Chapter Nineteen

Josiah, I would like to talk with you.”

The owner and proprietor of McBride’s dry goods store barely looked up. “Hannah, I have to get this stock put away and then take inventory of the tools. It can wait until tonight.”

“No, it can’t.”

He straightened slowly, his small mouth tightening into a line. “Hannah, I said it can wait until tonight.”

Hannah Lovina Hurlburt McBride would never be accused of wearing the pants in her family. Josiah McBride was a small man, but only in physical stature. He was a martinet in many ways, running his household with firm discipline and not much humor. Normally his wife, who tended toward austerity and primness herself, accepted his patriarchal role without complaint. But today was different. She stepped forward, hands on her hips, her eyes lowering like storm clouds scudding in from Lake Ontario.

“Josiah McBride, I said it can’t wait. I want to talk to you now.”

He blinked, taken aback. When he didn’t protest further, Hannah McBride looked over her shoulder to where their clerk was working behind the counter. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“Hannah,” he started, “I have...”

The look on her face was such that his voice trailed off. This was not the Hannah he was used to dealing with.

Wearily he wiped his hands on his leather apron and shook his head. “All right. But let’s hurry.”

He chose to go not to their living quarters, but upstairs to one of the stockrooms. He turned around. “Now, what is it that’s so all-fired important.”

She reached in her pocket and pulled out a letter. At the sight of it, his brows instantly furrowed and his eyes darkened. “I’ve told you before, until your daughter shows some remorse for the heartache and the hurt she has caused us I will neither read nor answer her letters. I wish you had the moral courage to take the same stand.”

Ignoring that, she opened the envelope and took out the letter. “Read it!”

He snatched the letter, crumpled it up in one furious clench of his hand, and hurled it away. “Did you hear what I just said?” he shouted. “I will not read it!”

Surprisingly, his fury did not cow her. She walked over to the ball of paper, picked it up, and smoothed it out against her dress. When she came back she walked right up to her husband and stood toe-to-toe with him. “Josiah McBride, there’s not much I’m ever asking from you, but this time I’m not asking you. I’m telling you. Read this letter!”

If she had burst into tears or stomped off in a huff or responded in any kind of similar way, she would have lost. But as it was, her brashness totally stunned him. For a long moment he stared at her, his mouth working, then finally he grabbed the letter from her again—only this time he turned slightly toward the light and began to read.

It was short, less than a page, and he finished it quickly. He thrust it back at his wife, who took it calmly. “So? What do you want? Do you want me to feel sorry for her? Well, she should have thought about that a long time ago. I told her that Steed boy was a no-good. He ran off right after their marriage and left her for a whole summer to work in Colesville. Then he was off to Missouri to look up that no-account brother of his. Now he’s left her again to go out and preach the devil’s gospel, leaving her and the child alone. It’s no more than she deserves.”

Hannah let him have his say without trying to stop him. When he finally finished, she simply folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. “I’m going to write her.”

For a moment he just gaped at her, but only for a moment; then he exploded. “I forbid it!” he shouted. He spun around and strode across the room, then whirled back, his chest rising and falling. “There will be no contact, Mrs. McBride! No word! No concessions! None! Do you hear me?”

Again she completely shocked him by the unexpectedness of her reaction. She shook her head slowly, calmly. “Josiah, listen to me.” She waved the envelope at him. “This is a cry for help. Your daughter is discouraged. She’s depressed. She’s lonely. For the first time since their marriage she is frustrated with her husband.” She took a breath, amazed at her own daring. “If you ever want to win her back, get her away from all Joe Smith stands for, there will never be another time. Not for us.”

Her husband had one fist raised, ready to shake in her face. Slowly he lowered it to his side.

“If we don’t answer her now, we’ve lost her forever. Is that what you want?”

He didn’t answer for several seconds, then stepped forward slowly. “Let me see that.”

She handed him the envelope and he opened it again. This time he read slowly, read it clear through once, then again. Finally, his head came up. “She don’t sound to me like she’s ready for any change.”

Hannah breathed a sigh of relief. He was thinking about it, and that was a major step in the right direction. “She’s not ready for a change. But she is ready to be loved.”

“You tell her if she’s ready to renounce that disgusting religion of hers, we’ll write to her every day. Otherwise no.”

His wife just shook her head, her eyes thoughtful now. “No, I won’t tell her anything like that. For now I’m just going to write and tell her we love her, that we miss her, and that if there’s anything we can do to make her feel not so lonely, I want her to let me know.”

Her head came up and her eyes caught her husband’s and held them, challenging, unflinching. “That’s what I’m going to do, Josiah. I just wanted you to know.”

Nathan Steed stopped in front of his father’s home late in the afternoon of April twentieth, 1832. He was footsore, dusty, weary beyond belief, and hungry for anything more than the hard wheat bread and stream water they had lived on for the past five days since leaving Kentucky. He had no money in his pockets, had cast away all his clothes but those he wore (they had not been worthy of saving), and had given his knapsack to a young lad they met in Columbus who was on his way west.

As he reached the small picket fence that lined his father’s yard, he stopped, blinking hard to fight the sudden burning in his eyes. He had left this spot during the first week of October of the previous year. He had raised a hand in farewell, then turned and walked away from his wife and his son. It had been almost six and a half months. Six and a half months!

He saw the curtain on one of the windows part slightly, then jerk back. A face was suddenly pressed up against the glass, nose squashing flat like a piglet’s, the blond hair a flash of white through the window. Then he heard the faint cry. “Nathan! Nathan!”

He grinned, and opened the gate. The front door burst open as if it had been blown inward by a cyclone. Matthew came exploding out, his legs pumping. “Nathan! Nathan! Nathan!” Becca was hard on his heels, pigtails flying, apron coming off one shoulder.

They nearly took his wind away, hugging him fiercely, jumping up and down, Matthew pounding his back. Then suddenly Nathan stopped. There were three figures in the doorway. His mother had her hand to her mouth, tears streaming down her face. His father, one arm around her shoulder, was nodding at his son, smiling broadly. But it was the third person who arrested Nathan’s eyes. Lydia, heavy with child, held a young boy in her arms.

Nathan’s heart lurched. When he had left, his son had been a baby. Now at eleven months, he was a little boy, with dark hair just starting to grow, light blue eyes, and his mother’s fine chin and perfect nose.

Matthew and Becca stepped back. Lydia was crying now too. She stepped forward, coming off the porch, and stopped again. Slowly, with an effort, she lowered the child. He stood, a little wobbly, holding on to her one finger, gravely looking across the distance at the stranger who stood before him.

“That’s your father, Joshua,” Lydia whispered. “It’s your father.”

Nathan went down on one knee and stretched out his arms, a lump in his own throat all of a sudden making it very difficult to breathe. “Come, Joshua,” he called softly, not wanting to frighten him.

Little Joshua turned, looking up, first at his mother, then at his grandmother.

“It’s all right, Josh,” Mary Ann smiled. “Go see your papa.”

Matthew dropped beside Nathan and held out his arms. “Come on, Joshua,” he called. “Come see Uncle Matthew.”

The blue eyes appraised Nathan once more, then shifted to Matthew. A smile broke through the somberness and his eyes came alive. Then his short, stubby little legs began to move, and step by very tentative step, he toddled his way toward them.

With a sob, Nathan reached out and scooped him up, holding him to his chest, and burying his face against the small but wiry little body.

On April twenty-ninth, Melissa Mary Steed Rogers was delivered of a healthy, nine-pound baby boy. Though his hair was dark, almost everyone agreed that when the sunlight hit it, there was a definite touch of auburn in it. Predictions were common that he would be a redhead, most likely with freckles, like his father. They named him Carlton Hezekiah Rogers, being the first son for Carl and Melissa and the first grandson for the Rogerses.

Six weeks later, Carl Rogers traveled out with Melissa to the schoolhouse near the Isaac Morley homestead for a worship service. There Nathan, uncle to the new baby, named and blessed young Carl by the power of the holy priesthood.

The night before, Nathan went to Melissa’s home and spent some time talking with Carl about the ordinance. Carl stated that he had no objection to Melissa’s having the child blessed however she wished, but he resisted, amiably but firmly, when Nathan tried to talk with him about the Book of Mormon.

After the services were over and the blessing done, Melissa pulled Nathan aside and quietly suggested he not try and talk religion any further with her husband.

It was the fourteenth of June, and the mosquitoes swarmed in the lingering heat of the evening air. The horse kept its tail moving constantly, but Joshua Steed paid the insects no mind, brushing at them absently as he pulled to a halt in front of the small sod hut. “Excuse me, neighbor.”

The man was at a grindstone, his leg pumping on the lever to keep the stone wheel flying. Sparks showered from the ax blade that he was sharpening. He lifted the ax, but his foot kept moving up and down out of habit. “Good evening.”

“Could you tell me where I might find the home of Joshua Lewis?”

The man took his foot off the grindstone lever and let the wheel come to a stop. He stood, taking off his hat to brush at the sweat on his brow. “I’m Joshua Lewis. What can I do for you?”

Joshua swung off the horse and tied the reins to a small bush. He didn’t move any closer. “I’m looking for Jessica Steed. I understand she lives with you.”

The man, definitely a sodbusting farmer, nodded slowly, his eyes suddenly suspicious as they carefully took in Joshua’s trail garb, his heavy beard, and the tired, weary eyes. “And who might you be?”

Joshua’s eyes didn’t move from the man’s face. “I’d like to speak with her. Ask her to come out please.”

The man was half a head shorter than Joshua and probably weighed forty or fifty pounds less, but if he was intimidated by Joshua’s size, or by the pistol that was stuck in his belt, his expression didn’t show it. Again he sized Joshua up and down, then stuck one hand in his pocket. “I’ll be happy to fetch her if I know who it is I’m tellin’ her to come out and see.”

There was a flash of irritation, but Joshua pushed it down. He had arrived in Independence around noon, taken time only to bathe and eat, then started out to find her. All the way out he kept seething over the fact that Jessica had become a Mormon. Somehow Joseph Smith was seeping into his life again, messing things up. He didn’t like it. Not one bit. But he kept promising himself he would keep his temper in check, so now he forced a brief smile. “My name is Joshua Steed. I’m Jessie’s husband. I’m just in from Santa Fe today.”

Lewis’s eyes narrowed. Whatever friendliness had been there was instantly gone. “I’m not sure she’ll want to see you, Mr. Steed.”

In an instant Joshua’s irritation flared into full anger. “She’s of age,” Joshua said coldly. “You just go tell her.”

The hostility was unmistakable now, but the farmer finally turned and went into the house.

Twice Joshua saw the door open a crack and small, curious eyes peer out at him, but it was almost five minutes before Jessica finally stepped out. He saw instantly that she had on her best dress and had hastily brushed through her hair. He also saw that she carried a little bundle in her arms.

Behind her, Lewis stood at the door. He glared at Joshua for a moment, a child peeking out from behind his legs, then touched Jessie’s arm. “You need me, Jessica, you just holler.”

“Thank you, Brother Lewis. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded, then slowly shut the door behind her. For a moment she stood there, her eyes wide and unreadable. Then, she came forward a few steps. “Hello, Joshua.”

“Hello, Jessica.”

“Pa said he wrote you and told you to come back.”

“Yes.”

“He was afraid you’d gone on somewhere else, hadn’t got the letter.”

“I was up in Pueblo with a load of mercantile goods. I didn’t get the letter until about two weeks ago.” For a moment he was angry with himself for feeling that he had to explain. Then he let his eyes drop to her arms, and he softened a little. “Your pa told me about the baby. I couldn’t believe it.”

“Yes, it’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

He made a rueful face. “No Doctor Hathaway, I assume.”

She laughed softly. “No, no Doctor Hathaway.”

Jessie stepped up to him, pulling the blanket away from the baby’s face. She was sleeping, the tiny features peaceful in repose. He bent over, peering at his daughter in wonder. “Clinton told me you’re going to call her Rachel,” he murmured. He reached out and tentatively touched the slender fingers.

“Yes, for my mother.”

“She’s beautiful.”

Jessica smiled down at her daughter. “I think so too. Would you like to hold her?”

He fell back a step.

“Go ahead, it’s all right. She sleeps well when she’s full.”

Gingerly he took her, cradling her in his arm. He pulled the blanket away from her body so he could see her full length.

Jessica watched him, her eyes soft. “She’s growin’ real good. Sister Lewis says she eats like the strongest pup in the litter. And she’s got a real good disposition. She hardly ever fusses.”

A mosquito buzzed in and circled for a moment over the baby’s head. Joshua flicked his hand at it, then wrapped the blanket around her again. “She’s real sweet, Jessie. I’m real happy for you. You always wanted a baby so bad.”

“So did you,” she whispered.

He stood there uncomfortably for a moment, then handed Rachel back to her mother. “Yes,” he finally said. “Yes, I did.” He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. His hands plucked at the bone buttons on his deerskin jacket. “Jessie, I...”

She waited, watching him steadily.

“I’m sorry about what happened that night. I was so out of my head drunk. When I lost everything, I went crazy. I...” He shook his head and looked away.

“What’s done is done. I’m not bearing a grudge, Joshua.”

“I should never have hit you.”

She thought about that, then shook her head. “No, you shouldn’t have. But I healed.”

He looked down again. “And now you have a baby.”

She smiled. “Not a baby, Joshua. Our baby.”

“I know.”

“Did Pa tell you why I have the baby? why I was able to go the full time?”

He frowned. “He said Nathan came.”

“Yes, he gave me a blessing by the priesthood—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Her head came up slowly. “Nathan also baptized me a member of the Church—”

He spoke sharply. “I said I don’t want to hear it. I know all about Joseph Smith and his wild tales. It angers me, Jess, that my own brother would come out here and fill your head with all that nonsense—”

“Joseph Smith was here, Joshua.”

He stopped. “He was?”

“Yes, not long after you left. I met him. I watched him. I listened to him, Joshua. By the time Nathan came, my mind was already made up, so there ain’t no use you blamin’ your brother for this.”

“That don’t surprise me none. Joseph’s always had a way of swaying people with his lies and foolishness.”

“I’ve been baptized, Joshua. It’s done, and I won’t have you talking about Brother Joseph that way.”

“Brother Joseph?” he hooted. “Brother Joseph? Is that what we’ve come to now?”

Jessica half turned back toward the house. “Sister Lewis,” she called.

In a moment the door opened. A farm woman in a plain dress and no shoes stood there.

“Can you take Rachel and put her back to bed?”

“Of course.”

She came to Jessica, keeping her eyes averted away from Joshua, lovingly took the baby, then returned into the house. When she was gone, Jessica turned back to Joshua, her face calm and serene. Joshua fought down the anger, cursing himself for letting it get away from him. For several moments, neither spoke, then he cleared his throat. “So, what now?”

Jessica gave a soft laugh, not without a bitter edge to it. “You tell me, Joshua? What now?”

“Well, I’m back. We still have the house. It needs some cleaning up but—”

She was shaking her head.

“What?”

“I’m not unhappy here, Joshua.”

He looked incredulous. “A one-room sod hut on the prairie, ten, twelve miles from anything?”

“These people took me in. They’ve been good to me.”

“What about us?”

Her chin came up, and now there was anger in her eyes. “Yes, Joshua, what about us? It’s been almost a year. This is the first time I’ve heard that question in all that time.”

He looked away, knowing it would come to this. “I had to run, Jess. I had no choice.”

“And what about a letter, Joshua? Did you even once think about me? Where I was? If I had a place to stay? If I had any money?”

His shoulders lifted, then fell. “I didn’t dare write,” he said lamely. “I didn’t know if they’d send someone out after me.”

“I see,” she said, making no effort to hide her feelings. “Well, I’m sorry if I’m finding it a little hard to throw myself into your arms.”

“Look, Jessie,” he said, his voice rising, “I told you I’m sorry for all that. I know what I did was wrong, but I want to make it right now.”

“Do you?” she cried softly. “Do you really, Joshua?”

“Yes.”

“Have you stopped drinking?”

He rocked back slightly. “I—”

“Are you still gambling?”

His brows furrowed into a deep crease and his jaw tightened. “Now, look, I said—”

“And what about Joseph Smith and the Mormons? I’m one of them now, Joshua. Are you willing to accept that if I come back.”

“I won’t have no talk of Joseph Smith in my house,” he said darkly. “And I certainly won’t have my daughter raised to be one of them.”

Jessie turned away, folding her arms and hugging herself. “My house. My wife. My daughter. That’s how it’s always been, hasn’t it, Joshua?”

He let out his breath. It was always like this, the twisting of his words, the sharp, jabbing attacks. He stepped forward and touched her shoulder gently. “Look, Jessie, I ain’t said nothing about you causing me to lose everything I owned. I’m willing to forget what’s past.”

She spun around, and he saw tears in her eyes. But they were not tears of hurt, they were tears of frustration. “So am I, Joshua. You don’t believe that. But what about the future? If things go bad again, what promise do I have you won’t get ugly drunk and mean again? How do I know that a year from now you won’t throw another year’s worth of work into the center of a poker table on the hopes you’re better than the man across from you?”

“Jessica—”

She rode right over him. “And what if I’m not willing to give up the first decent thing that’s come into my life? I didn’t become a Mormon just because the Lewises were nice to me, Joshua. I believe it. I’ve accepted it. I can’t just turn my back on it. I won’t!”

Inside him, all the images of Palmyra flashed across his mind: the rainy night when he, the Murdocks, and Mark Cooper had been made to look like fools; Lydia’s going to get his father and Nathan to stop him from getting the gold plates; his father slapping his face. Joseph Smith was at the heart of all that, and on this issue there was no bending in him.

Each word came out hard and flat and final. “I will not have my daughter raised to be a Mormon.”

She gave a curt nod. “Then, I guess it’s settled. Good-bye, Joshua.” She turned and started for the house.

He leaped forward and grabbed her shoulders. He jerked her around roughly. “Don’t you walk away from me! I’m talking to you.”

“No, you’re not. You’re shouting at me.” She yanked free of his grasp and turned again.

“Jessie!” This time when he grabbed her arm his fingers dug into her flesh and she gasped with the pain. “You listen to me—”

The front door to the sod hut flew open and Joshua Lewis stood there with a double-barreled shotgun pointing at Joshua’s head. “Let her go!”

For a moment Joshua just gaped at those two huge holes staring down at him.

“I said, let her go!” Lewis barked sharply. “I mean it.”

Joshua released his grip and stepped back, his eyes narrowing. Jessica stumbled quickly over to stand beside the farmer.

“Mister, I’d suggest you get on your horse and ride on out of here.”

“This woman is my wife,” he cried hoarsely. “That’s my child in there. I’ve got my rights.”

“I saw your wife the morning after your so-called poker game,” Lewis said in utter contempt. “I saw her black eyes and her battered face.” The shotgun lowered to point squarely at Joshua’s chest. “You got no more rights, mister. Now I suggest you git.”

On June twentieth, 1832, after being home only two months, Nathan Steed received a call to preach the gospel in eastern Ohio and western Pennsylvania. He left almost immediately in company with three other brethren. Two weeks after his departure, on the fifth of July, Lydia McBride Steed gave birth to a baby girl. It was a prolonged and difficult labor. Lydia was bedfast for two weeks. Before Nathan left, he and Lydia had discussed possible names. If it was a girl, Nathan favored Sarah, Lydia wanted Emily. In the press of Nathan’s leaving, the question was never finally resolved. Lydia named the baby Emily.

Benjamin found the Smith brothers—Joseph, Hyrum, William, and Samuel—in a woodlot, cutting and chopping wood for their winter firewood needs. The air was cold and crisp, frost still visible where the pale November sunlight did not reach the ground.

“Ho, Brother Benjamin,” Joseph called as he saw Ben coming through the trees. He set down his ax and stuck out his hand. “How are you, good friend?”

“Fine, Joseph. I just learned this morning that you and Bishop Whitney had returned from your trip to Albany, New York, and Boston.”

“Yes, we returned two days ago.”

“And did you get the funding for the new store?”

“We did. We negotiated a loan for the goods. We shall open the mercantile establishment immediately.”

“So you returned in time for the birth of your new son?”

Joseph’s face fell a little. “No, I returned shortly thereafter.”

Hyrum walked over to join them. “Hello, Brother Steed.”

“Good afternoon, Hyrum. How are things with you and yours?”

“Fine, thank you.”

Benjamin turned back to Joseph. “Mary Ann made some stew for you and Emma.”

“How thoughtful of her!” Joseph exclaimed.

“Emma was asleep, so I just left the food.” He sobered. “How is she doing?”

“It was a difficult labor, and she is still very weak, but she will be fine. To have the baby”—his eyes were suddenly moist—“to have one finally live, that is the most wonderful medicine she could receive.”

“Yes, we are all very happy for the both of you. What shall you name him?”

Joseph beamed proudly. “Emma thinks we should name him Joseph Smith the Third.”

Benjamin nodded his approval. “I think that would please both you and your father.”

“It does, thank you. And thank your wife for the food. She’s an angel, you know.”

“Yes, I know.”

Joseph clapped him on the shoulder. “And what can we do for you?”

Benjamin smiled as he shucked off his outer coat. “The question is, what can I do for you? I have nothing at home waiting. Do you have an extra ax?”

Little Joshua shrieked with delight as his Uncle Matthew rolled him on his back and buried his head in his tummy.

“Matthew!” Lydia cried.

He looked up, a little surprised at the sharpness in Lydia’s voice. Joshua stopped laughing too and looked at his mother, his eyes suddenly grave.

Lydia took a breath, and forced a faint smile. “Melissa and I are trying to talk, Matthew. Can you take Joshua in the bedroom and play?”

“Sure.” He scooped Joshua up, ruffling the dark, curly hair. “Come on, Josh, I’ll be a tiger, and you can be the goat.”

Off they went, already starting to giggle as they started into the adjoining room.

“Matthew!” Melissa said sharply, pointing towards the loft above them, “you’ll wake the babies.”

He turned, waved an acknowledgment, and clapped a hand over his mouth in mock horror, which only sent his nephew into peals of laughter all over again.

Lydia shook her head, wanting to be angry but smiling in spite of herself. Matthew would be thirteen this coming July and was fast becoming a man. The little boyishness in him was gone, and he would likely pass both Lydia and his mother in height by his birthday. Young Joshua was twenty months old, and loved his Uncle Matthew with unswerving devotion. In large part that was due to the fact that when Matthew and Joshua got together, Matthew reverted to all boy again. No wonder young Joshua so loved him.

Melissa sighed as she watched them disappear into the back bedroom that Benjamin and some of the brethren had helped Nathan add on to the young couple’s little cabin a few weeks earlier. “If it weren’t so cold out, we could send them outside to play.”

She turned back to her sister-in-law and watched her for a moment, trying not to let the dismay show in her eyes. Lydia’s appearance had really shocked her. She looked worn and haggard. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she seemed listless and without spirit. It was so unlike Lydia that Melissa felt a stirring of alarm.

And guilt. She and her mother had talked about the change in Lydia more than three weeks ago, and Melissa had been vowing to come out to the Morley farm and visit with her ever since. But it seemed that nowadays little Carl took so much of her time, and getting him all bundled up against the cold and everything...

“So, where is Nathan?”

“Oh, didn’t Mother Steed tell you? He’s been invited to participate in the School of the Prophets that started a week ago.”

“That’s right. I forgot. She did tell me.”

“He leaves about four in the morning. Usually they don’t finish much before supper time.”

“So you’re alone all day?”

Lydia shrugged. “I’m used to it now.” She looked wistful. “And he’s having some wonderful experiences. Did you hear about the meeting they had a couple of days before the school started?”

“No.” Melissa looked down at her hands. “With Carl not being a member, I don’t hear everything like I used to.”

Lydia was suddenly animated, and her words came in a rush. “It was in that room above the store, the same where they hold the School. It wasn’t just priesthood holders. There were sisters there too. Emma was there. Sister Rigdon, Sister Whitney. Nathan said it was wonderful. After they opened with prayer, Joseph got up to speak—only suddenly he began to speak in tongues.”

That brought Melissa’s head up with a jerk. “Tongues?”

“Yes, just like in the Bible on the day of Pentecost. Nathan said it was an incredible experience. After Brother Joseph finished, Zebedee Coltrin stood. Then William, Joseph’s brother. One after another—the sisters too. Emma prophesied. So did Sister Whitney. They spoke and prayed and sang hymns, all in tongues.”

Melissa was stunned. She had not heard any of this, which showed just how much she was losing touch with things.

“Nathan said that at first he didn’t understand anything. Some of the others did, though, and interpreted, but near the last, he began to understand too. He said it was really strange—hearing something totally incomprehensible with your ears, but suddenly feeling your heart listening, understanding!”

Gradually the enthusiasm in Lydia’s eyes died, and she went quite still. “It must have been wonderful. Nathan had asked me to come with him. But with the children...” Her voice trailed off, and she turned to stare out of the window.

Melissa leaned forward. “Are you all right, Lydia?”

Lydia snapped around, for a moment looking frightened, like a nocturnal animal suddenly caught in the lamplight. But then she nodded, her eyelashes dropping to cover her eyes. “I...I’m fine.”

“Lydia,” Melissa said gently, “since you married Nathan you and I have grown as close as any sisters. So put away your public face. This is Melissa asking you, remember. Are you all right?”

There was a sudden sheen of tears and Lydia looked away, embarrassed that her emotions were so transparent. The breath came out of her slowly, as if it were painful to let it go.

“Please, Lydia. Please tell me.”

Now the tears began to flow freely. “I don’t know, Melissa. That’s just it. I don’t know.”

Melissa stood quickly and moved over to sit beside her. She reached out and took a hand in both of hers. She had never seen Lydia like this, so bleak, so desolate.

After a minute, Lydia forced a tiny smile. “I got another letter from my mother,” she volunteered.

“Really?”

“Yes. She wants me to come see them this summer.”

That really rocked Melissa. “Back to Palmyra?”

Lydia nodded.

Melissa again had to fight not to look too shocked.

“I can’t, of course. Nathan would never agree to it. He and my father are like ax blade and grindstone. There’s always sparks when they get together.” She paused, her eyes suddenly forlorn and empty. “Maybe a year from this summer. Josh would be three then, and Emily nearly two.”

Melissa felt as if someone were clanging a bell somewhere in her mind. “Are you and Nathan having problems?”

Lydia’s eyes widened and she shook her head vigorously, but not until there had been a moment’s hesitation.

“Lydia,” Melissa chided gently. “Is that it?”

“No.”

“Then, what?”

Lydia swallowed back the tears. When she finally began to speak, it came out slow and measured, almost halting, as she sought for the right words. “I...I don’t know. I feel like...I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like...” Her shoulders lifted and fell. “Like I’ve stopped growing. Like I’m rooted to one spot, while everyone just...I don’t know. Like they’re passing me by. Like life is passing me by.”

“Does Nathan know any of this?”

Lydia shook her head quickly. “That’s part of the problem. He’s so...so alive. He’s so excited right now. He came back from his missions so filled with enthusiasm, so full of...” She groped for the right word. “I don’t know, so on fire.”

“A little too much on fire,” Melissa said tartly. “I finally had to tell him to leave Carl alone.”

Lydia laughed in spite of herself. “I know. Your mother also told him to stop pushing your father so hard. He keeps wanting him to be baptized. The other day Father Steed nearly dunked him in the river to cool off a little of his ardor.”

Melissa chuckled at the image. “Might do him good.”

Lydia sobered slowly. “I envy him, you know.”

“You do? Why?”

“He’s feeling all these things. Having all these experiences. Teaching the gospel. Feeling the Spirit. Interpreting tongues. That little miracle where he blessed Joshua’s wife and she was able to carry the baby.” She stopped and looked at the floor. “I would love to have something like that happen to me. I would love to feel something again.”

The pain in Melissa was suddenly so sharp and intense that she had to stand. She turned away from Lydia and stepped to the window, feeling her chest constricting, fighting back the burning in her own eyes.

Lydia misinterpreted her reaction. “Do I shock you, Melissa, talking that way?” There was soft bitterness in her tone. “Lydia the faithful, Lydia who left her family for the gospel’s sake now becomes Lydia the lifeless, Lydia the doubter.”

Melissa swung around. “Shocked?” She gave a soft hoot of self-derision. “Let me see if I can describe what you’re feeling.” Her eyes took on a deep sadness. “Is it like you know exactly what you ought to be feeling, need to be feeling, but you can’t seem to recapture it anymore?”

Lydia’s eyebrows went up in surprise.

“Is it knowing that you ought to care more about the things of the Church, of God, than you do? But simply knowing doesn’t seem to make any difference?”

“You too?” Lydia said, standing slowly.

Melissa turned away, talking to no one now. “Is it knowing that you need to go to Sabbath services every week, but not having the energy to pull yourself together and go alone? Or when you try to say your prayers, you start, but you know your husband is lying there waiting for you, wondering what’s going on in your head, not understanding this part of you, and you finally give up because you’re not feeling much of anything anyway. You leave the Book of Mormon on the shelf now, not because your husband would ever say anything if you spent time reading it. But you know it’s something you don’t share together, and he’s so good, and so gentle, and so kind, that you’re not sure you want to have things you don’t share.”

Lydia walked to Melissa and put an arm around her waist. For several moments they stood there, not speaking, each lost in her own pain.

Finally, Lydia spoke. “I know Nathan is doing what God wants him to. I know he needs to be a missionary, and go to the School, and all the other things. But I miss him so terribly when he’s gone. And then the resentment starts growing in me, like some ugly weed I can’t ever get to and pull out.” Her lower lip started to tremble, and tears welled up in the corners of her eyes and started a slow trickle down her cheeks. “He wasn’t here when Emily was born, Melissa. He didn’t even get to see Joshua take his first step.”

“Then, say something to him!” Melissa burst out. “I know the Lord needs him, Lydia. But so do you.”

Lydia shook her head, the sorrow in her eyes nearly breaking Melissa’s heart. “That’s the very worst thing.”

“What?”

“Knowing in your head—absolutely knowing—that you’re wrong, that you’re being selfish and faithless.” She stopped and dropped her face into her hands. “It’s knowing that in your head, but not being able to make your heart accept it.”

“Jessica, it’s your father.”

“My father?”

Sister Lewis nodded quickly. “I asked him in, but he said he needs to talk to you outside.”

Jessica had been nursing Rachel, but the child had had her fill now and lay asleep, the long lashes lying on her cheeks, her mouth drawn into a tiny little pout as she slept. Jessica leaned down and kissed her forehead softly. “Can you put her to bed for me?”

“Of course.” The plain farm woman was not much more than five years older than Jessica, but in the last eighteen months she had become sister, mother, and friend to Jessica. She lifted Rachel from Jessica’s arms and cradled her, smiling down at her. It was the last of January. A week ago Rachel had had her first birthday.

Jessica stood, reaching for the shawl that hung over the chair. Sister Lewis shook her head quickly. “You’ll need a coat, Jessie. It’s very cold out there.” But Jessica shook her head and went out.

When she came out, her father was standing next to his horse, smoking a cigar. He quickly dropped it and there was a soft sizzling sound as it hit the thin layer of snow that covered the ground.

“Hello, Pa.”

He turned, nodding. “Hello, Jess.”

“This is a surprise.” She had neither seen nor heard from her father or Joshua since that night the previous summer when Brother Lewis drove Joshua off at the point of a gun. Clinton Roundy was clearly uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and he jammed his hands into the pockets of his trousers to stop them from fluttering.

“Joshua made me—uh, asked me to come.”

“Joshua?”

“Yeah.”

She kept her face impassive, not wanting him to see the emotions that suddenly swirled inside her.

Now her father was clearly in pain. “I told him it weren’t right for me to be the one. But he wouldn’t listen. You know how he can get sometimes.”

She laughed bitterly. “Yes, I know that, Pa.”

“He said there weren’t anyone else who could do it.”

“Do what, Pa?”

He pulled off his gloves and fumbled inside his heavy winter coat. When his hand came out, he was holding a sheet of paper folded over twice. He thrust it at her, not meeting her eyes.

She took it slowly, gingerly. “What is this?”

He took a quick breath. “It’s the divorce paper.”

Her mouth opened, but the pain was too sharp and it shut again.

“He said it’s all legal and everythin’. You can get a lawyer to look at it if you want.”

She jammed the paper under her arm, feeling as if it were suddenly burning the palm of her hand.

Her father’s eyes were watching her closely. Now his face softened. “At first he was talkin’ about tryin’ to take little Rachel away from you.” He stopped as her head came up sharply. “But,” he went on hastily, “I told him that wasn’t right. Besides, I told him if you wanted to make trouble it could be bad business. Even the worst Missouri wildcat don’t take much to a man beating up a woman, especially a woman with child.”

It was as if he were speaking to her from across a wide field. She felt herself nod, her lips pressed tightly together. She turned and started back toward the house, walking slowly, without looking down.

“Jessie, it ain’t too late.”

She stopped.

“Leave this religious foolery you’ve got into your head. Come back to him. He’s better now. He hardly ever drinks anymore. You can make it work again. I know you can.”

She didn’t turn. “Did he tell you to say that?”

“No, I...” He stepped forward and took her by the shoulders. “Jessie, listen to me. Feelings are running high in town against the Mormons. The old settlers don’t like what’s happening. Hundreds of you Mormons are here now, and more coming all the time, buying up the best land, putting on airs like you was better than the rest of us. There’s gonna be trouble, sure as men drink whiskey. You’ve gotta git yourself outta here.”

“Thank you for troublin’ yourself, Pa. I know it’s a cold night and a long ways to ride.”

“Jessica!” His fingers dug into her shoulders. “Why are you bein’ like this? You know these Mormons are just a bunch of empty-headed fools. It ain’t like you to be so blind.”

“Good-bye, Pa.” She pulled free from his grasp and started toward the door.

“Jessica!”

She kept moving, her head held high, her step sure.

“Joshua has met a widder woman.”

Her hand was reaching for the rope that pulled up the inside latch on the door. It froze in midair.

“She’s a real looker. Got two young’uns. She’s got marriage on her mind.”

Jessica turned slowly, remembering the night she stood behind a bedroom door peeking through a tiny nail hole. It all came flooding back. “Your wife a looker?” the gambler had asked Joshua. She would never forget the look in Joshua’s eyes as he wrestled with that one. Jessica knew, without being hurt by it, that she was a plain woman, without much of what men called beauty. If Joshua had simply said, “No, she’s not,” it would have been infinitely less painful. Instead he had glanced in panic at the door where she stood, then looked away and not answered. It was that look, coupled with the shame she felt in helping her husband cheat, that had finally given her the courage to turn around and walk out of the bedroom, leaving Joshua to win his own poker games.

“Good-bye, Pa.” She turned again and entered the house, shutting the door firmly behind her.