The Work and the Glory (49 page)

“Hello, Lydia.”

“Hello, Nathan. How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” He took a quick breath. “Is it true what I hear? About Boston?”

She looked away quickly.

“We have to talk.”

“I…I’m working. How long will you be in town?”

If he waited, the determination driving him might melt away. He shook his head. “We’ve got to talk now.”

Her father had come from behind the counter and was wiping his hands on his apron. “Is there something you wish to purchase, Mr. Steed? If not, my daughter is busy at the moment.”

“I’ll be taking your daughter out for a while, Mr. McBride.” He didn’t look at her father, just kept his eyes holding hers. Her mouth opened and there was a quick murmur of shock from her father.

“Lydia is working, Mr. Steed. She has a customer and I’ll be thanking you to leave us alone.”

“You’ll be thanking me for nothing, Mr. McBride,” he said evenly. He reached out and took her hand. “I’ll have her back within the hour.”

It was as though Nathan had slugged him in the stomach. He was staring at Nathan, his mouth working, but nothing came out. Without waiting for further confirmation, Nathan started for the door, gently pulling Lydia with him. She looked once at her father, then fell into step beside him. They paused only long enough for her to get a shawl and a hat, then they left.

A soft drizzle was starting, and Nathan moved toward an overhanging porch, but Lydia shook her head. “I don’t want to stop. I don’t mind the rain.”

He nodded. They were walking along Canal Street, near the eastern edge of town. Nathan had left Main Street specifically to avoid meeting too many people Lydia knew. There were people moving along Canal Street, but most were not the kind of people Lydia associated with, and while they garnered more than one curious glance, they were left alone.

She smiled faintly. “I think you shocked Papa back there.”

He snickered a little, without mirth. “I was trying to make a good impression.”

She laughed, this time with genuine amusement, and squeezed his hand. “It’s not very often I see my father totally speechless.”

He squeezed her hand back, the momentary glimpse of the old Lydia cutting into him with tangible hurt. They walked on for almost another block, not speaking, neither one ready yet to face the painful questions which hung between them like a curtain, both wanting for a moment to simply bask in the joy of each other’s presence.

But they couldn’t walk forever, and finally Nathan cleared his throat. “So, is it true? Are you going back to Boston?”

She looked up at him, the dark brown eyes now nearly jet black in their sorrow. “I can’t stand it here anymore, Nathan. I…” She shrugged, looking down at her feet.

“I understand.”

“Do you?” she said.

He looked at her. There was no challenge in his expression, only pleading. “Yes, I do. Coming to town is agony anymore. First I’m afraid I’ll see you. Then I’m afraid I won’t.”

“Yes. Exactly. Every day I find myself staring out of the store window, jerking up every time a man walks by.” Her voice caught. “I can’t. I can’t take it anymore, Nathan. At least in Boston I won’t be looking for you on every street corner.”

“And in Boston there’ll be other young men to help you forget.”

Her steps slowed and she let his hand drop.

“I’m sorry, Lydia. But it’s true. That’s what’s torturing me. You won’t last a year there. Every eligible young man in Boston will be after you.”

There was a fleeting, pain-filled smile. “You have a way of complimenting a girl in a most hurtful way, Nathan Steed.”

He took a breath, then just shook his head.

She stopped, turning him to face her. The rain had left wet spots on her cheeks, and they looked like tears. “Nathan, I…” She exhaled slowly, then started again. “If it isn’t going to work between us, Nathan, then the sooner we move on, the less painful it will be.”

For a moment he just stared at her, not liking to hear it spoken so baldly, but finally he nodded. She was right, of course. That was why he had come.

“Lydia, I know that. I”—he took her hand and began to walk again—“I know it seems hopeless, but I’ve been thinking and thinking about this.”

“As have I.”

He nodded. “It’s been eight months. I should have been over you by now, and here I am, mooning around like a bloated calf.”

She smiled up at him, and now there were tears. “I don’t think many girls have been told they are loved in quite that way.”

“Well, I do,” he burst out. “I love you like I never thought it was possible, Lydia.”

“And I love you, Nathan. But that doesn’t change things.”

“I know that.” He let out his breath in a burst of frustration. “I know that. But I can’t let you go without making one last try.”

“Has anything changed?” she asked, her voice soft and now tinged with an edge of bitterness.

“Yes.”

She spun around.

He searched her face, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to choose his words carefully. “I understand how you feel about Joseph. I understand how your parents feel about the whole situation. I think it’s tragic when people judge him without even listening to him, without even giving him a chance—”

Her mouth had tightened and she looked away. “Nathan—”

“No, let me finish. I said I understand how you feel, and I do. I’ll honor and respect that. I’ll not ask you to believe. I’ll not ask that you change your feelings. I’ll not suggest you read the Book of Mormon or listen to what Joseph’s saying or attend any meetings where he is.”

The pain of his own words stopped him for a moment, then he pushed on doggedly. “Ma and Pa are miles apart on this issue too, but they have agreed to not talk about it for the sake of the marriage.”

“That’s not an ideal situation, Nathan.”

“It’s better than losing you!” he exploded.

She put a hand on his arm, her eyes filled with softness. “Are you saying you would give up Joseph?”

“It’s not Joseph I’m following. But if by that you mean will I stop seeing him, will I stop going to the meetings he holds”—he paused, his mouth falling—“yes, I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

She threw her arms around him. “Really, Nathan?”

He nodded, fighting to hide the gloom settling over him. This was costing him dearly.

“That’s wonderful, Nathan.” She reached up and kissed him firmly, then blushed as she saw a woman stop to stare. But she continued to hold him, her arms around his neck. “And you’ll renounce your baptism?”

He had started to tip his head down to kiss her back. He stiffened. “My baptism?”

“Yes. If you renounce that, then Papa will be convinced you really have rejected Joseph.”

“I’m not
rejecting
Joseph,” he said slowly. “I’m just…”

Her hands came down from around his neck and she stepped back, the joy fading from her eyes. “You’re just what?”

“You said my association with Joseph was what made your parents angry. All right, I’m willing to stop that association. But that doesn’t mean I no longer believe in what he’s doing.”

“But, I thought—”

“Why would I renounce my baptism?”

“Nathan, it’s not just your association with Joseph. It’s believing in him. It’s…it’s…” She was groping for the right word. “It’s being baptized by him. That means you’re one of his followers.”

“No, Lydia,” he said, the anger rising. “I’m not one of
his
followers. I am following God. I am following what my heart tells me is true. When I was baptized, I didn’t make any promises to Joseph. I made them with the Lord. Are you asking me to give those promises up?”

“You’re just playing with words,” she exclaimed.

“No, Lydia! These are not just words. What would you say if I asked you to renounce your faith?”

“My faith is not based on a charlatan!”

He turned away, shaking his head. “You’re all the same. You won’t listen. You won’t investigate. You won’t find out for yourself. Just blind rejection.”

“Don’t talk to me about being blind,” she snapped. “I was there that night, remember? I heard Joseph. I saw the way you all looked at him, listened to every word that fell from his lips. It’s sick, Nathan. How can you ask me to accept that?”

He swung around, his eyes flashing. “I’m not asking you to accept it, Lydia. That’s the point. I’m not asking you to believe. I’m not asking you to accept Joseph. I’m not asking you to give up one thing you believe.” Suddenly his voice dropped and he was pleading. “So why are you asking me to?”

“If you won’t renounce your baptism, then you’re asking me to give up my parents,” she said, the anguish twisting her voice into a half whisper. “How can you say you’re not asking me to give up anything?”

“I
am
willing to compromise, Lydia. I’ll stop my association with Joseph so your parents won’t have their reputations sullied.” In spite of himself the bitterness had crept back into his voice. “But they have no right to ask more than that of me. You have no right to ask more than that of me.”

She bit her lip, staring at her hands. “Then it comes to this again, doesn’t it?” she finally whispered.

He looked away, unable to believe there was no bending in her. Finally he turned back. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her hands clenched together. He nodded slowly, his eyes flat and lifeless. “I guess it does.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Jessica Roundy Steed—Mrs. Joshua Steed—let her hands run across the smoothness of her belly, feeling the roundness there. It was March twenty-sixth. If her calculations were correct, she was now five and a half months from the time of conception. She lay perfectly still, willing the life within her to move, to give some sign that everything was all right.

Jessica had never associated much with other women. Her mother had died in the midst of her third miscarriage when Jessie was eight years old. Jessie had not gone to school. She had never been inside a church. And growing up in a saloon did not make for many associations with other females, of her own age or any other. Now, for the first time, she wished it were not so. She had so many questions. When did a woman feel the first stirrings of life? How big would a baby be at this point? Was she big enough? She had heard talk of the sickness that accompanied the first months of pregnancy. She had had none of that. Was that normal? Since she had first realized she might be with child, she had watched other pregnant women with great interest. But she could only watch and guess. They seemed to be larger than she was, but maybe they were further along in the birth process. The only thing she knew for sure was there was a growing fear that something was amiss. And that left a sickness all of its own.

Joshua stepped away from the sink, razor in hand, his face still half-lathered with soap. He had been watching her in the mirror. “You all right?”

She forced a quick smile. “Yes. I was just wondering how big he is by now.”

He grinned. “Probably not big enough to handle a wagon yet, but give him another three or four months.”

They never spoke about it being a girl. It was part of their game, and she didn’t mind playing it with him. She knew if it did turn out to be a girl, the disappointment would only be momentary, for Joshua was in love with the idea of being a father. First choice was a boy, but a girl would be loved as well.

As marriages go, Jessica was aware hers did not stand out in any particular way, but it was more than she had ever hoped for, and she was content. Joshua had not gone back east during the winter, and that meant a great deal to her. He was gone frequently with the loads heading east or west, and he still drank a lot, but it was no longer the desperation drinking which frightened her so much. He was rarely tender with her, but Jessie Roundy had not been raised on tenderness. He was not abusive, even when drunk, and that was more than many women in Independence could say about their husbands. Occasionally he treated her with a gentleness of spirit that surprised her and made her hope he might even be coming to love her.

He finished shaving, took a shirt from the wardrobe, and pulled it on over his head. He buttoned his pants, then stuffed the shirt into his trousers. Her father always did it the other way around—stuffed the shirt in his pants, then buttoned them. That was certainly the easier way. But one of the things she found peculiarly endearing about Joshua was that he was not like other men, not in big things, not in little things.

He went to the door, then turned around. “Anything you need?”

“No. I’m fine. I’ll be coming over later to help count the new shipment from Kentucky.”

“All right.” He opened the door and was gone. She sat up, pushing the pillow back against the bed’s headboard enough to look out of the window and watch him stride up the street for a few moments. Then she lay back. Without being aware of it, her hand stole up to her belly once more and began to trace the contours of the roundness there.

There was a sharp knock on the door and Nathan looked up from where he was nailing board planks down in the main floor of his cabin.

He set the hammer aside and went to the door. He opened it to find Martin Harris standing there, clutching a newspaper.

“Look at this!” He thrust the newspaper in front of Nathan’s nose. No preliminaries, no handshakes, no “Hello, Nathan, how are you?” His hands were trembling slightly as he held the paper out in one hand.

Nathan took it from him, glancing at the masthead. It was the
Wayne Sentinel.
Martin’s hand shot out to jab at a spot on the page. Then Nathan felt his own heart leap. There it was, in bold letters: “THE BOOK OF MORMON.” He started to read.

THE BOOK OF MORMON

An account written by the hand of Mormon, upon plates, taken from the plates of Nephi. Wherefore it is an abridgment of the Record of the People of Nephi, and also of the Lamanites; written to the Lamanites, which are a remnant of the House of Israel; and also to Jew and Gentile; written by way of commandment, and also by the spirit of Prophecy and of Revelation.

“That part’s taken from the title page of the Book of Mormon,” Martin said. He dropped his finger a little further down the page. “Look here.”