Goodbye, Nauvoo Read online

  Little Asenath, fed and content, began to coo. Lydia offered to take her.

  “Here, Martha, give the babe to me to rock. You must get more rest.” She stretched out her slender arms to her cousin and gently picked Asenath up, softly murmuring as she swayed over to the rocking chair near the fire. Lydia wore a smile that was tender but tinged at the corners with a sorrow Martha could not fully understand.

  ✽✽✽

  As Lydia rocked her cousin’s newborn child, she listened as water dripped down from the roof outside. The steady beat of the drops and the rocking nearly put her to sleep. She had been up through the night before with Martha, waiting on her every need. Each time the child’s stark, hungry cries broke through the dark, Lydia shot up, her eyes bloodshot and body weary. She helped relay the child from the cradle to Martha and then back again all night long. Then, since her work was not done, at each waking, she would take the opportunity to stoke the fire and place another log on the coals.

  By morning, Lydia was utterly exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home. Thankfully, Martha’s mother had promised to relieve her at sunrise. Margaret would be coming soon after. Then Lydia could return to her comfortable cabin, even if it was cramped and there was much to do when she returned. At any rate, she could not afford to be gone long. She hired a neighbor boy to temporarily take over her out-chores while Lydia helped Martha in her delivery and confinement. When she returned home there were animals to feed, soap and candles to make, food to cook. Although she lived alone, she kept herself busy as much as possible.

  Lydia also needed to write her little brother, John, a letter. He had been learning the craft of bricklaying in Warsaw, Illinois, and she needed to update him on the goings-on in Nauvoo. Lydia had procrastinated telling John about Danny, knowing he would not be sympathetic, and she needed to write to him about Martha’s child. A birth and a death. It would make an odd letter: a sad beginning with a happy ending, the bad contradicted by the good. Perhaps writing a letter, even if John would never read it, would help her understand the mess of emotions she was feeling.

  Lydia blinked hard to keep herself from falling asleep. Not every day did she have the opportunity to hold a newborn lass, tiny and pink from birth. She stared sadly down at the child, almost resentfully. This could have been her child.

  Once the babe was quiet and still, Lydia set the girl in a cedar cradle next to Martha’s bed and laid down on her bedroll on the floor. The bedroll was hard and cold, but at least Lydia could get some shut-eye.

  Lydia’s dreams were of herself, an old woman with grandchildren playing about her feet, her late husband Danny by her side. He wasn’t old, like Lydia. He wore a smile, one she had only seen in her dreams ever since he passed. She woke up and her harsh reality returned to her. She was alone.

  ✽✽✽

  After Lydia had been relieved by Lucy, she hiked down to the Nauvoo cemetery to pay her respects to Danny. It had been too long since she last visited him. The winter weather had iced over the roads and covered the graves in a thick blanket of snow, making it hard to journey by foot often. But now, the coming of spring had melted the snow and brought a refreshing warmth to the air.

  Lydia passed row after row of graves, looking for the headstones she used in the past as a landmark to find where her husband was buried. The warmer April weather made it easier to travel to the burying grounds but also made it hard to locate his grave. Everything looked different when it wasn’t under a layer of snow. Somehow, by a miracle, she found it.

  Simply, the grey headstone read: Daniel Leonard. June 1807- February 1845. Loving father and husband.

  Lydia dropped to her knees and laid her hand upon the stone. It was rough to the touch. Cold. Uncomforting.

  “Oh, how I’ve missed you.” Lydia sighed. She brushed off the unwelcome dirt and debris covering the stone and leaned her head against it again, as if it were Danny’s body she leaned against. She imagined his arms finding their way around her waist, as they had always done before, pulling her into a hug.

  Lydia took her time reveling in, what was to her, Danny’s presence. She stared up at the clouds, deciphering shapes in their white puffs as she and Danny had done years ago when they were courting in the summertime. She traced the shape of his name in the stone, and then the dates that somehow marked the beginning and end to his life.

  To Lydia, those numbers were a meaningless representation of a life that had been lived so full in the thirty-eight years he was on the earth. The dates didn’t hint of the trials he encountered, his accomplishments, or the joy he experienced. Lydia thought of all the things she would write on his headstone right then and there if only she could. If only it could make a difference.

  Lydia’s finger stopped at the word, February. February. The month Danny died. I will always hate that month. I will always loathe it with a passion. The month that took away my Danny, she thought bitterly.

  Lydia traced the last line on Danny’s headstone, the words she requested be written on it, even though it cost more to add than Lydia expected to pay. Loving father and husband. She wanted Danny to be remembered as a father, just as much as he was her husband. Even though his parenthood to that little malformed body only lasted a short spell, he was a father nonetheless. Now, he was parenting his child in the spirit world, keeping her company while they waited to be reunited with Lydia.

  Lydia looked intently at the headstone as if she were staring into Danny’s eyes. “It's been two months since you left us, but every day I think of you. And of little Rebecca. I had a dream I was a grandmother. And you were in it. You were young, handsome as always. And I was old. Wrinkled. And little grandchildren played at my feet. Isn’t that a strange dream? Because we both know that could never happen.”

  Tears fell from Lydia’s eyes in slow, steady waves. The pain too much for her, she stood up.

  “Tell Rebecca I love her. And don’t forget I love you, too. And I always will. I promise.”

  She stooped down and kissed Danny’s headstone, then tapped it lovingly before she slowly made her way back through the soft, sticky earth to her home.

  Chapter 4

  The Visitors

  Martha woke up anxious for the day to begin. She was finally allowed to see her family now she had rested some. It had been a few days since she last saw them all, but even longer since she had seen her husband, Samuel, who had been gone hauling freight when Martha first went into labor. She missed them all dearly and was excited to show them the new arrival.

  The children would love their new little sister, and Samuel, well, Martha didn’t know how Samuel would react. He longed to have another son to help with the burden of the out-chores. With a few more boys, he would have the help he needed to raise and slaughter hogs instead of hauling freight. It was backbreaking work to load and unload the goods he transported, although it paid well. But Samuel longed to be a hog farmer, and he couldn’t run a hog farm by himself.

  From downstairs, Martha could hear the creak of the front door opening and Samuel’s deep voice calling out, “Hello, Lucy!” mingled with the sounds of Martha’s excited children. Martha welcomed their noise. The house was so quiet and lonely without her children’s little voices filling the rooms.

  “She’s doing very well,” Martha heard Lucy say. "Come on up, she’ll be happy to have you home.”

  A thunder of tiny feet followed Lucy’s slow drawl up the stairs, with what sounded like Samuel’s heavy steps behind them.

  Martha’s door slowly opened.

  “Martha, you have some visitors,” Lucy whispered. Out from behind her burst Martha’s children: Johnnie, Malinda, and Sarah.

  “Mama!” little Johnnie cried as he clambered up into Martha’s bed.

  Malinda immediately spied the baby and rushed to see her, crying, “Oh, she’s adorable!”

  Poor Sarah refused to come nearer and stood close to Lucy, holding onto her skirts.

  “Hello, Martha,” Samuel said. He plopped a kiss on her foreh
ead and looked down at the baby, softly touching her cheek with the back of his calloused hands. “A girl, is it?”

  Martha nodded.

  “Outnumbered once again, but you’ll get used to it,” Lucy said to Samuel, pushing Sarah closer to get a look at her new sibling.

  “Her name is Asenath,” Martha said quietly as she held the sleeping child out to her husband.

  Samuel’s face softened. He took the babe and held her close to his mutton-chop whiskers. “She’s as light as a feather and as cute as a button,” he said. A hint of a smile spread across his face as he knelt and unwrapped the child carefully as if she were a fragile present. “Come look.” He nodded down at the bundle in his arms.

  The children crowded around their new sister. Martha watched from her bed as Samuel proudly presented the babe to them, demonstrating how small the baby’s features were.

  Malinda cooed over the little lass and how wonderful it would be to have a new playmate. Sarah silently agreed with a shy nod. John, whose second birthday was less than a month away, proceeded to test the child’s quality of craftsmanship with a prodding finger as if she were an early birthday present.

  Everyone took turns meeting and holding the child. Malinda and Sarah guessed as to Asenath’s talents in life. Malinda said Asenath would be a mother one day since she was a girl. Sarah surmised Asenath would be the tallest woman in the world.

  After a while, Lucy interrupted. “Let us give the poor mother some rest. She’ll never get better if we expend her health so.”

  The woman ushered her grandchildren from the room, like a protective mother hen guiding her chicks under her wings. “You, too, Samuel,” she said as she nodded matter-of-factly to her son-in-law.

  After Martha’s family left, the house resumed it's quiet. Martha didn’t mind being alone, but she would have enjoyed the extra company. It would be weeks until she would be allowed to leave her bed, and already her feet ached to touch the floor.

  How would she manage it, living separately from her family while confined to her room? Her soul was as free as a flower, growing wherever it pleased. There were days in her youth Martha would go on adventures alone in the Canadian forest. Martha loved to be outside, to explore the world. She stared out her window, at the hazy clouds lazily passing through the sky. How she wished to be out there.

  She placed Asenath back in her cradle and watched as the baby slept daintily in her little wooden nest. Samuel had built the cradle when Sarah was born to replace the one they left behind in Mountain. Martha had used it for Johnnie, and now Asenath. How many more babies would sleep in this cradle after this child? Or would they have to leave it behind when they eventually left Nauvoo?

  Martha touched its smooth wood. The cradle was a work of art, a testament to Samuel’s skill in woodworking. She didn’t want to have to leave it behind. She knew there would be sacrifices she would have to make when they left Nauvoo. But perhaps she wouldn’t have to sacrifice this one thing. Perhaps they’d have room for it in their wagon. Hopeful, Martha picked up the leather-bound scriptures from her nightstand and eased back into bed, reading to pass the time until she could leave her room once again.

  Chapter 5

  Hebrews 12:6

  Mother Parker peered over half-moon shaped spectacles as she sewed a dress for her youngest daughter, Annie’s, eleventh birthday. The fabric had been pricey, but the lavender-colored flowers would be cheery, just what Annie needed. Lucy had another surprise for her older daughter, Beth, whose thirteenth birthday was also around the corner: a pair of pink satin slippers.

  “What are you making Mother?” Beth asked, taking Lucy by surprise.

  Lucy glanced at Beth. “Oh, just a little birthday gift for your sister. Do you think she’ll like it?” She held up the sewing project, the fabric flowing down like a purple and cream waterfall.

  “It is beautiful, Mother! She will love it!” Beth cried as she grasped the fabric.

  “She picked out the pattern herself. I think the purple will suit her and her complexion.”

  Beth sat down across from her mother.

  “How is Martha? And the baby?” Beth asked, changing the subject.

  Lucy had forgotten Beth and Annie hadn’t met the baby yet. In fact, Lucy wouldn’t let the girls go outdoors unaccompanied. It was too dangerous with all the anti-Mormons around town. Lucy had heard about Martha’s run-in with one at the general store.

  Lucy neatly folded up the fabric and placed it in her lap. “Fine, just fine. That child is just as cute as you were when you were a baby. Maybe even cuter.” She winked at Beth. “Would you like to go with me tomorrow? I could use some help in the kitchen. I don’t trust your nieces and nephews to cook for themselves yet, not with little Johnnie wandering about. It's a full-time job just keeping him from putting things in the fire.”

  Beth wrinkled up her nose. “I would love to. But I have other plans.”

  Lucy set down her needle and fabric. “Plans? What plans?”

  Beth shrugged. “I was going to call on my friend Nancy,” she said, and then quieter she added, “and her brother Isaac will be there, too, I suppose.”

  Lucy raised her eyebrows and looked over her spectacles. “Ah, I see. So you mean to say you are going calling on your friend Nancy’s brother.” She picked up her needle and began to sew again, smiling to herself.

  Beth blushed. “Please, may I go? Please? We were going to go down to the Mississippi River to watch the steamboats.”

  Lucy looked at Beth sternly. “You know how I feel about you wandering off by yourself.”

  “I won’t be by myself, I’ll be with Nancy and Isaac.”

  “But will there be an adult with you? Who will protect you if someone wants to harm you?”

  “Isaac knows how to shoot a gun. He can bring his pepperbox.”

  “I wouldn’t trust Isaac to protect a twig let alone protect you. He’s but a twig of a boy himself.”

  “But Nancy’s parents said it’s okay. They let Nancy and Isaac go off by themselves.”

  “Nancy and Isaac’s parents can let them go wherever they please, but I am your mother and I say, ‘no.’”

  Beth rose up, her nostrils flared and her hands in fists. Under her breath, she whispered, “Fine, I’ll ask Faddy.”

  “Faddy won’t let you go either, so don’t bother asking.”

  “Ask me, what?”

  Faddy, Lucy’s husband whose real name was Joseph, huffed into the room, carrying his wide-brimmed hat in one hand and an ax in the other. A thick, full beard made up for the hair he lacked on his head. He set himself down at the kitchen table and poured something to drink.

  “Faddy, can I go out to the river with Nancy and Isaac Redding tomorrow?” Beth pleaded with a pout.

  Faddy turned to Lucy, then to Beth, then to Lucy again.

  “I don’t know, Beth,” Faddy began, scratching the bald spot on his head. “Your mother must not think it's such a good idea, otherwise she wouldn’t be staring at me like she is. I’m going to have to say no, I suppose.”

  “That’s not fair!”

  “Fair is fair. Sorry, Beth.”

  Beth stomped away upstairs to the room she shared with her sister.

  “Thank you,” Lucy said with an exasperated smile to Faddy.

  “You bet.”

  Faddy took a few more gulps of his drink, then stood up. “You know, I’m sure Beth would have been fine going out with the Redding kids. They’re a good family. I know Brother Redding well enough to know that.”

  Lucy’s smile melted into a frown. “What would you do if something happened to Beth?”

  “Well, honey, what if nothing happened to Beth, and she was just fine?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “I don’t have to. You’re overreacting. It will all be fine. You need to have a little faith.”

  “Faith? I do have faith. I have faith there are mobbers out there, waiting to prey on innocent little girls like Beth. She’s too young
to be out on her own, and that’s that.” Lucy defiantly poked her needle through a fabric flower, pricking herself in the process.

  “Whether there are mobbers out there or not, you can’t keep the girls cooped up in the house all day long. It's not healthy for them.”

  “I know, but I’ve given them the choice to come help me at Martha’s. If they want out, they can come with me.”

  “They want to explore. They don’t want to be cooped up in one house just to be cooped up in another. Look at Martha. She explored. She played outdoors. You didn’t have any qualms about that when we lived in Canada.”

  “That’s because there were no mobbers in Canada,” Lucy replied. “Do you think I want Beth and Annie stuck inside all day for no reason? If we were back home, it would be different, but...” Her words tapered off as the emotion welled up inside of her, threatening to erupt. She dropped the unfinished dress in her lap, her thin hands trembling as tears began to spill from her eyes.

  “This is our home now,” Faddy replied softly, stooping down and taking his wife by the hand. “We must do what we can to make it livable, including not living in fear. We must do that for the girls.”

  Lucy nodded. “I’m sorry, Joseph. Why must it be this way?”

  In his low, rumbling voice, Faddy began to recite, “Hebrews 12:6: For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.” Then, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it tenderly.

  “You know what else the good book says?” he asked gingerly. Without waiting for an answer, he stared her into her eyes, “‘She is more precious than rubies: and all the things thou canst desire are not to be compared unto her. Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. She is a tree of life to them that lay hold upon her: and happy is every one that retaineth her.’ It says it all right there in Proverbs Chapter 3.”

  Lucy laughed through her tears. “Now I know where Martha gets her love of quoting scripture.” She watched with admiration as Faddy rose and took his ax back outside to cut more wood. He was a good man with a good heart. Lucy didn’t understand why Faddy had ever wanted to marry her, but she was always grateful that he had seen something in her worth marrying.