The Belle of Nauvoo - Book One

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Though the women of Nauvoo went back to their chores and the city once again followed its course like the river, running clear, clean, and pure and sparkling with righteousness, the heralding of the first steamer of that year – belching, splashing, and squealing its way upriver – brought reminders that the world at large was determined to disturb us from both within and without. The Anti-Mormon Party of Hancock County set aside a day of fasting and prayer for March ninth to pray for the downfall of Uncle Joseph, whom they called “Holy Joe,” whereby the pious of all orders were called upon to pray that he might speedily be brought to deep repentance for his blasphemies. They could not tolerate his teachings on the nature of God. Yet on this same “holy” day they planned a supposed “wolf hunt” which in reality was an excuse to pester and mob the Mormons living in outlying areas. It sounded to us as if they were cloaking their desire to enrich themselves with our property under a mantle of piety. Echoes of Missouri!

Father and the brethren met with the temple committee to effect the hastening of the completion of that building before the Saints were forced to leave Nauvoo. For unless Uncle Joseph was elected President, and thereby gained ascendancy over the enemies of the Church, it seemed probable that we would someday, sooner or later, be made to abandon our lovely homes for the Oregon Territory, where we could at least set up our own local government with no one to oppress or afflict us. But before then, we were pledged, every man and woman, to gain our eternal blessings in the temple, God willing. First the building needed finishing – a job that would require several miracles and many dozens of helping hands. As most citizens were vitally concerned about the coming persecutions, thousands were in attendance at a public meeting held outdoors on the temple site on the seventh day of March. It was fine weather for a meeting. Though the meeting started a nine in the morning, when Lorin and I arrived at seven, many of the best benches were already filled. However, we were able to find seats towards the front, Lorin sitting on the men’s benches and I right across the aisle on the women’s. From there we could see way across the riverbank into Iowa Territory, where the farmers were burning off the prairie preparatory to spring planting. The whole world was a rim of fire and smoke.

“Looks like the end of the world,” Lorin said.

“The way the gentiles are behaving in Hancock County, ‘tis a wonder it doesn’t soon come,” said I.

“Not before you marry me, I hope. Though the way you are so slow about sewing…”

“Lorin Walker! I’ll have you know that I hemmed five sheets this week! And I started on a quilt.” I folded my arms primly and would not look at him. When he did not speak, I gave in and turned toward him.

The way Lorin was looking at me made me blush rosily. He was thinking immodest things about the quilt. “We are in a public place,” I chided him, then refused to speak to him anymore across the aisle for all to hear.

Many carriages stopped along the edges of the gathering place, and thousands arrived, carrying chairs and stools. Soon Lorin was forced with the other men to give his section of seats to the sisters, and I repented of my lost opportunity to plan with him.

Father began the meeting with his favorite topic, the Penny Fund. He called upon the brethren to do as much as the sisters in donating money and said that such a vast multitude could perform a “marvelous work and a wonder,” like Isaiah prophesied. In order to do this, we needed to concentrate all of our energies on the building of the temple. Therefore, construction of the Nauvoo House would stop.

Ah! Peace and silence. The Nauvoo House would be a place to house newcomers; and since it was being built directly across the street from our home, I could hear the ringing of the saws and the calls for more bricks. The boys would be disappointed though, for the construction had provided entertainment during otherwise dull days filled with chores.

Uncle Joseph arrived late and went right up to the stand and took over from Father. He commenced to speak about lawyers, referring to the trial of Orsimus F. Bostwick and Francis Higbee’s appealing the case to Carthage. There was a great stirring of interest in the sisters’ section. Then he referred to some other doings the lawyers had stirred up – just like in the Book of Mormon.

“Amen!” we said.

Father followed Uncle Joseph. He called the lawyers polliwogs, wigglers, and toads, and said they should be ferreted out like rats. My! Father must have been clean fed up with the doings in Nauvoo to speak like that! He was referring to the several anti-Mormon parties spreading rumors about the countryside and creating turmoil within the city. They meant to bring mobs upon Nauvoo by taking such cases as the appeal of Orsimus F. Bostwick to the circuit court in Carthage.

Then Charles Foster, a prominent lawyer in Nauvoo, stood up in the vast crowd and yelled, “Do you mean me?”

The very air held silence at his challenge. Not a petticoat rustle could be heard. Uncle Joseph stood and asked him a question like the Quakers do. “Why did you apply the remarks to yourself?”

“Then you understand you meant me.”

“You said it.”

Then he threatened Uncle Joseph. So Uncle Joseph, as mayor, fined Brother Charles Foster. Doctor Robert Foster, his brother, stood up to attempt a reconciliation, saying that no one had heard his brother threaten Uncle Joseph. But the thousands all cried out with one voice, “I have!” It seemed that everyone in the city was fed up with amoral lawyers and wrongdoers in our midst.

After the reading of “General Smith’s Views of the Powers and Policy of the General Government of the United States,” which I had heard a least a dozen times in our home and the Mansion House, they read the draft of Brother Phelps’s article entitled, “A Voice of Innocence from Nauvoo.” This is what the women were waiting for. Once again not a petticoat rattled, nor a bonnet string stirred.

Brother Phelps referred to the atrocities of Orsimus F. Bostwick as “the blasting breath and poisonous touch of debauchees, vagabonds, and rakes who have jammed themselves into our city to offer strange fire at the shrine of infamy, disgrace, and degradation.” Several other quotes and pet phrases that I had heard from the sisters were included in this treatise. Also, “My God! My God! Is there not female virtue and valor enough in this city to let such mean men die of the rot – that the sexton may carry their putrid bodies beyond the limits of the city for food for vultures, eagles, and wolves.” That line sounded similar to my suggestion!

He covered everything thoroughly, declaring, “Let the whole virtuous female population of the city, with one voice, declare that the seducer of female chastity, the slanderer of feminine character, or the defamer of the character of the heads of the Church, or the canker worms of our husbands’ peace: the prostitutes or their pimps, whether in the character of the elite, lawyer, doctor, or cicisbeo, shall have no place in our houses, in our affections, or in our society.”

And so we did declare it again, shouting, “Amen! Amen!”

“Were you satisfied, you bloodthirsty female?” Lorin chafed me on the ride home.

“Quite! It was a masterly understatement.”

“Understatement! I never heard the like of it.”

“Well, I’ve heard nothing else for a week. How did you like Charles Foster’s face when he asked if the lawyer was himself? A polliwog indeed!”

“Quite a meeting!” He flicked the reins so the horses would speed up.

Feeling justice was satisfied, Nauvoo settled into its normal routine, the women hastening to accomplish their neglected chores. I went to work with a will on the week’s washing, grating the clothes up and down the washboard, my hands reddened from the lye soap, all the while wishing I was with Grandma sewing my quilt top. As it was raining, I had to hang the wash before the fire to dry. Yes, we should have washed the day before, but in our excitement we had failed to do so. Today, cleanliness had become a necessity.

I stopped to peer out the window through the raindrops, hoping to catch a glimpse of my love. I often watched for him, hoping he might have a special word or smile for me as he passed by. But he was away working on the temple up the hill – much too far to allow me the pleasure of his occasional company. I had to be satisfied with a few moments of an evening visit with the family. Each night when he called he asked me of my progress on the hope chest, but with all the recent excitement I was unable to reassure him. “Tomorrow I will work hard on my sewing!” I vowed.

And tomorrow I would!