The Work and the Glory (356 page)

“A couple of people with the right experience and a good head on their shoulders could probably make a living developing land, and not be scalping their brothers and sisters in the process.”

Ahhh!
Benjamin Steed had been a farmer in Palmyra. He had made a decent profit when he sold out and brought Mary Ann to Kirtland. He bought another farm in Kirtland, but soon left it for Nathan to work while he turned his attention to land development. He had loved it, and was angered when people used land speculation to ruin everything. And now Nathan understood all the questions. Benjamin wanted to do something that he loved again.

And then it hit Nathan and it hit him hard. Benjamin was offering him a chance to do something he loved as well.

“But you are helping Joseph and the city council with lots here, aren’t you?” Derek asked, before Nathan could speak.

“Yes. But mostly I’m just counseling with them.” He turned and looked at Nathan steadily now. “What I’m talking about is buying land. Getting it developed. Then selling it back to people at a fair price. Maybe even become a force in stopping others from letting things run wild again.”

Nathan was surprised at the sudden excitement racing through him. Now
this
was something a man could take pride in, use his talents for, sink his teeth into. This was not sitting behind some musty counter filled with bonnets and corsets and pantaloons. He leaned forward. “I agree,” he said. “A man could get to love something like that.”

Benjamin was pleased but didn’t want to show it. “We’d need capital.”

Nathan considered that for a moment. It would take quite a bit of capital. “Joshua?” he finally asked.

There was a quick shake of the head.

Momentarily surprised, Nathan started to ask why, but then almost immediately he understood. Joshua would do it. And be glad for it. They both knew that. But Joshua had helped the family enough and now they were all prospering because of that. It was time to go it on their own. Not be beholden to Joshua’s generosity.

“I was thinking that we might want to go down to Springfield. We’ve got my cabin and yours, if Lydia would agree. I think we could get enough of a mortgage to start buying a couple of pieces of land I’ve got my eye on.”

“We could use our part in the store too,” Nathan said eagerly. “I know Lydia will agree. I don’t know if she knows how I feel, but—”

“She knows!” Benjamin said shortly, cutting him off.

“Oh,” Nathan replied, a little crestfallen. “Has she talked to you?”

Before Benjamin could reply there was a shout from behind them.

“Hey! Nathan Steed!”

Nathan swung around to see who was calling. It was the foreman. He was pointing up to the crest of the quarry where a small figure was waving his arms back and forth. “Isn’t that your son?” he called.

Nathan stood, lifting a hand to shade his eyes. It was. It was young Joshua. He looked toward the foreman. “Yes, it is,” he called back. “Thank you.”

Benjamin was up too, looking suddenly worried.

“I’ll be right back.” Nathan broke into a trot, crossing the quarry to reach the path that led to the small ridge above them. Breathing heavily, he slowed as he came to his son. “What is it, Joshua? What’s the matter?”

Young Joshua looked up at his father, his face grave. “Mama said I’d better come tell you, Papa. Brother Don Carlos Smith died early this morning.”

“Oh, no!”

“We just heard,” Joshua went on. “Mama wants you and Grandpa to quit an hour early so you can go over and pay your respects.”

Nathan’s shoulders lifted and fell. Joseph always came by the quarry, usually first thing in the morning. He hadn’t come today. Now Nathan understood why. He laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “All right, Joshua. Thank you for coming. Tell Mama we’ll be home by five o’clock.”

Chapter 9

   In the end, it was decided that only Nathan, Lydia, Benjamin, and Mary Ann would go to pay their respects to the Smith family that evening. Even though it would be the Sabbath tomorrow, the Smiths had decided to have the funeral following the morning worship services. There would be time enough then for the rest of the Steed family to offer their respects.

They stopped first at the home of Don Carlos Smith to give their condolences to Agnes, thirty years old and now widowed with three small children. As it turned out, all the Smith women—Mother Smith and all of her daughters and daughters-in-law—were there. So Lydia and Mary Ann simply stayed there while Nathan and Benjamin went to see Joseph.

When they reached the Homestead, Hyrum was there with the Prophet, and so was George Albert Smith, or George A., as everyone called him. George A. was cousin to the Smiths and, being of about the same age, had been especially close to Don Carlos. In fact, Don Carlos had performed the marriage of
George A. to Bathsheba Bigler just two weeks before.

The three Smiths were out in the yard, taking advantage of the coolness of the night air, and warmly welcomed their visitors. They sat out on the grass, touched by the lamplight from the windows. All of Joseph’s children were asleep except for young Joseph, who would be nine in a few months. He sat beside his father, content to listen to the adults without speaking, somehow sure that if he continued to hold his father’s hand, it would help to comfort his father in his loss. Quite naturally, the conversation focused on the man for whom the family and the city now mourned. In addition to being Joseph’s brother, Don Carlos Smith had been editor of the
Times and Seasons.
He was well known to the Saints, and news of his death had spread a pall over Nauvoo.

Joseph’s face was somber but filled more with pride than with sorrow as he spoke of him. “Almost everyone knows that my brother Samuel was the first called missionary in the Church,” he said, not really speaking to any one of them in particular, “but most people don’t know that Don Carlos also went out to preach just a short time later.” He looked at his brother. “Do you remember, Hyrum? We ordained him to the priesthood when he was only fourteen.”

“I remember it well,” Hyrum answered. “He was the one who convinced that Baptist preacher that the Church had been restored.”

Joseph smiled, warmed by the memory. “Yes.” He turned toward Benjamin and Nathan. “Father went to St. Lawrence County in New York to see my grandfather Asael Smith. Let’s see, that would have been in August of 1830, so just four months after the Church was organized. Don Carlos had only turned fourteen in March of that year, but he went with my father. From the very beginning, he knew the work was true. And he was absolutely fearless in wanting to bear testimony of the work. Can you imagine a fourteen-year-old bearing witness to a licensed Baptist minister and converting him?”

“I can imagine that easily of Don Carlos,” George A. said slowly. “Remember that experience on the boat?”

“Yes, yes,” Joseph said quickly. “That’s another great example of his courage.”

“I guess I don’t know about that,” Benjamin broke in. “What happened?”

“You were there, George A.,” Hyrum said. “You tell them.”

George A. leaned back, his eyes half closing. “We—meaning me, Don Carlos, and two other brethren—were heading for Tennessee and Kentucky to see if we could raise some funds for the Church. This would have been in September 1838, right at the height of the tension in Missouri. Well, we got on a riverboat down on the Missouri River and then found to our dismay that it was filled with a whole group of men from Jackson County—Moses Wilson, Samuel Lucas, Colonel Thompson.” There was a flash of anger now in his eyes. “A viler group of black hearts would be hard to find.”

He paused, totally lost in his memories now. “They were cursing the Mormons up one side and down the other. We were forced to listen to the most hideous oaths and threats. Then somehow, they learned we were Mormons. Wilson was especially ugly. He got a whole big crowd around us, then started in. He was swearing and cussing, railing on about how terrible the Mormons were. He was taunting us, trying to goad us into doing something so they’d have some excuse to take action against us.”

Young Joseph’s eyes were large and round now. “What happened?”

George A.’s voice was very soft now. “Well, Wilson started boasting about how he and some others dragged our people out of their cabins and whipped them senseless with hickory switches. He was swearing and damning old Joe Smith, promising he would send him and all of us to hell if given half a chance. There was a large crowd all watching and listening. I didn’t know what to do. It was terrible. And very dangerous.”

He paused, then looked toward Benjamin and Nathan, speaking to them now too. “Suddenly Don Carlos stepped forward. I was stunned. Gentle, quiet Don Carlos. He stepped right up to Wilson and looked him squarely in the face. Wilson was shocked too. He didn’t expect any response from us. Don Carlos told him he was Joseph Smith’s brother and didn’t appreciate his words against him.”

“Just like that?” Nathan said in amazement.

“Just like that,” George A. answered. “‘General,’ Don Carlos said, perfectly calm, ‘you are neither a republican nor a gentleman. You are but a savage without a single principle of honor or humanity.’”

“No!” Benjamin breathed.

“Yes!” George A. said emphatically. “There he stood, a twenty-two-year-old lad, eye to eye with this murderous Missourian.”

“What happened?” Nathan asked in wonder.

“Well, Wilson went red as an overripe tomato. He was in a rage, as you can imagine. He had a pistol strapped beneath the skirts of his coat, and he put his hand on the butt of it, shouting and blustering and saying he would not stand for such talk from any blankety-blank Mormon. I happened to be standing next to Wilson and prepared myself to bump him slightly should he draw his weapon.”

They all chuckled at that. George A. weighed somewhere around two hundred and fifty pounds. It wasn’t hard to picture Moses Wilson sailing into the river had George A. chosen to “bump” the man.

“Fortunately,” George A. went on, “General David Atchison was on board as well. As you know, he was well respected by everyone. He leaped up and, putting a hand on Don Carlos’s shoulder, said loudly, ‘I’ll be blankety-blank if Smith ain’t right in this matter.’ Others then spoke up as well, expressing their shock that Wilson could brag so openly about such vile deeds. That took all the bluster out of the general in an instant. He was beaten and left the group totally defeated.”

They all fell silent, thinking about what that said about the courage of Don Carlos Smith. Finally Joseph stirred. “Now I think you can see why Emma and I chose to name our youngest son after this man. It is a name that he can look up to for the rest of his life.”

“Yes,” Hyrum murmured, “and thank heavens that you did. Now we will have another little Don Carlos to remind us of the man we have lost this day.”

Will Steed was sharply disappointed that Joseph had chosen not to preach this morning. Will loved the Sabbath meetings in the grove just to the west of the temple. He enjoyed the association with the Saints. He enjoyed singing out with full voice along with two or three thousand others. But he especially loved to hear the Prophet speak. Will was often hammered with questions by his father about the Church. Joshua was not directly confrontational, but he would slip in little comments here and there that would sow seeds of doubt. That was part of the tumult Will was in about the Church. But when he came to hear Joseph, the tumult seemed to calm. He would gain a surety of feeling and purpose that would fortify him for another week with his father.

It wasn’t a surprise that Joseph didn’t take the lead today. There were still the funeral services for Don Carlos to follow this meeting, but nevertheless Will was disappointed. And part of that disappointment was for Carl Rogers. Usually all the Steeds went to worship services except for Joshua and Carl. But this morning Carl had surprised them all by coming out of the house with Melissa and the children. Sensing their reaction, he offhandedly explained that while he hadn’t personally known Don Carlos, he felt it only right to pay honor to the Smith family. And if he was going for the funeral, he may as well go for the worship services too.

But instead of Brother Joseph they got Brother William Clark, which proved to be a disastrous substitution. Perhaps the man meant well, but this was not a speech, it was a harangue. He launched a slashing attack against the current moral condition
of the Saints. The Latter-day Saints were not living up to the expectations of the Lord. They were not demonstrating appropriate sanctity in their daily lives. Of all peoples, the Mormons were expected to be the most holy, the most righteous, the most solemn, the most pious. Instead they were frivolous, unholy, given to light-mindedness. They were clearly in want of more holy living. They were not temperate enough in their living.

That had been nearly two hours ago now. Will wanted to groan. His shoulder ached and his face hurt. His ribs were squeezing his lungs. And this was the last thing Will needed. Worse, it was the last thing Carl needed. But on and on Clark went, the condemnations rolling off his tongue like the beat of some discordant drum. It became clear enough what he meant by temperance. They were indulging in ungodly pursuits like dancing and games and parties that lasted into the late evening hours. They were not showing the solemn piety expected of true believers. They were even laughing on the Sabbath!

Two hours! Will felt as if he had been pummeled by the ugly typesetter in Warsaw all over again.

And then at last, there was one last passionate burst and Clark sat down. One could feel the relief sweep across the congregation, as tangible as if a sudden fresh breeze had sprung up. The heads came up. The children stopped whatever they were doing and turned to the front as Joseph slowly stood. That alone was a surprise, for Hyrum had been conducting the meeting. It had been two full hours now. Would Joseph simply close the meeting, or would there be something more?

Joseph walked slowly to the spot where William Clark had stood to rail at them. He turned, noting that every eye was upon him. His eyes were grave, his demeanor troubled. For a long moment, he let his gaze move across the assembly, finally stopping on the face of the previous speaker.