Winter Rain

At fifteen, looking much older than those tender years due to his early physical development, he had joined Porter Rockwell, Joseph Smith’s personal bodyguard, with a handful of others in plotting the assassination of the anti-Mormon governor of Missouri, Lilburn W. Boggs. The Prophet himself had given approval to Rockwell’s plot to murder Boggs during a secret temple ceremony for the Saint-elect. While many of the faithful came to know of the plans, few among the plotters proved as brazen and fearless as the young Jubilee Usher. Rockwell’s avenging angels struck before scattering to disappear into the darkness of the middle frontier.

Through 1843 and 1844 the nearby Gentile communities of Carthage and Warsaw became increasingly afraid of the growing strength of Smith’s theocratic community at Nauvoo. When a rival group of Mormons splintered off from the Prophet, printing their own newspaper as a protest over Smith’s polygamist doctrine, paranoia came to rule around the throne, and again the mighty hand of the Church elders reached out to smite the unfaithful.

One of the fingers on that mighty, wrathful fist, brought forth to torch the upstart newspaper offices and destroy the evil printing press, was none other than a young Jubilee Usher, his face gleaming in the flickering light of those flames that brought to an end the threat to Joseph Smith’s hold on the one true Church.

An unfaithful Mormon was as evil an enemy to God’s Empire as was a blasphemous Gentile.

Fearing that civil unrest had come to that heated portion of his state, Illinois governor Ford declared himself in charge of the situation in June of 1844 and ordered the arrest of Joseph Smith, along with Smith’s brother Hyrum. Days later, on the twenty-seventh, a mob of citizens from nearby Carthage and Warsaw townships blackened their faces and marched on the town jail, dragged the Smith brothers from their cell, and lynched the Mormon leaders to a chorus of cheers and hallelujahs.

Into that yawning vacuum of divine power now stepped the Prophet’s chief lieutenant—Brigham Young.

And it wasn’t long before Young and his Quorum of Twelve decided that they must once and for all escape the land of the unclean, to flee forever the murderous Gentiles. They were commanded by God to seek out their own haven, a pure sanctuary in the West, where God Himself directed Young to take his faithful. By late in the winter of 1846, the first expedition bound for the valley of the Great Salt Lake embarked from the Saints’ nomadic Camp of Israel, bound for the unknown of that immense wilderness of the plains.

Across the next five years the Saints persevered just as the Hebrews fleeing the bondage of Pharaoh had done: building their dreams of Zion—raising their glorious City of the Saints from the valley floor in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. All the while Brigham Young grew more jealous of the one man who seemed to possess more power than did the Prophet here in the mountain West: Jim Bridger. Young dispatched ISO of his Danites, his “Avenging Angels,” to burn Bridger’s post and ferry, steal Bridger’s stock, and kill Bridger if they could.

The Angels, among them twenty-six-year-old Jubilee Usher, failed to find Bridger at home—but they did quench their blood lust by murdering every last one of the old mountain man’s employees at Bridger’s ferry on the Green River before turning around and marching back to the land of Deseret, mantled in glory.

Still, the fact that he had not yet secured the scalp of Jim Bridger continued to nettle Brigham Young more and more with each passing month across those next two years, until in 1853 Jubilee Usher himself convinced the Prophet of the need to occupy Bridger’s fort, and to intermarry with the daughters of the Shoshone tribes as had Bridger, so that the Saints could wrest control and dominion of the various bands in that country from a handful of decrepit old mountain men.

Jubilee had begun to position himself closer and closer to the throne, speaking to the Prophet’s own fears, and offering a solution that would certainly assure young Usher of a place at the right hand of Brigham Young himself.

Now of a morning as he waited for his Negro manservant to bring him sweetened coffee in the white china cup he so favored with breakfast, Jubilee remembered the end of that long ride to Bridger’s fort. He sat here beneath the awning at the front flaps of his tent, hearing no sound from the woman. She had been his for … something like four years now, since he took her off that farm in southern Missouri, along with the chattel of a daughter and two sons.