There was a mocking smile. “Just how many Parleys do you know?”
“Really? Parley here, in Nauvoo? When?”
“I guess he got in last night.” She reached out and touched his arm, pleased that she should be the bearer of such news for him. “He came to the store, but of course neither of us was there. He told Joshua to have you come see him as soon as you returned home.”
“Well, well,” Nathan breathed. “Parley is back. That is good news.”
“Go,” she said, giving him a gentle push. “Knowing how you two like to talk, we’ll not hold supper for you.”
“Where were you when you heard the news?”
“Well, actually, I was nearly home. I didn’t hear anything until the steamer I was on stopped at a landing in Wisconsin. Some of the passengers who joined us there brought news that Joseph and Hyrum were dead.”
“Wisconsin?” Nathan echoed. “You were already coming home, then?”
Parley nodded solemnly, not explaining further. Parley Parker Pratt was born in 1807, which made him thirty-seven now. That was two years younger than Joseph Smith and two years senior to Nathan. He was built much like Heber C. Kimball—stout, heavily muscled from hard work—and he tended to roll slightly when he walked. His face was round, the dark eyes alert and always probing, and quick to light with good humor. His hair was almost black, thick around his ears and with a slight curl at the neck, but thinning rapidly on top. Normally he bore a look of immense energy and unabashed enjoyment of life. Now he looked tired. His mouth was drawn, the eyes filled with a deep weariness.
He rose from his chair and began to pace. “I was in the Boston area. A day or two before the twenty-seventh of June, I felt a strong prompting that I should return home. I had no idea why. I thought perhaps it might have something to do with my family. But I immediately started west.”
“That was surely the Lord’s doing,” Nathan said.
“Yes, though I did not understand it at the time. But anyway, I was passing on a canal boat on the Erie Canal, near Utica, New York, when to my amazement, my brother William, being then on a mission in New York, happened, quite providentially, to take passage on the same boat. I was much pleased to see him again, and we spent some time telling each other about our labors. By now it was the afternoon of the twenty-seventh.”
He took the poker that stood in its holder beside the cold fireplace and began to idly poke at the empty grate. “As we conversed together on the deck, a strange and solemn awe came over me, as if the powers of hell were let loose. I was so overwhelmed with sorrow I could hardly speak. I did not know what had come over me. After pacing the deck for some time in silence, I turned to William and exclaimed: ‘Brother William, this is a dark hour! The powers of darkness seem to triumph, and the spirit of murder is abroad in the land. It controls the hearts of the American people, and a vast majority of them sanction the killing of the innocent.’”
He straightened, putting the poker back in its place, and turned to Nathan, who was watching him intently. Nathan had been with Parley on a mission to Canada. He knew of the spiritual depths in the man. But this was still an amazing story he was hearing.
“‘My brother,’ I said to William, ‘let us keep silence and not open our mouths. If you have any pamphlets or books on the fulness of the gospel lock them up. Show them not. Neither open your mouth to the people. Let us observe an entire and solemn silence, for this is a dark day, and the hour of triumph for the powers of darkness.’”
“And this was in the afternoon?” Nathan asked in a low voice.
Parley’s head moved up and down slowly. “I didn’t take particular note of the time, but as near as I can judge, it was the same hour that the Carthage mob were shedding the blood of Joseph and Hyrum Smith and John Taylor, nearly a thousand miles to the west of where William and I then were.”
Parley moved across the room and sat down beside Nathan again. “My brother bid me farewell somewhere in western New York, he being on his way to a conference in that quarter. I passed on to Buffalo, where I took steamer for Chicago. The steamer touched at a landing in Wisconsin, some fifty or sixty miles from Chicago, and here some new passengers came on board. They brought the news of the martyrdom. That was the first I knew of it, and then I understood what had happened on the canal boat that previous afternoon.”
Nathan could only nod.
“It was horrible,” Parley went on, his voice quite low now. “Great excitement prevailed on board the steamer. The people were filled with a spirit of exultation and triumph at this ‘glorious’ news. I could barely believe it. They received this news with much the same spirit as is generally shown on the receipt of the news of a great national victory in time of war. Knowing that I was a member of the Church and a member of the Twelve, many passengers gathered about me and tauntingly inquired what the Mormons would do now, seeing their prophet and leader was killed.
“To these taunts and questions I replied that we should continue our mission and spread to all the world the work Joseph had restored. I pointed out that nearly all the prophets and Apostles who were in times of old had been killed and also the Savior of the world, yet their death did not alter the truth nor hinder its final triumph.”
“And what did they answer to that?”
“Oh, some seemed moved by it. They began to inquire as to who would be the new leader and some even asked if it might be me. I disabused them of that notion, telling them that no man would rejoice in the death of the innocent for personal gain. This served as a sufficient rebuke, and all were silent.”
“Well, you’re here. I’ll bet Elder Taylor and Elder Richards were pleased to see you.”
“Yes, poor Willard. He’s had the full burden of keeping things together here. I was shocked to see Elder Taylor. It is a miracle that he is alive.”
“In more ways than one,” Nathan agreed. “Lydia saw Leonora yesterday. She invited us to have supper with them in the next week or so. She said that Elder Taylor enjoys having someone to talk to.”
“He does.” Parley turned toward the window, looking through it to the city beyond. There was a soft sigh, and then he began to speak again. “There is more to my story, Nathan.”
“Tell me,” he replied.
“Landing in Chicago I found great excitement there as well. The press had issued extras announcing the triumph of the murderous mob in killing the Smiths. Yes, that’s the word they used. Triumph. It chills the blood, doesn’t it, to think that they could rejoice in such terrible deeds.”
“The whole world seems to be rejoicing, Parley. Except for here. It has been almost two weeks now, and here there is still only sorrow.”
“Yes. I knew that would be the case. And that brings me to the rest of my story. Leaving Chicago, I now hastened on to Peoria, and, staying overnight, I started the next day on foot across the country. During the two or three days I spent traveling between Chicago and Peoria, I felt so weighed down with sorrow and the powers of darkness that it was painful for me to converse or speak to anyone or even to try to eat or sleep. I really felt that if it had been my own family who had died and our beloved prophet been spared alive, I could have borne it, and the blow would have fallen on me with far less weight. For fourteen years I had loved Joseph with a warmth of affection indescribable. I had associated with him in private and in public, in travels and at home, in joy and sorrow, in honor and dishonor, in adversity of every kind. With him I had lain in dungeons and in chains; and with him I had triumphed over all our foes in Missouri and found deliverance for ourselves and people in Nauvoo, where we had reared this great city. But now he was gone, gone to the invisible world, and we and the Church of the Saints were left to mourn in sorrow and without the presence of our beloved founder and prophet.
“As I walked along over the plains of Illinois, lonely and solitary, my thoughts were somewhat as follows: ‘I am now drawing near to the beloved city; in a day or two I shall be there. How shall I meet the sorrowing widows and orphans? How shall I meet the aged and widowed mother of these two martyrs? How shall I meet an entire community bowed down with grief and sorrow unutterable? What shall I say? How can I console and advise twenty-five thousand people who will throng about me in tears and, in the absence of the President of my quorum and the older members of the now presiding council, will ask counsel at my hands? Shall I tell them to fly to the wilderness and deserts? Or, shall I tell them to stay at home and take care of themselves, and continue to build the temple?’ With these reflections, I walked onward, weighed down as it were unto death.”
Nathan wanted to say something, to express in words the sorrow and numbing shock which had come over him, but he did not. He did not want to break into Parley’s reverie, for that was what it was. He seemed barely conscious of Nathan’s presence now.
The pain laced his face, deepening the lines, drawing the mouth tight. “When I could endure it no longer, I cried out aloud, saying: ‘O Lord! in the name of Jesus Christ I pray thee, show me what these things mean, and what I shall say to thy people.’”
Finally he turned his head to look directly at Nathan. “And then it happened. On a sudden, the Spirit of God came upon me and filled my heart with joy and gladness indescribable. The spirit of revelation glowed in my bosom with as visible a warmth and gladness as if it were fire. The Spirit whispered unto me: ‘Lift up your head and rejoice, for behold, it is well with my servants Joseph and Hyrum. My servant Joseph still holds the keys of my kingdom in this dispensation, and he shall stand in due time on the earth, in the flesh, and fulfill that to which he is appointed.’”
Without being aware that he had moved at all, Nathan had leaned forward, as though by his being closer the words could reach him more quickly.
“‘Go!’ whispered the Spirit, ‘go and say unto my people in Nauvoo that they shall continue to pursue their daily duties and take care of themselves. They are to make no movement in Church government to reorganize or alter anything until the return of the remainder of the Quorum of the Twelve. But exhort them that they continue to build the house of the Lord which I have commanded them to build in Nauvoo.’”
He stopped. There wasn’t a sound in the room. Even outside, the world seemed withdrawn beyond the reach of anything that might disturb this moment. Finally, Nathan released his breath, feeling the tension go with it. “That is what the Saints need to hear, Parley,” he said softly. “That is exactly what they need to hear.”
“Yes,” Parley said, smiling now for the first time. “You can imagine what I felt when this happened. This information caused my bosom to burn with joy and gladness, and I was comforted above measure. All my sorrow seemed in a moment to be lifted as a burden from my back.”
“It is wonderful counsel.”
“I know. Then I must confess, I began to doubt again. The change in me was so sudden, I hardly dared to believe my senses. One minute there had been this terrible despair and hopelessness, the next indescribable joy. I began to wonder if it were really from the Lord. Therefore, I prayed the Lord to repeat to me the same things the second time so that, indeed, if it was of him and the truth, I might be sure of it so that I might really tell the Saints to stay in Nauvoo and continue to build the temple.
“And as I prayed thus, the same spirit burned in my bosom again, and the Spirit of the Lord repeated to me the same message once more, exactly the same all over again. I then went on my way rejoicing, arriving late yesterday afternoon.”
“You must tell the people,” Nathan exclaimed. “We need to hear what the Lord’s will is for us now. There is much confusion, much speculation.”
“I shall, Nathan. Brother Taylor and Brother Richards said exactly the same thing.”
“Tell me when and where and the Steeds shall be present.”
The round face softened into a sad smile. “I just learned this morning of Joshua’s tragedy. I am very sorry, Nathan.”
“Yes, it has been a difficult thing. But it has brought Joshua and Caroline back to us, at least for a time.” Then he brightened. “You shall come and have supper with us tonight. Bring your family. We would be honored.”
Parley reached across and clapped a hand on Nathan’s shoulder. “No, it is we who shall be honored.”
Chapter Notes
Parley P. Pratt’s account of his experience at the time of the Martyrdom and on his return to Nauvoo is told here almost word for word as he wrote it in his history (see
Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt,
ed. Parley P. Pratt, Jr., Classics in Mormon Literature [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1985], pp. 292–94).
Chapter 4
When Melissa Rogers opened the door to Carl’s office, he looked up in surprise, then stood up immediately. “Melissa, what are you doing outside on a day like this?”
“Hello, Carl.”
He quickly went to her and helped her across the room to the chair in front of his desk. He helped her sit down, holding her arm carefully. With the baby only a week or two away now, she moved awkwardly, heavily, like an old woman with lumbago. As she got seated, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. Gratefully she took it and wiped at her face and neck, wishing she could somehow get at the trickles of sweat going down her back.
“It’s much too hot for you to be out walking, Melissa,” he said, his voice half-anxious, half-chiding. And then he peered more closely at her face. “What’s wrong? Is it one of the children. Or Mother?”
She shook her head quickly. And then, not trusting her voice, she opened her handbag and withdrew the folded newspaper and handed it to him.
Puzzled, he glanced at it, then back to her. “What?”
“Look at the front page.”
Even as he started to unfold the newspaper he saw from the masthead that it was not their local weekly but one of the Cleveland papers. He also noted that it had yesterday’s date—July 10, 1844. Then, as he opened it up fully, there was an involuntary gasp. The headline ran across the full width of the paper.
MORMON PROPHET SLAIN IN ILLINOIS.