Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  Five minutes later they were all in the kitchen. They ate rewarmed slices of bread along with a thick stew Mother Smith had already had cooking on the stove. Lydia stood back, declining any refreshment, and watching the men. She was particularly interested in Mr. Stowell and Mr. Knight. Emma had told her they were from down Colesville and South Bainbridge, about twenty-five or thirty miles from her own home in Harmony, Pennsylvania. But that was well over a hundred miles south of Palmyra. What had brought them here to the Smith home? They seemed comfortable with the family, and they talked of the record as though there were not the slightest question about it in their minds either. Yet they were hardly wildeyed fanatics. From both dress and deportment, they were clearly prosperous, educated farmers. It was another troubling piece in her puzzle.

  She turned a little, watching Nathan’s father. The fruitless search had done little to lighten his mood. His mouth twitched from time to time, particularly when reference was made to whom it might have been that had attacked Joseph. There was a fury burning in Benjamin Steed, and Lydia was glad they hadn’t found Joshua. Not tonight. Let things simmer down a little. It would still be bad enough. But tonight…She felt a little chill run up her back and wondered how she had allowed herself to become entrapped in all this.

  The back door opened and Joseph came in. Samuel quickly stood and Joseph took his chair. He looked first to Emma, then to his parents, with obvious relief. “All is safe now.” There was a collective sigh of relief, and Emma ladled some stew into a bowl and handed it to him. As he reached for it, he gave a soft cry of pain.

  “What is it, Joseph?” Mother Smith asked anxiously.

  He was peering at his right hand, the one Lydia had seen him favoring on the sofa. He held it up, palm facing them. “Father,” he said, “I seem to have hurt myself.”

  Lydia felt a sudden lurch in her stomach. The thumb on his right hand was noticeably out of line from where it should normally have been.

  Joseph touched it and winced sharply. “The last man who jumped me came from behind, I heard him just before he leaped. I swung around and struck him a heavy blow. I must have dislocated my thumb. It hurts somethin’ fierce.”

  Father Smith stepped to his son, taking the injured hand carefully. “That you have, son. Hold on, this will hurt.” He grasped the thumb as Joseph gritted his teeth. He yanked on it sharply, and there was a soft popping sound.

  Joseph gasped, then blew out air in a sharp burst of relief. “Yes,” he cried. “That did it.” He blinked back sudden tears of pain. He shook his hand, wiggled the thumb. “It’s better already.”

  The group fell silent for a time as they continued eating. Joseph finished first and looked up. “This is exactly what the angel warned me about,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Lydia jerked around, and saw that Nathan’s father was staring at Joseph as well.

  “When he gave me the plates, he told me this kind of thing would happen.”

  “What did he say, Joseph?” Josiah Stowell had leaned over the table eagerly.

  Joseph leaned back, his eyes reflective. “He said I was but a man, and that now the record was in my hands I would have to be very watchful and faithful to my trust. Wicked men would lay every plan and scheme to take it from me. He also warned me that if I do not take continual heed, they will succeed.”

  Lydia felt her skin begin to crawl. As she looked quickly at the other faces, it was clear no one in the room except herself was having any trouble with this talk of an angel and his eerie warnings. Well, almost no one. Nathan’s father shot her a quick look and seemed relieved to see her dismayed as well. He stood and picked up his hat from the back of his chair. But before he could move away, Joseph Knight spoke.

  “So you are going to translate the record?” Everyone turned to Joseph at that.

  He nodded firmly. “Yes, with the Lord’s help.”

  “How long, Joseph?” Nathan broke in. “How long before it’s translated?”

  Lydia felt a little sick. Nathan too? It was evident in his eyes, in the eagerness of his voice. She felt suddenly a little dizzy and filled with an overwhelming desire to be gone from this house.

  Joseph was looking at Nathan, shaking his head. “I don’t know.” He looked suddenly forlorn. “I am in need of making a living to support my family.” He looked up at Emma and smiled briefly. “We’re hoping that Emma will soon be with child and I have to think about becoming a father.”

  There were quick nods of approval.

  “And the opposition grows almost daily now,” Joseph continued. “I do not know what we shall do.”

  “My parents have invited us to come back to Harmony,” Emma said. “My brother has a small house nearby that he’ll sell to us.”

  “Yes,” said Stowell quickly. “That’s a good idea. Come down to Harmony, Joseph. Mr. Knight and I can help you. You must start on the translation as quickly as possible.”

  “Perhaps we will,” Joseph said, now quite weary. “We are considering that very seriously.”

  There was a moment’s silence and Lydia seized upon it as the opening she had been waiting for. “I must go. My aunt will be worried.”

  “Yes,” Nathan’s father added quickly, putting on his hat. “Nathan and I also must be going. We’ve still got to find Joshua.”

  In a moment they were all standing. Joseph led them through the house to the front entryway. As Lydia put on her coat and hat, Joseph reached out and took her hand. “Miss Lydia, thank you again. It was noble of you to try and prevent what happened tonight.”

  He turned to Nathan. “And to you, good friend. Thank you for riding on this stormy night to help.” He looked to Nathan’s father. “Mr. Steed, I know you do not believe in what has happened to me. It says much for you that you didn’t let it stop you from coming.”

  That caught Nathan’s father by surprise and he didn’t know what to say. He murmured something under his breath, shook hands quickly, and stepped out and onto the front porch. The rain had slackened a little but still came in a steady downfall. The temperature had dropped and the air was cold and moist. Their breath came in little clouds of white.

  Lydia gazed out into the rain, dreading stepping out into it again. “My aunt just lives up the road from here,” Lydia said. “I can find my way.”

  Nathan’s father shook his head and Nathan immediately touched her shoulder. “We shall see you there. And I think your aunt deserves an explanation for your lateness.”

  She nodded gratefully, too tired to protest. She pulled her hat down low and stepped into the rain, moving around to where their mounts were tied. As she untied the reins, she turned to Nathan’s father. “Mr. Steed?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you really believe Joseph has gold plates?” She had nearly asked Nathan; then, knowing what his answer would be, had turned to his father instead. She was hoping to find at least one ally, for doubts still tumbled inside her.

  Benjamin Steed undid the reins of her horse and offered her his hand to get up into the saddle. When she had swung up and settled herself, feeling the cold wetness instantly penetrate through to her legs, he looked up at her. When he spoke, his voice was low, and tight with anger. He shot a quick glance at Nathan. “I think the whole thing is madness.”

  He untied his mule and swung up into the saddle beside Lydia. He gave her a long look, deliberately avoiding Nathan’s eyes now. “Personally, I wish Joseph Smith would take his sacred record”—the last two words were spat out with great contempt—“and all this talk about angels and get out of here. Pennsylvania isn’t half far enough if you ask me.”

  She turned to see Nathan’s reaction to that, but he didn’t look at her. He was watching his father, the pain drawing the corner of his eyes into tight lines. His father glanced at him once, then reined the mule around and dug his heels into its flanks.

  Nathan finally looked at Lydia, his face glum, then followed suit, waiting at the front gate to let her fall in between them. No one else spoke as they rode
slowly northward.

  It was after eleven when they finally found Joshua. Twice Nathan had tried to talk his father into going home, promising he would look for Joshua the following day. They were wet, they were cold, and they were very tired. The mules were also tired and miserable and had started to balk at every turn. But Benjamin was having none of that. His mood had not been helped by the experience at the Smiths’. Like Lydia, he had seen the eagerness, the trust in Nathan’s eyes as Joseph spoke, and it left him filled with disgust. Nor had the search for Joshua done anything to change his mood. As they moved from boardinghouse to warehouse to the Murdock farm—Will and David were not home either—and back to town again, Benjamin could feel the anger deepening inside him until it was like a cold, hard lump settled in the pit of his stomach.

  They rode through the deserted silence of Main Street, past the darkened houses and shops, disturbed only by the barking of an occasional dog. They came to Church Street, where they would turn north for home. As they reached the corner, Benjamin reined up.

  Nathan’s mule went three or four steps further before Nathan saw his father had stopped. “What?” he said.

  Benjamin gestured with his head. Half a block further up the street was Asa Lilly’s tavern. Lamplight still shone from two of the windows, and there were three horses and a buckboard tied up in front.

  Nathan peered through the rain, then finally grunted. “One’s a sorrel.”

  Benjamin nodded. Joshua had no mount of his own, but Lydia had said they were all on horses, so they had checked at the livery stable. Joshua had rented a sorrel mare for the night.

  “Come on,” Benjamin said gravely. “Let’s take a look.”

  Joshua was at a table with the two Murdock boys, Mark Cooper, and a man Benjamin did not recognize. He was older, balding, his hair plastered to his head. It was clear that none of them had been long out of the rain. A bottle of whiskey sat in the middle of the table, better than three-quarters empty.

  Will Murdock was speaking, or rather half shouting. His voice was slurred, the speech thick. “So close. We almost had that sneaking—”

  He stopped. Joshua had looked up toward the door and frozen, his face going instantly ashen. Will turned slowly, struggling to focus his eyes. The others turned too, staring at the two dark figures in the doorway. Asa Lilly’s oldest son was wiping down the counter. He stopped and slowly set down his rag.

  “Well, well,” Joshua said, recovering a little. He forced a smile, but it was battered, crooked, a feeble effort at bravado. “Hello, Pa. Evenin’, Nathan.”

  Benjamin stepped forward into the light, Nathan following closely behind him. Benjamin felt the rage surging upward in his gut, making his hands tremble. He clenched them tightly, fighting to steady them.

  “Care for a drink?” Joshua said, reaching for the bottle. “It’s a cold night out.”

  “Nathan and I would like a word with you outside.”

  Three men at another table were talking quietly, laughing amongst themselves. They suddenly fell silent and turned to watch.

  Joshua licked his lips, then feebly smiled again. “Come on, Pa, have a drink first. Then we can talk.”

  “I said outside,” Benjamin commanded, clipping off the words with measured precision.

  Will Murdock sensed Joshua’s need for an ally. “Now, Mr. Steed, ain’t no need to be unsociable.”

  “You shut your mouth!” Benjamin roared. “You’ve done enough for one night.”

  Will rocked back in his chair. Nathan reached out a hand and laid it on his father’s arm. “Pa,” he cautioned. Benjamin shook it off, barely aware of it. Behind the counter, the Lilly boy began to back slowly away. When he reached the stairs he turned and bolted up them.

  For a moment, no one else moved. Every eye was riveted on Benjamin. Then finally Joshua pushed back his chair and stood up, the hangdog fear suddenly gone. “You got something to say to me, you say it here.”

  “That’s right,” Benjamin raged. “Let’s shame the Steed family in public.” He laughed bitterly. “Why not wake the whole village so they can see what a son of mine has done?”

  “And just what have I done?” Joshua asked, his own voice now filled with venom.

  “Gone after Joe Smith and his gold plates.”

  There was a start from the other table, and the men swung around to look at Joshua more closely. Joshua was likewise taken aback.

  “Lydia McBride came for us. She told us what you and these mongrel dogs were up to.”

  “Lydia?” Joshua echoed in a hoarse whisper.

  “Lydia?” Will Murdock howled, leaping to his feet. He swung around to Joshua. “I told you she would be nothing but trouble.”

  Joshua whirled and straight-armed him, slamming him back into his chair. “Shut up!”

  “Was it you that hid in the woods and jumped Joseph from behind? Like a real man does?”

  Joshua’s eyes darted away, unable to meet his father’s. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Nathan spoke to Joshua for the first time. “Joseph said he recognized your voice. Heard you call out Will’s name.”

  In one instant Benjamin saw it all—saw the reaction at the table, saw the quick look of fear Will Murdock and his brother exchanged, saw the alarm in the older man’s eyes, saw Mark Cooper drop his head quickly, saw the guilt on his own son’s face. They were all guilty. His son and this scum he was running with.

  “You did it,” Benjamin lashed out. “At least be man enough to admit it.”

  Joshua’s eyes narrowed and he lunged forward a step, his fists clenched. “I didn’t hit him,” he hissed, “but only ‘cause he was too fast for me. I tried!”

  Benjamin stared, shocked into momentary silence by the open admission and the blazing defiance.

  Nathan exploded. “Did it ever cross your mind that what you were doing was nothing more than plain robbery? Common thievery?”

  “Them plates aren’t his,” the balding man snarled. “Smith himself admits he found them up top of old man Sexton’s hill.”

  Asa Lilly came tumbling down the stairs in a nightshirt, followed by his son. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs, then came forward slowly, holding up his hand. He knew Benjamin from the several times he had been in the tavern since the Steeds had come to Palmyra. “Ben,” he said soothingly, “have we got a problem here?”

  “There’s no problem,” Benjamin spat, not taking his eyes from Joshua. “I’ve just come to fetch my son home. Seems like he’s not old enough to be on his own anymore.”

  Joshua leaned forward, unable to believe what he had just heard. Then he threw back his head and roared.

  Something inside Benjamin snapped. He stepped forward, swinging. Joshua saw it coming, strangled off the laugh, but was too stunned to duck. The flat of Benjamin’s hand caught him square alongside the head with a crack that seemed to thunder in the room. He went crashing backwards and hit the table, sending the whiskey bottle flying. His feet tangled in a chair leg and he fell heavily, smashing his face on David Murdock’s knee as he went down.

  For several seconds, no one moved. “Joshua,” Benjamin stammered. He stepped forward, his hand extended toward his son. Joshua rolled frantically away from him, then came up into a crouch, blood trickling from his nose.

  “Joshua, I’m sorry. I—”

  Looking around wildly, Joshua’s eyes lit on the pistol stuck in Mark Cooper’s belt. With a cry like that of a wounded badger, he leaped forward, snatching the gun. He swung around, the pistol coming up just as his father reached him.

  “Joshua!” Nathan screamed. “No!”

  Benjamin froze, chest heaving, looking down the barrel of the pistol, the hole seeming as large as a cave. He felt suddenly, terribly sick. Joshua’s eyes were crazed, his hand trembling violently. Benjamin saw the thumb on the hammerlock of the pistol, white at the knuckle, and knew he was moments from death.

  Then gradually, sanity returned to the eyes that stared at him over the barrel. Jos
hua fell back a step, the gun lowering, but only enough to point at Benjamin’s chest.

  “Don’t do it, Joshua! Don’t do it!” Nathan’s voice behind them was almost a sob.

  The pistol lowered a fraction more. “Don’t you ever touch me again,” Joshua cried, his voice trembling as noticeably as his hands. “Not ever!”

  “Joshua!” There was no sound. “Joshua!” He could only mouth the word over and over.

  In the room, everyone had frozen into immobility. Then Asa Lilly moved. Joshua swung around, the pistol waving wildly now. “Stay back!”

  Lilly and his son cowered backwards. The men at the table dropped their eyes, huddling lower in their chairs. Those at Joshua’s table could only gape at him, as stunned as the others.

  Joshua slowly backed around the table, keeping the gun steady now. He passed behind Benjamin, passed on Nathan’s left. Nathan, his face twisted with anguish, took a step toward him.

  “Don’t!” Joshua whispered.

  “Joshua,” Nathan cried, pleading.

  “Just don’t!”

  Then suddenly he turned and plunged out of the door. In a moment there was a hoarse cry, the sounds of a horse’s hooves pounding away. Then there was nothing except the soft sound of the rain on the roof overhead.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The month of June was closing out in western New York, and summer had now come with a vengeance. The afternoon temperature had climbed into the nineties, and a line of thunderstorms off to the west, spawned from the waters of Lake Erie, left the air laden with a muggy heaviness that effectively stifled any movement. Even the trees hung limp and lifeless, as though too weary to rustle their leaves. A raven circled lazily overhead, splitting the stillness with an occasional raucous caw, but no other birdcalls were heard. A few cows clustered together in a stupor beneath the spreading shade of an oak tree. Further on, a pair of horses stood side by side but facing in opposite directions, their flicking tails keeping the flies away from each other’s faces.

  Benjamin Steed snapped the reins once lightly just to remind the mules he was still there. An ear flopped backwards momentarily. Other than that there was no sign that they noted his presence. Benjamin sat back, content to let them set their own pace. Though he had left his home just a few minutes earlier, the sweat already trickled from beneath his widebrimmed hat and into his eyes, and there was a stickiness in his arm pits, but he gave little mind to it. His thoughts were on other things, primarily on his oldest son.