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Show fie. Without breaking stride, Joseph Jo-seph removed his coat, and by the time he reached Port, he had rolled up both sleeves. "Let him go," Joseph ordered, still not recognizing his friend. Port felt his arms drop to his side. He looked the prophet square in the face, still not saying anything. "No," the prophet said, his voice suddenly growing faint. "It couldn't be. It is. Orrin Porter Rockwell." The two men embraced each other. Port felt wonderful. The best friend he ever had, the prophet, recognized him after all. "But you have so much hair," Joseph said, holding Port at arm's length to get a good look. "Such a long beard. You could use a good meal, or two. And my, how you smell. It's good to see you again, friend." Joseph and Port seated themselves them-selves on a bench, with others gathered gath-ered around, as Port quickly related re-lated the events of the last year his arrest, his confinement, his release, and the journey back to Illinois. Joseph commented several times on Port's long beard. Emma brought Port a cup of apple cider and two cakes, which he gulped down like a hungry pup. "Fm going to give you a blessing," bless-ing," Joseph said when Port had finished his story. Joseph turned sideways on the bench, and without with-out standing up, placed both hands on Port's head. "I prophesy in the name of the Lord," he began, his voice firm and clear, "that you, Orrin Porter Rockwell Rock-well so long as you shall remain loyal and true to thy faith need fear no enemy. Cut not thy hair and no bullet or blade can harm thee!" Joseph said "amen" and removed his hands from Port's head. Someone whispered something some-thing about Sampson, the Old Testament Testa-ment prophet who had a similar blessing. "Does this mean I shouldn't shave either?" Port asked, not intending to make light of what the prophet said. On the contrary, he was deeply moved by the blessing, and was fighting to hold back the emotion that was welling up inside. "I prophesied in the name of the Lord as moved by the spirit,"Joseph responded. "You interpret it the best you can." "Thank you," Port said. "What now?"Joseph asked. "Food, sleep, and a bath. Thought I'd go home to Luana." "She's in Independence," someone some-one said. Port was confused. How could Luana be in Independence. He had come from there. She had not visited him in jail. Surely she would have done that. Then he remembered remem-bered the dinner at the widow's house in Independence, and how his mother hadn't wanted to talk about Luana. He had thought nothing at the time. Now he knew something was wrong. "We have an extra room over at the tavern," a strange voice offered. It was Amos Davis, owner of the tavern where Port had stayed after shooting Boggs. "Mrs. Davis will fix you up," Amos continued. "She hadn't finished fin-ished the cleaning, so I left her home tonight." Several of the women gave Amos strange looks, but neither Joseph nor Port noticed. no-ticed. After shaking hands with some of the people, and answering a few more questions, Port headed out the door. He was desperately in need of food and rest. Nine days of constant travel, nearly two days without ameal, and one night without with-out sleep, had finally caught up with him. With the storm blowing in his face, and his knees beginning to shake, he didn't know if he could make it to the tavern. (To be continued) In the meantime he needed something to feed himself before he fainted from lack of nourishment. Entering the cabin, Port spotted a man sleeping on one of the benches. In front of the man on the floor was an apple core, apparently fallen from the man's hand while he was sleeping. When no one was looking, Port snapped up the core and popped it his mouth. The boat didn't capsize, and as Port walked down the plank onto the Nauvoo dock, he felt like dropping drop-ping to his knees and kissing the ground. For a moment, he hoped someone would be there to meet him, perhaps Joseph or Luana and his children. But there was no way they could have known he was coming. He didn't see anyone he recognized. With the wind continuing to blow, and the snow beginning to fall, the streets of Nauvoo were deserted. With Christmas day coming to an end there was no reason for people to be out. Pulling the lion skin coat tight around his shoulders, Port headed for the Mansion House. He knew Joseph would want to see him, even on Christmas. Joseph would give him food, perhaps even a bed. The storm became a blizzard, with the snow so thick in the air that one could hardly see the houses along the streets. Still, Port didn't have any trouble finding the Mansion Man-sion House. Light was coming from every window. A dozen or more carriages were parked in front, the horses already white from the raging rag-ing storm. Port could hear music. It appeared the prophet was having a party. Walking up the steps, Port remembered that he hadn't had a bath in nine months, and even though he had changed into fresh clothes only 12 days earlier, those clothes were torn and soiled from the long journey across Missouri. But he had come too far to turn away. It was too far to his own partially finished cabin. And he didn't know if Luana would be there. Without knocking, he opened the front door of the Mansion House and stepped inside. Port recognized most of the faces Brigham Young, Thomas Marsh, Sidney Rigdon and his daughter Nancy, Wilford Woodruff, Emma Smith, and finally Joseph, on the far side of the room. The prophet looked well and strong, laughing as he conversed with Stephen Markham. Port started towards I Joseph. i "What do you want?" demanded 1 a stranger, suddenly stepping in front of Port. "Came from Missouri to see Joseph," Port answered coolly. "He's busy, you can leave now." ' "111 see Joseph first." Port felt a surge of pride and he didn't know why that prevented pre-vented him from identifying himself. He felt offended, that in spite of his long hair and lost pounds, his friends did not recognize him. Without another word he pushed forward towards the prophet. "Get that filthy puke out of here," ! someone shouted. Men were grab-i grab-i bing at Port from every direction. Several women screamed. Spinning and turning to avoid being grabbed, Port con-j con-j tinued to work his way towards the i prophet. i But there were too many of them. Port found himself stretched ! out between two men, one holding I each arm. A third man, Brigham Young, was about to punch him in the stomach when the unmistak-; unmistak-; able sound of Joseph's voice filled ; the room. "Stop," the prophet shouted. "I'll ' throw this rascal out myself." Joseph approached 1 quickly, his stride firm and confident. confi-dent. He was grinning in eager anticipation of the approaching scuf- |