No Ordinary Day

In this fictional account of the day Zina married Joseph Smith, I have included as many of Zina’s own words (in italics) and actual details from her life as possible, like the red bread box.

I lie in our makeshift bed next to my husband of seven months, Henry Jacobs, who is still sleeping. I feel our child moving inside me. Caressing my extended stomach, I think back to six years ago when all of this began. While I was at school, my Father had been given The Book of Mormon. I went into the front room, saw a book laying in the window. I opened it, saw what it was. The sweet Spirit of peace was with it. I clasped it — my hands pressed it to me with that childish but pure joy that is one sense not told.¹ In that moment I knew with certainty that the Book of Mormon was of God. Though my parents were soon baptized, I waited. I worried that if I were baptized I would quickly disappoint God with a quick retort to one of my brothers or gossiping with my friends at school. Baptism was a covenant with God. Was I ready and able to keep it?

A few months later, Hyrum Smith (the Prophet’s brother) and David Whitmer visited, staying a few nights at our farm to teach my parents, who were new converts. The morning for the departure of these men from our house arrived, and I had not yet become a member of the Church. That morning, a short time before they were to start, Hyrum Smith’s cousin rode up with a message that they could not leave that day as my brother Dimick and wife Fanny, were desirous of being baptized.

That morning at prayers I had presented to me [a] heavenly vision of a man going down into the water and baptising someone. So when the message came, I felt it was a testimony that the time had come for me to receive baptism. Brother Hyrum Smith was mouth in prayer, and in my secret soul I had a wish that he should baptize me . . . Brother Hyrum was chosen by the others . . . and I added my preference to their words. Accordingly, we all went down to the water and were baptized by Hyrum Smith.² The cool water left me gasping for air and grateful for the warmth of the summer sun. Being baptized meant a lot to me then and still does now.

Henry rolls over closer to me and places his hand on my round stomach.

“You awake, darling?”

“Yes.” I entangle my fingers in his dark, curly hair, one of my favorite things about him, and focus my thoughts on the present. “It’s been moving a lot this morning. Almost like it knows it’s no ordinary day.”

“Maybe it does. Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t have to, Zina.” I look into his kind brown eyes and see the sincerity there.

“I’m sure, Henry. I’ve been tormented about it for the last two years. But now that I’ve made this decision, I finally feel the sweet Spirit of peace.”

Henry kisses my cheek. “I admire your faith in God and His Prophet.”

We arise. I brush my long, straight hair as Henry dresses and begins chores.

I make Henry breakfast as usual. Despite my faithful words to Henry, I feel anxious as I boil eggs and cook sizzling sausage. As I remove corn bread from my red tin breadbox, I think of my Mother. My breadbox once belonged to her. So did my name, Zina. She also gave me my faith in God. Mother would often say that we are “heaven born and heaven bound.”³ I wish I could talk with her about my plans for today, but she is no longer with us. I think back to the summer of 1839.

I was taken sick the morning of the 25th [of June]. My Father on the 27th, my Brother Oliver on the 1st of July. John was the only one that could give us a drink of water . . . Pres Joseph Smith and his family . . . ware very kind. . . . He saw to our being taken care of as well as circumstances would posibly permit as there ware hundreds in tents and wagons that needed care.

He once came in, found us all needing refreshment [so] he went and made us warm drink and brought it to all of us.⁴

Even though the Prophet and his family helped us care for her, my mother’s condition worsened. “Zina my time has come to die,” she whispered to me. “You will live many years; but O, how lonesome father will be. I am not afraid to die. All I dread is the mortal suffering. I shall come forth triumphant when the Saviour comes with the just to meet the saints on the earth.”⁵

Early in the morning just before the sun had risen the spirit of my blest Mother took its flight without moving a muscle or even a quiver of lip.⁶ Only my brothers John and William were well enough to attend her burial.

I shake off thoughts of my mother’s death as I sit down at the table with Henry. We eat breakfast.

“What are your plans for the day?” I ask Henry.

“William and I are working on a coffin for Sister Ella Lawson.”
“Will you be taking dinner with you?”
“Yes. I think that will be best. I need to write another article for the paper today, too.”

As I prepare food for Henry to take with him, my thoughts return to my mother’s death. I miss her dearly. I hope she was pleased by my efforts to comfort Father and care for my brothers and sisters after her death.

Only a few months after Mother’s death, we were stricken with illness again. Joseph and Emma cared for my father and I in their own home. My Fathers life was dispared of . . . Sister Emma was like a mother, and [I] Fancy I can see the pales of Gruel and quarts of Composition that was retailed to the sick in those shadowy times.⁷ I admired Emma, and she truly was like a mother to me, but her kindness made me miss my own Mother even more.

One day when Emma was out, I wondered, hoping, aloud if I would see my Mother in the next life, then realized I wasn’t alone. The Prophet found me weeping, missing Mother and feeling bad I couldn’t care for Father because I was also sick.

“Certainly you will. More than that you will meet and become acquainted with your eternal Mother, the wife of your Father in heaven,” the Prophet responded.

I wasn’t sure if I heard right. “And have I a Mother in Heaven?” I asked.

“You assuredly have. How could a Father claim His title unless there were also a Mother to share that parenthood.”⁸

“I have a Mother in Heaven.” The words filled me with comfort as I repeated them aloud. Mother in Heaven would have welcomed my Mother home, and together they would someday welcome me. All I wanted was to keep thinking about this wonderful, joyous new idea. But he continued. Placing his hand on my knee, he looked me in the eyes.

“If you won’t betray me, Zina, I’ll share something very special with you. But you must promise to tell no one — not even Emma.”

Not even Emma? What was this secret? But I knew him to be God’s Prophet. “Of course, I won’t betray you.”

“The Lord has commanded that the human family is to be joined together in this life by His power so that they will still be joined together in the heavens. If two people are joined in this life but not by the Lord’s power, the joining is not valid nor of force when they are out of this life. This joining of the human family seals to them the promise of exaltation and entrance into the Celestial kingdom. Abraham was taught this same principle when he took Hagar to wife, as was King David.”

A surge of questions flooded my mind, but he went on.

“Like Abraham, I have been commanded of God to take another wife, and you are the woman.” My stomach twisted. Did he say he wanted me to be his wife? He was already married to my dear friend Emma. Emma, who had been like a mother to me after my Mother died, who had welcomed me with open arms, comforted me and was nursing me to health. How could I keep such a secret from her? The idea was revulsive, but he was God’s prophet.

I spent hours searching the scriptures and praying to God for guidance. Help me to know the way. O Lord, my god, let they will be done and with thine arm around about to guide, shield and direct. Illuminate our minds with intelligence as you do bless the earth with light and warmth.⁹ I refused the Prophet’s invitation, but promised to keep our conversation a secret.

There were many nights I laid awake thinking about this strange, new teaching. Later, while I was still living with them, the Prophet asked me again to marry him. When he brought it up again, my questions poured out.

“How does this joining of families work? Does it mean I could be joined with my Mother in the heavens? Can we be joined without marriage? Why does God want you to marry me?”

He smiled as he listened to my questions. “God is pleased by your desire to know more, Zina.” He explained that this joining was called a sealing. It would tie me and my family to him. Because he was the prophet, he would surely reach the celestial glory. Those who were sealed to him would be allowed to enter it, too. But I would have to marry him in order to be sealed.

Once more I thought long and hard about his question. But once again, I couldn’t accept.

I wrap bread, meat, and an apple in cloth for Henry to take with him. He reaches for the food gathered in my hand, and I hold it behind my back. Henry laughs and the skin around his eyes crinkles. He puts his arms around me and pulls me close so my belly presses up against him.

“I love you, Zina,” he whispers.

Smiling, I whisper back, “I love you, too, Henry.” The baby moves between us. Henry bends down and kisses my stomach. “I love you, too,” he whispers to our child. I hand him his food and watch him leave for the day.

I first met Henry while I was living with the Prophet and his family. At a dance I noticed the fiddler, a handsome young man nodding his curly head in time to the music. When he looked up and saw me staring at him, he smiled, crinkles appearing around his warm eyes. Sister Emma introduced us and invited him to call. We talked of the glorious gospel, of politics, the events of the world, his travels as a missionary, his writing for the newspaper. After Father and I were restored to full strength, Henry called regularly at our family home.

I pile our clothing on the table, then fill the wash tub with water, one bucket at a time.

We asked the Prophet to marry us on March 7th of this year. The day came and we were gathered with my family, but he never showed up. Elder John C. Bennet married us instead. Later, when I asked the Prophet what had prevented him from marrying us, he replied that he couldn’t give to one man a woman who had been given him by the Lord.”¹⁰ Although Henry and I have been quite happy and content together, I always feel a bit unsettled when I think of the Prophet’s response.

I place the washboard in the tub and stand next to the table. Item by item, I scrub each piece of clothing against the washboard in the warm water. Henry’s shirts and trousers, ones that I carefully sewed for him. My petticoats and aprons, some that I had sewn with my mother. My dresses. The blue dress that I wore the day Henry first called on me at the Smith’s home. The brown one I wore when Henry asked me to be his wife. I wash my chemise and Henry’s nightshirt. Our stockings that I have knitted and darned.

I enjoy doing our washing. As a young girl I helped my Mother with the family washing. Now I’ve done it so many times that it is simple, uncomplicated, and almost relaxing even though scrubbing sometimes takes a lot of effort. But even scrubbing is easy compared to the decision I’ve made this last week.

Like Jonah fleeing from Nineveh, I had fled from Joseph by marrying Henry. But it was pointless to flee from God’s will. Last week my brother Dimick somberly gave me a message from the Prophet.

“Joseph said, Tell Zina I have put it off and put it off until an angel with a drawn sword has stood before me and told me that if I did not establish that principle and live it, I would lose my position and my life and the Church could progress no further.¹¹ Do you want to be the reason the Prophet is destroyed by God?” Dimick asked me. Of course, I didn’t. I told Dimick to tell the Prophet I would consider his request again.

Leaving the heavy wash tub for Henry to help me empty later, I carry our wet clothing outside where Henry has stretched rope between upright poles. Piece by piece I hang our clothing to dry.

Deciding to secretly marry the Prophet had been hard. I had felt confused, torn between my love for Henry and my faith in God and His prophet. Through baptism I was “heaven born” as my Mother used to say, but if I refused God’s command through his prophet, could I be “heaven bound”?

The Prophet’s words last Sabbath had come to my mind. “All you who will not find fault with the words of life and salvation that God reveals through me for the salvation of the human family, I will stand like an officer of the gate, and I will see you safe through into the Celestial kingdom.” Would I be prevented from entering the Celestial kingdom because I had refused the Prophet not once, but twice — he had asked again before I left the Smith home? What about our soon to be born child? Would Henry and I be separated from each other and our soon-to-be-born child after this life because I had not obeyed?

I love Henry. He makes me laugh and blush. Through his eyes I felt like the most beautiful and blessed woman in the world. We are eager to welcome our first child into the world in a few months. I’m happy with him, and I can’t imagine being happier with anyone else.

But the Prophet has said that God has commanded me to marry him.

With the laundry all hung to dry, I return to our small cabin and eat my dinner alone.

I have spent many hours speaking with God this week. Over and over again I have poured out my thoughts, fears, confusion to God in prayer. Was this truly God’s will? I knew that if I married the Prophet and others learned of it, I would never again be a respectable woman. I searched the scriptures and by humble prayer to my Heavenly Father I obtained a testimony for myself that God had required that order to be established in his Church.¹²

Once I had received my answer, I told Henry of the Prophet’s request. He was upset. Understandably upset. But as I explained how I would only be married to the prophet for the eternities and that it would link our family to his, he softened. Like me, Henry knows that Brother Joseph is God’s prophet. Once I am sealed to the Prophet, my entrance in the Celestial glory will be guaranteed. And Henry and our child will be able to follow me in. It is a sacrifice for my salvation, for my husband’s salvation, and for our unborn-child’s salvation.

After several long discussions, Henry took my answer to the Prophet himself.

Finished with my meal, I prepare to marry the Prophet. I change my damp apron for a clean, dry one and pat down my hair. Sitting at the table Henry built, I pray once more to God. I ask that the peace of the Spirit will continue to fill Henry and I with comfort and strength to obey His will. I ask that He will accept my sacrifice, a greater sacrifice than to give my life for I never anticipate again to be looked upon as an honorable woman by those I dearly love, and bless it.¹³

When Dimick arrives, I walk with him to the river where we meet the Prophet. His light auburn hair glows in the sunlight as Dimick marries us according to the law of Celestial marriage. After the sacred ceremony is performed, Dimick walks me back to my home. The Prophet — now my husband — returns to his home with Sister Emma. He and I will never live together as husband and wife, but he will open the door for me to the Celestial glory.

Tonight I will make my husband Henry dinner. The dinner I share with Henry will be an ordinary meal, but it has not been an ordinary day.

Zina D. H. Young, image from Wikipedia

Zina Diantha Huntington Jacobs Smith Young was born on January 31, 1821, the fourth child in a large, religious family. After her conversion, Zina regularly exercised the spiritual gifts of speaking in tongues, prophecy, and healing. She married Henry Bailey Jacobs and had two children, Zebulon William Jacobs and Henry Chariton Jacobs with him. After Joseph Smith’s death, Zina was also married to Brigham Young and followed him to Utah. When the Relief Society organization was reinstated in Utah, Zina was chosen by Eliza R. Snow as the first counselor. Later Zina became to third Relief Society president. Zina was a school teacher, a midwife, a suffragette, and a sympathetic friend to those in need. She died on August 28, 1901.

Sources

1. Zina Diantha Huntington Young, Autobiography, typescript, 1, Zina D. H. Young Papers, Lee Library.
2. Zina Diantha Huntington Young, 1 August 1875, speech, Zina D. H. Young Collection.
3. Zina Baker Huntington, Letter to Dorcas Dimick Baker, 13 March 1820, Watertown, New York.
4. Quoted in Edward W. Tullidge, Women of Mormondom (New York: Tullidge and Crandall, 1877), 213.
5. Quoted in Edward W. Tullidge, Women of Mormondom (New York: Tullidge and Crandall, 1877), 214.
6. Quoted in Edward W. Tullidge, Women of Mormondom (New York: Tullidge and Crandall, 1877), 213.
7. Zina D. H. Young, Autobiography, 4.3. According to Martha Sonntag Bradley and mary Brown Firmage Woodward’s 4 Zinas, “This ‘composition’ was most likely a liqueur-based home remedy for digestive disorders” (134).
8. Susa Young Gates, History of the Young Ladies’ Mutual Improvement Association (Salt Lake City: General Board of the YLMIA, 1911), 15–16.
9. Zina D. H. Young, notes, Zina D. H. Young Collection.
10. Emma Jacobs, Letter to Oa J. Cannon; included in an untitled narrative about Zina by Cannon, 22–23, Oa J. Cannon Collection, LDS Church Archives.
11. Zina D. H. Young, “Joseph, the Prophet His LIfe and Mission as Viewed by Intimate Acquaintances,” Salt Lake Herald Church and Farm Supplements, 2 January 1895, 212.
12. Zina D. H. Young, Autobiography, 2.1.
13. Zina D. H. Young, Autobiography, 2.1.