“All right. What if we just go for a couple of weeks? Then we’ll come back and you’ll have a couple of weeks here. Surely your parents can’t object to that. Not if I’m willing to leave my family.”
She was nodding slowly now. “Mama will be disappointed. She’s already talking about going shopping today, but . . .”
He snapped his fingers. “All right, so we wait a few days before we leave. Today is the twenty-second. General conference starts in about two weeks, on the fifth of October—that’s a Sunday. What if we let my father go on back? We will stay here for another week, and then leave. We could still make it back in time for conference. It’s going to be held in the temple, Alice. Imagine that. The first meeting in the temple. I’d really like to be there for that.”
“Oh, so would I.”
He grinned, looking suddenly mischievous. “I don’t suppose we need to talk a lot about that with your folks. But we could go up to Nauvoo for two or three weeks, then come back down here the final week before the wedding so you and your mother can finish the preparations. Your folks ought to be willing to accept that.”
“When they learn that you are willing to stay and work with Papa until spring,” Alice responded eagerly, “they’re going to be so happy, they’ll agree to anything. Let’s go talk to them about it right now.”
As they both stood, Alice suddenly threw her arms around Will. “Thank you, Will. This will mean so much to them.”
He put his arms around her and held her tightly. After a moment, he started to chuckle.
“What?”
“If I keep this up, people might start thinking that I’m not as absolutely impossible to get along with as they thought. That could come as quite a shock to both my father and yours.”
Chapter 20
When a kettle of stew hangs for a long time above a bed of coals, it simmers. But stir the coals in any way, or add wood to the fire, and the simmering quickly becomes a rolling boil. For the fifteen months following the martyrdom of Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum, the pot of anti-Mormon sentiment had mostly simmered. The state took action immediately after the murders and sent the militia to Hancock County to keep things in check. That fall, the courts handed down indictments on nine men accused of being responsible for the killings. Then, by the spring of 1845, things started to change. The state militia went home; the men tried for the murder of Joseph Smith were acquitted handily. The antis had been given a clear signal. The state and the courts might make a lot of noise about the rights of Mormons, but when it came right down to it, nothing much really happened. And since the Mormon Church had not collapsed of its own weight after Joseph Smith’s death, as everyone had predicted it would, this general lack of support for the Mormons was good news indeed to the Church’s enemies.
Thomas Sharp and others started throwing more wood on the fire again. The simmering hatred turned to open violence, and the natural result was the raid on the Morley Settlement. But that was not the end of it. Frank Worrell’s death was like piling even more logs on the fire. To no one’s surprise, the kettle boiled over.
On September twenty-second, 1845, just six days following the killing, a meeting was called in Quincy, about forty miles south of Nauvoo. Ironically, Quincy was the very city that had so warmly welcomed the exiled Saints as they fled from Missouri in the harsh winter of 1838–39. It had a reputation for moderation and tolerance. This only added to the irony of the petition the Quincy committee drafted and delivered to the Church leaders.
The gist of their resolutions was simple. The Mormons had already given some indication that they were willing to leave Illinois and find someplace else to locate. That was such a nice solution. And the Mormons should have no doubts as to the impending disaster in Hancock County if something was not done. So the committee urged Church leaders to communicate in writing, as soon as possible, the intentions of the Mormon people relative to leaving the state.
In an article published not long after the meeting in Quincy, the editor of the
Quincy Whig
opined that it was the Mormons’ “duty to obey the public will, and leave the state as speedily as possible.” Almost anywhere else in the Union, this would have been branded as an unusual definition of
duty
—abandon your homes, forget your constitutional rights, ignore the fact that you are the wronged party. Just leave, please.
When the Twelve received the petition from the Quincy committee, not only did President Young see the handwriting on the wall, but, like Daniel of old, he interpreted it accurately. After meeting in council, the Church leaders decided that there was no hope of a lawful and just settlement. On September twenty-fourth, a response was drafted, and the next day it was given to the Quincy committee. Signed by Brigham Young, the Twelve’s answer read, in part:
“Whereas, it is our desire, and ever has been, to live in peace with all men, so far as we can, without sacrificing the right of worshipping God according to the dictates of our own consciences, which privilege is guaranteed to us by the Constitution of these United States;
“And, whereas, we have, time and again, and again, been driven from our peaceful homes, and our women and children been obliged to exist on the prairies, in the forests, on the roads, and in tents, in the dead of winter, suffering all manner of hardships, even to death itself . . . ;
“And, whereas, it is now so late in the season that it is impossible for us, as a people, to remove this fall, without causing a repetition of like sufferings; . . .
“And, whereas, we desire peace above all other earthly blessings—
“Therefore, we would say to the committee above mentioned and to the governor, and all the authorities and people of Illinois, and the surrounding states and territories, that we propose to leave this county next spring, for some point so remote, that there will not need to be a difficulty with the people and ourselves.”
The Church leaders did outline some propositions that needed to be observed if the removal was to be accomplished, including the following: that there be no more depredations against the Mormons, and that the citizens of Hancock and the surrounding counties help the Mormons sell their property at a fair market value. The document concluded with the leaders stating “that it is a mistaken idea that we ‘have proposed to remove in six months;’ for that would be so early in the spring, that grass might not grow nor water run, both of which would be necessary for our removal, but we propose to use our influence, to have no more seed time nor harvest among our people in this county, after gathering our present crops.”
Once the Quincy committee had their answer from President Young, it didn’t take them long to hold another meeting and, after some deliberations, draw up yet another set of resolutions. In these they declared, among other things, that the major point of the Mormons’ letter—namely, that the Saints were formally promising to leave the state—was acceptable. However, certain points needed to be clearly stated. With great cries of offended pride, the committee rejected the idea that the citizens of Hancock County were in any way responsible for the depredations which the Mormons had experienced. Moreover, while they did agree that they would do everything in their power “to prevent the occurrence of anything which might operate against” the Mormons’ removal, they wanted it clearly understood that the citizens of Illinois were under no obligation to help the Saints dispose of their properties.
Heaven forbid that they should help the Mormons become exiles!
The Quincy committee’s resolutions reached Nauvoo early in October, just prior to general conference.
Meanwhile, the stance taken by Thomas Ford, governor of the state, gave little or no comfort to the Saints. At about this time in the fall of 1845, a four-man commission, appointed by Ford to help resolve matters between the Mormons and the other inhabitants of Illinois, was in contact, both in person and by letter, with Church leaders. A dispatch from the governor to the leader of this commission made the governor’s position clear. “I wish you to say to the Mormons for me,” wrote the governor, “that I regret very much, that so much excitement and hatred against them should exist in the public mind. Nevertheless, it is due to truth to say that the public mind everywhere is so decidedly hostile to them that public opinion is not inclined to do them justice. . . . Under these circumstances, I fear that they will never be able to live in peace with their neighbors of Hancock and the surrounding counties. There is no legal power in the state to compel them to leave, and no such power will be exercised during my administration.
“The spirit of the people, however, is up and the signs are very evident that an attempt will be made by the surrounding counties to drive them out. . . . Those who may think it wrong to drive out the Mormons cannot be made to fight in their defense, and indeed the people of the state will never tolerate the expense of frequent military expeditions to defend them.”
There it was, clothed in typical political obfuscation. The state will not actually drive the Mormons out, but neither can it—or better, will it—use its powers to stop others from doing so. Such expressions were as good as an engraved invitation to the likes of Thomas Sharp and Levi Williams.
As the time for the Church’s general conference approached, then, the Saints were unquestionably feeling the heat of statewide anti-Mormon sentiment. Yet another anti-Mormon gathering was held on October first and second, this time in Carthage, involving people from nine counties, with Hancock County being excluded since it was embroiled in the current difficulty.
To no one’s surprise, the events and communications of the past few weeks would make this general conference of the Church significantly different than others which had been held in the past.
In the end, Joshua decided to stay on in St. Louis for the additional week and return with Alice and Will. They arrived in Nauvoo on the afternoon of Friday, October third. It was only later that evening, after the family had been gathered, after Walter Samuelson’s proposal to bring all the family to St. Louis had been announced, and after the children—set into a dither by such incredible news as a family trip downriver—had finally settled down, that Joshua was able to quietly take Nathan aside and get to the subject that was on his mind.
“I heard about the Quincy committee while we were coming upriver,” he began without preamble.
“Yes.”
“Is it true that Brigham has capitulated?”
“Capitulated?” Nathan said with a touch of irritation. “That’s an interesting choice of words.”
Joshua shook his head. “I’m not trying to argue about what he’s doing. Is it true? Has he agreed to leave the state?”
“Yes. Brigham has formally announced that we will be leaving in the spring.”
Joshua’s shoulders lifted and fell. That had been the rumor. He was certain it had some basis in truth. “Then I’d say we’d better call that family council you promised.”
Nathan looked around the crowded room. “Like tonight?” he asked dryly.
“No, of course not. But tomorrow.”
“Look, Joshua,” Nathan answered, “I’m not trying to fight you. I completely agree with you. It’s time. But I’m sure that leaving the state will be the focus of much of the conference. That starts on Sunday. What if we waited until that is over? Then we’ll have a much better feel for what is going to happen—how soon, what will be expected of us, and so on.”
After a moment’s consideration of that, Joshua bobbed his head up and down once. “Fair enough.”
Nashville, Tennessee, October 4th, 1845
Dear Family—
This will be a very short note. Two days ago we got the letter from the Twelve calling us home. We received that with mixed emotions. This has been a wonderful experience both for your father and for me. But at the same time, I have not slept for the last two nights. I am too excited at the thoughts of being with our family again.
We are sending this express in hopes that it will reach you before we do. We will go by light craft down the Cumberland River to the Ohio. There we have booked passage on a regular scheduled steamer which goes all the way up the Mississippi to Galena, Illinois. This means we can travel all the way home via boat, unless the weather turns cold and the river fills with ice.
The boat is the “Pittsburgh Palace.” Though there may be delays (or swifter passage than anticipated), the captain estimates arrival in Galena no later than October 21st to 24th. That would bring us to Nauvoo around the 18th to the 21st of the same month.
Get the house open and ready for us. Break out the pie pans. We are coming home!
All my love,
Mary Ann
Though he had originally planned to go to conference to hear for himself what was going to be said, Joshua changed his mind about attending the first session. On Saturday, Matthew went to Brigham’s home to visit on a matter, and Brigham told him that Sunday’s meetings would be devoted to dedicating the portion of the temple that was now completed, and to talks on the temple and other general gospel themes. The Monday morning session would be the sustaining of the Church authorities and officers. Not until Monday afternoon would the focus turn to the move west. Since that and that alone interested Joshua, he declined to go to anything before that. To no one’s surprise, Carl and Melissa said they would not even attend on Monday afternoon. The move west would not affect them; therefore there was no need to go.
On Sunday morning, Will and Alice walked up to the temple early with Peter and Kathryn. Will and Peter took turns pushing Kathryn’s wheelchair up the low rise that led to the top of the bluffs. They arrived shortly after eight o’clock. The furniture for the temple was not finished as yet, so temporary chairs and benches were set up in the great assembly room of the temple. Not knowing what that would mean for a person in a wheelchair, Kathryn wanted to be there in plenty of time to make suitable arrangements for herself. They found a place near the center row of benches and spread themselves out across two rows to save places for the rest of the family, who came about half an hour later.