The Work and the Glory Read online

  Here and there, some of the more enterprising residents of the village pushed small handcarts filled with sugar cakes, pies, molasses, maple sugar, root beer, or dried fruit. Others hawked such home-produced items as birch brooms, baskets made from black ash, or hand-painted oilcloths for the table.

  Matthew and Becca’s eyes were filled with wonder, barely able to dart quickly enough from one thing to another, pointing and oohing and aahing. Melissa, more prim, was determined to act the young woman. Her mother had to smile, for she knew her daughter well enough to know that the hand constantly picking at unseen pieces of lint on her dress was a sure sign of her inner excitement. Melissa had waited long for a chance to come into town, and to do so for a picnic and barn raising was more than she had hoped for.

  They moved up Main Street, past a two-story brick store, a clothier with women’s dresses in the window, Abner Cole’s law offices, another store. Down a side street they could see the barges pulled up at the docks along the Erie Canal. Men staggered under the weight of bags and bales being unloaded and taken into the warehouses.

  As they came to the corner of Market Street, Benjamin Steed pulled up on the reins and the mules shuffled to a stop. To their right was the two-story frame building which housed the tavern of Stephen Phelps, probably the best-known tavern in the area. From the noise coming through the open door it was clear not all of the people coming to Palmyra Village were headed for the stable which would be the site of the barn raising. At least, not yet.

  “Look,” Benjamin said, “there’s Martin Harris’s rig.” He turned back to his wife. “I think I’ll go in and say hello.” He handed the reins over to Joshua, who was sitting next to him.

  Mary Ann frowned and gave him a sharp look, but he just smiled. “Ill only be a bit, then I’ll join you there.”

  Inwardly she sighed, then felt a quick twinge of guilt. Benjamin had been working hard, with only an occasional trip to town. She had always found it hard to understand this need of men to stand around with other men and lift a glass of beer or down a tankard of grog. She finally smiled and nodded. “All right. Don’t be too long.”

  He jumped down and waved as Joshua got the wagon moving again. Then, as Mary Ann sensed the excitement of her family—even Nathan, normally hard to ruffle, was looking about eagerly—she forgot about taverns and men’s ways. She felt her own heart quicken a little at the thought of being in town. She laughed softly and poked at Joshua’s back. “It’s all right to hurry a little if you want, Joshua,” she said.

  Getting more and more frustrated with each passing hour, Joshua took another deep swallow from his mug of stout, a dark beer brought over to America from Ireland. For almost an hour now he had tried every device he could think of to maneuver Lydia McBride away from her family and the other young men who constantly hovered around her. Twice he had managed to speak a quick word or two, but then almost instantly someone else would break in before they could really begin to talk.

  One of the things which dug at Joshua the most was the way the young men surrounding her were dressed. There was no question but what they represented Palmyra’s elite. The one who spoke with her now looked like some peacock strutting in front of a flock of hens. He certainly had not come to help with the barn raising. He wore a double-breasted, knee-length frocked coat with rolled collar. At his throat was a white scarf, every fold carefully crafted. Long, pin-striped trousers were strapped under brightly polished boots. The felt top hat was, Joshua supposed, the latest style—the brim turned up at just the right angle and the crown flared out slightly wider than the base.

  Joshua had once seen in a book a picture of a French dandy holding a kerchief to his nose and sniffing daintily at it. At any moment he expected this one to do the same. He looked away, keenly aware of the plainness of his own heavy trousers made of homespun and the boots scuffed and worn and lacking any polish whatever.

  But almost immediately his eyes came back to watch Lydia. She was no less fashionably dressed, but on her it was stunning. Her dress was a dark blue, but layered from knee-level to hemline with white ruffles and lace. A high collar, also white, came right up under her chin. It was also trimmed with lace, as were the cuffs of her sleeves. She wore white kid gloves which accentuated the slimness of her hands. Her hat was a large bonnet affair, trimmed with some kind of ornamental feathers and ribbons which dropped down to her waist. The overall effect made it seem as though she floated lightly just above the ground. Without question she was the loveliest thing he had ever laid eyes on, and the sight of her was more intoxicating than the liquid he now drank.

  Once full dark had come, the work on the barn had stopped and the town supper had begun. He looked around. A huge bonfire burned brightly, throwing light across the crowd which had gathered in the field east of the livery barn. It had quieted considerably now the supper was over. The children were playing games off in one of the pastures, and from their squeals of delight, Joshua suspected they might be playing skipping and running games like Wink ‘Em Slyly or Copenhagen. These involved a lot of catching and kissing the girls, the boys doing it strictly for the sake of the game, while the girls would shriek in horror and run just slow enough to get themselves caught. Joshua smiled ruefully. There were some advantages given to the young.

  The adults had started to congregate in smaller groups—the women gathering around to compare notes on cooking or sewing while their fingers flew back and forth knitting this or that shawl or sweater. Melissa was with an older group of girls, too old for children’s games and too young to be included in Lydia’s circles. But Joshua noted there were sufficient young men standing around to keep them tittering and smiling demurely.

  He saw his father, who had rejoined the family not quite as promptly as he had promised, standing with Nathan near the fence of one of the corrals, examining a beautiful team of shire draft horses. For a moment Joshua almost moved over to join them. The animals were the personal property of Zachariah Stoneman, who owned the blacksmith shop and a stable. Standing nearly six feet high at the shoulder and weighing over a ton each, these magnificent animals were descendants of the great war horses of medieval Europe which had carried the heavily armored knights into battle. They were a dramatic contrast to the two ill-tempered mules the Steeds kept, and it was something to just stand and admire their grace and power.

  But he was hardly in a mood for his father either, and finally he turned back to watch Lydia, brooding as he watched her over the top of his mug. Two other dandies had now joined the first. The sound of her laughter floated across to him on the still night air. She turned, seeming to sense his gaze, flashed him a smile, and then gave a helpless little shrug of her shoulders. He gave a short bark of disgust. Near as he could tell, she was not suffering too much under all the attention. And in fact, it seemed to Joshua she was giving each and every young man who gathered around her exactly the same treatment she was giving Joshua.

  At that moment something else caught Joshua’s eye. Three young men were moving away from the huge bonfire which lit the area. As they passed by him, he recognized the stocky figure and wild thatch of hair that belonged to Will Murdock. He also identified Mark Cooper, and he was pretty sure the one on the far side of the group was Will’s brother, David. As they passed, he saw light glint off a heavy jug. He also saw two or three of the women shoot disapproving looks in their direction.

  Curious, Joshua watched them as they left the circle of firelight, passed the corral, and moved behind the dark mass of the barn. He glanced over to where Lydia was keeping her three young men totally engrossed. Again she glanced at him, and with a slight motion of her head, invited him to come over. He turned away, angry. He wasn’t about to stand in line for her attentions. With sudden determination he emptied the last of the stout, deposited his mug on a table, and moved swiftly toward the barn, keeping one eye on his mother, the other on his father and Nathan standing near the corral.

  As he came round the barn, there was a burst of laughter. Will Mur
dock had the jug propped up on one shoulder and was taking a deep swig from it. He swung the jug down and then across to his brother in one smooth movement, then started at the sight of Joshua. The others fell silent, instantly wary. For a moment Will peered at Joshua in the darkness, then slowly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Steed, isn’t it?” he finally asked.

  “Yes. Joshua Steed.” Joshua stepped forward and stuck out his hand.

  Beneath the heavy brows, and in the deep shadows of the barn, Murdock’s eyes seemed like two black pits, and there was no way to read his expression. But finally he stuck out his hand and shook Joshua’s; then he turned slightly and spoke to the others. “You remember the Steeds. Bought the Jenningses’ land up next to the Harris farm.”

  There were nods and murmured greetings, but warm cordiality hardly filled the air. David Murdock, his eyes never leaving Joshua’s face, lifted the jug of rum and drank noisily. Joshua guessed he was three or four years younger than Will, but it was obvious he was trying to emulate the hard exterior of his older brother. He lowered the jug, mouth pulling back into what was half a grin, half a grimace, then extended it slowly toward Joshua. “Have some rum,” he leered.

  For a second Joshua hesitated, keenly aware of each set of eyes on him, particularly Will Murdock’s. He fought the urge to look over his shoulder and see if his mother or father had followed him. With forced casualness he reached out and took the heavy jug. The strongest drinks he had taken to that point had been the various kinds of beer purchased from the local tavern. He was not prepared for the stream of fire that hit his mouth. He nearly gasped and spewed the liquor out, but at the same instant he saw Will Murdock’s eyes, watching him steadily. With every ounce of willpower he could muster he forced himself to swallow. It was like drinking liquid lye. Tears sprang to his eyes as the rum seared his throat and everything else on its way down into his gut. Still, Will Murdock stared at him. Joshua swallowed again. And then again.

  Finally, he lowered the jug, praying his tear-filled eyes would not show in the darkness. With the same studied slowness with which David had moved, he wiped his mouth and handed the jug back to Will Murdock. “Thanks,” was all he said.

  For a moment everyone stood motionless. Then Will finally took the jug and passed it to Cooper. Then he stepped forward and clapped Joshua on the shoulder, giving him a resounding smack. “Good stuff, ain’t it?”

  “So why you takin’ on with ol’ Joe Smith?”

  They had moved deeper into the shadows of the barn now and were sitting with their backs propped up against the rough boards, Joshua between Will and David Murdock. The jug was considerably lighter now as it was passed up and down between the four of them. Joshua’s head seemed strangely detached from his body, and somewhere he was still vaguely aware of a fire burning inside his stomach, but he was also filled with a sense of lightness and ease, as though there were not one thing in all the world which at the moment was out of kilter. But he was nevertheless aware of the hard challenge in Will Murdock’s question.

  “I ain’t taking on with him,” he said shortly, his words slurring a little. “My pa hired him and his brother to help us clear land.”

  Will belched heavily, then nodded, only partially satisfied. “Well, if I was you, I’d tell your pa to think twice about that. Them Smiths are daft as lunatics.”

  Joshua ignored the pointed advice. “What’s all this stuff you were talkin’ ‘bout the other day? Angels? A gold Bible?”

  David Murdock was sitting next to Joshua, half leaning against his shoulder. “You mean you ain’t heard?”

  “Heard what?”

  Will leaned forward. “Smith claims an angel came to him one night in his room. Seems like this angel knowed where some old book is buried. Joe says it’s like the Bible.” His eyes widened with greed. “It’s written on gold plates.”

  “And you believe that?” Joshua hooted.

  “Course I don’t believe it,” Will said, his mouth twisting angrily. Then he grabbed at Joshua’s shirt. “But suppose it’s true,” he said, suddenly eager. “And suppose we followed ol’ Joe when he goes to get it.”

  Mark Cooper pointed a finger at him, though it weaved back and forth as he spoke. “There’s been lots of treasure hidden in these parts. The Spanish brought a lot of treasure up here. Pirates. People round here know about things like that.”

  Joshua pulled Will’s hand away from his shirt. “Sounds like old wives’ tales to me.”

  “Oh yeah?” Will blurted, his mood quickly turning ugly.

  “Yeah,” Joshua shot right back. “Suppose he did see an angel—which I don’t believe for one minute. Then where’s the gold?”

  “It’s buried in a hill not far from where the Smiths live down in Manchester Township.”

  There was a poking at Joshua’s shoulder. It was David. “The angel said Joe had to wait some time before he could get it.”

  “Oh,” Joshua said, not trying to hide his amusement. “Of course.”

  Going up on his knees, Will leaned over him, so close Joshua could smell the foulness of his breath. He jabbed his finger hard into his chest. “Laugh like some drooling idiot if you like, but word is, the time’s up this fall. Me and the boys are aiming to find out when, and be there when Smith takes them gold plates out.”

  Cooper broke in again. “That ain’t all. Joe claims he saw God himself out in the woods one day.”

  “What?” Joshua was staring at him.

  “Yeah. He went out to pray. He told the Methodist parson about it later. Said Jesus came down too. God and Jesus, just standing there in the air.” He waved his hand drunkenly to show where in the air they were.

  David now crawled around to face him too, completing the circle around Joshua. “Ya ask me, it was the devil, not God, he saw.”

  Will Murdock nodded soberly, then they all fell silent, chilled a little by the talk of the devil. Finally, Will sat back. “You know, I like you, Joshua. For a while I was afraid you might be friends with Smith. But I like you.”

  He grabbed the jug and took a quick draw from it, wiped his mouth, then got deadly serious. “But you ought to know. People are already startin’ to talk about your family. They’re wonderin’ if you’re takin’ up with them Smiths, if you believe all that crazy stuff.”

  “Well, we don’t. This is the first I even heard about it.”

  Will nodded. “I believe you. But you better tell your pa. Tell him to hire somebody else. Somebody who don’t go out in the woods and talk with the devil.”

  Chapter Five

  It is well known that some of the first people to cross the stormy North Atlantic to the New World came in hopes of escaping the religious oppression sweeping Europe in the wake of the Reformation. Puritans, Pilgrims, Quakers, Roman Catholics, Huguenots, Anabaptists, Jews—they came to America in pursuit of religious freedom. For these devout and God-fearing souls, religion permeated their lives. These were not just Sabbath worshippers. They sought to live as they believed. They read from the Bible daily, often using it as the primary text in teaching their children to read.

  But not all who came shared those feelings. Many saw the New World as a land of tremendous opportunity. There were fortunes to be made, new lives to be carved out, and all of this in a political climate of unheard-of freedom. So along with the pious came the promoters, with the devout came the destitute. Nonconformists, radicals, free spirits—these came as readily as the godly, the reverent, and the dogmatic.

  Following the revolutionary war and the ratification of the Constitution, the winds of freedom which had helped forge a new nation took their toll on religious fervor. In this new climate, many found the doctrines of Calvinism—the idea that man was depraved and saved only by the grace of a benevolent deity—as deeply abhorrent as the arrogant demands of King George. They began to challenge traditional religious dogma. Called Deists, they believed in a supreme being, but rejected the idea that this being tightly controlled the lives of men. They felt he set in plac
e immutable laws, laws upon which the universe was based and over which man had little or no control. If man was in harmony with those laws, then he was in harmony with Deity. Deists preferred such terms as Nature or Divine Providence to the more traditional God or Heavenly Father.

  Others, called Unitarians, rejected the three-in-one concept of Deity, accepting God as an absolute unity of mind, spirit, and personage. To the Unitarians, God was Divine Mind or Spirit, and man’s resemblance to God was purely spiritual. Imported from England, the Universalists rejected Calvin’s idea of election to grace. They believed God would eventually restore all mankind to a state of holiness and happiness, two conditions which are inseparably intertwined.

  Deists, Unitarians, Universalists—the theological forces in post-revolutionary war America were as diverse and divisive as the forces which led to the rebellion against Great Britain. Rationalism and secularism swept through all levels of society. By the late 1700s fewer than ten percent of the population attended formal church services. The universities could hardly boast an enlightened student who still belonged to a church.

  It was into this climate of religious turmoil that Benjamin Steed was born. Jacob Steed was a hardheaded Connecticut farmer and veteran of the revolutionary war, including Valley Forge. He was a true theological eclectic, picking and choosing from the various movements of his day the concepts which fitted his own nature most comfortably. Deeply influenced by the “enlightened skepticism” of the age, he largely rejected formalized religion as exploitive and out of touch with the spirit of the age. Being of the common people and not from the intellectual elite populating the cities, his theology was also mixed with a generous portion of good old-fashioned folklore—water witching, divination, spells to ward off bad luck, and the like—and he saw no fundamental conflict between the two. While this might have been confusing to the more academic-minded theologians, one word really summed up the core of values which motivated—if not drove—Jacob Steed. That word was duty. It embraced many things—hard work, integrity, commitment, honor, respect for the rights of others, loyalty, patriotism. These constituted his theology, and he held to them as fiercely as any Bible-thumping churchgoer. And he had indoctrinated his children with them as religiously and thoroughly as any catechism. Of organized, formalized religion; of preachers, Bible study, baptism, and communion; of Sabbath worship in some man-made structure—well, there had been more than a few solemn warnings from Benjamin’s father about the hazards which lay in those directions.