Goodbye, Nauvoo Read online

  “Mother, I don’t understand,” Martha replied, puzzled.

  Lucy cleared her throat and glanced bashfully up at Martha. “You will one day. When the time is right.”

  Martha said no more, wondering if the trauma and exhaustion her mother had experienced the last few weeks had deluded her mind, or if this was her mother’s way of grieving. In either case, there was nothing Martha could do but let her mother be and continue preparing the body so that her sister could have a proper burial.

  When they were done, Martha stopped a moment to take in every inch of her sister’s face. She wanted to memorize it so she could always remember it. Suddenly, a feeling of calm came over her. A feeling that she unmistakably understood as the Holy Ghost speaking to her. She could hear a still, small voice whispering to her not to worry about her sister, that she would be well taken of.

  As if receiving the same prompting, suddenly Lucy straightened up and breathed in deep. “Beth is in Heavenly Father’s care now,” she declared. “She is among the angels watching over us. Now, doesn’t she look like an angel?”

  Martha agreed. Beth’s disheveled hair was now neatly braided, and she wore a clean gingham dress and her pink satin slippers. Her face, relaxed and free of the torment of her disease, was now lovely and delicate as a rose.

  “She is at peace now,” Martha said. “I can feel it. She is being welcomed into heaven as we speak.”

  ✽✽✽

  Black funeral crepe covered the mirrors in Faddy’s home and all the clocks were stopped. Beth was laid out in Faddy’s parlor, and Martha had brought her children to view the body.

  Beth was resting in a pine coffin the coffin-maker had brought only an hour before; it was simple in design, a few rows of boards nailed together to form a long, rectangular box that was wider at the shoulders and narrowed down to the feet.

  Martha stooped down to kiss her sister’s cold cheek, then lifted up her children to pay respects to their young aunt.

  “Is she sleeping?” Sarah asked.

  Martha didn’t know how to reply, so she simply shook her head. How could she explain something so complex as death to a four-year-old child?

  After the viewing, Beth’s coffin was nailed shut and loaded onto Faddy’s rickety old wagon. Martha and the other mourners followed behind as Faddy and Lucy drove the wagon to Beth’s final resting place.

  Freshly dug holes formed rows and rows of craters in the earth at the burying grounds. Martha gathered with the mourners in a solemn half-circle around an open grave and watched as Beth’s coffin was lowered from the wagon and swallowed by a gaping grave below.

  Martha looked around at the small group while she waited for the service to start. Besides Martha and her children, there were the Parkers. Lucy stood next to Faddy, her hand on his shoulder to steady him. Annie huddled next to her, her face buried in her mother’s black shawl. Lydia stood behind the Parker’s, looking sullen. There were a few people Martha did not recognize, a boy and girl about Beth’s age.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming,” Faddy said, breaking the silence. “Beth loved each and every one of you.” His voice cracked, and he stopped to wipe his weeping eyes.

  Martha did not hear the rest of the service; her mind was focused on her grief as she stared down into her sister’s grave. I don’t want to say goodbye, she thought. She watched as Faddy grabbed a handful of soft, rich earth and sprinkled it down over Beth’s wooden coffin, followed by Lucy. Then it was Martha’s turn, and her fistful of earth lingered above her sister’s coffin. She was afraid of covering Beth with the dark soil; it seemed as if she were covering her memory. Finally, Martha opened her hand and let its contents fall gently down into the gaping hole below her.

  Each mourner took a turn covering the coffin, even Martha’s children, their small hands throwing the dirt down into the grave unceremoniously. Then, the cavity was filled by a strange man with a shovel who worked quickly and moved on to bury the other deceased.

  The funeral ended as quickly as it started. A prayer was said again over the grave, and then the mourners dispersed.

  Martha knelt down and marked the grave with a pile of stones. One day, she wanted to help Faddy purchase a headstone for Beth, but this would have to do for now. Martha looked around for trees she could use as landmarks, trying to memorize the spot so that she could return.

  There was a tall oak tree close to the head of Beth’s grave. Martha watched curiously as its branches cast distorted shadows over the upturned soil.

  Death, in a way, is like a shadow, Martha thought. Death distorted her view of those who passed on before her, but only temporarily. In full light, a shadow disappears and a clear vision of the object it distorted is restored.

  With the light of Heavenly Father’s love, Beth will be restored one day, her body made whole again. It was a comforting thought to Martha, and at that moment, she knew for certain that this was not her final goodbye.

  ✽✽✽

  Lydia stood at her window as the setting sun cast a strange orange glow in the sky. So much had happened at once: Beth’s death and the revelation about Worthy’s history. Now Lucy was ill and needed extra help with her chores. The stress of it all was too much for Lydia to handle. At least once Worthy’s gone, I’ll have one less problem to worry about, Lydia thought.

  Lydia traced the horizon watching and waiting for Worthy to arrive. He was coming calling that afternoon and would be over at any minute. He did not know about Beth’s death or that Lydia knew his secret. Lydia wondered what she should do. She truly thought she had loved Worthy, that is until his secret was revealed. Now, all she was filled with was anger and shame. Why had he lied to her about his wife and child? And why had she allowed herself to fall for a man with a soiled reputation?

  Lydia saw Worthy’s tall frame approaching from a distance and ducked behind her window, not wanting to see him nor be seen. Then there was a knock on the door downstairs, and Lydia hesitated to answer it. Never before had Lydia been afraid to welcome a guest into her home. Perhaps she would let him knock forever.

  “Are you going to get that door?” Lucy yelled from her room where she was confined to her bed.

  Not wanting her aunt to suffer more, Lydia found the strength to wander downstairs and answer the knock.

  Worthy stood at the doorstep, his handsome, rugged face stretched in one giant smile. In his hands were a bouquet of wildflowers. Lydia frowned down at the beautiful gift.

  “Here, I’ve picked these for you,” he said, handing her the flowers.

  “Thank you, Worthy,” Lydia said politely. “Won’t you come inside? There is much for us to discuss.”

  She led him into the brightly lit parlor where they sat across from each other. Lydia was grateful for the distance but wished that she could be transported somewhere else far, far, away.

  “Is your uncle home?” Worthy asked. “I’ve been planning on asking him today. For your hand, that is. I’ve thought over and over what I would say.”

  Lydia’s stomach churned. “My uncle is indisposed,” she replied, refusing to look into his eyes.

  Worthy looked disappointed. “When will he return?” He glanced up at the black funeral crepe draped over the mirrors, and his tone of voice grew grave. “He didn’t pass, did he? If so, please accept my condolences. I didn’t know he was ill.”

  “No, he didn’t pass. My cousin Beth did.”

  “Oh. I am terribly sorry.”

  Lydia found herself growing impatient with him. All she wanted was for him to leave.

  “Worthy, I have a question to ask you,” Lydia began as she smoothed her skirts, wasting no time with small talk.

  “Yes, ask away.”

  “Have you been honest with me in all that you’ve told me about yourself?”

  Worthy looked surprised. “Of course I have. What would make you ask a question like that?”

  “I thought, since you want to marry me, that we should know all about each other.” She looked up to me
et his eyes. “I will tell you my secret if you tell me yours.”

  “Alright, since it’s your idea, you first.”

  “Sure. I am deathly afraid of water,” Lydia said impatiently. “There. That is my secret. What is yours?”

  Worthy shook his head and chuckled. “That is not much of a secret. I already guessed that by how you acted on the steamboat. The question is why?”

  “Why?”

  “Yes, why are you afraid of water so much?”

  “Because.. Because I fell in a well when I was young and almost drowned,” Lydia answered quickly.

  Worthy nodded. “Fair enough.”

  “It is your turn now,” Lydia said.

  “Hmm.” Worthy twirled his thumbs and stared up at the ceiling. “I haven’t told you about my mother, have I? She left my father and I when we joined the Church. She didn’t believe it was true.”

  Lydia paused before she replied, her body trembling. “I’ve been told that that isn’t the worst of your secrets.”

  “By who?” Worthy asked angrily.

  “It doesn’t matter who. What matters if it is true or not.”

  “It isn’t.”

  “I haven’t told you what it is yet.”

  “Still, it shouldn’t matter.”

  “It does matter. Is it true?”

  “Tell me what they have told you and I can give you an answer.”

  Lydia breathed in deep before forcing the dreaded words out of her mouth. “Did you have a child out of wedlock?”

  Worthy’s face went pale and he sat quietly.

  “Is it true, Worthy?”

  “I don’t understand what you’re trying to do, Lydia,” he said as he stood and grabbed his hat. “What are you trying to prove?”

  “I deserve to know the truth.”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “Why do you think it matters? It’s true, isn’t it?” Lydia said as she rose, too, her defiant voice escalating.

  “Yes,” Worthy whispered, turning from her.

  “What did you say?”

  “Yes!” he shouted. “Yes it was conceived out of wedlock! Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Yes,” Lydia echoed quietly. “Well, no. I loved you Worthy.” She was crying now, her warm tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks.

  “That doesn’t have to change.”

  “But it did. You lied to me. You wanted to marry me, but you lied to me. How can I ever trust you again?”

  “I never lied to you. You never asked when the child was conceived.”

  “But you didn’t tell me that it was conceived out of wedlock. You sinned! And you didn’t think I would want to know? You deceived me!” Lydia spat the words from her mouth as if they were sour milk.

  “Lydia, I never meant to deceive you. I sinned. I made a mistake. I admit that freely. But I’ve repented of that. I made my life right. I love you.”

  “Then that will make it harder, won’t it?”

  “Make what harder?”

  “Saying goodbye.”

  “No, Lydia,” Worthy said, shaking his head slowly back and forth. “It doesn’t need to come to this. Do you really want to say goodbye?”

  Lydia nodded vigorously. “It will make it easier if you’d forget me and never return.”

  “Fine,” Worthy said, his eyes filling with tears. “It shall be.” And with that, he smashed his hat upon his head and stormed out the door.

  Lydia stood straighter after Worthy left, confident that she made the right decision. And yet, she watched wistfully from the window as he walked away down the street and out of her life.

  “I’m not sure what you’ve been told about Brother Clark, but perhaps you are treating him a bit unfairly,” Lucy said later that day as Lydia spoon fed her warm porridge.

  “I don’t think you understand,” Lydia said with a sigh. “I never want to see him again.”

  Chapter 19

  Lucy’s Secret

  Light streamed softly through lace curtains. Unable to sleep from the heat, Lucy was tired. Her body ached and she sweat profusely. She had opened the windows the night before to let in a cross breeze, but it did little to help. The air was stagnant and unbearable.

  Lucy managed to gather all her energy to sit up in bed and reached out for a handheld mirror on her nightstand. She clutched it delicately, and slowly, unsurely, raised it up to witness the woman she had become. At first, she was shocked, then disappointed. She hadn’t had the courage to look in the mirror for months. She imagined herself more wrinkled, of course, but not a skeleton of who she was.

  Lucy remembered when she still had the fresh look of youth. Her skin had been fair and unblemished. Now, her face carried the gaunt, weary look of a sick, troubled woman. She inspected her hair, now limp and greying. In her youth, she wore it in a bun with soft, tawny curls falling around her face. Not bearing to see any more, Lucy dropped the mirror into her lap. Life turned out so differently than she had imagined. Life had been unkind. Her youth had been stolen away from her.

  Just then, a short, familiar form appeared in the doorway.

  “Mama?” Annie called quietly.

  “Yes, child?” Lucy replied in a whisper. The raspiness of her voice startled her and she cleared her throat.

  “Mama, can I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  With slow, deliberate steps, Annie made her way to her mother’s bedside. “Mama, I’m scared.”

  Lucy could see that the girl had been crying. Annie’s face was flushed. “What do you have to be scared of?”

  Annie shook her head. “I don’t want to say. I don’t want it to come true.”

  “Now, how can I help you if I don’t know what you’re scared of?”

  Annie sighed, then hesitated, both examining and wringing the pleats in the skirt of her dress. She lifted her eyes to her mother. “Mama, are you going to die like Beth?”

  The words shocked Lucy. Was she going to die? She had had fevers and ague before, but she had always recovered. She refused to believe this time would be any different. Quickly, she replied, “No, oh, sweet child, of course not. Whatever would give you that idea? I’m just a little sick, that’s all. I’ll get better.”

  Annie gulped. “It seems like anyone who gets sick dies. Beth died. And so did my teacher. She had been real sick. And my friend Pauline, she died.” Annie’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want you to die, too.”

  Lucy pulled her daughter close. “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry.” She rocked her daughter back and forth, as if she was rocking Annie as an infant again. “I’m here, I’m here.”

  Lucy searched for more words to ease her daughter’s suffering, but could think of none that would suffice. Each year, men and women she knew were taken by disease. It was an inevitable part of life on earth, but still terrible nonetheless.

  “Annie, we are all destined to die one day. That’s Heavenly Father’s plan for us. I won’t live forever, and neither will you. When it is our time to go, Heavenly Father takes us home. But that isn’t the end. We’ll see each other again one day. We’ll always be a family. Forever. Death cannot take that away. Do you understand?”

  Annie nodded.

  Lucy continued. “Death isn’t something to be afraid of. It just means that our time on earth is done. That we’ve done everything here that Heavenly Father wanted us to do.”

  For that moment, Lucy savored having Annie’s little body in her arms. What if I am to die? Will this be the last time I hold my daughter here on earth? Lucy thought. She held tighter to her child. The thought of dying scared her. She wasn’t ready to meet her maker. She needed to live so Annie and Martha could have a mother. Faddy needed her, too. And Lydia. And there were things that needed to be settled first. Things that Lucy needed to confess. Ashamed of her pessimism, Lucy shut the thought away and said a silent prayer. I’m not ready to die, dear God. I’m not ready.

  ✽✽✽

  Martha was busy scrubbing clothes when Lydia knocked
on her door, Lydia’s pale face stricken with worry.

  “Come quickly,” she said. “It’s your mother. She’s not well. She wants to speak to you.”

  Martha put down her scrubbing and dried her hands on her apron.

  “Now? What will I do with my children?”

  “Leave them. I will stay with them,” Lydia replied, pushing her out the door.

  Martha wound her way in the summer heat to Lucy’s home. When she arrived, Faddy was leaning out of the doorway in anticipation. Martha was surprised by how old he looked; he was only fifty, but his countenance was that of someone much older with his tired, drooping eyes.

  “Martha,” he said in greeting, taking her by the elbow.

  “Faddy, it is good to see you.” Martha kissed him on his cheek. “Why are you home so early? Isn’t today your temple day?”

  “It's Mother.” Faddy pointed toward the inside of the house. “She’s in bed. Not doing too well.” He hesitated. “Go and see her. Mother wanted to speak to you.”

  Martha found her mother awake on top of a loosely tied mattress that sagged under her weight. Lucy looked frail and withered. Her yellowed eyes stared out into an abyss that only she could see.

  Shocked at her mother’s sickly appearance, Martha stood for a long time in the entrance to the room. Somehow she got the courage to take a step inside, then another, as she carefully watched her mother.

  Lucy’s eyelids fluttered, as if her vision was reclaimed. Her eyes slowly traced the lines of the ceiling until they came to rest upon her eldest daughter.

  “Martha,” she whispered.

  “Mother, what is it?”

  “Come closer.” Lucy reached out a quivering hand to Martha.

  Martha could feel her mother’s long, knobby fingers, twisted and rough from years of housework. It was a familiar, welcome feeling. Those hands had combed and braided her hair when she was little, dressed her, rubbed her back when she was sick, wiped the tears from her eyes when she cried.

  “There is something that weighs heavily on my soul,” Lucy said. Her words were drawn out, as if each syllable was heavy and hard to pronounce.