowly back and forth in the porch swing. With a rush of relief, she felt herself relax. For a moment, she debated about whether or not to let him know she was there, but then, wondering what had driven him out here, she made her way to the door and stepped outside.
He started and looked up in surprise. “Oh,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. How long have you been out here?”
“About an hour.”
She heard a soft buzzing sound around her ear. “Aren’t the mosquitoes eating you alive?”
“I guess I’ve got too tough a hide. They don’t bother me much.”
“Well, they love me. Can we go inside?”
He shrugged and stood. “Let’s just go back to bed. I’m sorry that you had to get up.”
“No, I’m awake now. Let’s sit in the parlor. It’s cool in there.”
Joshua nodded and followed her into the room. She sat down on the sofa, but he took the chair across from it. She looked at him sharply, but he seemed not to be even aware of what he had done.
“Did you get the problem at the stables solved?”
“Not completely. I’m going to have to send one of the men to Peoria, I guess.”
“Is that what woke you up, worrying about that?”
He shook his head and turned away so she couldn’t see his face. She had a fleeting impression of great agony.
“Olivia?” she asked softly after a few moments.
He nodded.
Now she was glad it was dark, for the emotions rose up in her with a sudden, unexpectedly sharp surge and she found herself blinking quickly to stem the tears. In four days, it would be exactly one month. In a way it seemed unreal that so much time had passed. It seemed like only this morning, the horror of the wagon ride—her, heavy with child, hiding in the back under a tarp, hearing the voices of the men who were taunting Will, terror striking when the horses bolted, feeling the wagon box start to turn over, hearing the wheel beneath her snap like a dried stick. And yet in another way it was as though it had been years ago. It was as if she had not heard Olivia laughing with Savannah or Charles, or at the piano, filling the house with music, or arguing amiably with Will over some scripture they had been reading together. How could the sweetness of those memories fade so quickly? she asked herself. She bit her lip and wiped at her eyes with the back of one hand, trying to ignore the terrible ache inside her.
“This morning, a wagon came in from Chicago.” He spoke in a low voice, barely above a whisper. She had to strain to hear him over the sound of the crickets outside. “It was that Knabe piano from New York that Jonathan Williams ordered a few months back.” There was a sudden choking sound, and now his voice was strained and filled with anguish. “I never told you, but I was going to surprise Olivia and get her a Knabe for her seventeenth birthday.”
Caroline got to her feet and hobbled over to stand beside him. Setting her cane against the chair, she leaned against him and laid a hand on his shoulder. He reached up and took it. “She had read all about them in a catalog,” he went on. “They say they are the finest piano made in America.”
“I know,” she whispered. “She talked to me about it a lot, wondering if she ever dared ask you. How she would have loved it!”
He pulled his hand away. “Why is it that you don’t hate me?” he suddenly burst out.
“Hate you?” She was astonished.
“Yes. If I hadn’t been so pigheaded, if only I would have listened to her. To you! She could be here now and . . .” He couldn’t finish and dropped his chin against his chest. “If only I had believed her.”
“I read where a man once said that the two most terrible words in the world are ‘if only.’” She reached down and took his hand again. She brought it and pressed it softly to her lips. “How can I hate you, Joshua? You were trying to protect Olivia from what you thought was a terrible thing.”
“But if I would have listened. If I would just have believed her, Caroline,” he cried. “She never lied to me. Not ever. If only I had believed her.”
“And if only I had been up on the wagon seat with her,” Caroline intoned in a dull voice. “If only we had gone another way out of town that day. If only I hadn’t been so eager to leave and we had waited for dark.” She squeezed his hand. “I have gone over it again and again, Joshua. ‘If only’ will not ever bring you comfort. It will only drive you mad.”
There was a deep intake of breath, then a long, tortured sigh. “I know. But I can’t stop. I can’t stop the dreams.”
“The dreams?”
“Yes.” He pulled his hand free and lifted his head to look at her now. Gently he brought her around to sit on his lap so she didn’t have to stand. His voice was wooden and lifeless, like a schoolboy reciting lessons which have been memorized but not learned. “Like tonight. Olivia and I are walking in a meadow. Everything is beautiful. We are laughing and talking. She picks me a bouquet of wildflowers. And then we come to a raging river. I can hear the boulders rumbling as they are pushed downstream. The rapids are swift and dangerous.”
He paused. With his head up, he was facing the window, and the moonlight illuminated his face with a pale, delicate silver, smoothing the harsh angles, softening the twisted mouth, lessening the torture in his eyes.
“There is a narrow bridge, not much more than one log. I go across, then turn back. I—” Now he faltered and had to look away for a moment. But his head turned again and he went on relentlessly, lashing himself with every word. “I call for Olivia to come. She tells me she cannot make it, that she’s afraid. I am angry. I tell her that even a child can cross. She shakes her head. She . . .”
Now Caroline could feel his breath coming more quickly, as though he were caught up in the nightmare all over again. She laid her head against his shoulder, not trying to stop the tears now from spilling over and running down the side of her face. His hand came up and he began to stroke her hair, very slowly, very gently.
“I am very angry now. I shout at her. I command her to come. She is crying, but I won’t listen. Then . . .” He took a quick breath, then another. Now his voice was heavy and thick. “Then, about halfway across, her foot slips. She falls. It is suddenly like the river is a thousand feet below her. I can see her falling, over and over. But I can see her face clearly, even though she is growing smaller and smaller. And she cries out to me, reaching out a hand, as though I could catch her.”
Caroline had to take a breath of her own to clear the constriction in her throat. “And what does she say?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.
“‘Why wouldn’t you believe me, Papa? Why wouldn’t you believe me?’”
They sat there together for a long time, neither speaking. Over and over Joshua’s hand brushed softly against Caroline’s hair. Finally, she spoke. “How long does it take to get a Knabe piano out here?”
His eyes widened slightly. “Two or three months, I would suppose.”
“So you could have it here by November, in time for her birthday?”
He slowly nodded. “I think so.”
Her shoulders lifted and pulled back slightly. “The Lord saw fit to take our Olivia home to him,” she murmured. “But in return, he gave us another little Olivia. I want you to order that piano. And then, on what would have been Olivia’s birthday, we will give it to Savannah and little Olivia as a gift from their older sister.”
He began to nod slowly. “Yes,” he said.
“And I will find a piano teacher for Savannah and start her on lessons.”
“Immediately,” he agreed.
He slipped his arms around her. Caroline looked into his face. “If Olivia thought that there would never be music in our house again, she would be very sad, I think.”
Joshua’s head came up fully now. “And she would never forgive me.”
Caroline took his face in her free hand. “She has forgiven you for what happened, Joshua,” she said with sudden fierceness. “Do you know that? She still lives, Joshua, and she does not blame you.”
His head snapped up and his voice was suddenly sharp. “You believe that, Caroline. You believe that she still lives somewhere, but I don’t know if I do or not.” His voice dropped as suddenly as it had risen. “If I did, then maybe I could find some semblance of peace.”
A great sadness came over her, but she said nothing further. She closed her eyes. It was almost a full minute before he spoke again, and then it was one brief, pain-filled sentence. “I shall write to the Knabe Piano Company first thing tomorrow.”
Lydia stood on the porch, watching Nathan at the pump behind the house as he washed the dust from his face and neck. She carried thirteen-month-old Joseph in one arm, standing with her body bent slightly so as to carry the child’s weight mostly on her hip. He straightened, wiping the water from his eyes but not bothering to dry his face with the small towel that hung on the pump handle.
“Did you get the survey finished?” she asked.
He nodded. “Mostly. Pa wants to remeasure the three lots that butt up against Brother Llewellyn’s property on the east. He’s not sure they are really equal. But we’ll do that tomorrow. Mother wanted him to take her somewhere.” He moved across the grass and onto the porch. As he did so, little Joseph raised his arms and began to grunt. Nathan smiled and took him from his mother. “Hello there, you little scamp. What have you been doing today?”
Joseph eyed his father gravely, as if to say, “Please don’t ask, at least not in the presence of Mama.”
Lydia pulled a face. “I found him sitting on top of the dish chest.”
“What?” Nathan said, pulling back a little to look at his son, the pleasure showing in his eyes. “How did he manage that?”
“Pushed a stool over while I was in the bedroom. When I came out, he was sitting there just like he was the king of England or something.”
“Well, you little character. You’ve barely been walking for three months and now you’re climbing on things?”
“He is into everything now,” Lydia moaned. “I can’t turn my back on him for a minute.”
Joseph started to squirm, his eyes fixed on something in the yard, so Nathan stepped off the porch again and let him down.
“Someone from Ramus brought a note from Jessica,” Lydia said. “They got home safely that same day.”
Nathan nodded. “Good. It was nice to have them here for that week. Jessica seems really happy.”
“Very,” Lydia agreed, coming down to stand beside him. “Solomon is just wonderful. I think she’s happier than she has ever been, and she was very happy with John before he was killed.”
“Yes, I think you’re right. And there’s no one who deserves it more.”
As he went to look away, he saw a sardonic smile on Lydia’s face. She was looking directly at him with a twinkle in her eyes.
“What?” he asked.
“Aren’t you going to ask me about the other news?”
“What other news?”
“That young Joshua brought back from the store.”
“I didn’t know that he did.”
“A wise husband is supposed to know these things.”
“I haven’t seen Joshua since I got home. What is it?”
“I don’t think I’ll tell you, since you weren’t even interested enough to ask.”
He threw up his hands. “I didn’t know there was anything to ask about.”
She laughed lightly, then went up and kissed him on the nose. “And you think that is an excuse?”
“Normally I would have thought so, but—”
“Parley’s home.”
For a moment the words didn’t register. Then his face was infused with joy. “Parley Pratt?”