“She hasn’t been down all day,” Caroline said.
“No other food?”
She shook her head. “Charles felt so bad for her—you know how tenderhearted he is—that he snuck some bread and jam up to her this afternoon. Savannah refused to touch it.”
Charles ducked his head, expecting a rebuke, but Joshua didn’t even look at him. He just let out his breath in a long, weary sigh. “I don’t know about that girl.”
“Well, I do,” Caroline said.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Savannah was in that horrid place yesterday for seven hours, Joshua. You know how she hates spiders and bugs, and yet she stayed in there for seven hours. She was cold, she was frightened—it must have been pitch black. Any other child would have given up after two or three hours. But not Savannah. I am convinced that she would have stayed there all night if we hadn’t found her.”
“So?”
“So she’s not eating, Joshua. I can’t make her. I know you think I am supporting her in this, but I am not. I tried to talk to her today. I tried to reason with her. I told her perhaps if she waits a year it would be better. She won’t hear of it.”
“Let her go through the night without food and she’ll be ready to compromise.”
Will just shook his head, remembering the confrontations between father and son in Wisconsin.
Flaring, Joshua whirled on him. “Have you got something to say, Will?”
“I do,” he said evenly. “What you are after is not compromise. It’s capitulation.”
“This is not your affair.”
“Oh? Somehow I thought Savannah was my sister.”
Joshua turned away and stomped out to go and wash up. Ten minutes later, the Steed family sat down to supper, with one chair empty. It was a quiet affair. The only conversation took place between Caroline and Livvy as Caroline fed her dinner.
Joshua came home again at noon. As he stepped into the parlor and saw Caroline, he didn’t even have to ask. She just shook her head slowly.
He swore softly under his breath, the exasperation showing clearly on his face.
Caroline stood. “She is listless and without energy, Joshua. She’s starting to worry me.”
“So what do we do?”
Caroline looked grim. “I don’t care how you do it or what you say, but this is between you and her. You go up there, and you somehow find a way to compromise. The battle of the titans is over.”
He stood there for almost a minute; then, when she refused to lower her gaze, he nodded and turned around and went upstairs.
At the sound of the door opening, Savannah, lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, took one look, then turned to face the wall.
He moved over and sat down on the bed beside her. He laid a hand on her shoulder. She jerked it away. “Savannah, we need to talk. This can’t go on.”
“Will you let me be baptized?” she demanded, still staring at the wall.
“Look, if you’ll just wait until you’re nine or ten, then if you still want to, I’ll let you.”
“Heavenly Father said we are to be baptized when we’re eight.”
“Not all people are baptized then. Your mother, Will, Olivia—they were all older when they were baptized.”
“They weren’t children when they knew about the Church.”
He reached out and gently turned her over to face him. “Savannah, I’m doing this for your own good. I want you to be sure you know . . .”
He let it trail off, her look telling him how ridiculous that sounded to her. He sat back, frowning down at her, wanting to take this stubborn little redhead in his arms and just hold her, and yet so infuriated with her that he also felt like putting her across his knee.
She sat up now, her face earnest, the light blue eyes filled with pleading. “Papa, I know you don’t like the Church and that you think I don’t know what’s right. But I do, Papa. If you let me be baptized, I’ll be the best girl you’ve ever seen. I won’t give you any trouble. I won’t fight with Charles anymore. I’ll make my bed every day and do the dishes for Mama without whining.”
That so startled him that he laughed aloud. She hated the dishes above all else and worked out elaborate schemes to avoid doing them. “It really means that much to you?”
“Oh, yes, Papa. I want to be baptized so much. Please, Papa! Please!”
He watched her, remembering the night she was born, remembering when Caroline had put her into his arms and asked what they should name her. He had called her Savannah because it was in Savannah, Georgia, home of Caroline Mendenhall, that Joshua had found his life again. And this little imp, this maddening, exasperating, frustrating little redheaded imp was a major part of that new life.
“Suppose I said that I would consider saying yes if you will wait at least until the first of June. That will give you a chance to prove to me that you really will be better. Then, if you still want to, I’ll say yes.”
“The first of June?” she said tentatively.
“Yes. That’s just three weeks. Three more weeks to see if you really mean what you say.”
She threw her arms around him, nearly choking him. “Oh, yes, Papa. Yes.”
“You’ll have to show me that this really is the best thing for you.”
“I will, Papa. I will.”
He pulled her arms loose and took her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Savannah. I’m sorry we had to fight.”
“Me too, Papa, but I want to be baptized so badly.”
“I can see that.” He straightened. “Well, let’s go down and tell your mother. She’s waiting to see how the two fighting bulls came out.”
Chapter 14
Nauvoo, June 10, 1845
Dear Mama and Papa,
Surprise! I am writing the family letter this month instead of Lydia. I have promised myself to do it for some time, but with the press of business—both in keeping the store running properly and trying to develop our latest plat into building lots—my time has been taken up.
The family is fine. I’m sure Savannah has written to you by now, but she was baptized in the Mississippi River on the 2nd of this month by Will. Joshua seems resigned to the fact, and in a way he is even pleased. Her promise to be the best girl he could ever imagine has not been an empty one. Even since her baptism, she continues to shine as an example of what a young Christian ought to be. There was a grand turnout, including Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, and John Taylor. Alice and her father also happened to be here, and we watched Alice with great interest. She seemed fascinated by the story of Savannah’s determination, but still says nothing about her own feelings. Her father has learned that Will gave her a Book of Mormon last fall and is very angry. Fortunately, her decision to keep Will completely out of things in her quest for answers allowed him to honestly say he has not been trying to sway her mind. Will she or won’t she be baptized? Right now, I personally think it is doubtful, but Lydia disagrees.
Things in Nauvoo are peaceful for the moment, though they do not bode well for us. I must say, however, that we are coping with the changes more successfully than I would have guessed. In previous letters, various family members have told you about the repeal of the Nauvoo Charter last January. The antis finally got their way and stripped us of our right to civil government. Our enemies have achieved their goal, which is to leave us without power or means of defending ourselves. How ironic! How like the thinking of politicians! Their major complaint and their justification for the repeal of the charter was that we were not controlling the lawless element among us—a shameless lie! But even if it were true, what do they do? They take away the very powers required to maintain law and order.
As you can imagine, for the lawless and the predators, news of the repeal was like waving a banner saying, “Here are the helpless Saints! They have no more civil powers. Come and prey upon them at your leisure! Plunder as you please!” And for a time that was the result. Ruffians swept in and worked all kinds of mischief. It was not uncommon to have a party from one of the riverboats come into the city, work their deviltry, then leave again by nightfall. They knew full well that we had no power to stop them.
However, before you become too discouraged with this news, let me assure you that all is not hopeless. As you know, Brother Brigham has never been one to be daunted by adverse circumstances. As he himself says, if the Saints were to be sent to hell by their enemies, we would turn the devil and his angels out of it, dig ditches and canals to irrigate it, and quickly turn it into a garden paradise. This is what we are doing now. We are making the best of a bad situation.
President Young determined to use the organization of the Church to fill the need which our state government refuses to grant us. This is how it works. The whole city has been organized into sectors. Groups of about twelve men, which we call “quorums of deacons,” patrol the city both day and night. In each quorum, one man is chosen as the “bishop” and he is in charge of his group. These are not true quorums, nor are the leaders really bishops. They are not based on what priesthood a man holds, but for convenience that is what they are called.
It has become an interim militia or police force. The city is divided into blocks, and a “deacon” is posted on virtually every corner. But, you ask, what good is this if there is no legal power for them to act? This is the brilliance of Brother Brigham’s plan. I think Hosea Stout, our chief of police, had much to do with it as well. First of all, those who think they can come into the city at will now find that they are being watched on every hand. Any suspicious behavior is reported immediately to the leaders. This alone deters them from much of their mischief.
But there is something more. I refer to what has come to be called the “whistling and whittling brigade.” Here is how it works. The young men and boys play an important role here. When a stranger comes into town, particularly a questionable-looking stranger who can give no valid reason for being here, a group of fifteen or twenty boys quickly gather around him. They have long hickory sticks and large jackknives. As they gather around the stranger, they take out their knives and begin whittling on the sticks. All the time they whistle a tune together. They never say a word. They ask no questions of the stranger and make no answer when he demands to know what they want. They are too young and small to strike individually, and too many collectively to strike back at. When they descend on a hapless stranger they hang around the man like fleas on a dog until in exasperation he finally leaves town.
It is amazing. I have watched the most hardened men give way in the face of this silent but eerie treatment. Sometimes it goes on for hours, sometimes days. Eventually the unwanted stranger gets the message and is more than happy to leave. The whistling and whittling brigade follows him right to the boat dock or to the borders of our city. It has worked wonders and our city is mostly safe again. Crime has all but ceased, for there is not a place in the city that is not under the watchful care of someone at all times.
Young Joshua and I serve in one of these “quorums,” as do Peter and Will. Most surprising, Joshua and Carl have both volunteered and serve together in another quorum. I suppose it is not surprising, for they both consider themselves fully as citizens of Nauvoo and this is a city concern. Carl also sends young Carl to be part of the whistling and whittling brigade. David is but eleven, and generally they want boys who are twelve and older, but Carl says that when he turns twelve, if the problem still exists, David will join his brother as well.
Oh, by the way, at April conference, Brigham proposed that we change the name of the city. I suppose that’s partly in response to the repeal of the charter and partly because he feels it would be an appropriate tribute. But it is now official. We voted to change the name of the city to “the City of Joseph.”
The long-awaited trial of the men responsible for the deaths of Joseph and Hyrum was held last month. There were nine men indicted altogether, but four fled the county. The other five, prominent citizens all, including our longtime nemesis, Thomas Sharp, have sworn they would never be convicted. Swaggering, arrogant, and contemptuous, they openly brag that they were the ones responsible. But they were finally brought to trial, some eleven months after the terrible deed.
What a sham! When the trial opened it became evident what kind of “justice” would be sought. The jury was made up totally of non-Mormons. Witnesses brought forth by the prosecution offered openly contradictory testimony. And get this. The defense attorneys argued that Joseph Smith was killed in response to the popular will of the people, the implication being that no specific person or group could be held responsible. The trial lasted for a week, and at its conclusion, all were acquitted. Surprised?
Actually, this trial was for the assassination of Joseph only. A separate trial for the murder of Hyrum Smith is scheduled for later this month, but we have little hope that it will turn out any differently.
For those who were watching the affairs in western Illinois closely, here was another sign which was easily read. Act as you will against the Mormons. There will be no legal action against you. That is a sobering thought to us. Joshua still talks now and then of trying to leave Nauvoo, but I think he is resigned to the fact that this is our home.
One last thing to share, then I will close. In April, Governor Ford wrote a letter to Brigham Young, who let me copy down some of it. Among other things Ford said: “Your religion is new, and it surprises the people as any great novelty in religion generally does. They cannot rise above the prejudices excited by such novelty. . . . I would suggest a matter in confidence. California now offers a field for the prettiest enterprise that has been undertaken in modern time. . . . Why would it not be a pretty operation for your people to go out there, take possession of and conquer a portion of the vacant country, and establish an independent government of your own subject only to the laws of nations?”