The Work and the Glory (113 page)

I have therefore determined that I shall ride to Jackson County this night and seek out my brother. Many try to dissuade me, for Jackson County still seethes with hatred for all that is Mormon. Jessica informs me that about a month ago a young lad went across the river in search of some of his livestock. He was caught and beaten unmercifully. Threats of death to any Mormons are commonplace. But this matters not to me. I cannot rest until I have sought him out and tried to make peace with him.

My dearest Lydia, if I do not return to your side, know that my last thoughts were of you and the children. I love you, and will forever.

Nathan Steed.

Written in my twenty-sixth year of age.

“He’s a Mormon, I’m tellin’ ya. I can see Mormon written all over him.”

The man closest to Nathan reached out and grabbed Nathan’s hair, yanking back on it hard. His face was next to Nathan’s, no more than an inch or two away. Tobacco juice oozed out of one corner of his mouth and into his beard. His breath was foul, his eyes bloodshot and wild. With his other hand he whipped out a pistol and laid it up alongside Nathan’s head. “Are ye a Mormon!” he shouted. “Tell me or I’ll blow your brains out.”

They were in a small room above a saloon in Independence. The four men who had intercepted Nathan shortly after he crossed the river had brought him here via some back stairs. One of their number had gone downstairs. Now the rest interrogated Nathan angrily.

Nathan began again, speaking slowly, patiently. “My name is Nathan Morgan. I have just recently come from the East. I am from the state of New York. I am a friend of Joshua Steed. We lived in the same town. Send for him, he’ll tell you—”

The man shoved hard, sending the chair crashing backwards against the table. Nathan’s arms were lashed down tightly to the chair, and so he could do nothing as the chair spun on one back leg, then toppled over, slamming the back of his head against the floor.

The door opened. “Steed’s comin’,” a man said.

“Good,” said the first man. “Get him up.”

Two men lifted the chair and sat Nathan upright. He turned his head and wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth against his shirt. There were footsteps on the stairs, and the man who had shoved him stepped forward toward the door, blocking Nathan’s view.

“What’s going on here?” a voice demanded harshly. Nathan felt his heart leap. It had been almost seven years since he had last heard that voice. “What’s this about some man who—”

The man standing in front of Nathan stepped aside and Joshua Steed stood face-to-face with his brother. Nathan looked up slowly, not speaking, not moving, just looking up at his brother’s face. Joshua blinked, then blinked again. It said something about his poker playing ability that only his eyes registered the fact that he was totally stunned.

“This man claims he knows ya, Steed,” one of the men said. “Claims he’s from New York State.”

Joshua didn’t respond, just kept looking at Nathan through eyes suddenly hooded.

“Hello, Mr. Steed,” Nathan said evenly. “Do you remember me?”

Again there was no response. Nathan thought that Joshua looked as though they had pulled him from sleep. His hair was tousled, his eyes rimmed beneath by dark circles, his chin covered with a dark beard. He looked very weary.

“I think he’s a Mormon,” one of the men said. “He won’t say yes or no, just kept askin’ for you.”

Joshua reached inside his jacket pocket and retrieved a cigar. One of the men sprang to where two candles were in a holder on the wall. He pulled one loose and held it for Joshua, who leaned forward, sticking the tip of the cigar into the flame. Through it all, his eyes never left Nathan’s.

When he had the cigar glowing, he took it from his mouth and blew a stream of smoke into the air. He turned to the other men. “I ain’t been back East for nearly seven years now. Let me have a few minutes alone with him, boys. I’d like to question him a little.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Steed. We’ll be right downstairs if you need us.”

Without answering, Joshua watched them go, then stepped to the door and shut it firmly. Finally, he turned around. He pulled out one of the other chairs, turned it around, and sat down slowly. “Well, well, well,” he said slowly, shaking his head. “This is a surprise.”

“Hello, Joshua.”

“What are you doing in Missouri?”

“I came with Zion’s Camp, to help the Saints.”

His head came up slowly. “You’re with the Mormon army?”

“Yes.”

“Were you at Fishing River?”

“Yes.”

Joshua looked away, a sudden shadow crossing his eyes.

“Why?” Nathan said. “Were you?”

Joshua laughed bitterly. “Kind of.”

“So if the storm hadn’t come...,” Nathan started slowly. He didn’t finish. Brother against brother? He felt a little chill.

“Why have you come here? Didn’t your people tell you what they’re doing to Mormons on this side of the river?”

“Yes, they did. I had to see you, Joshua. They’ve disbanded Zion’s Camp. We’re going back. I couldn’t leave without seeing you.”

“Why?” It came out blunt and hard. “I ain’t part of the family anymore.”

“You are to us.”

There was a grunt but Nathan couldn’t read it one way or the other.

Nathan sighed. “I couldn’t go without at least trying to see you.”

Putting the cigar down, Joshua softened a little. “How’s Ma?”

“Fine. Melissa’s married now, you know?”

Joshua looked up. “Ma wrote me, remember?” he said.

Nathan couldn’t keep a touch of tartness from his own tone. “We weren’t sure you ever got the letters. You never answered, remember?”

Joshua brushed all of that aside curtly. “You were a fool to come here.”

Nathan nodded. “That’s what everybody over there said too.”

“Did Joseph come with the group?”

Nathan hesitated, remembering Joseph’s caution about revealing their identity, but a week ago he had announced himself to the Missourians, so it was no longer a secret. “Yes.”

“Why don’t you send him across the river?” Joshua asked, his voice softly menacing. “Then we’ll see how long he keeps telling them stories about angels.”

Nathan shook his head in discouragement. “Oh, how little you know him. Besides, what’s with you and Joseph anyway? He never did anything to you. Why do you hate him so?”

Joshua nearly snarled out the answer. “What do you know? Joe Smith ain’t done nothing to me except cause trouble. Every time I turn around I got Joe Smith sticking in my face.”

“Joseph’s—,” Nathan started, then he changed his mind. He hadn’t come to fight over Joseph Smith. “Look, Joshua, we don’t have to battle over this. I didn’t come to try and make you a Mormon.”

Joshua hooted, the very idea so ludicrous to him as to make him laugh. “Then, why did you come?”

“I came because...” Again he let it go without finishing, realizing suddenly how foolish it would sound to start talking about forgiveness. He shrugged. “I told you, I came to see you.”

“No,” Joshua said, boring in. “You started to say something. What?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to see you before we left.”

Joshua pounced on that. “We? Is Joseph going back with you?”

“Not with us particularly, but yes, he’s returning to Ohio.” Nathan took a quick breath. “I’m taking Jessica and Rachel back with me, Joshua.”

Joshua had started to reach for his cigar again. His hand froze in midair, then lowered slowly.

Nathan rushed on. “It’s been hard for her, Joshua. She has no one to care for her, no way to make a living. Back in Kirtland, we’ll see that she’s taken care of.”

Joshua picked up the cigar and jammed it in his mouth. “What are you telling me this for? She’s not my wife anymore. We got a divorce, or didn’t she bother to tell you that?”

“She told me. Have you remarried yet?”

That brought Joshua’s chin up a notch. “You always were nosing around in other people’s business, little brother.”

“You haven’t, have you?”

“That ain’t got nothing to do with Jessica,” he snarled.

Nathan took a quick breath. This was not going how he’d hoped. “She also told me about the hundred dollars you sent over to her.”

Joshua jammed the cigar down on the tabletop, crushing it against the wood. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Suit yourself, Joshua,” Nathan said wearily. “But I think you’re carrying one great big load of guilt because of the way you treated her. Well, she don’t hold no grudge against you. That’s hard to believe. Heaven knows I have for long enough. But she don’t.”

“You got a grudge against me, spit it out.”

“I didn’t come for that. I came to put it behind me, let you know we still care, that we miss you.”

Joshua snorted in disgust. “I’m touched.”

Nathan’s mouth tightened, but he fought down the anger. He leaned forward as much as his bonds would let him, peering at his brother. “She still loves you, you know? She’d come back in a minute, if you’d stop your drinking and gambling and let her be a Mormon in peace.”

Joshua came straight up out of his chair, his eyes blazing. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, really,” Nathan snapped, losing the last of his patience.

Joshua gave Nathan’s chair a savage kick. “And who appointed you as the official mediator in this matter?”

“No one, I just—”

“Then butt out, mister,” he said coldly. “Jessica made her choice. She changes her mind, she knows where I live.”

Nathan just stared at him, hardly believing his ears. “After what you’ve done, you want her to make the first move?”

With the speed of a striking rattlesnake, Joshua’s hand flashed out and grabbed Nathan’s shirtfront. “You listen to me, my Mormon little brother,” he shouted. “Everything that was ever important to me, Joe Smith and the Mormons have destroyed. You took my life in Palmyra. You took my wife and turned her against me. You took my daughter. Don’t you be talking to me about what I’ve done.”

Nathan hooted incredulously.
“We
took your wife?”

“That’s right. You and Joe Smith and the rest of the Mormon maggots that live in those hovels out on the prairie.”

Straining forward against the rawhide lashings that bound him, Nathan was livid. “You’ve got a short memory, big brother.” The last two words were filled with all the insolence he could put into them. “Remember, I was here that summer. I saw Jessica’s face after you beat her up—and her in the third month of being with child.”

Joshua let go of Nathan’s shirt, as if it were suddenly hot. He recoiled as though Nathan had struck him.

“And just two nights ago, I saw her feet. They’re covered with scars, Joshua. Scars from walking twenty-five miles across a sleet-covered prairie, carrying a child. Your child, Joshua Steed! And you at the head of the mob that drove them out.” He shook his head in utter contempt. “And you have the gall to stand there and tell me it’s the Mormons’ fault that you lost your wife?”

“I couldn’t stop them that night,” Joshua whispered, his voice suddenly stricken. “They were out for blood. I sent Clinton to warn her. I—”

Nathan turned his head and spit contemptuously. “You must be some kind of leader, big brother.”

Joshua whirled, his fist cocking back, his face a mask of fury.

Nathan tensed, but he did not turn away. “Go ahead, Joshua. That’s always your answer to everything, isn’t it?”

Gradually Joshua’s face smoothed and the hand finally lowered. Without another word he turned and walked toward the door.

For years afterwards, Nathan would always regret what happened next. He had come, hoping to purge away his anger and hate. Instead, he gave full vent to them in his blind desire to hurt, to wound, to strike at this infuriating man who should have been his brother.

“For seven years now,” Nathan said slowly and evenly, “Ma has prayed for you. Every night and every morning. She’s prayed for your safety. She’s prayed that you would someday come back to us. Even when she heard about you beating Jessica. Even when she heard that you were right there helping everyone else to drive out the Mormons. She never quit.”

Joshua had stopped at the door, but didn’t turn.

“Well, I’ll tell you something, Joshua.” Nathan was flinging the words at his brother’s back now, like stones hurled from a sling. “When I return, I’m going to beg Ma to stop those prayers. Because you ain’t worth praying for anymore.”

Joshua slowly turned. His eyes were like glacial ice and his face was as hard as granite. Then, suddenly, he started to laugh softly. Nathan had never heard anything that chilled him more. “Is that it, Nathan? Is that your best shot?” He threw back his head and roared. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the laughter was cut off. He jerked the door open and stuck his head out. “Abner?” he bellowed.

Instantly the sound below them quieted. “Yes, Mr. Steed?” came a man’s voice.

Joshua turned and gave his brother one last look, then stepped out of the door. “I ain’t ever seen this man in my life,” he said. “He’s lyin’ his head off to you.”

It was nearly two o’clock in the morning when Brigham Young sat straight up in his bedroll, which was stretched out on the floor of the tiny hut. “We got company,” he cried in an urgent whisper, reaching out for Heber Kimball.

Instantly, Heber was up and grabbing for his rifle. The sound of hoofbeats was clearly heard, four or five horses, coming hard.

From the corner, Jessica jerked awake. She looked around for a moment in panic. “What is it?”

“Shhh!”

The horses slowed to a canter, but they were closer now, almost to the hut. Heber darted in a crouch to the door, then straightened and leveled his rifle at it. Brother and Sister Lewis were also sitting up now, their eyes wide and frightened in the darkness. Jessica reached out and pulled the sleeping form of Rachel toward her.

There was a heavy thud against the door. Then the horses exploded into a lope again, but they were moving away now, fading rapidly.

“Careful, Heber,” Brigham called softly as his companion moved to the door. Heber peered out for a moment, then threw the door open and dropped to one knee before the still form that lay on the doorstep.