He looked away. “She’ll be here when I get back.”
“But not waiting for you?”
“That’s right.” Now a bit of the uncertainty was back. “She is unbendable on this, Mama. She will not marry anyone who isn’t a Mormon.”
“You’re too young to get married,” Caroline said automatically, her mind spinning a little. She had been delighted to find Jenny standing at their door. She hadn’t expected quite this much from it, however.
“I know that,” he said. “We wouldn’t get married for another year or two.”
“You talked about that?” she exclaimed.
He was suddenly sheepish. “Well, not in that much detail.”
“Did you kiss her?”
“Mother!”
She laughed softly. “Well, did you?”
There was a little-boy’s grin. “No,” he half whispered, “she kissed me.”
“And she didn’t try to talk you into staying?”
“No, after I explained everything, she agreed that it’s a good idea if we have some time. And this will give me a chance to really study the Book of Mormon and decide for myself.”
“And are you planning to do that?”
Now he was dubious all of a sudden. “Well, I plan to read,
but . . .”
“But you still have strong feelings about Mormonism?”
He nodded, touching his head. “I know up here that all of those feelings I harbored for so long have no basis, but”—he touched his finger to his chest—“down here they are not so easy to get rid of.”
“I know.” She glanced at the doorway quickly, then back to him. “And your father has told you how he feels about the Mormons and Mormonism?”
He was surprised by her perceptiveness. “How did you know that?”
“I just knew.”
He reached out and picked up the Book of Mormon, turning it over and rubbing its cover absently. “You feel it is true, don’t you, Mama?”
“I
know
it’s true,” she answered softly.
“How?”
She imitated his gesture, touching her hand to her bosom. “I know it down here, Will.” But then she began to shake her head at him. “But that isn’t good enough for you. Neither are your father’s feelings in the other direction. You must decide for yourself.”
He thought about that for a time, then slowly nodded. “That’s what Jenny said, too.”
“I think Jenny is a wonderful young woman, Will.”
“Pa doesn’t like her.”
“Yes, he does. He just doesn’t like her making his son so unhappy.”
“He doesn’t like her feelings about not marrying Mormons.”
Caroline’s lips pressed together. “And I don’t like his feelings about being married to a Mormon,” she murmured. “I guess that kind of evens things out.”
Suddenly she stood and gathered him up in her arms. “How can you leave me again so soon?” she cried.
“I won’t go if you say, Mama.”
There was a long moment of silence. “No,” she finally whispered. “Jenny’s right. I think it’s best if you do go now.” She pulled him to her more tightly. “Just hurry back. Promise?”
“Yes, Mama. I promise.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Matthew stopped sorting through the papers and picked up a newspaper clipping. He held it up. “Remember this?”
Derek was at the small table, reports from various branches and conferences spread all around him. Brigham had asked if he would tally the numbers in preparation for tomorrow’s general conference. He looked up. “What?”
“This article in the
Millennial Star.
Remember when that story appeared in the
London Dispatch
last November, about the ‘Mormonite’ missionaries?”
“Oh, yes,” Derek said, turning back to the reports. “And Parley’s reply.”
“Yeah.” Matthew remembered very clearly how incensed Wilford Woodruff was when he read the article. Work in London had been slow and laborious. They had had some success and had baptized some wonderful converts, but compared to the work up north in Herefordshire or the Potteries it was discouragingly slow. So to have an article sharply critical of the Church appear in one of the leading papers was a further blow. Wilford had spent the better part of a day drafting a letter to the editor, then sent it and the offending article to Parley Pratt, who was editor of the
Star.
In the November 1840 issue of the
Millennial Star,
Parley reprinted the full article from the
Dispatch,
followed by a lengthy response.
Matthew sat back, reading it over again, able to smile now but remembering his own anger. A new sect calling themselves “Mormonites” had “pitched their tents in Gloucestershire,” according to the writer, “for the purpose of plundering the ignorant people in the neighbourhood.”
He looked up. “Well, at least they got this part nearly right.”
“What?” Derek murmured, not looking up.
Matthew read to him now. “ ‘These Mormonites are twelve in number, like the Apostles. They have a new bible of their own, in which it is declared that they are the apostles and prophets of the Church of Latter-Days, the only true and living church on the face of the earth.’ ” He chuckled. “And I like this part. He says, ‘They tell the flocks of the learned clergy of the diocese of Gloucester and Bristol, that God has not revealed in the bible all that is sufficient to salvation.’ ”
“What an affront to the ‘learned clergy’!” Derek said with amusement.
Matthew finished, shaking his head again at the perfidy of men. The article gave the report of a “gentleman of the neighbourhood,” who accused the missionaries of plundering three families in Herefordshire and leaving them totally destitute, having robbed them of some two hundred pounds and more. He skipped down, skimming Parley’s reply, looking for the most blistering paragraph.
“Listen to this, Derek. I love Brother Parley’s answer to the charge that the Twelve stole all that money. Here’s what he said. ‘But again to this plundering business. The Bishop with two or three palaces and 9000 pounds a year, is a humble shepherd of the true fold, is he not? His scores of non-resident clergy and others, all supported by a salary, are not plunderers, are they?’ ” He moved down a few lines. “ ‘No,—no,—it is this two or three hundred pounds, divided to twelve penurious missionaries (and this a falsehood) that is the only plundering known in England, is it not?’ ”
Derek put his pen down and sat back. “Did you know that after the tremendous success Wilford had in Herefordshire, ministers in the area petitioned the archbishop of Canterbury? They wanted him to ask Parliament to pass a law prohibiting Mormons from preaching in England.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, thankfully, the archbishop and his council rejected that idea out of hand. According to Wilford, the archbishop wrote back and told them that if they had the worth of souls at heart as much as they did the land where the hares and foxes and hounds ran, they would not lose so many of their flock.”
“Good for him.”
Derek sighed. “Well, I’ve got to get this report done before the Twelve finish their meetings. And you have got to get our stuff packed.”
“I know.” Matthew tossed the newspaper clipping back in the box with the letters from Jennifer Jo and other memorabilia he had been collecting over the past year. But in a moment, he had found something else and sat back and started to read again.
Will squinted up, trying to see a number on the brownstone apartment building. “You sure this is it?”
The boy was eleven or twelve and tall and gangly. He struck a belligerent stance. “G’wan, mate,” he growled, trying to sound older than he was. “What kind of bloke do you think I am? I said I would find the address for you, and here we are. You owe me tuppence.”
Will had to smile as he dug into his pocket for the money. The boy reminded him of another young man, hustling strangers on the docks of Savannah, offering to show them around town and hoping for a generous tip for doing so. Cocky, brash, impudent—this lad had it all, just as Will Steed did at that same age.
“Here’s your tuppence and that much again for good service.” He dropped the four pence into the boy’s hand.
The eyes grew round. “Thank ya kindly, mate. You’re a square joe.”
“Thank you. Good evening to you.”
The boy moved off, headed back in the direction of the train station to find another soul in need of a reputable guide to Manchester.
Looking up once more at the apartment building, Will took a quick breath, then shouldered his bag and ran up the steps.
At the knock on the door, Matthew jumped up. “I’ll get it.”
Derek sat back, looking towards the door. He was a little surprised. Brigham and the Twelve were meeting in council prior to the conference and had told Derek they would probably not be returning before nine. But then, with hundreds and hundreds of Saints coming into Manchester for the conference, it could be almost anyone.
Matthew went across the room and opened the door. “Good evening—,” he started to say. He stopped. His jaw went slack and his eyes widened in astonishment.
“Evenin’, Matthew.”
“You?” he gasped. “But how . . . ?”
Derek craned his neck. Matthew was blocking his view of the door. “Who is it, Matthew?”
But Matthew didn’t hear him. With one great cry, he swept the person up in his arms and was pounding him furiously on the back. “It
is
you!” he shouted. “It is you!”
He swung around, lifting the person clear off his feet, crushing him to his body. Derek stood, thoroughly baffled now. With all the swinging and pounding, he still could not see clearly who it was. “Matthew!” he said sharply.
Matthew swung back around and let his captive go. Now it was Derek who gasped. “Would you look at this, Derek,” Matthew cried. “Would you look who’s here in Manchester.”
By midnight, there were still no thoughts of bed or sleep. The three of them sat around the table, their heads leaning forward as though, if they weren’t careful, they might miss a word. Brigham Young and Willard Richards had returned a little before nine to get the tallies of Church membership. Will was introduced to and warmly received by the two Apostles. Brigham pumped him eagerly for any news of home, then left after fifteen minutes. The moment the two men were gone, Matthew and Derek started in again, peppering Will with questions in such a rapid-fire manner he felt like his head was starting to spin. It was as if they had been on a forty-day fast, and Will had brought them bread.
First came all the news of the family, with a special emphasis on Rebecca and Jennifer Jo. They were surprised to learn that Lydia and Nathan had a new baby boy. Somehow the family had neglected to mention she was expecting again. They would call him Josiah, Will reported, after Lydia’s father. They fired off questions, wanting to know about the store and the brickyard and the freight business and how Jessica’s school was going. The reports were highly encouraging, but Will surprised them with news of the trip to Wisconsin and the family’s entry into the lumber business. Mary Ann had written Matthew about that, Will said, but evidently her letter had never arrived.
Then, suddenly more reticent, Will reported on the Pottsworths. He didn’t have to admit to anything. By the time he was two minutes into talking about Jenny, Matthew slapped him on the shoulder. “You and Jenny like each other, don’t you?” he said.
Will could only nod in embarrassment, not yet wanting to talk about all that was going on between him and her. So he turned the conversation to his parents. They all sobered as Will reported that nothing had changed there. When they received the letter saying Joshua had retracted his permission for Caroline to be baptized, both Matthew and Derek had started praying that Joshua’s heart would be softened. They were hoping for a better report, and Derek seemed especially glum when Will flatly said he didn’t see any hope of his father changing.
Finally, after almost two hours of their firing questions at Will, Derek sat back. “Ah, Will. I can’t believe you’re really sitting here in Manchester with us. And look at you. As tall as Matthew now and tan and muscular. The sailor’s life must agree with you.”
“I would have passed him on the street and not even recognized him,” Matthew said, eyeing him now from across the table.
Will shrugged. “Well, it’s been—what? We last saw each other in Far West. That’s been almost three years ago now.”
“And what a three years for you,” Derek said soberly.
Will just nodded. He had been a boy the last time they had been together. Now he was a man and with more experience than many men twice his age.
“So tell us about you now,” Matthew said. “How in the world did you ever come to be here in England? Mother wrote us, of course, about you being on the ship with the Pottsworths and about us just missing you in Liverpool. But we had no idea you were coming back.”
“Neither did I until just a day or two before I left.” There was a fleeting smile tinged with sadness. “I just decided I wanted to come over and sail back with you. Not wait another three or four or five months to see you.”
“So you are going back with us?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, yes.” He told them briefly about his experience with Captain Sperryman and how he had eventually become bosun. “When we arrived in New York about the first of October last year, the captain talked to the shipping company about me. They promised me a job whenever I came back. So I came to New York from Nauvoo mostly by stage, and when I got to the city I went down to the shipping office. They put me on as crew on the first packet ship coming across, and here I am.” He smiled again, but this time it was full and genuine. “It felt good to be back to sea again.”
Matthew pulled a face. “Are you serious? I’ve been dreading getting back on a ship now for over a month, and we don’t even leave until the seventeenth.”
Will leaned forward eagerly. “Are you sailing on the
Rochester?
”
Surprised, Derek nodded. “Yes, we’re taking another load of emigrants with us.”
“Great. That’s what I hoped. The
Rochester
is owned by the same line I work with. I talked to the man here. He told me there was another big group of Mormons going across then. I thought it might be you, so I have tentatively signed on as crew for the trip back.”