Oliver and Samuel could barely contain themselves as they described what they had learned thus far. A prophet living in Jerusalem about six hundred years before Christ had been warned to flee the city with his family before it was destroyed. They had wandered in the wilderness for some years, then under the direction of the Lord, had built a ship and sailed to the Americas. They worshipped Jesus, were led by prophets, performed miracles. “It is much like the Bible,” Oliver had exclaimed. “It is another record of God’s dealings with his children.”
Oliver cleared his throat. “You seem lost in thought,” he said.
“Yes,” Nathan agreed. “I was thinking of the Book of Mormon.” He turned to look at Oliver directly, his natural reticence giving way to the driving curiosity within him. “What is it like?” he finally asked softly. “What is it like to translate?”
Oliver stood, suddenly filled with an eagerness that could not be contained. “Ah, Nathan, it is an experience the likes of which I have never known.”
“Does he just read it to you?”
“In a way. He studies the writings carefully. Then he speaks slowly and distinctly, giving me the English one sentence at a time. When I am finished, I say, ‘Written,’ and read the sentence back to him. If it is correct, he then goes to the next. If I have missed something, he corrects me. But what is most amazing is that he does not correct himself. He never goes back and rewords a sentence. He does not hesitate or stammer. Some days we work for hours at a time in that manner. When we leave off the translation for meals or other things, he returns and picks up precisely where we left off. He does not ask to see the manuscript or have me read to him to help him find his place. It is as though there were no interruptions whatsoever.”
Nathan felt a sudden rush of envy at Oliver’s opportunity to be part of the actual process. “It must be wonderful.”
Oliver returned to sit by Nathan, nodding solemnly. “These are days never to be forgotten—to sit day after day under the sound of a voice dictated by the inspiration of heaven. How can I ever adequately express the gratitude I feel that the Lord should give me such a privilege?”
“I can hardly wait until I can read it.”
“I think if you asked, Joseph may let you look at some of the manuscript.” He shook his head sadly. “But after Martin Harris lost those pages, he’s very careful about letting it out of his hand.”
Nathan nodded, and they both lapsed into silence. Finally he looked over at Oliver, hesitant again, but the desire to know driving him. “What do they look like?”
Oliver’s head came up. “What? You mean the plates?”
“Yes.”
Oliver shook his head firmly. “Moroni has forbidden Joseph to show them to anyone. Not even Emma has seen them. He keeps them under a cloth whenever he is not working on them. Joseph has allowed both Emma and me to feel them under the cloth. But I have not actually seen them.”
Nathan was taken aback. “How can you not see them when you sit together as you work?”
Oliver leaned back a little, grasping one knee with his hands. “Joseph hangs a curtain between us. I sit on one side with pen and paper. Joseph sits on the other with the plates.”
Nathan considered that for a moment, putting himself there in his imagination. “Aren’t you ever tempted to peek?”
Oliver threw back his head and laughed. “More than you could ever imagine. But we’ve already learned the costs of disobedience, so I force myself to be patient.”
His last word caught Nathan’s attention. “Patient?”
He leaned forward eagerly. “Yes. Moroni has promised that when the time is right, the plates will be shown to a few faithful followers. I am determined I shall be obedient so I may be one of them.”
Nathan stood now, feeling a sudden restlessness. He looked up at the fulness of the moon. “My mother is anxious to hear how things are coming. I will have to write to her tomorrow. When I was last with her, Joseph was frustrated because he had translated only a few pages. As Joseph said, your coming has been a godsend.”
Oliver rose and came to stand by Nathan’s side. “That is more true than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I was a schoolteacher in the Palmyra area. As is customary, I took room and board with the parents of those I teach.”
“Mr. Knight said you had been staying with the Smiths.”
“Yes. Their children were part of my class. I had only stayed with them a short time when I began to hear stories about their son Joseph. I pressed them for more information. At first they would not say anything. But finally they told me everything. I was stunned and yet moved deeply. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. That night, I knelt by my bedside and prayed most earnestly to know if there was any truth to the matter.”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I felt an overwhelming peace come over me, something like I’ve never felt before. So when I learned that Samuel, Joseph’s younger brother, was coming to Harmony, I determined to come with him and meet Joseph for myself. I did, and two days after my arrival I was writing for him as he translated.”
Oliver reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Nathan thought it was a letter, just as he had one in his pocket, but as Oliver unfolded it and waved it at him, he could see there was no envelope.
“After I arrived and Joseph and I had talked, I felt that Joseph was telling the truth, and I became his scribe. A few days later he inquired of the Lord and received a revelation in my behalf.”
Nathan was staring at the paper. “You mean he wrote it down?”
“Yes. Through the Urim and Thummim, the sacred interpreters, he inquired of the Lord.”
He turned so as to let the full light of the moon fall on the paper, then held it up close to his face, squinting to read it. His finger traced down the lines quickly. “Ah, here it is. I won’t read it all, but listen to this, Nathan. ‘Verily, verily, I say unto thee, blessed art thou for what thou hast done; for thou hast inquired of me, and behold, as often as thou hast inquired thou hast received instruction of my Spirit. If it had not been so, thou wouldst not have come to the place where thou are at this time.’”
He looked up. “That was true. I had come to Harmony because I had inquired of the Lord about Joseph.” He looked back at the paper. “Now listen to this. ‘Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.’” He paused for a moment, then went on, reading each word slowly and distinctly. “ ‘Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?’”
Nathan was watching Oliver carefully. He could see his eyes were shining. When he finally spoke again, his voice was heavy with emotion. “What you have to remember, Nathan, is that I had told Joseph nothing of my experience in Palmyra. Nothing.”
He folded the paper and slipped it back inside his jacket. “That’s when I knew without any doubt that Joseph was a prophet of God. And I knew I was meant to serve as his scribe as he translated the Book of Mormon plates.”
“So you really were brought by the hand of the Lord?”
“Yes. Don’t ask me why. I am no different from other men.”
“You believed,” Nathan corrected him firmly. “That makes you quite different from most.”
“Yes, but so did you. So have others. Why should I be the one chosen to sit at Joseph’s feet and help in this work?”
“I don’t know,” Nathan answered gravely. “But you have been chosen, and now you must stand by Joseph’s side. It will not be easy.”
Oliver was nodding, but obviously was only half listening. Suddenly he seemed to come back, searching Nathan’s face. “There is something else, Nathan.”
Nathan looked up at him. “What?”
“I asked Joseph if I could tell you. He had no objection.”
Nathan felt pinned by the inte
nsity burning in Oliver’s eyes and he felt a sudden tingle. “What?”
Oliver broke off a branch from a low-hanging limb and began to methodically strip off the new leaves, shredding them as he considered how to begin. “Let’s sit down,” he said, dropping to the grassy riverbank and patting a spot next to him.
Nathan sat beside him, almost immediately feeling the dampness through his trousers. But Oliver seemed oblivious to it.
“A short time ago, we were translating a most wonderful portion of the Book of Mormon. After his resurrection in the land of Palestine, the Savior came to this continent and ministered for a time among the people here.”
Nathan leaned back, staring.
“That’s right. The resurrected, glorified Christ appeared to his people here in the Americas.” His hand shot out and he gripped Nathan’s arm. “It is a marvelous account, Nathan. If Joseph will let you read parts of the manuscript, that’s where I want you to read. But that’s not what I want to tell you.
“While the Savior was here, he chose twelve disciples to help minister to the people, just as he did in Palestine. The record says he gave them the authority to baptize people into his church.”
Nathan’s mind was whirling, but he simply nodded, not wanting to interrupt Oliver’s rush of words.
“When Joseph had translated that passage, it came to us with great forcefulness that we had a problem. The scriptures make it clear man must be baptized to be saved. But they also teach that the authority to baptize must come from Christ. What were we to do? Without question we had to be baptized if we were to receive salvation. But who could perform such baptisms? Neither Joseph nor I had the authority.”
“But the ministers say the Bible is the only authority needed.”
“I know, but the scriptures do not speak in that way. In ancient times, both in the Bible and in the Book of Mormon, men had to have authority from God to baptize. Joseph and I discussed it at some length. He also discussed it with his father, who visited with us for a time. It was he who suggested we go to a secluded spot and kneel in prayer. Joseph and I came down by the river.” He turned, looking into the shadows of the surrounding trees. “We found a spot not far from here.”
He leaned forward, his head down, his fingers toying with the leg of his trousers. It was almost as though suddenly Nathan were no longer there. He waited, but Oliver was lost deeply in his own thoughts. Finally, Nathan could bear it no longer. “And?” he pressed softly.
Oliver looked up, almost startled. Then he shook his head. “This was just a little more than a week ago, on the fifteenth of May, to be precise,” he said, as if that explained the sudden awe that had come over him.
“What happened?”
“It was the middle of the day. The sky was clear and it was in the full blaze of the sunshine.”
Nathan leaned forward and grabbed his shoulder. “What, Oliver?”
“Joseph and I knelt in prayer and supplication, asking the Lord what we should do concerning our own baptism for the remission of sins. On a sudden—” He stopped, turning to gaze deeply into Nathan’s eyes. “On a sudden, the veil was parted, and an angel of God stood before us.”
Nathan rocked back. When Joseph had first told him of heavenly visions, he had found it deeply disturbing. Once he had come to believe it, it was no longer troublesome. But he had assumed all of that was over now. The plates had been given, the translation had commenced. Now it was up to Joseph.
“That’s right, Nathan,” Oliver blurted out. “An angel from the presence of God. I saw him with my own eyes. His glory made the radiance of the sun pale in comparison. His raiment was white beyond any description. Can you imagine our feelings? Can you even begin to fathom the joy that pierced our hearts at that moment?”
Nathan just shook his head.
Oliver took a quick breath. “The messenger announced his name was John, the same who was called the Baptist in the New Testament.”
“John the Baptist!” Nathan exclaimed.
Oliver nodded with great solemnity. “He said he was acting under the direction of Peter, James, and John, who held a higher order of priesthood. He then laid his hands on our heads. ‘Upon you my fellow servants—’” Oliver’s voice was suddenly husky. “Imagine that, Nathan. An angel from the presence of God and he called us his fellow servants.” He shook his head, still finding it difficult to believe.
“‘Upon you my fellow servants,’ he said, ‘in the name of Messiah, I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels, and of the gospel of repentance, and of baptism by immersion for the remission of sins.’”
Oliver held out his hands, looking first at the back of them, then turning them over to stare at his palms. It was as though they had done something that was still amazing to him. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Nathan? If you had to choose one person who unquestionably had the power and authority to baptize, it would be John the Baptist, for it was to him the Savior himself went to be baptized. And now he stood before us, giving us the same power and authority, direct from heaven.”
“Does that mean you can baptize?” The implications of what Oliver was saying were just now beginning to hit him.
Oliver nodded. “When the angel had finished, he instructed us to baptize each other. We were near the riverbank, and so accordingly we went into the water. Joseph baptized me. Then I baptized him. When we were finished, Joseph ordained me to the priesthood after the order of Aaron, and I turned and did the same to him.
“John told us the Aaronic Priesthood did not carry the authority to confer the gift of the Holy Ghost. That comes with the priesthood of Melchizedek. But he promised that that authority would shortly be restored as well.”
Nathan got to his feet, his mind swirling like some of the eddies in the river before them. The rational side of him was shaking its head. Angels appearing forth in broad daylight? John the Baptist—beheaded after Salome cunningly manipulated Herod—coming back to earth, laying hands on mere mortals? It was enough to cause one to reel. But then Nathan focused inward, searching his heart. These were the same thoughts he had had when Joseph had first told him of his experiences. Only when he had turned to look inside himself had he come to feel an inward burning which told him it was true. He had learned to trust that feeling, and as he searched now, he felt it again.
Oliver seemed to sense what was happening, and was content to sit back now. He took the last of the branch, now completely stripped of leaves, and flipped it into the water. It turned slowly for a moment, then picked up speed in the current, crossed the path of the moon’s reflection, and disappeared.
Nathan finally looked up.
“Well?” Oliver said quietly.
“I would like to be baptized for the remission of my sins,” Nathan said slowly. “Will you baptize me?”
For a moment, Oliver was silent. Then a smile stole slowly across his face. “After Joseph and I told Samuel what I have told you, and after he became convinced it was of the Lord, he asked the same question you just did. I baptized Samuel the next day.”
He reached out and laid a hand on Nathan’s arm. “We’ll talk to Joseph first thing in the morning.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lydia McBride smiled as she walked along Tremont Street, the eastern boundary of Boston Common. It was one of those days in mid-June for which Boston was famous. For two weeks heavy overcast had left the days hot and sticky. But this morning had dawned bright and clear with a sharp breeze off the sea that kept the temperature cool and delightful.
She loved this part of Boston. Virtually every step carried her across history’s doorstep. To her left was Boston Common, America’s oldest public park. William Blackstone had built a house in the early 1600s not far from where she now walked. In 1634 the Bostonians had set aside nearly fifty of Blackstone’s acres as “common ground” for the city, using it as public pasture and for drilling the military.
Ahead of her, clearly in sight now, was Beacon Hill, s
o named for the tallow pots set on its summit to warn the city of danger. The craggy summit had been leveled considerably to make way for the new State House which now dominated the hill. Designed by Charles Bulfinch, America’s first important native architect, it had been completed in 1798, just before the turn of the century.
In a moment she would pass the white steepled Park Street Church, also known as “Brimstone Corner” because it had been used as a storage depot for munitions during the War of 1812. Just beyond she could already see the trees of the Granary Burying Ground, final resting place for such notables as Paul Revere and John Hancock and Benjamin Franklin’s parents.
And so it was everywhere in Boston. A block or two from where she walked was the site of the Boston Massacre. Further east was the wharf where cases of English tea had been thrown into the water in Boston’s own version of a “tea party.”
She tipped her head back, drinking in deeply of the air. A thousand smells spilled out of the shops that lined the narrow streets and mingled in a potpourri of tantalizing fragrances. She stopped for a moment, trying to identify specific scents. There was the tang of lye from a soap maker; the tallowy aroma of candle wax; a quick, delicious scent of baking rolls, gone almost as quickly as it had come; leather from the cobbler shops; spices from India and China and a hundred other ports of call. And through it all, she could smell the salty air of the sea and the gamey aroma of the docks, a smell which some of the fastidious Bostonians found repelling, but which she loved.
A draft wagon with iron-tired wheels rattled past, the clatter reverberating off the buildings and echoing down the narrow passages. With a little shiver of regret, she clasped her parasol and started walking again. She would miss it. She would miss Boston when she returned home. It had been a long ten months and she had missed Nathan fiercely, but it had also been a wonderful time. It left her filled with sadness to realize it was soon coming to an end. Then a sudden thought popped into her head. Perhaps someday, once the farm was established and the children were older, Nathan would bring her back.
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