The Work and the Glory (560 page)

It was not a big surprise for her to find Will near the prow of the ship, leaning over the rail, his face to the wind, letting the beads of spray strike him full in the face, then licking the salty water off his lips with relish. He had gone up to help put up the awnings for the afternoon school that was held on deck. She had stayed behind to help clean the passenger hold. As she came out of the hatch and saw that the awnings were up, she immediately turned to the front of the ship, knowing that’s where he would be.

Will heard her footsteps and turned. “Are you done?”

“Yes. You too, I see.”

“Uh-huh. It doesn’t take long anymore.”

She moved up beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. “So what have you been thinking?”

“About Hawaii.”

“Hawaii?”

“Yes, that’s what the natives call the Sandwich Islands.”

“Really? What does it mean?”

He shrugged. “The first mate says it comes from Hawaiki, the legendary homeland of all the Polynesians.”

“Has he been to the islands before?”

“Several times. He was on a whaler before he joined with Captain Richardson.”

“Are there lots of whales around Hawaii?”

“Not always. Most of the whaling is done way north of there, in the Gulf of Alaska.”

“Oh.” She leaned forward so her face could catch the wind too. “So why do they call them the Sandwich Islands, then?”

“Well, again, according to the first mate, Captain James Cook, who discovered them, named them after the Earl of Sandwich, who was Lord of the English Admiralty at the time Cook sailed.”

“I like Hawaii much better.”

“So do I. And I love the Polynesian names. We’ll dock in the harbor at Honolulu on the island of Oahu, which is not far from the island of Molokai. There are also islands called Maui and Lanai and Kauai. There’re smaller ones too, but I don’t remember their names. The king who united the islands over thirty years ago was called—” He had to stop for a moment to make sure he had it. He had been so charmed by the name that he had made the ship’s officer repeat it until he could get it right. “Kamehameha.”

“Oh,” she said with a laugh, “that’s lovely. Say it again. More slowly, please.”

“Ka-may-ha-may-ha.”

She laughed, then bowed slightly, swirling her hand as if to royalty. “I’m very pleased to meet you, your majesty Kamehameha.”

“Well, actually now it’s Kamehameha the Third, one of the sons of the original king. Before he took the dynastic name, he was called Kauikeaouli.”

She clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, Will. I see why you love them. They sound like poetry.” Then she gave him a closer look. “How do you know all this?”

His shoulders lifted briefly. “I ask a lot of questions.”

She nodded, more serious now. “You like to learn about places where you’re going, don’t you?”

“Sure. I find it fascinating.”

“So how much longer?”

“Well, today is the twenty-third. The captain is predicting landfall about the third week of June, so a little less than a month.”

She groaned. It seemed like a year since they had left the Juan Fernández Islands, even though it had been only two weeks ago. And New York seemed like an eternity ago. “That long?” she mourned.

“Yep. But if it’s any solace to you, Captain Richardson plans to stay there for a week to ten days.”

“Good. Why is that?”

“He has the cargo to unload, as well as restocking with food and water before we turn east again.”

“And then how long will it be?” It came out with longing. She could hardly imagine being on land without having to count the days until they sailed again.

“About a month after that.”

She moaned again. “So when, then?”

He calculated swiftly. “About the end of July or the first week of August, depending on how long we stay at Honolulu.”

Her hand stole down to her stomach, now visibly round even beneath the layers of her clothing. She was due to give birth near the end of September sometime. “I don’t want to have to name our son ‘Atlantic’ or ‘Pacific,’ Will.”

He laughed. Shortly after the great storm which had hit them within a few days of departing New York, Sister Sarah Burr gave birth to a son. They named him John Atlantic Burr. And just recently, Phoebe Robbins, who had lost two of her sons during the early part of the voyage, gave birth to a little girl. At the midday meal Brother Robbins announced that she would be called Georgiana Pacific Robbins.

Then suddenly Will realized what she had said. “You think it’s a boy?”

For the first time she decided not to put his question off. “Yes, I do, Will.”

He swung around. “Truly! You really mean it?”

She was pleased at his excitement. “Yes, I think so.”

“That’s wonderful. Let’s think of some names.”

She laughed merrily and leaned against him. “I think we have plenty of time, Will.”

Brigham Young’s company arrived at Mount Pisgah on the afternoon of Monday, May eighteenth. They had come to create another way station, and by Saturday, just five working days later, they had done a remarkable amount of work toward that end. Two or three hundred acres were fenced now, and most of that was plowed. Wheat, corn, and barley were going in right behind the plows. There were five cabins or sod huts now completed and eight more in various stages of completion. Work on a sturdy bridge across the river was under way. They were also constructing a gristmill. Dozens of small plots were already spaded and planted with garden vegetables. Not only was Mount Pisgah a place of remarkable beauty, it was also, unlike Garden Grove, completely free of rattlesnakes. That alone made it almost a paradise. So what had been the week before uninhabited wilderness was now a significant community.

The first of the wagons of those who had stayed behind at Garden Grove started arriving on Wednesday. At first it was just a few here and there. By Friday it was a steady trickle. By Saturday they were coming in an almost endless stream.

The sound of wagons caused both Joshua and Nathan to stop work for a moment and look to where the road dropped over the eastern bluffs and into the Grand River floodplain. It took them only a moment to see that there were no Steed wagons among the six that came into sight and they immediately lost interest. They didn’t really expect their family for another day or two, but they always stopped to look.

Joshua leaned on the beetle, looking down at the pile of rails they had completed since the wagon had last come for them. In five days they had become quite proficient, and Nathan, who always liked to track things like that, said they had cut almost five hundred rails, enough to make about a half mile of fence.

Joshua reached down and pulled on a long piece of prairie grass. When it came free he began to chew on its soft, sweet stem. “Nathan?”

“Yes?”

“What do you think we should do?”

Nathan frowned. He didn’t have to ask what Joshua meant. It was the number-one topic of discussion in camp right now. President Young had already chosen the leadership for Mount Pisgah. To Nathan’s pleased surprise, Father William Huntington was chosen as president, and he had chosen Ezra T. Benson as his first counselor and Charles Rich as his second. Other families would be chosen to stay here in Mount Pisgah, just as Solomon and Jessica would be staying at Garden Grove for a time. Their job would be to prepare things for the thousands yet to come. If the Steeds were chosen as one of those, then there would be no further question, but neither Joshua nor Nathan thought they would be.

The question that weighed heavily on Brigham’s mind was the Rocky Mountains. May was almost over and they weren’t even across Iowa Territory yet. That meant they still had more than a thousand miles to go, five times the distance they had already come! On Wednesday, two days after their arrival, Brigham called a council meeting. The rain had started again by then, so they gathered in the post office tent. Heber C. Kimball, in his usual direct manner, started the meeting by stating that at their current rate of travel and with the present numbers of teams, there was no way they were all going to make it over the mountains this season.

That started a vigorous discussion. No one disagreed with the assessment, but what to do about it was not so clear. After almost half an hour of listening, President Young stood. “Brethren, I have a possible solution. I would propose that the Twelve and a few others blaze the way ahead to Council Bluffs on the Missouri River. There, if all goes well, we can purchase additional supplies, establish a third way station, then push on with a vanguard company across the Rockies. Hopefully we could get to the valley in time to put in crops. Next spring that group would return to guide the rest of the people to our new home.”

It was quickly agreed that this was the only practical answer. The bulk of the Saints would stay in the area at Council Bluffs, Mount Pisgah, or Garden Grove to raise crops for next year’s journey. Only those who had good teams and sufficient provisions would be allowed to continue west.

Though not the best equipped of families, the Steeds met Brigham’s criteria for the vanguard company. And that selection would not be strictly by assignment. If they wanted to go, they could go. But not the whole family. A vanguard company would be almost exclusively men. Speed would be of the essence. And therein lay the question. Should Nathan and Joshua, and perhaps Matthew, go on with the vanguard company and winter over, leaving their family behind? Or should they leave that to others?

Nathan shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I’m torn both ways. What are your feelings by now?”

Joshua looked around, his eyes taking in all that had been done in the last few days. This was a lovely place. Parley Pratt had not exaggerated. It would not be an unpleasant place to settle in for a time. But . . . He pulled the piece of grass from his mouth and flipped it away. “I was never very good at standing in place, Nathan.”

“Yeah, me neither,” he said glumly. The thoughts of plopping down here and waiting until spring were thoroughly depressing. Now that they were on the move, he wanted to keep moving. On the other hand, splitting up the family was a totally unattractive option. “I think we wait until the family gets here, and then hold a family council.”

“You’re right,” Joshua agreed. “Everyone needs to be in on this discussion and—”

He stopped. Nathan was looking past him, peering intently at the oncoming wagons which were now just about seventy-five yards east of where they stood.

Joshua turned too. “What is it?”

“I think that’s John Taylor,” he said. “There, at the head of the first wagon.” Then, with a shout, he started toward the road. “Elder Taylor! John Taylor! Is that you?”

“We brought a whole sack of letters,” Elder Taylor said to Nathan. “One was from your sister.”

“Melissa?” both Nathan and Joshua said together. They were walking beside Elder Taylor as they moved slowly toward the main encampment.

“Yes,” Elder Taylor said, “but we gave it to your mother.”

“So you saw them?” Joshua asked eagerly. “How far out?”

“They were packing up getting ready to leave Garden Grove. They told us to tell you they should be here Monday afternoon.”

“Wonderful!”

“It is so good to see you,” Nathan said, laying a hand on Elder Taylor’s shoulder. Nathan had accompanied Parley P. Pratt on a mission to Upper Canada in the spring of 1836. The first place they stayed was in the home of a recent English emigrant. The rest had become history. John Taylor and his wife eventually joined the Church and referred many of their friends as well, including Joseph Fielding and his two sisters, Mary and Mercy. So the friendship between Nathan and the Taylors went back many years and was strengthened even more by the natural affection that ties a missionary and his proselytes together.

The Apostle was smiling at him. “Had you heard that Melissa came to the temple dedication?”

Nathan stopped. “She did?”

“Yes. Wilford Woodruff is back from England now. He went and saw Melissa at the store and told her there would be a public dedication. To his surprise, she came.”

“Did Carl?” Joshua asked, as surprised as Nathan.

“No, but Melissa brought the children.”

John Taylor frowned, and there was clear anxiety in his eyes. “Things are not good for those who are staying in Nauvoo, Nathan. I worry about them.”

“We have heard that our old enemies are getting more and more impatient about us leaving. Are more of the Saints getting out of there?”

“It seems the whole city is on the move,” he replied. “Guess how many wagons we counted that had crossed the Mississippi and were waiting on this side of the river to get under way.”

“How many?”

“Over four hundred.”

Joshua gave a low whistle. Nathan just shook his head. Four hundred. That was about the same number as their total company, including those in Garden Grove and in between.

“And I’ve been counting the numbers of teams we have passed on the trail. I thought President Young would want to know.”

“How many?” Nathan asked.

“Not counting the four hundred at Montrose and Sugar Creek, we easily passed another eight hundred wagons between here and there.”

“Twelve hundred wagons!” The very thought of that was staggering.

“At five or six people per wagon,” Joshua calculated quickly, “that’s six or seven thousand people. Oh, my!”

“At least,” Elder Taylor agreed. “Nauvoo is like a ghost town. I would say that by the time June is here, there will be less than a thousand of our people left in the city.” The Apostle smiled at Nathan. “Would you like some good news that you will find quite depressing?”

Nathan gave him a strange look, and Elder Taylor just laughed. “When did you actually leave Sugar Creek?”

Nathan thought back.

Joshua spoke up. “It was March first.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Nathan agreed.

“And today is the twenty-third of May?” Elder Taylor queried.

“Yes.”

“So it has taken you two months and three weeks—almost three months—to get to this point?”

“That’s right. In another week it will be a full three months since we started.”