Two little ones had been added to our family in Geneva, and a fourth was born in London, the Christmas Day after our return from the continent. The foggy atmosphere of the metropolis did not agree with them at all, accustomed, as they had been, to the pure and bracing air of Switzerland, and I soon had serious illness in my family. My second little girl, Minnie, was so sick that we almost despaired of her life, and the others required constant attention; while the little baby boy, only a few weeks old, was seldom out of my arms. Just then it was, when so very awkwardly situated, that the notification came for us to set our faces Zionward.
They chided us for our want of faith, because we did not take our poor little sick child from her bed at the risk of life; but I thank God now that nature was stronger than our fanaticism, and that our little girl was spared to grow up a blessing of which we shall ever be proud.
One day, President Marsden came to me confidentially, and told me that the brethren were determined that I should leave England, and had counted upon my yielding in a moment of despair. My husband was to be counselled to go without me to Utah, if I persisted in my refusal. After he had left London, Elder Marsden was to give me notice to leave his house; and left destitute, and entirely among strangers, it was thought that I should be only too glad to follow.
I cannot tell how indignant I was; I could not find words sufficiently contemptuous to express what I felt; I reproached Elder Marsden with cowardice for agreeing to such an inhuman proposition, and I declared that I would not risk the life of my child if an eternity of suffering awaited me.
My husband was absent when this took place; but when he returned he approved of what I had done, and Elder Marsden was consequently “counselled” to send us away. The doctor warned us against the danger of exposing my little daughter to the cold in removing her; but we had no choice, for we were obliged to leave. Those were very painful times. Constant watching and anxiety had undermined my own health, and I fell ill. Even then, had we been left alone we might have escaped much of our trouble; but the incessant meddling of “counsel” was a perpetual irritation, and we were completely worn out with annoyance.
A pleasant apartment at the west end of the town was taken for me, by the advice of the medical man, and I was removed thither with my baby. I was not equal even to the task of taking care of that little thing, and had to procure the assistance of a nurse; the other children were cared for by friends. All that I needed was rest and tranquillity of mind, and I soon began to recover strength, though far from well. But this state of quietude was soon to be disturbed. Again we were notified that the last emigrant ship of the season was about to leave, and we must sail in her; and again we were obliged to refuse. My husband telegraphed to the Apostle at Liverpool that I was not well enough to travel, and he was told to “bring me along, and I should get better.” The Apostle (!) cared nothing for individual suffering providing the ambitious plans of the priesthood in Salt Lake City were carried out. But my husband, anxious though he was to set out for Utah, and obedient as he ever was to “counsel,” was not such a slave as they thought him, and he positively refused to go. For this he was very much blamed, and it was said that his own faith must be wavering.
Since my arrival in London I had several times seen my young friend, Mary Burton. She had, as she told me in her letters, very greatly changed, for she had now become quite a young lady. Still she retained most of her winning ways, though her childish prettiness had given place to the more mature beauty of womanhood; and when I saw her I was not surprised that she should be an object of attention, or that Elder Shrewsbury should have felt so deeply her rejection of him.
I also had a visit from another person, whom I little expected to see. This was no other than Elder Shrewsbury himself, who, I had been told, had left London some months before. This, he said was quite true; he had left London, and gone to work as a missionary hundreds of miles away; trying to forget his disappointment, but to no purpose. His was one of those natures which, though kind and considerate to every one, are not ready to form hasty attachments, but which, when once they do meet with an object upon which to lavish their affections, became devoted in friendship and unchanging in love. Their affections flow more deeply than those of most people.