The Work and the Glory Page 49

  “Joseph Knight, Senior,” Oliver began again, “having been commissioned...”

  The men stood silently as they watched Father Knight come out of the water. That seemed to break the spell. “Hey, old man Knight,” someone catcalled from the rear of the group, “whatcha doin’? Washin’ sheep?”

  There were guffaws and chortles. Mother Knight didn’t wait for her husband to completely exit the water. She waded in toward Oliver.

  “Look,” someone else cried, jabbing a twisted finger. “Mother Knight is gonna go get all her sins washed away. Now, ain’t that nice?”

  Mother Knight could not have helped but hear the gibe, but she paid no mind. She walked deeper into the water, her head high, as though she were a queen entering her bath in the total privacy of her chambers.

  “Hey, old woman,” a voice cried, “why don’t you let holy Joe Smith do it for you? Or maybe he can get an angel to come down and do it.”

  And so it went as they proceeded, the jeers and taunts mounting with each new person completing the ordinance. Gradually the mood began to turn more hostile, and Nathan felt his pulse starting to race and his mouth going dry. It wouldn’t take much to set this group off.

  When Joseph Knight, Jr., stepped forward to follow the example of his parents, two men blocked his way. He was the youngest one there, and this seemed to embolden them. The younger Knight was obviously frightened a little, but he moved forward, starting around them.

  The bigger of the two grabbed his shirt. “You want a whippin’?” he muttered. “Just go ahead and step into that water.”

  The other man turned on Oliver. “You touch this man, and we’ll tar and feather you and run you out of town on a fence rail.”

  Nathan gripped the shovel handle more tightly, and shifted his weight onto the balls of his feet. This could get bad in one quick hurry. But at that point William Stringham intervened. Still dripping wet from his own baptism, the Knights’ son-in-law moved forward to face the two men. His bulk towered over them, making them look like two small boys. Not a word was spoken, but the men looked up into that face, set as hard as stone, and finally, dropping their eyes, stepped back. Joseph, Jr., walked into the water, and in a moment had joined the rest of his family.

  As the last newly baptized member came out of the water, Joseph leaned over to David Whitmer and Oliver Cowdery and whispered something. They nodded, and began moving from person to person, speaking quietly into each ear.

  “We’ll postpone the confirming of the new members until later this evening,” David whispered in Nathan’s ear. “Let’s just go to the house for now and see if these men won’t go away.”

  By Monday evening, as the little group of Saints in Colesville gathered for the confirmation—the granting of the gift of the Holy Ghost to those who had been baptized—it looked as though it was going to remain quiet. So far only family members and those known to be sympathetic to them had arrived. Nathan was sitting on the large overstuffed sofa next to Emma. She looked tired and discouraged. He leaned over. “Well, it looks as though we might have some peace tonight.”

  Emma sighed. “I surely hope so. I don’t think I could bear another situation like this morning.”

  “Me neither,” Nathan said fervently.

  Even after Joseph had postponed further action, the crowd had not dispersed. The Saints moved first into Joseph Knight’s home, then down the road to Newel’s, trying to escape them, but the crowd had followed, jeering, hurling insults, making vile threats. But eventually they had seen it was getting them nowhere and had broken up and left. So the group of Saints proceeded with their plans to hold the confirmation service that evening.

  At the moment, Joseph was moving slowly around the room, greeting each of the new converts and talking briefly with them in turn. They were still waiting for one more couple, and Joseph seemed content not to rush things.

  Just as he finished his rounds and started back toward Emma, there was a sharp knock at the door. Instantly all sound in the room ceased and every eye swung around to the door. Clearly alarmed, Polly Knight glanced at Joseph, then stood and walked to the door. Nathan felt Emma tense beside him.

  Polly opened the door slowly. “Mrs. Knight?” It was a gruff male voice.

  “Yes?”

  “I am the constable from Chenango County. I have a writ here for the person of one Joseph Smith, Junior. Is he here?”

  There was an audible intake of breath from the group present, and Nathan felt Emma’s hand shoot out and grab his arm. Joseph had stopped in midstride. He gave Emma a despairing look, then sighed and turned to face the man. “I’m Joseph Smith. What can I do for you?”

  Mother Knight stepped back, holding the door open. The man entered, looked around at the group, then boldly turned to Joseph. “Mr. Smith, I’m to take you immediately to South Bainbridge, where you’ll be standing trial tomorrow to answer the charges brought against you.”

  Emma’s fingernails dug into Nathan’s arm. Even Joseph seemed shocked by that pronouncement. “And what charges may those be, sir?” he finally asked.

  “You are charged with being a disorderly person and setting the country in an uproar by preaching about angels and claimin’ you dug a gold Bible out of a hill somewhere upstate from here.”

  Emma leaped up. “Don’t go, Joseph. Please don’t leave me.” She clung to her husband. He had his back to her, facing the constable, and her arms encircled his chest. Her eyes were dark with fright and fatigue. The strain of the events surrounding the baptism had left her nerves strung as taut as a bowstring. This only tightened the corkscrew another notch.

  He turned around and took her gently in his arms. “Emma.” He stroked her cheek. “It’ll be all right. I’m going to be just fine.” She buried her head against his chest and began to cry softly.

  Joseph Knight stepped forward. “Brother Joseph, I have two neighbors. Fine men. Men of integrity. They’re not trained lawyers, but they are well versed in the laws of our country. I shall leave immediately to retain them in your behalf.”

  Joseph looked at him over the top of Emma’s head. “Thank you, Father Knight.”

  “We’ll come, Joseph. We’ll be there tomorrow,” David Whitmer spoke up.

  “Yes,” Oliver agreed. He turned to the constable. “I suppose that is permissible.”

  The constable seemed a little cowed by the outburst of grief and affection his coming had triggered. “It will be an open trial, sir. The place will be determined in the morning.”

  “At what time?” Nathan asked.

  “Ten o’clock.” He turned to Joseph and touched him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Smith, we must be leaving now.”

  “No,” Emma whispered. “Please.”

  Newel Knight’s wife, Sally, came forward and gently pulled her back. “Come, Emma. It will be all right.”

  Joseph leaned down and kissed his wife quickly, then straightened. “Let me get my hat, Mr...?”

  “Wilson. Constable John Wilson.”

  Polly Knight had turned to the hat rack near the door and fetched Joseph’s hat. She handed it to him, then as he placed it on his head she suddenly went up on tiptoes and hugged him. She was about four inches shorter than Emma and barely reached his chest. “We’ll be praying for you, Brother Joseph.”

  “Thank you, Mother Knight.”

  The group followed Joseph out and watched him climb up into the buckboard the constable had brought. He looked once more at his friends, his face composed and serene. Then he turned to the constable. “All right, Mr. Wilson, let us be off. I am anxious to face my accusers, as I have nothing to hide and nothing to fear.”

  The constable gave him a strange look, then took the reins and clucked at the horse.

  As the wagon left the yard of the Knight home and started up the lane that led to the main road that ran between Colesville and South Bainbridge, Joseph leaned back and breathed deeply. “A beautiful night, Mr. Wilson, wouldn’t you say?”

  Again Joseph seemed to
catch the man off guard. He turned and gave Joseph a long look.

  “Is something the matter, Mr. Wilson?”

  For several moments there was no sound but the soft clopclop of the horses hooves and the rattle of the wagon wheels on the gravel. Joseph seemed amused by the constable’s obvious perplexity. “I perceive that something is troubling you, Constable.”

  The man reined up and the wagon rolled to a stop. Constable Wilson turned and faced Joseph squarely. “Yes, Mr. Smith. You are correct. Something is troubling me.”

  Joseph smiled. “Well then, say on. I’m not sure I am the one you would normally seek out for help, but I’m willin’.”

  The constable did not return his smile. “I must admit, Mr. Smith,” he said soberly, “you are a very different man than I was led to believe.”

  Joseph’s head tipped back and he laughed merrily. “That doesn’t come as a great surprise, Mr. Wilson. What were you led to expect?”

  Wilson thought for a moment, then shook his head. “I’m not sure. A wild man, I suppose. A fanatic.”

  “Well, thank you for changing your mind.”

  The constable turned back and lifted the reins, but his hand stopped, poised but motionless. His mouth twisted, and it was obvious that he was fighting some kind of inner battle within himself.

  “What is it, Mr. Wilson?”

  The reins lowered again. So did his voice. “I have something to confess to you, Mr. Smith.” He looked around furtively.

  Joseph was puzzled now. “Confess, Mr. Wilson?”

  “Yes.” He glanced around once more; then, convinced they were alone, went on in a rush. “Did you not find it strange that none of the men who were at your baptismal service this morning showed up for your meeting this evening?”

  “I...” Joseph was caught off guard by that. “We didn’t tell anyone except those who are supporters. I just thought our enemies didn’t know.”

  “Oh, they know, all right. That’s why I was sent with a writ to fetch you.”

  Joseph’s eyes narrowed. “So the timing was not just coincidental?”

  “Not on your life, sir.” His chest lifted and fell as he sighed deeply. “There’s more.”

  “More?”

  “Yes. Those men are waiting for us now. I am to bring you to them. They lie in wait, in ambush, less than a mile from where we now stand.”

  Joseph paled. “So that’s it.”

  The constable’s jaw clenched shut, and his eyes took on a determined look. “But now that I have met you, sir, I am of a very different mind. I am duty bound to deliver you for trial tomorrow, but I shall do all within my power to see that you are not harmed in the meantime.”

  For several moments Joseph was silent, considering the implications of what he had just learned. Finally he looked up. “You are an honorable man, Constable Wilson. I am fortunate to have fallen into your hands.”

  The man smiled grimly. “Shall we proceed, then?”

  Joseph reached down with one hand and gripped the side of the buckboard. “I am ready when you are.”

  The ambush was laid less than half a mile from the Knight homestead, and it had been carefully chosen. A thick stand of natural woodland ran right to the road on both sides. The sun was down, and the evening light was fading quickly. There was no sign of anyone as they approached.

  “Are you sure this is where they were to meet you?” Joseph whispered.

  “Shhhh!”

  The men would have been impossible to detect if they hadn’t moved, but as the wagon approached the heaviest growth of forest, dark figures straightened one by one, on both sides of the road. Joseph felt a sudden lurch of fear. The nearest man had an ax handle and was tapping it softly against his leg. The one next to him carried a stout length of tree limb.

  “Steady,” the constable murmured.

  Three men stepped out into the road, blocking their way. The constable pulled the horse up and the wagon stopped. For an instant Joseph nearly panicked and bolted. What if this was just the constable’s way of making sure he did not resist? But he braced his feet and lowered his head slightly. Wilson had said there was to be a signal from him, then the men would set upon Joseph. Clearly that was what they were waiting for now. They moved within a few feet of the wagon, looking up at the constable with expectant eyes.

  “Hee yaw!” The constable snapped the reins sharply, flipping the horse hard across his rump. The horse had expected it no more than the men. It lunged forward, the traces cracking like whips as the buckboard was jerked forward. Joseph nearly bowled head over heels into the back of the wagon.

  “Hold on!” Wilson yelled. Then to his animal. “Go, horse! Go!”

  The three men in the road didn’t have time to even shout. They jumped frantically, barely escaping the slashing hooves. Joseph was dimly aware of the uproar behind him, but only dimly. He was hanging on with all his strength as the wagon bucked and shuddered violently, the horse in full gallop now.

  “I don’t think they have horses,” the constable yelled into his ear. “At least not close.”

  Joseph started to nod, then his eyes caught a dark shadow in the road ahead of them. “Watch out!” he screamed.

  But it was too late. They were just coming around a slight bend in the road. The front wheels missed the rock clean, but the back end slewed around wildly, sliding on the packed earth. There was a shattering crack, then instantly the world went crazy.

  For a moment Joseph didn’t know what had happened, only that he was half upside down, hanging on for dear life, and that the horse was neighing wildly. Then he realized that the buckboard had stopped and was tipped upward at a sharp angle.

  “We’ve thrown a wheel!” the constable shouted. Then in cold fear, “Oh no! Now they’ve got us.”

  Joseph leaped to his feet and whirled around. They could hear the sound of angry shouts, men cursing, feet pounding. Frantic, Joseph scanned the road they had just traversed. There it was. “Wilson, get the wheel!”

  He leaped to the rear of the buckboard, then turning his back to it dropped into a crouch. He reached down with both hands, grabbed the edge of the wagon, and with a grunt, hefted it up to waist level. “Hurry!” he gasped.

  The sound of their pursuers was like a clap of thunder rolling down a mountainside toward them, growing louder with every instant.

  Panting like a madman, Wilson wrestled the wagon wheel to where Joseph stood. “Higher!” he commanded.

  Blood vessels stood out on Joseph’s forehead as he raised his arms another inch.

  “It’s on!”

  As the two men leaped back into the wagon, Joseph heard a cry of triumph behind them. “There they are!”

  But it was a moment too late. The constable grabbed the reins. “Hee yaw!” The wagon leaped forward again. Joseph jerked around to see three or four men come pounding up, then slow to a halt in the middle of the road. They shouted something, shaking their fists.

  Joseph turned back around to the front, aware of the sudden trembling that was moving down his arms and to his hands. He looked over at his companion. The constable stared back at him. Then suddenly they both began to laugh. “We did it,” Constable John Wilson crowed. “We did it!”

  Emma’s Baptism at Colesville

  Chapter Four

  Would you give your name and place of residence please?”

  “Mr. Josiah Stowell of South Bainbridge.”

  “And your occupation, sir?”

  “Farmer and owner of a lumber mill. I also trade in wheat and other farm goods in the upper part of the state.”

  “And how long have you known the prisoner?”

  Josiah Stowell leaned back in his chair and pulled at his lip thoughtfully. “I think I first hired Joseph Smith in the summer of ‘25. So about five years now, maybe six.”

  The prosecutor, who had to that time had his back to the witness, addressing the court, suddenly whirled and jabbed a finger at Stowell. “Did not the prisoner, Joseph Smith, have a horse of you?”


  “Yes.”

  “Did he not go to you and tell you that an angel had appeared unto him and authorized him to get the horse from you?”

  Stowell smiled patiently. “No, he told me no such story.”

  “Well, how, then, did he have the horse of you?”

  “He bought it of me as any other man would.”

  “Have you had your pay?”

  Stowell straightened, his face tightening. “That is not your affair.”

  Justice Joseph Chamberlain frowned. “Please answer the question, Mr. Stowell.”

  The prosecutor openly sneered in triumph. “I ask you again, Mr. Stowell. Have you had your pay from the prisoner?”

  “I have his note for the price of the horse,” Stowell retorted tartly. “I consider that as good as cash, for I am well acquainted with Joseph Smith, Junior. I know him to be an honest man.” He turned and surveyed the hostile faces that filled the room. “And if Mr. Smith wishes, I will give him another horse this very day on the same terms.”

  That did not please the prosecutor. “You may step down, Mr. Stowell.” He turned and looked at the crowd. “Mr. Jonathan Thompson, please.”

  A man near the back rose and walked slowly forward to the chair that sat to the side of where Justice Chamberlain was seated. Clearly he was not excited about being part of the proceedings. He sat down, looking at the prosecutor warily.

  “Mr. Jonathan Thompson?”

  “Yes.”

  “Occupation and place of residence please?”

  “Farmer. My place is a short distance east of here.”

  “Did not the prisoner, Mr. Joseph Smith, have a yoke of oxen of you?”

  “He did, sir.”

  “Did he not obtain them of you by telling you that he had a revelation to the effect that he was to have them?”

  A momentary look of disgust crossed the farmer’s face. “He did not. He did not mention a word of the kind you have stated concerning the oxen. He bought them of me as any other man would.”

  Frustrated, the prosecutor immediately dismissed Thompson and called on several others. The results were the same, and for the first time, Nathan felt his hopes begin to lift.