The Work and the Glory (304 page)

Taylor shook his head. “No, I don’t recall that.”

“Tell us,” Brother Turley and Brother Taylor said simultaneously.

“Jennetta Richards—yes, that’s right, Richards was her maiden name too—lived a short distance out of Preston. After Heber’s declaration, Willard, of course, wanted to meet her. He did, and was quite taken with the lass, and determined right then and there to make Heber’s prophecy come true.”

Derek was grinning now, remembering well his delight when he first heard this story. “So, sometime on the day that they met, while he was walking to a meeting with Jennetta and a friend, Willard casually said something like this, ‘I find the name Richards to be a fine name. I never want to change it. Do you, Jennetta?’ ”

Turley hooted right out loud. “You’re joshing us.”

“Nope,” Derek said solemnly. “I swear, that’s exactly what he said. And then Jennetta, properly demure, replied, ‘No, I do not wish to change my name. And I think that I never will.’ ”

The train gave a hard lurch, throwing them forward as it ground to a halt. Derek reached down and grabbed his valise. “Let’s go,” he cried. “We’re here.”

It had been two and a half years since Willard had left Kirtland, and nearly three years since he and Wilford had last seen each other. Wilford was first off the train. Willard was waiting for him and practically engulfed him as he stepped onto the platform. They pounded each other on the back with blows that would have dropped lesser men. Then Willard looked over Wilford’s shoulders. “Derek! Derek Ingalls!” he cried. “Are my eyes betraying me?”

“Hello, Brother Richards,” Derek said, stepping forward and sticking out his hand. “How good to see you again.”

The hand was ignored and, just as Wilford Woodruff had been, Derek was suddenly engulfed in a crushing bear hug. “Derek, I can’t believe my eyes. You’ve come as a missionary.”

“Brother Ingalls? I declare.”

Extracting himself, Derek turned. “Sister Jennetta. I am delighted to see you again.”

She curtsied slightly, smiling happily. “This is a most pleasant surprise. We had no idea that you would be returning.”

John Taylor and Theodore Turley were next to be introduced. Neither of them had known Willard before. Then Willard introduced Jennetta, for Derek was the only one who knew her. It was at that point that Derek heard a shriek of joy behind him. He turned. An older woman was waving wildly from the midst of a crowd. “Derek! Derek!” Pushing her way through to the front of the crowd, she broke free and dashed toward him. Derek stared for a minute. The lamps were behind her and her face was partially in shadow. Then suddenly he straightened. “Sister Pottsworth!” he shouted. He took three great steps and swept her up, swinging her around and around as she threw her arms around his neck.

“It
is
you!” she kept saying over and over. Abigail Pottsworth, a woman of about forty, lived just a few doors down the street from where Derek and Peter had lived. Peter and Jenny Pottsworth worked at the same textile factory and were best friends. The Pottsworths had gone with the Ingalls brothers to the first preaching meeting to hear the American missionaries. All four of them had been baptized on the same day. Leaving Jenny had been the only real pain for Peter when he and Derek emigrated to America.

He set her down, and looked around. “Where’s Jenny?”

And then he saw her. She too had pushed her way through the crowd and was walking slowly toward them, smiling shyly. Derek’s eyes widened in surprise. Jenny was about fifteen months younger than Peter and had just turned twelve a few weeks before Derek and Peter had left for America. He had to look twice to be sure it was her. The skinny, pug-nosed, freckle-faced, pigtailed tomboy had turned into a lovely young woman. He calculated quickly. Her birthday was in August sometime, which meant she would be fifteen in the summer. Had he passed her on the street, he probably wouldn’t have recognized her at all.

“Jenny?” he exclaimed. “Is that you?” The nose was still the same—as if she had leaned against a window with a trifle too much pressure—but it fit very nicely into her straight, even features. The freckles were totally gone. Her hair was long—well past her shoulders—and was the color of sunlit sand. Her eyes, very wide and a soft blue, were smiling at him, pleased with his reaction.

“Yes, Derek. It’s me.”

He looked at her mother. “I can’t believe it. She’s all grown up.” Then he introduced them to John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and Theodore Turley. “The Pottsworths were baptized on the same day Peter and I were.”

“How is Peter?” Jenny asked as soon as the introductions were made.

“Peter is fine. He said if I made it back to Preston, I was to be sure and look you and your mother up and say hello.”

“Say hello, nothing!” Sister Pottsworth cried, feigning a hurt look. “Why, you’re coming to stay with us. Me and Jenny are saving to go to America. We want you to tell us all about it.”

On January sixteenth, Joseph Fielding, president of the British Mission, returned to Preston to a warm and touching reunion with his longtime friend John Taylor. The next day, not yet a week since their arrival in England, the missionaries met at the home of Willard Richards in council with the British Mission presidency. Brother Fielding was president, Brother Richards his first counselor, and Brother William Clayton second counselor. Clayton was one of the first converts to be baptized when Heber C. Kimball and Orson Hyde had come in 1837. Though there were two Apostles present, they deferred to Joseph Fielding as mission president.

After considerable discussion, John Taylor was assigned to labor in Liverpool. With the Cannons already showing interest, this gave Taylor a base from which to work in that seaport town. Theodore Turley was originally from Birmingham and pressed vigorously for permission for him and Wilford Woodruff to go there where he still had many family and friends. Wilford finally agreed to go south, but only as far as the Staffordshire Potteries, and then they would decide from there. By assignment, Derek was asked to accompany Wilford rather than Brother Taylor, and it was decided that Willard Richards would stay in Preston and serve as the central communications point for all the missionaries. It was also determined that Willard should be free to go wherever the Spirit led him.

On the eighteenth, they met again at the Richards home for what Wilford described as a “season of fasting and prayer.” They gave blessings to each other and then went to the railway station, where some of them left for their previously determined fields of labor. The mission to England had begun in earnest.

It was snowing lightly in Palmyra, New York. The air was cold, and the humidity off Lake Ontario sent the chill creeping through even the heaviest of clothing. There were a few people on Main Street going about their business, but generally it was quiet. With the Erie Canal closed for the winter, much of the normal bustle of Palmyra came to a halt.

Inside the McBride store, they had a fire well stoked in the large black potbellied stove. The air around it shimmered as it sent its heat throughout the room. The store too was mostly quiet. Lydia was behind the counter, helping a farmer and his son. There were no other customers. Nathan was in the back room of the store, assembling a cast-iron stove for a family in nearby Vienna. Elizabeth Mary played beside him, content with a set of blocks Lydia’s mother had bought her for Christmas. Young Joshua and Emily were in school and wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours.

The McBrides’ living quarters were behind and above the store, and now the door at the top of the stairs opened. Lydia looked up. Hannah McBride was standing at the doorway, looking down. Her face was white. She looked around, dazed and confused. Lydia dropped the pen, letting it clatter to the counter. “Mama?”

There was a strangled cry and her mother half stumbled, groping blindly for the rail.

“Mama!” Lydia screamed. She darted out from behind the counter and raced toward the stairs. Nathan was closer and took the steps three at a time, reaching his mother-in-law just as her knees started to buckle. She sagged against him.

Lydia had reached them now too. She grabbed her mother’s hands and peered into her face.

“It’s your father,” her mother said, almost like a bewildered child. “I can’t wake him.”

Lydia fell back a step. A great sob welled up inside her. “Oh, Mama! No!”

One by one they came up to Lydia and her mother, standing beside the open grave. The coffin now filled the bottom of the hole, the first shovelful of dirt on top of it. The dark brown of the recently opened earth contrasted starkly with the snow around it. They shook hands, murmured their last condolences, then moved away. The pastor of the Presbyterian church where Josiah McBride had been one of the elders for many years was the last to come up. Lydia stepped forward to meet him. “Pastor Gordon, thank you so much. It was a lovely service. You have been most helpful.”

“Your father and I have been friends for many, many years,” the man responded soberly. “He was a good man. It was an honor for me to do this.” He shook hands with Nathan, then stepped to Hannah McBride. She started to express her thanks, but immediately tears welled up, and she just shook her head. He patted her shoulder. “It’s all right, Hannah. It’s all right.”

He turned back to Lydia. “Is there anything more I can do for you?”

Hesitating only for a moment, Lydia nodded. “Could you take my mother and my children back to the house? I would like to stay with Papa for just a few minutes more, if that’s all right.”

“Of course.” He took her mother by the elbow and steered her toward the carriages. “Come children,” he called to young Joshua and his sisters. “Your mother will be along in a while.”

Nathan started to turn away too, but Lydia reached out and took his arm. “No, please stay with me.”

They stood there in the cold, waiting until everyone had gone. The sexton of the cemetery, seeing them there, quietly backed away. He would complete the work when they were through. Nathan had his arm around Lydia, trying to help ward off the cold. Finally, she looked up at him. There were tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Nathan, for letting me be here for him.”

He nodded, grateful to his own father for having the wisdom to insist that Nathan take Lydia home. “I know your father didn’t change his mind about Joseph Smith,” he said, “but he changed his mind about us. He changed his mind about what Mormonism has done for us. Three nights ago, while I was sitting up with him, he said that to me.”

She looked up in surprise. “He did?”

“Yes. He said that he would never be able to understand why we believed in Joseph, but then he said that he had to admit that our religion made us better people. He went on and on about the children, how well we have raised them, how pleased he was that they are so confident and happy. And he said that he knew it was partly because of the gospel.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispered.

“I knew his time was short. I decided I would save it until now, so you would have something happy to think about.”

She nodded, understanding and appreciating that. She reached out and took his hand. “Nathan, I think we need to stay long enough to help Mama find someone to run the store for her, and settle up any of Papa’s affairs, then I’d like to go home.”

That startled him. “Don’t you want to wait until the weather turns?”

“No,” she said firmly. “I want to go home.”

He pulled her more tightly against him. “All right.”

They stood there in silence for several minutes. Then she spoke again, her voice barely above a murmur. “Nathan, do you remember the night I got my patriarchal blessing from Father Smith?”

“Yes, very well.”

“Do you remember what it said?”

“Some.”

“He told me that I would yet have sons and daughters.”

“Yes, I remember that very clearly.”

Early this morning, while Nathan was still asleep, she had slipped out of bed and read her blessing over and over. She began to quote it softly. “ ‘You are to devote your time and your talents and your energies to being a righteous mother in Zion. If you are faithful—’ ” She stopped, the words choking off. She took a quick breath and started again. “ ‘If you are faithful in this calling, you shall be as a river of pure water which rushes down from the mountain, bringing life to all that is nearby.’ ”

He was nodding. “You are that, Lydia. You bring life to me and to our children. You bring life to my family. My mother loves you as dearly as her own daughters.”

“And I her,” she said, sniffing back the tears. She slipped her arm around his waist. “I’m ready to go home, Nathan.”

“So am I,” he murmured.

“I want to have another baby.” She smiled at him as he stared at her. “I want to have me another little Nathan.”

“I would like that very much,” he said.

She pulled free from him, brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she bent over and scooped up a handful of dirt. She stepped to the edge of the grave and opened her hand, letting the dirt fall in upon the coffin. “Good-bye, Papa,” she called softly. “I love you.”

Then resolutely, she turned back to Nathan. “Let’s go home.”

Nathan lifted the last case and put it in the third seat of the sleigh. He shoved it down between the other cases, wedging it in tightly so it wouldn’t bounce around too much. He checked the packages that contained the gifts for the family, and the box that held some dried food for the journey and a jar of quinine powder for treating the ague in the upcoming summer. Everything was where it needed to be. He pulled the tanned deer hide over it all and poked the ends beneath the seat. Now, even if it should snow while they were on the road, their luggage would remain dry.

He turned and looked to Lydia. “All right, we’re ready.”

The children were already in the sleigh. They had said their good-byes to their grandmother and were now bundled up beneath the heavy buffalo robes furnished by the driver. Emily and Elizabeth Mary were in the middle seat. They would ride with Lydia. Young Joshua sat in the front beside the driver. Nathan would be beside him. Lydia nodded, the tears already trickling down her cheeks. She turned and threw herself into her mother’s outstretched arms. “Good-bye, Mama.”