The Wedding Dress (4 page)

Ford was supposed to have his troops protecting them, but they say Gentiles made a fuss. Ford asked Joe and Hyrum to come over to Carthage for a little gab. Give folks time to simmer down. They had a night in the hotel, but Ford moved them to jail. Gentiles rattled the bars and finally a bunch got up their nerve and broke in. There was no stopping them. Shot Hyrum and a Mr. Taylor, then Joe Smith jumped out the window, and they pumped him full of lead. They say Taylor's alive.”

Cynthia set the kettle of greens on the table. “So Joseph Smith is dead. What'll this do to them? Maybe he
was
a prophet, maybe—”

“Because he died? Because he was killed by a mob? That doesn't prove it.”

“What would it take to prove he's a prophet?” Rebecca asked slowly.

“I don't know,” Tyler said thoughtfully as he sat down on the bench. “I don't know, and I expect nobody will know just what he is until we're on the other side.”

“But if he is and we're wrong…” Cynthia's voice trailed away, and the hand on the spoon was trembling as she served the greens.

For the remainder of the summer, the residents on the hilltop farms kept to themselves and listened to the reports carried up the hill. Through July and August, 1844, Nauvoo was a seething caldron, but out of the heat and unrest a few facts trickled. In August, a man by the name of Brigham Young won the support of the church and assumed the role of leader. Soon the city rang with the sound of saw and hammer. Informers carried the news up the hill. “They're leaving. Brigham Young has half of them building that temple as fast as they can go and the other half's building wagons.”

By spring and Rebecca's fourteenth birthday, it was rumored the Saints were moving west; California, Oregon, and the Great Basin were mentioned.

While the new gold dome on the Mormon temple rivaled the glory of the spring sunsets, the streets of Nauvoo began to wear the air of a rejected lover. A fleet of wagons with huge wheels and bare ribs waited for the decency of canvas.

On weekends pinch-faced women watched their furniture and flower-sprigged china depart in the arms of their new Gentile owners. But as earnestly as ever the fields were planted.

In August, Tyler sold the oxen. Two skittish mares, more suited to the saddle than the plow, took their places. Now there was calico for dresses and a slab of bacon. Tyler and Matthew sported new boots, but Jamie mourned the oxen. “How'll we get to Oregon when Josh comes back for us?” he asked.

“Seems silly,” Tyler said, “to be considering Oregon when there'll be land to grab.”

“By this time next year,” Cynthia added, “the West'll be more crowded than here.” She spread the calico across the table. “Becky, you'll need to be fitted this year; you're a yard longer now.”

“I think we have a young filly about to jump the fence,” Tyler said, looking at Rebecca thoughtfully.

Rebecca shook her head. “All I want is to go to school when it commences.”

“You know more'n the teacher,” Cynthia commented. “Your ma saw you had more learning than most see in a lifetime.”

“But they have books. I've almost forgotten how to read.”

“You'll be getting married, and then you won't need that kind of learning.”

“Becka, Pa's got two sacks of apples here. I'm going to Nauvoo to sell them. Wanna come along?”

Rebecca raised her head and sighed. She was sitting on the edge of the porch, squinting at the tangled mass of black yarn and the steel needles. “I'm knitting stockings for this winter. I don't 'spect your ma'll be too happy to have me go.”

“Winter stockings on a day like this?” As Matthew raised his arms to wave at the cloudless sky, a bright yellow leaf detached itself and drifted to his feet. He kicked at it. “Well, there's no frost on the punkins yet. You can knit later.”

“Ask.”

“Ma, we've apples to sell; can Becky come?”

“Don't know who'd buy an apple; there's lots of trees in the bottoms.”

“Maybe we'll trade.”

“Go, then.”

As the mare meandered her way down the road, the sun was warm on Rebecca's back. She sighed contentedly and settled back against her bag of apples to enjoy the day. Matt grinned at her from his mount.

Already reds and browns of fall had touched the foliage. Wild plums hung heavy with fruit. Beside the creek the willows were yellowing.

She slipped her fingers into the top of the sack and pulled out an apple. “Here, Matt.” She reached for the second. While Matthew disposed of his in huge bites, Rebecca held hers to her nose and breathed deeply. With eyes narrowed against the sun, the landscape mellowed into a blur of color.

“I'd like to trade apples for a cookstove, so's Ma could make apple pies,” Matthew announced.

“You know they're not going to let a cookstove go for a bag of apples.”

Matthew slipped off his horse and knelt beside the creek. “Wish I'd brought my pole.” He splashed water to his mouth.

Rebecca went to kneel beside him where the water rushed over the stones and gurgled on its way. She drank and settled back on her heels. “Matt, what do you want most of all?”

“A doughnut with sugar on it.”

“No, I mean out of life. Do you always want to stay here, or do you, like Joshua, want to go places and see things?”

“I don't rightly know,” he said slowly.

“Me either. Josh was always talking about going. He seems to itch to see all there is to see.” She was quiet a moment and then admitted, “Your pa's and Lank's talk makes me uneasy. Like all that's safe and sure just isn't anymore.” She raised her face. “They say this going west is a fever.”

“Sometimes,” Matthew returned, “I forget that you don't belong.”

Rebecca chewed her lips; she was thinking of Lank. Since his wife died, he had come to visit all too often. That in itself was no cause for alarm, but the clean shirts and slicked up hair was telling her something. Seems Mrs. Olson's mother would have enough to do with those six little ones without ironing shirts for Lank in the middle of the week.

Sighing, Rebecca stood up. “If we're going to trade apples, we'd better go.”

They wandered down Knight Street, so caught up with window gawking and returning the stares of the passersby that they forgot their mission. On Main Street their horses slowly carried them past the unfinished hotel and the match and powder factory. When they reached the newpaper office, Matthew poked her. “That's the Mormon newspaper. That one didn't get torn apart; guess they're living right. Hey, I hear a boat! How about going to the docks?”

“To sell apples?”

“Well, we could try.”

“Matt, we'd better well try or not go down there. You know what'll happen.”

They reached the docks just after the boat's gangplank had been lowered. “Out of the way!” A sailor with a bag slung over his shoulder elbowed them aside. “If you're looking for mail from the West go to that building.”

He set off with his burden and Rebecca called, “From the West, mister?” His head bobbed. “Matt, I'm going to see if there's a letter from Joshua.”

He nodded. He was studying the knot of people at the railing of the ship.

Rebecca hurried after the man and entered the building almost at his heels. Already a group of people were pressing forward as the sailor surrendered the bag.

Eager hands tore at the bag. A foghorn voice boomed out the names on the letters. The bag was nearly empty when he pulled out the rumpled letter and held it up. “Smyth, Tyler Smyth.”

Outside Matthew was holding the horses minus the bags of apples. He flashed a shiny bit of silver and then saw the letter she held up.

“From Josh?” She nodded and he whistled, “This is our lucky day.”

“Who bought the apples?”

Matthew waved at the boat behind him. “They bought the whole lot.”

“Let's cut up the hill to the temple before we head for home.”

“Seems you're sure curious about that temple bunch,” Matthew retorted.

“It's a pretty place, but there's a nagging to know more about them.”

They turned their horses up the hill behind the general store. The path led through tall grass and wild plum trees. When they reached the street bordering the temple grounds, Matthew moved ahead while Rebecca allowed her horse to graze her way up the street. As they moved from one grass clump to another, she studied the building.

The afternoon sun's slanted rays had turned the gold dome into a blazing halo of light. Behind the dome fluffy clouds passed with majestic slowness that seemed to put the dome in motion. Rebecca swayed, blinded by the brightness. Suddenly from behind her came the solid thunk of a horse's hooves striking the packed dirt of the road. Rebecca's mare raised her head and wheeled. “Oh!” She scrambled for the reins just as the mare sidestepped again. With flying calico and petticoats, Rebecca ballooned over the horse's side. With a startled neigh, the mare dashed after Matthew.

Rebecca gasped for air and shoved herself away from the swinging earth. Strong arms were lifting her and a blackness moved close. It took a second for her to realize the blackness was a coat covering a tall muscular man.

Those arms were still supporting her. “Are you all right, sister?” She looked up into dark blue eyes topped with a worried frown and dark curly hair. His beard tickled her nose, and she almost sneezed and tried to back away from the arms.

From the corners of her eyes she was liking what she could see. Freeing herself, she brushed her rumpled dusty calico back into place. When he was satisfied that she was all right, the stern line of his mouth crumpled, and a chuckle made the broadcloth heave. Head back, he now laughed.

With eyes sparkling with fun, demanding that she share his amusement, he took a breath and gasped, “That poor horse. I'm sure she thought she'd been attacked by a schooner in full sail when you flew over her head.”

He sobered. “Actually, it is a good thing she was frightened, otherwise she would have stepped in the middle of you. Do you always dismount like that?”

She moved as if sorting reality from dream. “My horse? Where is she?”

“That's a problem. Let's look.” His big hands clasped her waist and lifted her to the back of his horse. Now he was in front of her, and she grabbed his coat.

Within a block they caught up with Matthew and the horses. “That's a quick lad.” The stranger wheeled close to the mare. Matthew looked at Rebecca and then the stranger. His eyes widened. Quickly Rebecca slid off the horse.

The stranger followed. “That was an awful jolt; are you certain—” She nodded and fumbled with her filly's reins. “I'm Andrew Jacobson,” he offered.

She scuffed her shoes in the dust. “Rebecca Wolstone,” she whispered. He studied her face, and his expression softened. Behind his head the clouds moved as they had behind the blazing dome. The dizziness threatened her again.

“Rebecca Wolstone,” he said slowly. “I have a feeling that one of these days we shall get to know each other.” Again his hands clasped her waist, and she was lifted to the back of her own horse. “Good-bye for now.” His blue eyes met hers again.

She was watching the black coat disappear into the trees when Matthew moved his horse close to Rebecca. “Sure is big. Must be one of those Mormons.”

“Are all Mormons big?” She was still feeling that detached, drifting dizziness.

“Do you still have the letter?”

She patted the front of her dress. “Yes.” Her fingers touched the crisp paper as her eyes followed the dark, distant figure.

Cynthia baked a johnnycake for supper. Matthew placed the silver coins and the letter in the middle of the table.

Tyler fingered the coins and grinned at the letter. “You got twenty-five cents for the apples, and Joshua hasn't forgotten us.”

After they had eaten, he handed the letter to his wife. “Do us the favor.”