Goodbye, Nauvoo Read online

  Malinda nodded. “Will we ever see you again Cousin Lydia?”

  Lydia stooped down to kiss Malinda’s forehead. “Sweet child,” she replied, “whether that be in this life or the next.”

  Lydia gave her a tender smile, then started to rewind the burlap around her feet before re-adjusting her shawls and opening the door. Turning back one last time, Lydia looked to Martha and said, “God be with you and your family till we meet again.”

  ✽✽✽

  Lydia trudged quickly back home through the snow, her heart pounding in her chest. She risked a lot to say goodbye to Martha, but the risk was worth it. Martha was like a sibling to Lydia.

  The air was filled with the sounds of clip-clopping hooves and the deep creak of wooden wagon wheels. Lydia passed Saints who were loading up their wagon in the falling snow, readying for the journey west. At one little log cabin, there was an argument brewing - a husband and wife fighting over what and what not to take with them.

  It will be easier for Worthy and I, Lydia thought. We have few possessions. A couple odds and ends and that’s all, but most of our belongings could be left behind if needed.

  When she returned home, she found Worthy outside of the house loading the wagon. She strode past him into their home, hoping to avoid confrontation. Lydia plopped on the bed with the quilt on her lap, staring at the beautiful designs her cousin had so carefully woven together.

  Worthy trudged inside, stomping the snow off his feet at the door. “Where have you been?” he asked Lydia calmly.

  “I went to say goodbye to Martha,” Lydia replied curtly, refusing to look at him.

  “Next time tell me before you head off anywhere. It's not safe out there. You know I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.”

  Ignoring him, Lydia felt the smooth fabric of Martha’s quilt, tracing the designs with her fingers. Her mother was a quilter like Martha. Barbara had produced such magnificent works of art from just a needle and fabric. Lydia never mastered the art of quilt design, although she could piece random scraps of shirts and dresses together proficiently.

  Lydia’s thoughts wandered. She wondered what her mother would think if she knew that Lydia was now a vagabond. No, she knew what Barbara would think. There was no part of Lydia’s life that would have been redeemable to her mother, and the scornful woman would have wagged a finger at her daughter for the deplorable conditions she faced.

  The night before Lydia left with Martha and her family for Nauvoo, Barbara had pleaded with her to stay. Barbara was holding little Peter, Lydia’s littlest brother, who had just turned a year old. “He will never know his sister if you leave,” Barbara had wailed.

  Her mother’s words had pained Lydia, and yet Lydia’s only recourse was to inflict the same amount of pain on her mother. “No, he will never know his sister and brother. John’s coming with me.”

  “You wouldn't dare. What would your father say? Why would you bring so much shame upon me and upon our family?”

  “It's your own fault Mother, you’ve pushed me to do this.”

  Lydia and her mother fought long into the night as Lydia packed a trunk for her and her brother. And although she knew that that would be the last time she would see her mother and Peter again, she knew it was what had to be done.

  Barbara had mapped out Lydia’s life in every detail. If Barbara had had her way, Lydia would have married Wilbur and settled forever in Mountain. Of course, Wilbur would have made a fine husband, if only considering his finances and reputation as Barbara had, but he was more than twice Lydia’s age and absolutely repulsive to her. Perhaps Lydia’s life would have been stable and safe, but it would have been uneventful and unhappy.

  In comparison, Lydia thought of the wagon that would be her new home. The conditions would not be good out on the icy trail, nor could Lydia say she was happy to be confined to a wagon in the dead of winter, but she was free. Free of her mother and of the life that she had chosen for her. Free of the repulsive Wilbur and monotony. Although Barbara would not have approved of Danny’s poverty or Worthy’s ruggedness, Lydia was grateful to have had a choice in whom she married.

  As if he had read her mind, Worthy appeared by her side.

  “I’ve brought you the rest of the cider,” Worthy said shyly, handing a cup out to Lydia. “Thought it might help warm your bones before we set off.”

  Lydia deliberated whether or not to accept it. Worthy had no right to toss her sentimental belongings into the snow. And yet, Lydia’s visit to Martha had softened her anger toward him. Perhaps it was the stress of the move that made Worthy act selfishly. Or perhaps Lydia was being too sensitive. Either way, her shivering body reminded her that she must forgive him and move on.

  Slowly she reached for the cider and stared warily at her husband as he crouched down next to her.

  “I acted like a fool. I’m sorry. I wish I could take back what I did,” he said as he hung his head. “I thought about it while you were gone. There’s something I haven’t been honest about.”

  Lydia watched him silently as Worthy pulled from his overcoat a well-worn daguerreotype of a woman. “This was my first wife,” Worthy said proudly as he held it out for Lydia, his hand shaking. His eyes glittered with tears. “I’ve never spoken of her or shown anyone but you what she looked like since her passing. Her name was Charlotte. Every night I look at her picture. I miss her so much.”

  Lydia took the picture and examined the woman’s likeness. “Worthy, she was beautiful,” she said quietly yet sincerely.

  “Do you mean it?” He gazed at her in surprise.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You’re not angry that I’ve been a hypocrite? I wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to toss this out into the snow. It would be a just punishment for me.”

  “No, aren’t we all hypocrites? Jesus was the only one free of that sin.” She looked down at Worthy, her heart surging in love for him. His confession took a tremendous deal of humility and courage, and this took a great weight off of Lydia. She knew now that he understood her, that there was a special place for the past in the present.

  “I promise I will never mistreat you for speaking of Daniel ever again,” Worthy whispered.

  “And I promise I will never forsake you for keeping that picture of Charlotte,” Lydia replied, sealing her vow with a kiss on Worthy’s lips.

  “So I can keep it?”

  Lydia took Worthy’s weathered hands and carefully laid the daguerreotype in them. “Of course you can.”

  Worthy glanced down at Lydia’s quilt. “What is this?”

  “Martha gave this to me.” Lydia held up the quilt for him to see.

  Worthy nodded as if he were pleased with Lydia’s contribution. “Let’s load it up into the wagon and get going.”

  It wasn’t long before the wagon was fully packed and Lydia and Worthy were ready to go. Lydia closed the door to her home for the last time. It felt odd to leave a home that was still new to her. Then she climbed up next to Worthy in the wagon.

  “Oh! I forgot to put out the fire,” Lydia said, grabbing Worthy’s arm.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Worthy replied as he turned to watch the curling smoke that spewed from their old chimney. “There’s no reason to put it out now.”

  Worthy clicked his tongue and the oxen pushed forward with their massive bodies. Slowly, the wagon began to creak forward into the snow. At times the wheels would become stuck on ice and cease turning, causing the great beasts to pull harder until the wagon lurched forward over the frozen obstacle.

  Lydia wrapped her arm around Worthy’s and rested her weary head on his shoulder as the wagon rocked to and fro. Snow fell incessantly, covering the land like a thick blanket. Lydia stared out at the white abyss, wondering what the future would hold for her. Would they ever make it to Council Bluffs? Would she find John and reunite with Martha’s family? What would happen to the church after Nauvoo was evacuated? There were so many unanswered questions. There was nothing she could do
now but to put her future into Heavenly Father’s hands and trust in His will.

  Chapter 29

  February 24, 1846

  It had been several weeks since Martha had last seen her cousin Lydia. Martha tidied her house while Samuel went to town to sell what he could of their property. Martha wanted to leave her home clean and spotless, although they were going to abandon it anyway. She didn’t want the new owners to think that Saints didn’t care for their homes. While Martha cleaned, she watched the children as they ran and played one last time in the home they should have grown up in. Did they understand that once they left Nauvoo, they would never come back again?

  When Samuel returned, Martha was distraught to discover that he had little luck selling what they owned. What they couldn’t fit into their wagon would have to be left behind.

  The thought of scavengers entering her home and rummaging through her belongings disturbed her, but there was no other choice. Martha imagined her good china plates being tossed about and her furniture dismantled and destroyed. Some of her prized possessions, such as the sturdy oak table with the fine woven etchings, were heirlooms from her family back in Mountain. Martha wished she could bring all of her belongings with her. But with four young children who were not old enough to walk even a stretch of the journey, fitting all of the children into the wagon was the first priority, and everything else was secondary.

  The wagon was good sized, but it did not have a cover. In the bed of the wagon, Samuel skillfully arranged their big, black trunk and several large sacks of cornmeal and sea biscuits that President Young had instructed them to prepare. Inside the trunk were their clothes and bedding as well as a set of tin dishes - Martha was scolded by Samuel to not pack too much, reminding her that the wagon needed to be as light as possible. To the back of the wagon, Samuel tied Old Meggie. There was also a plank seat just large enough for two adults on the front of the wagon, and attached to that was a good span of horses.

  Once Samuel finished outfitting the wagon, Martha helped load the children.

  “Up you go,” she said as she lifted Sarah, then Malinda and Johnnie into the wagon bed.

  “I go home!” Johnnie cried, kicking and screaming in protest.

  Martha sighed. “We don’t have a home anymore, John.” She gave him a sea biscuit to gnaw on, then, when he was content, found herself staring at the place she used to call home.

  Samuel stomped the snow off his feet then climbed up into the wagon. “Are you ready to go?” he asked Martha.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  Martha returned inside her home, slinking one last time to the bedroom where Asenath lay napping in her wooden cradle. Martha reverently touched the cradle’s frame; it had served her well. She hoped it would be loved again by a new family one day.

  Martha carefully scooped up her daughter, bundled her as best she could without waking her up, then trekked back through the snow to the wagon. Tears fell from her face as she turned one last time and said goodbye to her dear home. She climbed up into her seat next to Samuel with Asenath in her lap, and with a loud crack of Samuel’s reins, they were off.

  “Mama, when will we come back home?” Sarah asked as the wagon lurched forward.

  “Honey, we won’t be coming back ever.”

  The little girl began to wail. Malinda put her arm around her. “Don’t worry, Sarah. We’ll be happy in our new home. Right, Mama?”

  “That’s right. But did you know we can be happy right now, even though we don’t have a new home yet?”

  “No, how’s that?” Malinda asked.

  “Because we are together. A family.” Martha stared into the wagon bed where her three older children were perched on top of furniture and supplies. Her family was the most prized possession she had, and they were all right here in the wagon, at least her immediate family was.

  Along the way to the Mississippi River, Martha and Samuel stopped by Faddy’s and Silas’ home.

  “Come with us Faddy, there’s no reason for you to stay here any longer,” Martha urged.

  Faddy shook his head. “I’m not leaving Nauvoo,” he said stubbornly. “Annie deserves to stay. This is her home. Besides, I don’t believe those anti-Mormons. What reason would they have to burn down our city?”

  Martha knew the real reason for him staying behind. He was poor, and didn’t have the money and resources to leave. Faddy had just enough to sustain him and Annie, and that was all. He wouldn’t accept any help from Martha, either, and she knew there was no use arguing with him. Martha asked him to let Annie come with her, but Annie was just as stubborn as her father. She promised to stay behind with Faddy to take care of him.

  “Should you ever leave Nauvoo, you know where to find us,” Martha said as she kissed Faddy upon the cheek and gave Annie one last hug.

  Silas and Margaret Wilcox also refused to leave Nauvoo, although they felt differently about the anti-Mormons than Faddy did. Margaret had come down with typhoid fever and was too weak to leave. Silas wanted her to recover before they made any kind of trip. “We’ll meet you in Iowa,” he promised Samuel. So begrudgingly, Martha and Samuel had no choice but to leave family behind once again, setting out for Iowa without them.

  They joined a company of Saints and rode single file toward the river. They watched as the wagon in front of them broke through fresh snow, its wheels bumping over disguised rocks and ruts in the road.

  The wagon passed freshly abandoned homes as it made its way to the river. A swing rocked back and forth on a tree as if awaiting the previous owners. The streets were lined with piles of furniture, dishes, books, and toys, left behind by Saints wishing to lighten their wagons’ loads. The door to an empty home was left wide open, and inside a fire still burned in a hearth. Martha imagined what her home would look like in one year, maybe ten years from now. Would it remain deserted and become shabby and forgotten? Or would a new owner move in and keep things how they were? Martha hoped the latter. Although her life had to change, she wanted things to stay the same. At least in her memory.

  “Mama, look, it's the temple!” Sarah exclaimed as they passed the sacred building. Her braided hair bobbed up and down with the movement of the wagon as it passed over rocks and ruts in the road.

  “Yes, darling, it is the temple. Say goodbye, children. We won’t see it again where we’re going,” Martha said gently, waving feebly to the lofty building.

  “Bye temple!” John cried happily, mimicking his mother.

  Sadness filled Martha’s heart. They didn’t have the chance to be sealed together as an eternal family in Nauvoo. They would have to wait until a new temple was built to receive that ordinance. How many years would that take? Martha didn’t know.

  “Papa, where are we going?” Malinda asked.

  Sam peered out to where the Mississippi river snaked north and south through the green countryside. “We’re crossing that river there and on the other side of it is Iowa. You can see it if you squint your eyes.” He held the leather reins to the team in one hand and held the other over his eyes and squinted, demonstrating to the young girls.

  “What in tarnation is that?” Samuel exclaimed.

  Martha followed Samuel’s eyes gaze to the opposite side of the river where a great length of the bank appeared to be covered in a giant, tan and white patchwork quilt. The Mississippi was such a wide river, almost a mile across from the border of Iowa to Illinois, that it was hard to make out exactly what was on the other side.

  Martha and her family continued on, rumbling down the road until they reached the ferry landing where there was a long line to cross the river.

  “The river’s frozen over!” Martha cried. “It’s a miracle!”

  “Yes, it’ll be much quicker to walk than to ferry across the river,” Samuel agreed.

  Ahead of them, wagon teams trekked cautiously over the Mississippi. When it was their turn to cross, Samuel drove their wagon onto the ice, waving leather reins to get the team to push forward. The horses stamped in protest of
the slick surface and would go no further. Relentlessly, Samuel hopped down from the wagon and guided the team across the Mississippi, his boots slipping and sliding.

  The wagon rumbled over the crackling ice. Martha hummed a lullaby as she held the squirming Asenath close, afraid the ice would break under their weight. Malinda, Sarah, and Johnnie looked over the wagon’s side, captivated by the beauty of the blues and greens of the frozen water beneath them.

  As they neared the opposite bank of the Mississippi, the patches of color grew closer and closer, until it became apparent that the patches were actually hundreds of tents.

  Martha eyed the tents curiously as they drove off the frozen river and stopped near a group of wagons so Samuel could climb back into his seat. “This is an odd place to set up camp,” she said. “What are all these people doing here on the river?”

  “They are the poor, the sick, the weary,” a man answered as he adjusted the load on his wagon next to them. “They made it as far as they could go, safe from Nauvoo, and are camping out on the river bank until they can recover or work for money or food and continue on their way.”

  “Work?” Martha asked, looking around at the tents. “Where will they work?” There didn’t appear to be much besides wilderness and the poor camp on this side of the Mississippi.

  “Some people have been crossing the river back into Nauvoo for work,” the stranger replied. “They feel safer in their tents in Iowa than in their homes in Illinois. Sad, isn’t?” The man shook his head in pity.

  Martha bounced Asenath on her lap and looked out at the tents, grateful that she was not one of the Saints camping along the river. Martha knew that her family did not have much money or food, but they had enough to get them further away from the mobbers than these destitute Saints.

  Amongst the bedraggled Saints in the camp, Martha spied the back of a woman’s blonde head, and for a second she thought the woman looked just like Lydia. Could that be her? The woman turned, but her face was more square than Lydia’s, and she carried a young child in her arms.