The Work and the Glory Page 24

  Joshua stumbled to his feet, still gasping from the pain in his chest. He moved to Will’s side. “Are you all right?” He started to pull him up.

  There was a sharp cry and Will grabbed at his right arm. “He broke my arm. He broke my arm.”

  Joshua dropped to one knee and took the arm carefully, feeling up and down, ignoring the cries of pain. Finally he sat back. “It’s not broken.”

  “He likely near killed me,” Will bawled. “Where’s my rifle? I’ll put a bullet in his ugly head.”

  Joshua sat back and dropped his head, massaging his chest. “He’s gone, Will. The others are gonna have to get him now.”

  Ten minutes later Joshua and Will nearly stumbled over Mark and David. It was raining hard now, and they could see no more than five or six feet in front of them. The two were sitting on the side of Armington Road, just east of where it connected to Stafford Road. Mark was holding his head and moaning softly. David held his wrist, whimpering like a scared puppy.

  Joshua slowed to a walk, then stopped, his chest heaving. “You too?” he said in disgust.

  Mark leaped up. “Will, Joshua, we saw Joe. He had two men with him. They jumped David before I could get in to help. Then one of them hit me from behind with a club.”

  Joshua gave a short, mirthless laugh, knowing at that moment they had lost. Too wet and cold and in pain to care anymore, he sat down heavily beside David.

  “I think one of them had a gun,” David started. “They—”

  But Joshua’s look cut him off. “Joseph Smith is as strong as an ox,” he snapped angrily, “but he’s alone.”

  “They poleaxed me,” Mark cried. “I didn’t have a chance.”

  Will snorted in disgust. “Joshua’s right. There weren’t anyone but Joe Smith. I thought at least the two of you could handle him.”

  “Yeah,” Joshua said wearily. “Just like we did.” He turned and looked down the road. They were less than half a mile from the Smith farm now. “Well, he’ll be home by now.” Suddenly he thought of Lydia. As she had ridden away, Will called her a silly fool. He could still clearly picture the anger, the hurt, and the bitterness in her eyes. He let out his breath slowly, feeling a sudden desolation. Who’s the real fool here?

  Chapter Fourteen

  The storm that had been threatening upstate New York throughout the day had finally arrived. The earlier sprinkles had given way to drizzle, and the drizzle now to pouring sheets of rain. As the three riders turned into the yard of the Joseph Smith home, the hooves of their animals sunk into the muddy soil, then pulled out with a soft sucking sound. The animals—two mules and a horse—had lowered their heads and laid their ears back flat against the wetness.

  The riders were no less miserable than their beasts of burden. As they came to the hitching rail, they swung down one by one. Nathan watched Lydia as she climbed down and tied her horse to the railing. He had taken one of his hats and insisted Lydia wear it, but once the rains came, hats were little protection. He could see the water now, dripping off the back of the hat’s brim and down her neck. Her coat and the dress beneath were long since soaked through, but she seemed not to notice. She was too weary to notice much of anything.

  Nathan glanced at his father. Tight-lipped and grim as a foot soldier on the battle line, he had barely spoken a word since Lydia had appeared at their doorstep. Nathan turned to Lydia and gave her a quick smile of encouragement. She smiled back, but it was a tired smile, almost bleak.

  “All right,” his father muttered, “let’s get this over with.”

  They strode up to the door and Nathan knocked firmly. Quick footsteps were heard and the door opened almost immediately. It was Joseph’s mother. For a moment she looked startled and confused, almost frightened, then recognition dawned. “Oh, Nathan.”

  “Hello, Mrs. Smith. Is Joseph here?”

  Again there was a brief flicker of alarm. “Uh…no, no he isn’t.”

  “Who is it, Mother Smith?” It was Emma. Her eyes widened instantly at the sight of him. “Nathan, what are you doing here?”

  “Emma, this is my father, Benjamin Steed. I think you know Lydia McBride, from the dry goods store.”

  “Yes.” She stepped back. “Please come in. You’re soaked to the skin.”

  Nathan nodded absently and they all entered. The moment Emma shut the door he went on. “We have something urgent to tell Joseph. Do you know where we can find him?”

  In the parlor, just off the entrance, there were more people. Joseph had three younger brothers, an older sister about the same age as Emma, and two younger sisters. They were all there, watching the new arrivals with wide eyes and just a trace of fear. The tension in the air was unmistakable. It was a little surprising to see the whole family gathered. It was now almost nine-thirty, and past the normal hour of bedtime for a farm family.

  Emma touched his arm. “What is it, Nathan? Why do you need Joseph?”

  He took a deep breath. Sensing his reluctance to speak in front of the younger children, she and Joseph’s mother moved them to the other side of the house into the study.

  Immediately Nathan plunged in, telling them of the experience Lydia had had earlier. When he finished, he sighed deeply. “One of those men out there now looking for Joseph is my brother Joshua.” Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father look away, shamed to hear it spoken.

  Benjamin cleared his throat nervously. “Mrs. Smith.” Remembering his hat was still on, he swept it off, twisting the brim of it around and around in his hands. “I’m deeply sorry my son has a part in this. You may rest assured before the night is finished, it will be taken care of.”

  “I understand, Mr. Steed. Thank you for caring enough to do something about it.”

  Nathan straightened. “Do you have any idea where Joseph is? We can still warn him.”

  Again there was the quick exchange of glances between the mother and wife. Then Emma shook her head, her eyes troubled. “Father Smith was over to Willard Chase’s house earlier today. He overheard them talking with this fortune-teller Miss Lydia has told you about. They were definitely after the plates. When Father Smith returned and told us that, I got worried enough I rode to fetch Joseph home from a job he was doing.”

  There was a pause, as though she were deciding whether to say more. She glanced quickly at Lydia, then Benjamin. Finally, she added softly, “He was worried about the plates. He’s gone to find a better place to hide them.”

  “So he did get them?” Nathan asked excitedly.

  “Yes, night before last. I went with him. We hid them in the woods.”

  Lydia started. Sarah—or was it Hope?—had used those exact words. The conjurer had told them the plates were hidden in the woods somewhere. She was staring at Emma, the implications of what she had said hitting her. Lydia had determined she would say nothing while at the Smiths, but now she almost blurted out her question. “Did you get to see them?”

  Emma appraised her slowly, and Lydia blushed at her forwardness. But Emma smiled, and there was no resentment in her eyes. “No. I could see Joseph had something heavy in the sack, but no, he didn’t show them to me.”

  Nathan was aware of his father’s deepening frown. This was not his purpose in coming. “Do you know which way Joseph went?” he cut in bluntly. “Maybe we can find him and make sure everything is all right.”

  A sudden sound from the back of the house pulled them all around. A door had slammed. There were heavy footsteps, and Joseph burst into the room, breathing heavily, hair plastered to his face, his wet shirt torn and disheveled. He held the shoulder of one arm, as though it hurt him badly.

  “Joseph!” Emma cried, moving quickly to his side. “Are you all right?”

  He nodded wearily, taking in air in huge gulps. He turned to Nathan and his father, his eyebrows lifting. But before Nathan could speak, he turned to Mother Smith. “Mother, can you fetch me some water?”

  Mother Smith hurried into the kitchen and returned in a moment with a dipper filled with
water. Joseph took it, wincing in pain, then drank it hungrily. “Where’s Father?”

  “He’s out in the barn with Mr. Stowell and Mr. Knight.”

  He turned toward the next room where the rest of the family was watching them. “Don Carlos, go find Father. Tell him I was attacked by some men. Up on Armington Road. Then run up to Hyrum’s and fetch that wooden chest of his.”

  “What!” Mother Smith, Emma, and Nathan had all blurted it at once. The sisters jumped up, hands flying to their mouths. Don Carlos, about eleven and the youngest of the Smith brothers, gulped, then nodded and dashed out. Lydia looked away, sickened and yet grateful she had not stayed to become part of the attack on Joseph.

  “Attacked?” Emma whispered, her face white.

  “Yes. Three different times.”

  The shock rippled through the room. He moved to the rocking chair and sat down heavily. Again there was a quick grimace of pain, and he rubbed at his shoulder. He also seemed to be favoring one hand carefully.

  Emma dropped to her knees in front of Joseph. “Did they get the record, Joseph?”

  He shook his head. She rocked back, closing her eyes in instant relief. “They tried, but I’ve hidden it again just outside.”

  “Praise God,” his mother breathed.

  Joseph looked up at Nathan and his father. It finally seemed to register he had company. “Nathan, what are you doing here?”

  Nathan explained quickly. Twice as Nathan spoke, Joseph nodded, as though it explained some things. “I’m afraid Joshua may have been one of those who attacked you.”

  Joseph noted the pain in Nathan’s eyes and the shame on his father’s face, but he was too honest to hold back the truth. “Yes. Him and Will Murdock.”

  Benjamin stepped forward, his face twisting. “You’re sure?”

  Joseph stood and laid a hand on his shoulder. “No, not positive. It was very dark. But…” He shrugged and it said enough. “I’m sorry, Mr. Steed. I don’t hold you accountable in any way.”

  At that moment, Samuel, another of Joseph’s brothers, stuck his head in the room. “Joseph, Pa and Mr. Knight and Mr. Stowell are going after them.”

  “It’s probably too late. They’ll be gone by now.”

  “Well, they’re going.”

  “Come on, Nathan,” Benjamin said grimly. “We’ll join them.”

  Nathan turned to Emma. “Can Lydia stay here?”

  There was a quick nod. Lydia started to protest, but Nathan grasped her arm. “We’ll be back. It’s better you stay.”

  She had already ridden close to five miles this night. She was wet and cold and weary as she had not been for a long time. She finally nodded, not wanting to stay with the Smiths, but not up to much more on this exhausting night.

  Emma put an arm around her as the men went out of the door. “Come, Lydia. You are so wet. Let’s get your coat off and sit you by the fire.”

  Though no more than fifteen minutes had passed, Lydia was feeling the strain of being the only outsider in the house. Once Nathan and his father had left, the children disappeared upstairs or to the back of the house. Emma had taken Lydia’s coat and spread it out on a chair before the fire, then pulled a chair up for her as well. For a time she and Mother Smith and Sophronia, Joseph’s oldest sister, stayed with Lydia, making small talk, but no one was in much of a mood for social amenities. After some desultory conversation, the women went into the kitchen to prepare something for when the men returned.

  Lydia knew she should have volunteered to help, but she was too spent to make more small talk, and the chance to be alone was a welcome one. She had pulled her chair closer to the fire, letting its warmth steal slowly but deliciously through the wetness of her clothing. She found herself longing for the men to return so she could go to her aunt’s house and put this night behind her once and for all.

  She turned and looked at the man lying on the couch. Joseph had come in shortly after the women had exited, smiled pleasantly, and talked with her for a moment. But his eyes quickly grew heavy and he leaned back and was almost instantly asleep. Now she took the opportunity to study him more closely. From the time she had been ten or eleven, it seemed that Joseph had been the center of controversy around Palmyra. People could barely speak his name without open contempt. When he came into town, they pointed and laughed or whispered. Yet now, stretched out before her, eyes closed, chest gently rising and falling, he seemed an unlikely candidate for such attention. He was tall—at least six feet, she guessed—and his features were pleasant enough. His hair was still dark in its wetness, but he had combed it straight back and she could see it was full but neatly trimmed. His mouth was relaxed now, and this made him seem even younger than he was.

  As one of the lay leaders in the Presbyterian church, Lydia’s father was one of Joseph’s most vociferous critics, and had often openly challenged—or better, ridiculed—Joseph when he came into the store. It was therefore natural that Lydia should have many of the same feelings towards him. And the tales of supernatural experiences, angelic phenomena, secret records buried in the ground—it all left her with a deep sense of uneasiness whenever she saw him. Tonight the uneasiness had only deepened. Lydia, along with most of Palmyra Township, had always thought of Joseph as an outright charlatan, inventing the fraudulent tales as fast as he could make them up to foster his own deluded ego. But if that were true, if there were no plates, no gold Bible, then tonight had been a most elaborate sham. Joseph’s bursting into the room exhausted and disheveled, the demand that his pursuers be sought, the call for a chest. If there were no plates, then this could only be some kind of contrived little drama, played out to impress her and the Steeds. When the Smiths didn’t even know they were coming!

  She shook her head, troubled. No. There had to be another explanation. Emma, Joseph’s mother, the brothers—there was no question but what the Smith family believed totally in their husband, son, and brother. And Joseph was clearly convinced of his mission too. That could no longer be comfortably denied. So what had happened to him? If he didn’t have gold plates, what was he hiding in the woods? What was he going to put in Hyrum’s chest? Was this what insanity was like? To be so convinced of something that it became totally real to you?

  Suddenly she saw Joseph’s eyes were opened, scrutinizing her as she studied him. She blushed and turned away quickly.

  He sat up. “I didn’t even take time to thank you for what you did tonight.”

  She turned back. His eyes were searching hers now. They were clear and blue and disarmingly pleasant. He smiled gently. “You could have just gone on home.”

  “My father thinks I’m staying with my Aunt Bea. If I went home, I would be in serious trouble.” She laughed then, surprised she should answer him with that kind of honesty.

  His eyes were twinkling now. “And how will your father feel when he finds out you helped”—his voice became low and filled with mock gravity—”ol’ Joe Smith?”

  Again Lydia blushed. What was there to say to that? But there was no animosity in his eyes, and in a moment he laughed again, brushing it aside. He shifted his weight, grimacing with pain. He lifted his right hand, laid it against his chest, and began to rub it absently. “Well, anyway, thank you.”

  “I should have come straight here,” Lydia responded. “But I didn’t know what to do. I thought—” She hurried on, worried he might begin to wonder why she was over at the Willard Chase farm with them in the first place. “I couldn’t go to my father, of course. And…well, Nathan is Joshua’s brother.”

  “You did right. You ought not to be riding out on these roads alone at night.”

  She let out her breath slowly. “I just wish we had gotten here sooner.”

  He grinned. “Me too.”

  He was so open, so relaxed. At that moment Lydia decided to ask him straight out. Did he really have some kind of gold Bible? Had he really seen an angel? But even as she phrased the questions in her mind, something inside her was repulsed. What if he said yes? Would she b
elieve him? It was all so utterly fantastic. She gave a quick, almost imperceptible, shake of her head, irritated she had even considered it as possible for a moment.

  Again he was watching her closely, his eyes amused, as though sensing her thoughts, but before he could speak there was the sound of footsteps on the porch. The door burst open and Hyrum came in, a wooden chest on his shoulders. Don Carlos followed, shutting the door behind them.

  “Ah, there you are!” Joseph cried, leaping up.

  “Here it is,” Hyrum said, swinging the chest down into Joseph’s arms. Again there was a soft grunt of pain as Joseph took it, and the image of someone leaping out to strike him in the dark flashed across Lydia’s mind.

  Hyrum turned to Lydia. “Evenin’, Miss McBride.”

  The boy had evidently told Hyrum what was happening, for Hyrum seemed not in the least surprised to see her there. Then without waiting for her to respond, he swung back to Joseph, pulling a key out of his pocket. “Here’s the key.”

  “Wonderful!” Joseph exclaimed. “This will do until I get the chest I ordered from the cabinetmaker in town.” He swung it under one arm. “I’ll be right back.”

  As he exited the room, Lydia looked at Hyrum in open surprise. Guessing her thoughts, he shook his head. “No one sees the plates, except Joseph. Not me. Not Mother or Father. Not even Emma.”

  She remembered what Emma had said earlier about seeing only the sack. How convenient, she thought. But she just nodded, hiding the doubt she was feeling. Then to her relief, there was the sound of voices in the yard, and she realized the men had returned.