Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

“It’s my pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Steed.” His voice was pleasant, cultured. So different from the rough-talking men she was accustomed to.

  She felt herself nodding and forced a quick smile. “My pleasure, I’m sure.”

  Joshua laughed. “Didn’t I tell you you’d be surprised?”

  She just looked at him. Bewilderment was rapidly turning into total confusion.

  Joshua turned back to Hathaway. “We’ll have to go a little slow at first. Doc Jones is a good man. Does his best. Wouldn’t want him to think we didn’t trust him.”

  Jessica’s head came up slowly and she peered at Joshua. Doctor Jones, not much more than a horse doctor with a few herbal remedies and a lot of good common sense, had treated Jessie when she had first miscarried. She turned her eyes on Joshua, silently willing him to look at her. No, Joshua. Not this. Not here. Not with him.

  “There’s a couple of good midwives in town too. But their specialty’s helping the baby get out, not keeping ‘em in until the time’s right.” He reached across and patted Jessie’s hand. “Doctor Hathaway here, he studied medicine at Harvard. He’s learned all the latest stuff there is to know. We’re gonna get this fixed, Jess. Once and for all.”

  She dropped her eyes and stared into the dark liquid, her face feeling as hot as the cup in her hands.

  “Now, like we agreed,” Joshua went on, looking again at the man in the ruffled shirt, not noticing Jessica at all, “you’ll be free to start your practice here. There’ll be lots of folks glad that we got us a real doctor this far west. But Jessica gets first crack at your time. Anytime, day or night. She’s your first priority. I’ll see that you’re staked out well until you get established. I’ll show you the office we have for you over the barbershop. It’s got two large rooms, plus the living quarters.”

  The man sipped his tea, nodding pleasantly. “It’s more than a fair deal you’ve offered me, Mr. Steed. I’ve got no complaints. No complaints at all.” He took another sip of his tea. “It will take me a while to get all my things unpacked.” He glanced quickly at Jessie, then away. “Then I’d like to start with a thorough examination. We’ll see if all the parts are working right.” He laughed—too quickly—but it instantly died when he saw the look on Jessie’s face. He turned back to Joshua quickly. “I guess I can reach you at the stables?”

  “Anytime. I won’t be leaving again until we see what’s going on.”

  Neither man seemed to take note that Jessica sat motionless in her chair, her head down, her face scarlet, her hands gripping her cup as if it were rope dangling over some bottomless chasm. They went on, sipping their tea, Joshua explaining about the previous miscarriage, the doctor speculating on what might be wrong “with the missus.” Numbed, dazed, shamed beyond measure, Jessica stared into the cup, feeling it slowly turn cold in her hands.

  Chapter Three

  It was Friday, the twenty-fifth of June, in the year eighteen hundred and thirty. In the southernmost part of New York State the sun had just set behind the hills to the west. The heat was already leaving the fields, and the first hint of the coolness of the evening could be felt on the breeze that had begun its first stirrings. The sky was still brightly blue, but the light that lay across the land was now muted and soft. The dozen or more shades of green—forested hillsides, new stands of sweet corn, meadow hay, the cottonwoods along the Susquehanna—were beginning to blend almost imperceptibly one into the other.

  Like a farmer at the end of a long day’s labor, all of nature seemed to sense that the workday was over and that this was a moment to sit quietly and enjoy the evening before it was time to retire. Out beyond the barn, five or six milk cows dozed contentedly, their tails barely switching. A mare and her colt moved slowly along the line of a rail fence, heads down, grazing in the richer grass that grew there. Two swallows skimmed up, down, and around over the meadow, hunting mosquitoes, sometimes swooping low enough that their wings brushed the tops of the grass.

  Nathan Steed watched it all from the swing that stood on the back porch of the Joseph Knight home in Colesville, Broome County, New York. He watched it all, part of him at peace and enjoying the scene before him, part of him hurting with the ache of missing Lydia.

  Behind him, the door to the house opened. He turned. Polly Knight, wife of Joseph Knight, was standing there, smiling happily. Nathan smiled back. Mother Knight, as everyone called her, was a kindly woman, born before the revolutionary war, weathered more than a little by the years of labor alongside her husband. But along with the wrinkles and the leathered, calloused hands came eyes that warmed everyone they fell on, and a heart as open and wide as the Great Lakes.

  “Hello, Mother Knight.”

  Her eyes softened. “Thinking of Lydia again?” she asked.

  A little chagrined that she could read him so easily, Nathan nodded.

  “Well, I have a surprise to cheer you up.”

  “What?”

  She stepped out onto the porch, holding the door open wide. For a moment there was nothing; then a tall, lithe figure stepped out beside her. There was a brief pause while Nathan just stared, then he leaped to his feet. “Joseph!” he cried.

  Joseph Smith grinned, a sight as welcome as anything Nathan had seen in the last three weeks. “Hello, Nathan.”

  In two strides Nathan was across the porch and grasping Joseph’s hand. “When did you—?” He turned. Two more figures appeared in the doorway. Emma Smith was smiling at him, with Oliver Cowdery right behind her.

  “Emma,” Nathan said, “what a wonderful surprise!”

  She reached out both hands and he took them. “How good to see you again, Nathan,” she said. “How’s Lydia?”

  “Lonesome,” he responded immediately. “But no more than her husband.” He turned to Oliver and grasped his hand. “Hello, old friend.”

  “Indeed it is good to see you, Nathan,” Oliver said, pounding him on the shoulder.

  “John and David Whitmer are also with us,” Joseph said. “They’re out front talking with Father Knight.”

  For a moment no one spoke, then Nathan stepped back. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Joseph and Emma were still living in Harmony, Pennsylvania, which was about thirty miles south of Colesville. With the press of labor, Nathan had not had an opportunity to go down there as yet. He had not seen Joseph and Emma since the day of his wedding over two months earlier.

  “What brings you here, Joseph?”

  Joseph turned to Sister Knight. “This good lady and her husband have been pestering me to get up here and get them baptized.”

  “Really?” Nathan knew the Knight family was on the verge of joining the Church. They had been holding meetings two or three times a week with their married children and some of Polly’s brothers and sisters. There was no question they were ready. “So, are we going to do it tomorrow?”

  Joseph shook his head. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. We thought we’d build a dam in the stream down by the barn. That should give us a good-sized pond by Sunday morning.” He laid an arm on Sister Knight’s shoulder. “I think the Sabbath should be a good day for baptizing.”

  Nathan came out from the carding shed where he had a small room in the loft. He stopped, tucking his shirt into his trousers and then pulling up the suspenders over his shoulders. He blinked at the brightness of the sunlight. It was a glorious Sabbath morning. A beautiful day for a baptism. If only Lydia were here. After worship services they could go for a walk along the river and...

  Angry at himself for letting the gloom start in again, he shook it off and started for the house. On impulse he changed direction and headed for the barn. They had spent most of the previous afternoon building a dam in the stream that meandered through the Knight property before emptying into the Susquehanna. They had picked a low spot, and by dark the pond had begun to form. It would not be very deep, but it would be sufficient.

  As he came around the side of the barn, Nathan stopped dead. For a moment his mind refused to register what his eyes were seeing. There was
no pond. There was no dam. Logs and sticks and wet canvas were strewn about like a toy house kicked to pieces by a petulant child. The ground was wet and dark in a large circle, showing the extent to which the water level had risen, but the pond was gone now. The stream gurgled softly as the water ran on down toward the river, fully contained again within its original banks.

  With a cry of dismay, Nathan turned and broke into a run toward the house.

  The worship service held in the yard of the Knight home later that afternoon carried an air of tension. When the Saints discovered that some of their enemies had come during the night and torn out the dam, Joseph had not been discouraged. “Dams can be rebuilt,” he said. “Next time we’ll pick the time and place and not give them warning. In the meantime we’ll hold regular worship services this afternoon.”

  But when the people started to gather at the Knight home, it wasn’t just the Saints and the would-be Saints who came. Newel Knight—the oldest of the Knights’ children—who lived just a short distance away, nudged Nathan as three men came in and sat down. “Pa says those three are openly bragging that they were part of the group who came last night.”

  Nathan turned and stared at them, not trying to disguise his anger. They met his gaze with a hardness of their own, and Newel finally laid a hand on Nathan’s knee to break off the exchange of cold looks.

  It was a good worship service, and though the three men and others who were obviously with them looked disgusted from time to time, they said nothing. Oliver Cowdery preached a sermon about the Restoration and bore testimony that Christ’s church was once again organized upon the earth. Joseph invited others to bear their testimonies when Oliver finished.

  The moment the benediction was over, the mood amongst the gathered crowd instantly changed. One of the three men that Newel had pointed out stepped forward, thrusting his face into that of William Stringham, husband of one of the Knights’ daughters. “William,” the man blurted, “I thought you were of a sound mind. How can you believe this insanity?” He said it loud enough for all to hear, and a hush instantly swept across those assembled.

  William Stringham was a big man, a rough-hewn farmer who usually spoke little but when he did, he spoke emphatically, using his ham-like hands to make his point. Now he jammed his finger at the man’s nose, causing him to fall back a step. “Richard,” he said evenly, “don’t be putting names on things you don’t understand.”

  “It’s of the devil!” a woman cried out from behind Nathan. “Can’t you see that?”

  Joseph turned and smiled at her pleasantly. “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but where might you have seen the devil?”

  She sputtered for a moment, her face going livid. “I...I’ve seen you!” she finally cried.

  Joseph laughed and turned to Emma. “Then, what say you, Emma? Don’t you think the devil is a handsome fellow?”

  Emma was not amused. She looked at the woman, her dark eyes troubled. “You don’t know,” she said. “You don’t know my husband. You don’t know what he has done, what he’s trying to do.”

  Newel’s wife jumped in. “What’s worse, Molly Sue Gardner, is that you don’t want to know. You’ve completely shut your mind to the truth.”

  The woman gasped, shocked by the audacity of it all. Her mouth started to work, but before any words came out, Emma went on quickly, her voice tart. “Why don’t you read the Book of Mormon? Then you can decide for yourself.”

  Joseph laid a hand on Emma’s arm, touched by her defense of him but trying to calm her at the same time.

  Another man snorted in derision. “We don’t have to read that book to know it’s of the devil. Besides, we’ve got the Bible.”

  Joseph turned to the man. “The Lord told an ancient prophet in the Book of Mormon about our day and men like you. He said that men would cry, ‘A Bible, a Bible. We have a Bible. We need no more Bible.’”

  From somewhere behind Joseph another man broke in. His wife was trying to shush him up, but his face was flushed with anger. “Well, we don’t need no gold Bible from you, Joe Smith, that’s for sure.”

  Joseph turned. His eyes had become that piercing blue that sometimes sent shivers up Nathan’s back. “‘Thou fool,’ “ he said, his voice rising with power, “ ‘know ye not that there are more nations than one? Why murmur ye because ye receive more of my word?’ ”

  Suddenly Nathan realized that Joseph was still quoting from the Book of Mormon.

  “ ‘Because ye have a Bible, ye need not suppose it contains all my words, neither need ye suppose that I have not caused more to be written.’ ”

  “He reviles against God’s word!” the first man shouted. “He says that the Bible is not true.”

  Joseph whirled, his eyes blazing. “I do not revile against God’s word,” he thundered. “I love and honor the Bible. It is the word of God. But God has the right and the power to give us more of his word if he so chooses. It is you who revile against God’s word by saying that the Book of Mormon is evil.”

  Surprisingly, that cowed the man and the others as well. For another minute they continued muttering amongst themselves, but soon they tired of it, and one by one they left; and the little worship group at the Joseph Knight home was left alone and at peace.

  It was full dark on that Sabbath night when the men moved out of the barn, shovels and axes over their shoulders. There was Joseph Knight, Sr., and his young son, Joseph, Jr. Newel Knight was there with his two brothers-in-law, William Stringham and Freeborn De Mill. Nathan stood beside David Whitmer and Oliver Cowdery. John Whitmer was up at the barn, posted as a guard.

  No one spoke. The moon had come up before the sun was fully down, and there was plenty of light by which to see. As they reached the stream, they paused for a moment. Then Joseph finally broke the silence. “All right, brethren, let’s work as quietly as we can. I’m not particularly feeling the need for company right now. How about you?”

  There were several quiet chuckles, and then they fell to work. It took them about a half hour to put the dam back in place. When they were finished they stood for a moment, gazing silently at the waters that were already starting to deepen.

  Then Joseph stirred. “Pass the word to your families, brethren. We’ll start the baptism half an hour after sunrise. No one else is to know.”

  He turned to Nathan. “Nathan, would you mind bringing your bedroll outside and sleeping under the stars tonight?”

  Nathan grinned back at him. “I already planned on doing just that, Joseph.”

  It surprised Nathan a little that Emma Smith was the first to be baptized. He had just assumed it had been done earlier. But Emma had been in delicate health since the loss of her first baby, and the ordinance had not been performed previously. Oliver Cowdery stood waist-deep in the now ample pond formed by their dam, and stretched out his hand for her. Joseph held her other hand and steadied her as she stepped into the water. Oliver smiled at her, then raised his right arm to the square. All present bowed their heads.

  “Emma Hale Smith,” Oliver intoned, “having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  Nathan and the others looked up in time to watch as Oliver placed one hand on Emma’s back and grasped her arm with the other, then lowered her into the water. He glanced quickly up and down to make sure she was totally submerged, then lifted her up again. As she came up, the water streamed off her hair, flashing in the rays of the early morning sunshine. She wiped the water from her eyes, then broke into a radiant smile. Joseph grabbed a blanket and waded knee-deep out to help her.

  “Oh, Joseph,” she whispered, “at last I have seen it happen. I have come into the kingdom.”

  “You could not be happier than I,” Joseph said, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and helping her out of the pond.

  “Who’s next?” Oliver asked.

  As Hezekiah Peck, a brother to Polly Knight, stepped into the water, Nathan heard a gasp behind hi
m, followed by an urgent whisper. “Someone’s coming.”

  Every head jerked around. Down the road, from the direction of the village of Colesville, a whole group of men were coming toward them, some on horseback, most on foot. Even as they watched, the lead man turned into the lane that led to the Knight home.

  “Oliver,” Joseph said calmly, “we’d best keep it moving.”

  Hezekiah Peck was baptized, followed quickly by his wife.

  Joseph Knight, Sr., was next, but by the time he had waded into the water, the little group of believers was joined by fifteen or twenty men. It was amazing and infuriating to Nathan. These men seemed to have a sixth sense about the Mormons. And obviously the word had been spread. More people, all men, were coming now too, walking swiftly or cantering on horseback. Nathan felt a great sense of dismay. Couldn’t they leave them alone? What did it matter to these men? Many had not set foot in a church for more years than Nathan had been living. And yet it was almost as if this was some kind of religious mission for them.

  A little angry, and fearful at the same time, Nathan slowly sidled over to where a shovel was leaning against a tree. He was not one for violence, but some of these men looked like they were hankering for trouble.

  One of the newly arrived men—Nathan recognized him as one of those who had shouted at Joseph the previous day—strode right up to Joseph. “What are you doin’ here?” he demanded.

  Joseph met the glare with a smile. “Seems to me that a man with any kind of spiritual bent would recognize this as a baptism.”

  The man’s eyebrows narrowed. “You’d better not be smart with me, Joe Smith. We’ll put a stop to this right here and now.”

  Joseph Knight called out from where he stood in the pond. “Amos Lundwall, this is my property. What we’re doing here is perfectly legal. Now, I’ll be asking you to step back and let us proceed.”

  That seemed to cow Amos a little. Joseph Knight was a very respected man in these parts. When nothing more was said, Joseph nodded to Oliver.

  “Joseph Knight, Senior,” Oliver began again, “having been commissioned...”