The Work and the Glory (532 page)

Nathan rolled over. He had seen her put the book away this morning before they had gone out to start the fire and begin breakfast. He lifted the pillow, pulled back the bedding, then patted his hand up and down along the edge that was nearest the tent. Nothing. He sat up, remembering. “I’ll bet Joshua put it away when he was getting the bedding out to dry.”

“That’s what I thought too,” she said, turning back to the chest and a few other small boxes that held their belongings, “but I’ve gone through everything and I cannot find it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’ve looked everywhere.”

He shrugged. “Maybe he took it out with the bedding and put it in the wagon or something. I’ll ask him in the morning.”

Lydia nodded, turned, and shut the chest again, then crawled over to join Nathan. “Come, children. It’s time for lights out. Let’s say our prayers.”

Maybe it was the sound of the rain drumming on the canvas above her. Perhaps it was being upset about not being able to find her Book of Mormon. More likely it was because she was so tired that sleep was driven away, as sometimes happened. Whatever it was, Lydia lay there awake in the darkness, lying on one side, with a pillow cushioning the weight of her stomach, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. And finally she was honest enough with herself to face what it really was that kept sleep at bay.

That afternoon word had spread around the camp that Catharine Spencer, wife of Orson Spencer, was dying. The Spencers were about ten miles behind the main camp now, back near Indian Creek. Already weak from an illness she had had before leaving Nauvoo, Catharine Spencer suffered from a serious cold as she and her family made their way west, and her condition just got worse and worse. Finally, this beautiful, graceful, cultured woman could no longer endure the cold and the wet, the interminable mud, and the thin shelter of a tent soaked with water. The night before, so the report went, she had gathered her husband and children around her and told them that they had to let her go. She felt that it was only their prayers that held her back, and she pleaded with them to let her go. Devastated, Orson had finally found a nearby farmer who was willing to take them in so that she could at least have a dry place to die.

Lydia grunted softly, feeling the hard ground through the thin straw mattress, trying to find a comfortable position. Two days ago, when the Steeds were still trying to catch up to the main company, they had been near the Spencers’ camp, and now Lydia was feeling guilty that she had let the rain keep her from going out to see Catharine. Lydia and Nathan had not known the Orson Spencer family very well before leaving Nauvoo, the two families having lived in different parts of the city. But when the Steeds crossed the river for the second time and camped at Sugar Creek, Nathan and Lydia ended up only a few tents away from the Spencers and quickly became “neighbors.” It was a friendship that came easily. The Spencers were about the same age as Nathan and Lydia, with six children. They learned that Orson had been a popular Baptist minister back in the East. Catharine was the youngest—and, according to Spencer, the favorite—child of a very well-to-do family. That was not hard to believe. Highly educated, deeply refined, thoroughly cultured, Catharine was a woman of intelligence, grace, and charm. The family was understandably pleased when their youngest chose to marry the popular young cleric and their lives prospered.

Then came the day when the Mormon missionaries came to town. When they heard the message of the Restoration, both Orson and Catharine knew it was true and determined to be baptized. Their decision was met with bitter opposition from both families, and threats of rejection and banishment were used to try to dissuade them. But they had received their confirmation and nothing could sway them from it. With that simple decision they lost their popularity, their employment, their friends, their home, and their families. Eventually they came to Nauvoo to be with the Saints, undeterred by what they had sacrificed when they chose to follow their Savior.

And now she was dying.

Just a little over a week ago, when Lydia and Mary Ann went to visit the Spencers, Orson had told them a story that had nearly broken Lydia’s heart. Once the decision was made to go west, Orson said he wrote to Catharine’s parents. Because her health was so poor, he asked if they would take Catharine into their home until the Saints could find a place to abide, and then he would send for her. The answer came back. It was short. It was blunt. “Let her renounce her degrading faith and she can come back, but never on any other condition.”

That had struck Lydia hard. And what followed struck her harder, for it brought back a flood of memories. When Orson had read the letter to Catharine, he asked if she wanted to consider her parents’ request. She asked him to get the Bible and turn to the book of Ruth. And then she had asked him to read the very words that Lydia had had Nathan read some sixteen years before. “And Ruth said, Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me.”

Where thou diest, will I die.

Lydia closed her eyes, trying to shut out the drumming rattle of the rain. This was not weather for dying. It needed to be bright and clear, perhaps with a night sky spangled with stars. She sighed. It was not weather for birth either, but that hadn’t stopped that from happening any more than it postponed death. A few days before, a hut had been hastily thrown together with walls formed from blankets hung from poles and a crude bark roof overhead. Here a woman gave birth as friends and sister Saints stood around holding dishes and pans to keep the rain from showering the mother and her newborn.

Was that what awaited her? Lydia wondered. Or would she have to find some willows or a clump of brush along a creek somewhere? If she had calculated correctly, the baby was still two or three weeks away, but the farther west they went, the fewer would be the signs of civilization. Now at least there were a few villages within riding distance. They saw isolated farms from time to time. But three weeks would take them—what? Another two hundred miles? Then what would there be? A tepee or a wigwam if she was lucky; nothing but a jolting wagon and a thousand square miles of mud if she wasn’t.

She sighed. Something in her mind told her to stop this gloomy train of thought. But she brushed it aside. It was a wonderful night for despair, what with the rain pounding down and the creeks on the rise again and a friend trying to find a dry place to die. And in a way, it was a luxury to feel sorry for oneself. Tomorrow that luxury would be gone. Tomorrow there would be children to keep occupied and entertained, there would be food to cook, bedding to air out, the relentless grime and mud to combat.

She sighed again and closed her eyes. She began to pray for Catharine Spencer and her husband and children. And then, in the midst of praying, a terrible thought struck her. It chilled her and she shuddered involuntarily.

Nathan turned in the darkness. “Are you still awake?”

“Yes.” She reached out, needing to touch him.

“How come?”

“I was thinking about Catharine Spencer.”

“Oh.” She didn’t have to say more. That explained a lot.

“Nathan, if I—”

He saw it coming and cut her off quickly. “Don’t!” he whispered, then slid closer and took her into his arms. “You’re not going to die, Lydia.”

“I know, but what if—”

“No buts. No what ifs. You are going to be fine, Lydia. Remember your patriarchal blessing?”

That caught her by surprise. Her blessing? the one given so many years before by Father Smith back at Kirtland? And then she understood what Nathan meant. It hit her with more of a jolt than had the sudden thought of death. “Yes,” she said slowly, feeling immense relief wash over her. Her patriarchal blessing. She closed her eyes. She had read it so many times she knew it by heart. Father Smith had talked about her motherhood, promised her that her children would be blessed by her influence. And then came the promise: “In your old age, your children and their children and their children shall rise up and, with a joyful noise, shout praises unto your name.”

In your old age! She would be thirty-seven come August. That was getting older—and she certainly felt every year recently—but did it qualify as old age? She could have shouted. No! Not yet. It was as if a soothing balm had anointed her soul.

Realizing that he had settled her mind, Nathan went on. “You’re going to be fine. I’ve already talked to Patty Sessions. She said to get her any time, day or night. She’s only minutes away.”

“I know. Thank you, Nathan. I know I shouldn’t worry. I really do feel good, better than with the other children.” She laughed softly in the darkness. “Maybe this being a pioneer and trudging through the mud every day is good for motherhood.”

He reached out and touched her cheek. “It must be. I know this—you are more beautiful than you have ever been.”

Startled, sudden tears sprang to her eyes. “Why, thank you, Nathan.”

He came up on one elbow and kissed her softly. “And you’re going to be the most beautiful grandmother and great-grandmother this world has ever seen.”

She didn’t trust her voice to answer. She just moved in closer against him, loving the peace and security that being in his arms brought to her.

Chapter Notes

Originally, Brigham Young’s plan was to camp for two or three days at Richardson’s Point so as to rest and to repair wagons. When a prolonged and heavy rain set in, departure was delayed. Eventually it proved to be almost a full two weeks before they moved west again. (See CN, 9 March 1996, p. 12; Wallace Stegner, The Gathering of Zion: The Story of the Mormon Trail [New York: McGraw-Hill, 1964], p. 53.)

An unexpected and very welcome source of income for the Saints crossing Iowa came when William Pitt and his brass band went into the surrounding settlements and gave concerts. The response of the locals to this unexpected touch of culture as described here is recorded by William Clayton in his journal. Clayton was a member of the band. (See CN, 16 March 1996, p. 7.)

The confrontation between Mary Fielding Smith and William Smith described here only led to further estrangement between Joseph’s branch of the Smith family and Hyrum’s. While Mary Fielding Smith and her sister, Mercy, maintained a warm relationship with Mother Smith, Emma and the others in Joseph’s family were disappointed that Mary would not reconsider her decision to follow Brigham Young to the West. (See Don Cecil Corbett, Mary Fielding Smith: Daughter of Britain [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1966], pp. 185–86.)

Catharine Curtis Spencer, wife of Orson Spencer, died on 12 March 1846. The day before, a man who lived near the Indian Creek Camp (which was not far from Keosauqua, Iowa Territory) had allowed Catharine to be brought to his house because of the wet weather. She was nine days short of her thirty-fifth birthday and left six children. (See Susan W. Easton, “Suffering and Death on the Plains of Iowa,” BYU Studies 21 [Fall 1981]: 435–37.)

Orson Spencer was called to labor in England not long after this event and presided over the British Mission for about two years until 1849. When the University of Deseret was founded in 1850 (later to become the University of Utah), Orson Spencer was appointed as chancellor, a position he held until his death in 1855. (See LDSBE 1:337–38.) He died in St. Louis, where he had been called to serve as a stake president. Today there is a building named for Orson Spencer at the University of Utah. One of Catharine’s daughters, Aurelia Spencer Rogers, later generated the idea for the Primary organization in Farmington, Utah, in 1878.

Chapter 9

  The rain continued all through the night, and by the following day the creeks were once again running swift, muddy, and frightening. Not that there were plans to move out. With the return of the rain, Brigham Young again postponed the departure, and the Saints settled in to endure the cold, wet misery that had become so much a part of their lives now.

By morning the rain stopped, but it was cold and windy. Some people stayed in their tents and wagons to wait for better weather to return. Jenny was one who did not venture out much that day because baby Emmeline was showing signs of a cold. By afternoon Matthew had finished his chores and joined her. So it was with some surprise that late that afternoon Matthew and Jenny heard footsteps outside that stopped in front of their tent. There was a sharp rap on the main tent pole. “Matthew Steed? Are you in there? Do I have the right tent?”

Matthew, who was reading a story to Betsy Jo, who was not quite four yet, sprang up. “Yes. This is Matthew Steed. Come in.” He looked at Jenny in surprise. They both knew that voice and knew it well.

The tent flap pulled back and Brigham Young stepped in beneath it. He dropped the flap immediately but Matthew felt the cold air sweep through the tent.

Jenny was on her feet now too, smoothing her apron and hefting little Emmeline onto her hip. Matthew went over to greet him. “Brother Brigham, this is a surprise.”

Brigham removed his hat and smiled. “Thought it might be. Afternoon, Sister Jenny.”

“Afternoon, President Young.”

Betsy Jo got up and came over behind her mother, shyly peeking out from behind her skirts. “And how are you, little sister?” Brigham said, dropping down to a crouch. “Do you remember me?”

There was a moment’s hesitation, then a slow nod.

“Sure you do,” Jenny said, reaching down to touch her head. “Papa used to work with President Young.”

Brigham hooted softly. “More like your papa used to do President Young’s work for him.”

“Only because you were running the Church,” Matthew said. Then he gestured. “Won’t you sit down?”

“No, no,” came the quick reply. “Can’t stay but for a moment.” He frowned. “Actually, I’m sorry to have to come. Wish it could be under better circumstances.”

Jenny felt her heart drop a little. Matthew and Brigham Young were good friends, though there was nearly twenty years’ difference in their ages. They had run a cabinet shop in Nauvoo for a time until Brigham had taken over the leadership of the Church and simply had no more time for the business. But with the press of leading a company of several thousand Saints into the wilderness, it was not like him to simply drop in for a social call. That meant he had something for Matthew to do.