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  Jenny watched the string of men and women snaking along after the man; bemused, she recalled his name was Daniels.

  Abruptly Jenny realized she was still standing beside the fire, clinging to Mark’s arm. The midnight thieves, Oliver Cowdery, Lyman Johnson, David Whitmer, and John Whitmer, were standing there, too. But there were others.

  Mark was saying, “You realize what you’re doing? You’re saying you believe these men and that you want to help their families. That could put you in bad with Joseph and Ridgon right off. Are you willing to stick your neck out like that?” In a moment he broke the silence, saying slowly, “Your reputation will tarnish before you even settle in Zion. Do you want to run the risk of being labeled as dissenters?”

  Matt spoke up. “You know, I left Missouri just long enough to fetch my young’uns from Kirtland. I believe in the land. Maybe I don’t believe enough in Joseph right now, but I like it here enough to fight for what I want.”

  “And what’s that?” Mark asked slowly.

  “A home in Missouri, freedom. Joe’s gotta let us have more head room. He’s gotta give us a chance to act like men, with minds to think and choose. Some of us are gettin’ tired of being treated like bad little boys, havin’ our hands smacked for havin’ our say.”

  There was an uneasy ripple through the crowd, but Jenny’s quick glance around the circle told her many were approving of Matt’s words.

  She had just a quick glance Mark’s direction, noting the relief on his face, when Silas Jenson quickly added, “But there’s other reasons. The Whitmers have been good friends of ours since the church began. Take year before last. My wife nearly died birthin’ and Missus Whitmer was right there long as we needed her. It pains me to think of what she’s feelin’ right now.”

  From the back of the circle a thoughtful voice added, “I can’t believe Joseph’s meanin’ those things he said. Sure I believe Cowdery’s telling the truth when he repeated the story, but I’d like to hear some more.”

  “Everybody knows Rigdon’s a rant and raver. Everybody takes him with a grain of salt.” There was a wave of nervous laughter.

  Jenny said, “I’ve just finished the dishes. I didn’t hear the men talk, neither did Clara or Betsy. Seems like, if we’re to be following the menfolk into who knows what, then maybe we should be hearing their story.”

  “We don’t have time. Let’s get these wagons on the road.”

  There was a snort behind Jenny and she turned. Bella Partridge folded her arms across her ample body and stretched to her full height. She was nearly as tall as the tallest man in the group. The silence lasted another second and Jenny saw Bella’s chin jut out while the flesh under her chin quivered. Words were unnecessary. Her husband sighed, “Might as well tell the whole story over again, or we ain’t goin’ no place.”

  The day was heating up rapidly. Mark led the way to a shady grove. As they settled in the shade of the trees, Jenny noticed most of the group were middle-aged and somber.

  Cowdery spoke first. “I’m convinced Joseph is a prophet holding the keys of the kingdom. You know I’m wanting to obey the Lord and make it in the hereafter, or I’d not be out here in Missouri, following the Prophet.”

  David Whitmer was speaking now. “It goes against the grain to give up on a project. But a man’s got to have some say about his life.”

  Cowdery continued, “Rigdon particularly is wanting us outta the state. He’s made up his mind and won’t rest until he’s driven us out. Me particularly. I’ve made no bones about my feelings. Rigdon’s the troublemaker. He’s responsible for the Danites. They are his baby. Missourians are a tough lot, I grant, but Rigdon made up his mind he’ll be tougher.”

  John Whitmer added, “They’d been putting the screws into me to give over all my property to the church. Rigdon was the one who started the tide of feeling against me. He did it with his preaching when he gave out that salt sermon on last June 17. Since then feelings were running high.”

  “‘Ye are the salt of the earth,’” Cowdery quoted bitterly, “and if the salt’s lost its savor, it’s to be trodden underfoot. The Saints were duty-bound to trample underfoot those who wouldn’t go along with all the church taught.”

  Whitmer continued, “Corrill came to me secret-like, saying it was Rigdon’s signal to the Danites to get me. He advised I hightail right then. I didn’t want to give up everything I’d worked for because of that feeling, so I went to Joe.”

  Mark interrupted, “Did Joe sanction Rigdon’s sermon?”

  “He didn’t come right out and say so, but he did say that the Lord revealed to him it was Peter who done in Judas.” There was silence and Jenny pondered Joseph’s statement.

  The mild voice from the back of the crowd spoke again, “I ain’t heard more’n whispers about the Danites. Some of you fellas explain.”

  David Whitmer faced the man and spoke tersely, “You’re not the only one. Information is thin, but the bald facts are it’s a band of cutthroats pledged to enforce the laws.”

  “What laws?”

  “Anything the Prophet says is to be. Don’t bother quoting me; it won’t do no good. They’re denying the bunch even exist. But they do, and you don’t have to be too smart to know one of their first jobs is to get rid of dissenters.”

  Whitmer was speaking again. “We had enough trouble with money in Kirtland. The United Order didn’t work there, and it failed out here. But they’re getting set to try it again. You mark my words. Getting my hunk of land is the first step.”

  From out of the crowd a man spoke, and his voice reflected his abiding doubt. “They call you dissenters, saying you’re fighting against council. We’ll never get anywhere ’til men pull together.”

  “Depends on which direction you’re pullin’.” John Whitmer was sober. “There’s other things; you haven’t heard the end of our story yet.”

  When he paused, Jenny asked, “What brought on the salt sermon?” The men turned to look at Jenny.

  Cowdery replied, “Well, it started up when Corrill and Marsh objected to the decision council reached on our case. Corrill reported back that I was faulted for objecting to the way things were running. In truth, it was the Danites and Avard with his cutthroat tactics I was against. But council decided we four best be done in.”

  “Corrill and Marsh,” John Whitmer took up the story, “objected and then argued the matter needed to be brought before the whole body of Saints.”

  “So,” Cowdery continued, “the sermon. Rigdon took it from the Bible, in Matthew about the salt having lost its savor; therefore it was good for nothing but to be cast out. He laid it out that the duty of the Saints is to take anybody that loses his faith and trample him under their feet. He went on to say there was a group of men in the bunch who had dissented from the church and were a doin’ all in their power to destroy the presidency, laying plans to take their lives. He laid out accusations of counterfeiting, lying, cheating, and anything else you could name. He said it was the duty of the Saints to trample them into the ground, and he would construct a gallows in the middle of Far West to hang them.”

  Jenny shivered and rubbed her chilly arms; she looked at the faces around her, seeing the disbelief and shock she was feeling. The memory of Rigdon’s scathing address to the people in the Kirtland temple flashed before her. She was seeing his pale face contorted with rage.

  John Whitmer’s words were nearly lost to her. “That’s when the Prophet said what he did about the Lord telling him Peter did old Judas in. So then I tried to right things by going to Joseph and asking what I should do, and he said it would help if I were to give my property into the church—that way there would be good feelings about me, and the men would have confidence in me again.”

  “‘Twere only a couple of days until we got the letter.” David Whitmer said, pausing to look around the circle of faces. “It was signed by eighty-three of the men of the church. It was in Rigdon’s fine words, though. He was saying all kinds of dirt, and addin’ that the citiz
ens of Caldwell County had borne the abuse long enough; then he gave us three days to pack up our families to get out of the state.”

  “We had too much invested to walk out on it all,” Cowdery said, glowering. “Land, cattle, furniture. So we headed for Liberty over in Clay County to hire us a Gentile lawyer. We knew a Mormon one daren’t listen to us. When we headed back we met the womenfolk riding down the trail to meet us. Mind you, they had been sent out of their homes with only a team and a little bedding and their clothes. It was the Danites that did it. They surrounded the place, ordered them to leave, and threatened to kill any one of the bunch who would dare return.”

  ****

  It took Mark and the fragment of the wagon train two days to escort the dissenters to the Missouri state line. There they were stocked with food and fresh teams. Jenny saw Mark pressing money into David Whitmer’s hand.

  When the fragment of the wagon train turned again, pointing their teams toward Far West, Mark was the chosen leader. His first task was to open the crude map and outline the route. “We’ve worked farther north, see. The rest of our train is still pressing west along the southern route. I suggest we cut straight across on this trail.” He traced his finger along the map. “We are small and can move faster; if we are fortunate, perhaps we’ll arrive at the same time the other bunch does.”

  Jenny saw the level glances the men exchanged; she also saw the puckered frowns and worried eyes of the women.

  She didn’t need to question further. Mark knew how important it was to be in Far West when the other group arrived. How well aware she was of all those wagging tongues primed and ready to challenge Mark’s humanitarian actions! Without a doubt, his help to those four families would be taken to mean he supported the dissenters. But then, didn’t he? She studied his serene face and decided that, right or wrong, Mark would help those people.

  Back in the wagon, Jenny moved closer to Mark and touched the coarse texture of his shirt sleeve. Beneath the fabric she could feel hard muscle flexing with each movement of his arm. She looked at his sunburned face, noting that the deep color intensified the curious blue-green of his eyes. “Do you know you have a million more freckles?” she asked.

  He looked at her and the wary expression in his eyes disappeared. “And do you know that your curious owl eyes are twice as big today, and that they are very wise?”

  “Because you are being the Mark I expected you to be?” She closed her eyes for a moment, and from far out of the past rose a vision of the long-ago Mark, somehow glowing and set apart, with a quality of life she didn’t understand.

  Chapter 7

  During the remainder of their trip across Missouri, Jenny was torn by the need to see Joseph. Torn because in her innermost heart, she sensed a hint of disloyalty in her decision. But try as she might, she couldn’t identify the reason. Joseph needed to know the fears, even the gossip about the Danites. He also needed to be warned against Rigdon. What could be wrong about her decision to search him out at first opportunity? Jenny glanced at Mark and couldn’t help feeling a touch of guilt.

  True to Mark’s prediction, the smaller train of wagons had moved quickly through Missouri, bending north and west through the prairie land.

  When the news was passed through the line of wagons, Jenny leaned over the wagon seat to survey her new home. “So this is Far West,” she said slowly as their wagon creaked down the main street until they reached the town square.

  Mark stopped in front of a building—log, like the cabins, she noted, comparing the scattering of dwellings fanning out from the square. But most certainly, with that size, it was more than a house.

  The last of the wagons pulled into the square and Jenny waited for the dust to settle before turning to study this place they were to call home—Zion. She thought of the awe that word had built in her and, with a sinking heart, compared the emotion with reality.

  It was only another frontier town, just like all the other Missouri towns they had passed through. There were no neat door yards with tumbling flowers and shady trees, no houses of milled lumber or quarried stone. Crude log shelters, tiny and raw, were the only buildings.

  Then she began to notice other things. The streets were wide. Half of their little wagon train could travel abreast down this avenue, half of the twelve wagons.

  Remembering, Jenny looked around for the rest of the original wagon train. “Mark, have we arrived first?”

  “I doubt it,” he said casually as he knotted the reins to the seat. “They’ve probably been sent on to settle another area. It’s not likely everyone would find enough land right around here.”

  As he jumped to the ground, the door of the crude log building opened. The man in the doorway was a stranger, a curious one. “Welcome to Far West. The Prophet is out of town right now. He’s left instructions to head your bunch up Grand River way. Gallatin is Gentile, but beyond, up off Honey Creek, there’s good land and a townsite picked.” Jenny’s heart sank. Joseph wasn’t here.

  The men from Mark’s wagon train had gathered around him. The man looked pleased. Jenny saw him take a deep breath as he shifted his hat to the back of his head and say, “Now, folks, you’re going to like it up there. The Prophet has bought a big parcel of land, and he’s prepared to give you a good price on a nice little farm. Right now he has his agent up there to take your money or your notes and lead you on to your own lot. I predict that within the week, you’ll all be settled on your own section.”

  The mingled voices and the man’s instructions blocked out Mark’s question. Jenny watched him lean back against the wagon wheel until he could gain an audience.

  While they waited, Jenny got out of the wagon and joined the women forming a circle in the middle of the wide road.

  “And to think we left Ohio for this!” The woman dabbed at her eyes as she peered around.

  Jenny said, “But it’s new. Far West has only been here for a year. Look at all they’ve done. It’s a shock to me too, if I just look at the raw dirt and log huts. But look yonder. From here you can see the plowed fields. That building—it’s surely a schoolhouse. That house over there in the middle of the big plot has a window with a curtain. There’s corn nearly ready for eating.” Even as she spoke, she wondered why she must defend Joseph’s Zion.

  “I hear there’s Indians and snakes. Rattlers. They’re poisonous. I had a cousin, came out here in ’34. Died from snake bite.”

  “They’re shippin’ us on. I heard the fella say up north to Daviess County. The town—I’ve never heard such a name; he’s calling it Adam-ondi-Ahman. All I want is a spot where I can put my feet up and call home.”

  The group of men broke up, all heading for their wagons.

  Jenny joined Mark on the crude porch of the log building. She was breathing deeply of the air, noting the smells around her. The building still oozed resinous sap, and its pungent odor was only a backdrop for the sweet freshness of the towering evergreens, beginning just now to move with the evening breezes. Supper fires threw their own homey scent into the air. Again Jenny sniffed deeply and the fearful knot in her stomach loosened. Surely in such a place there could be only peace.

  Then she thought of the people they had met fleeing for their lives. Again she studied Far West. This time she was convinced: Cowdery and his bunch were lying.

  Behind her Mark was speaking to the man on the porch. “Where do I find David Whitmer’s house?”

  The man paused for a moment. Now his eyes grew cold as he studied Mark’s face and said slowly. “Whitmer isn’t around here no more. How’s come you want him?”

  “I don’t. I have agreed to buy his house.” Jenny caught her breath and Mark gave her a sharp glance as he waited for the man’s answer.

  “Sorry, but it isn’t his to sell. Rigdon’s living there now. Take it up with him.” He started to turn away, but then he paused. “If you want to be happy in Far West, you best forget you even know that bunch of dissenters. They’ve caused enough trouble around here. The first presidency
has suffered enough grief at their hands, and they’re not making any bones about the purge. The purge will continue as long as we get men who can do nothing except buck the presidency.”

  “The purge?”

  “The salt that has lost its savor is fit only to be trampled. Or hung.”

  Mark and Jenny slowly eased back into the line of wagons already heading out of Far West, cutting north toward the Grand River.

  Jenny tried to keep her troubled thoughts to herself and concentrate on the changing scenery, but over and over the words moved through her thoughts. Purge. If the salt has lost its savor. . . .

  They were on the prairie again, and the view before her caught her attention. In this place the tall grasses were filled with color. Like a giant carpet, the wild flowers had painted a design that changed with every fancy of the wind. First blue, then sunrise rose pushed through, and finally golden blossoms of varying intensity became evident.

  Startled wildlife fled the area, protesting with honks and crashing hoofbeats. Mark pointed his whip at the awkward rush of a wild turkey.

  True to the man’s word, in less than a week, Mark and Jenny were settling on their own acreage.

  On the northern bank of Grand River, close to the little town with the strange name, Mark and Jenny found the section allotted to them. No matter that Joseph didn’t appear and give them a choice. Like the others, they took their place in line and waited to be led to their homes.

  They pulled their wagon into the clearing facing the river, and that first morning Jenny stood looking over her domain. She was still deeply conscious of the little stone cottage they had left behind, but now she was being caught up in the poetry of this place.

  From undulating grasses to dark-hued trees, from rolling prairie to rearing stony cliffs, there was a theme that wrapped itself around Jenny leaving her wide-eyed and on emotional tiptoe.