Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  “Who?”

  “Brother Joseph Fielding. Isaac Russell. John Goodson. John Snyder.”

  Nathan was staring at him. “The Canadians. The brethren we converted on that mission to Toronto.”

  “Yes, exactly right. Joseph Fielding has a brother living in a town called Preston, England. Near Liverpool. He’s a minister. Brother Fielding has written to him about the Church, and his brother has asked for more information.” He stopped, suddenly a little overwhelmed. “I always wondered why it should have been me who was impressed to give Parley that blessing that night. Now I’m beginning to understand.”

  * * *

  Martin looked around furtively, then turned back to Benjamin. “I’d feel better if we were inside with the others, Ben. I don’t like being out here in the night.”

  Benjamin’s voice was flat and hard. “I’m not going in with that bunch, Martin.”

  John Boynton had come out with Martin to try and persuade Benjamin Steed to join the meeting going on inside Boynton’s house. He looked offended. “No one is going to make you do something you don’t want to do, Steed.”

  “I don’t like Warren Parrish.” He shot a look at Boynton. “I don’t like it when members of the Twelve sit on the stand in the meetings with their pious faces, smiling and shaking hands with Joseph, then meet in secret to call him every name in the book.”

  Boynton reared back, his face contorting with anger. “Just who are you to be sitting in judgment?” he exploded.

  But Martin cut in swiftly. “I don’t like some things either, Benjamin. I know there are excesses in the group.” He shook his head in bewildered weariness. “Some of them are even calling for a resolution that we reject the Book of Mormon.” He too shot a fierce look at Boynton. “But I won’t stand for that, Ben. You know that. I saw those plates. I saw the engravings. How could I ever deny that?”

  Ben sighed. “But you do believe that Joseph is wrong?”

  “Yes!” It was said fiercely. “Now especially. How dare he resign from the Kirtland Safety Society? He’s the one who led us into it in the first place. He prophesied that if we invested our money, the bank would never fail. Now he resigns and transfers all his stock to others.”

  Benjamin turned away. “Nathan says Joseph never made that prophecy.”

  “I heard him,” Boynton said flatly.

  He swung around. “Did you? Did you actually hear it with your own ears?” This was an important point to Benjamin, and he had been trying to confirm it now for several weeks.

  Boynton hesitated. “Well, I . . . Warren Parrish did. And Lyman Johnson.”

  “Two men of such high integrity,” Benjamin said, with no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

  Boynton bristled, but Benjamin turned away from him, deliberately ignoring him. “Did you hear Joseph say that, Martin?”

  “No, but I believe Parrish.” Martin decided to jump to the offensive. “What about what happened in those few weeks before the banks started suspending payments? You did hear some of those things for yourself. Right up to the last, Joseph continued to encourage people to invest in the bank. You heard him tell us to accept the bank’s currency at face value so that it wouldn’t add to the problems.”

  Benjamin’s mouth opened and shut again. Martin knew full well this was the heart of what was eating at Benjamin. The Kirtland Safety Society had been caught in a situation that was causing banks to struggle all over the nation. That was understandable. But why hadn’t Joseph foreseen what was coming? Why hadn’t he warned them? Fortunes had been lost. Benjamin’s investment of several thousand dollars—over three hundred in cash and two of his farms as collateral—was now worth less than a hundred, and even that was falling fast. If Joseph really was a prophet, why hadn’t he told them to get out before the roof fell in?

  “And what about Salem, Benjamin?” Martin pressed in hard, sensing his friend’s uncertainty. “I was there in that meeting. You told Joseph it was pure foolishness to go off treasure hunting. Yet he still did it.”

  “Yeah,” Boynton sneered. “How great was his prophetic gift then?”

  “I . . .” Benjamin blew out his breath, not sure of anything anymore.

  “I’m telling you,” Martin said with great fervency, “Joseph has lost his authority. He’s a fallen prophet, Benjamin. Even a blind man can see that.”

  Benjamin was suddenly tired. He had gone over it so many times. Back and forth. This side and that. Charges and denials. Fervent testimonials from both sides. Whispered innuendos and heated rebuttals. “I’ve got to go, Martin. Nathan and I are going in the morning to see Heber C. Kimball off on his mission. We’ll go with him as far as Fairport Harbor.”

  Brother Boynton hooted in derision. “That fool. He asked if I might help him out financially, since he has so little money. I told him that if he’s fool enough to answer the call of a fallen prophet, I won’t give him a dime of help. And if he gets stranded over there, he’d better not look to me for help.”

  Benjamin looked at the younger man in disgust. “Well, he asked me too, and I gave him five dollars. I would give him more if I could spare it.”

  “Then you’re a fool too.”

  “I can see, Brother Boynton,” Benjamin said dryly, “that you are filled with the spirit of love for Heber, one of your fellow Apostles.” Boynton’s eyes instantly narrowed with anger, but Benjamin went on smoothly. “Brother Lyman Johnson doesn’t think Heber should go either, but when Heber said he was determined to do so, at least Lyman gave him a cloak.”

  “Lyman is a fool too.”

  Benjamin had had enough. “Everyone’s a fool but you, right, Boynton?”

  “Look, Steed,” Boynton said, stepping forward menacingly, “I don’t have to—”

  Martin stepped between the two men quickly, his back to Boynton. He grabbed Benjamin’s arm. “You’ve heard that Joseph is deathly ill?”

  Benjamin turned back slowly. “No, I hadn’t heard that.”

  “Came on him just this morning. He can’t even lift his head off the pillow. Some say he won’t live through the night. It’s that bad.”

  That was really a surprise to Benjamin. “I’d better go see him.”

  Martin was shocked. “Don’t you understand?”

  “What? What should I understand?”

  Boynton’s face was lit with triumph. “Joseph is being punished for his transgressions.”

  Benjamin snorted in open derision. “Come on!”

  “Do you think this is all coincidence?” Boynton cried. “Joseph resigns his position in the bank and within a week he’s on his deathbed? Warren Parrish pronounced a curse on his head for his wickedness. Now the curse is being fulfilled. You think about that,” he added archly. “God is trying to tell us something.”

  Benjamin just shook his head and started to move off. As he moved across the front yard, his old friend and neighbor called after him. “Ben?”

  He stopped but didn’t turn around.

  “The day’s coming when every Saint in Kirtland is going to have to make up his mind which side he’s on.”

  Benjamin smiled sadly to himself. His son had said the very same thing just a few days ago. “I know, Martin. I know.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Heber C. Kimball left on his mission to England on June thirteenth, 1837. He was accompanied by Orson Hyde of the Quorum of the Twelve, Willard Richards, the recently converted cousin of Brigham Young, and Joseph Fielding, a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood and a recent convert from Canada. The three other Canadian brethren who were to accompany them had returned to Toronto with the promise that they would meet the Kirtland party in Buffalo, New York.

  At a little before nine on that morning, Nathan and Benjamin Steed arrived on Heber’s doorstep. A small party of friends and family were going to escort the missionaries as far as Fairport Harbor (a twelve-mile journey), where the missionaries —in company with Robert B. Thompson and his new bride, Mercy Fielding Thompson, who were bound for Canada—would then
catch a steamer to Buffalo. Heber lived east and north of town, so Nathan and Benjamin had agreed to pick him up at his home, then they would meet the others at the crossroads next to the Whitney store.

  As they came up the walk, the sun was already getting hot, and the front door of the Kimball home had been left open halfway. Benjamin stepped up to the door and raised his hand to knock, but the sound of a man’s voice coming from inside stopped him. He listened for a moment, then quickly put a finger to his lips.

  Nathan moved slightly to the left to get a clearer view inside. Through the partly opened door he could see the Kimball family. They were in a circle in the middle of the room, all on their knees, all with bowed heads. Heber was praying with his family. Embarrassed to have intruded, father and son stepped back a little, but Heber’s voice still came to them clearly.

  “O beloved father, thou who carest even for the sparrow’s fall, and who feedeth the young ravens when they cry, I beseech thee now to provide for this good wife and for our little ones as I depart across the mighty ocean to the shores of a far distant land.”

  There was the sound of a stifled sob. Nathan thought it came from Vilate. Then as he listened more closely, he could tell that Vilate was not the only one crying. Benjamin swept off his hat and placed it against his chest. Nathan followed suit quickly. It was as though they had entered a cathedral. Suddenly it was too intensely personal and sacred for them to stand by as observers. They moved back away from the house. Heber’s voice was still evident, but they could no longer hear the words.

  After a few moments the voice stopped. Nathan saw the family stand. Heber looked out of the door and waved briefly, but he did not come out. A chair was secured and placed in the center of the room. In a moment Nathan understood why. Like the great patriarchs of old, Heber was taking his children one by one and giving each a father’s blessing. That touched Nathan deeply. The memory of such farewells with Lydia and his own children was all too real. And the most he had ever been away was around six months. Heber would be gone perhaps as much as a year, maybe more.

  Finally, there was a sound at the door, and Nathan turned. Vilate had come out now and was brushing at her eyes. Heber was right behind her, surrounded now by his three children. Eight-year-old Helen suddenly broke free from her older brother. “No, Papa, no!” she wailed, clinging to his legs. “Don’t go. Don’t go.”

  The brother gently pulled her free. She buried her face against his shoulder. Then, sobbing, Heber gathered each child into his arms one last time. He hugged them fiercely, smothering their hair and faces with kisses. Finally, he turned away blindly, waving through his tears. “Good-bye, dearest children.”

  The tears and sobbing became even more intense. “Good-bye, Papa.” “Write to us, Papa. Please write to us.” “Hurry home, Papa.”

  Heber groped for Vilate’s hand, and they hurried over to where Nathan and Benjamin stood waiting. Vilate would be going with him as far as Fairport. “Come,” Heber whispered, “I cannot bear another moment.”

  They went out of the gate and halfway down the block. Seeming to know exactly where he would get his last glimpse of his children, Heber stopped and turned. They were gathered in a little cluster, still at the front door. He waved once, then turned away, his head down, his lips trembling.

  They walked on for several steps in silence. Finally, Heber looked up, turning to Benjamin and Nathan. “There is nothing—” His voice caught and he had to turn away again. When he finally got control he started again. Now he was filled with fierce intensity. “There is nothing, nothing that could ever induce me to tear myself from such a loving and affectionate family group except it be a great sense of duty and love for God.”

  His eyes filled with tears again, and he put his arm around his wife. “Nothing.”

  * * *

  Caroline Mendenhall Steed watched her husband with a sense of wonder and amazement. Joshua had taken the baby from her as soon as she had finished nursing her. Now he sat in the rocking chair across the room. The baby was propped up in the crook of his left arm, so she was nearly sitting up, and with his free hand Joshua was gently pulling on the tuft of bright red hair, wrapping it between his two fingers and shaping it into a curl.

  Caroline smiled, her eyes glistening. Donovan Mendenhall had never reacted to one of the children like this. “Joshua,” she chided gently, “she’s got to burp.”

  He looked up. “She’s sitting up. This’ll work just fine.”

  “On the shoulder is better.”

  He shook his head, then dropped his hand to rub gently up and down the center of Savannah’s back. “I used to watch my mother do this with Matthew.”

  She looked up in surprise, then looked down again quickly before he saw her reaction. She waited for a moment, then casually she asked, “Matthew? Was he the youngest?”

  Joshua nodded. “Yes.” His head raised for a moment as he calculated. “Let’s see, he’d be . . .” He gave it up. “I don’t know, fifteen or sixteen now.”

  “Oh.” She felt her heart race a little. This was the first time he had volunteered any kind of detail about his brothers and sisters. About five and a half months before this, when he had finally opened up and told her of his past, he had said little about the specifics of his family. Once or twice since, when she had tried to talk about it with him she had seen the walls go up again and so had not pushed him. “Did it work?” she asked after a moment, keeping her voice half-disinterested.

  His thoughts had gone elsewhere. “What?”

  “Rubbing the back like that.”

  At that instant Savannah exploded with a huge burp. Joshua looked at her in surprise, then up at Caroline, an immense grin splitting his face. “Yeah,” he said. “It worked.”

  Caroline laughed merrily, thrilled at the love and pleasure she saw in his eyes. She laid her head back against the chair’s cushion, watching her daughter and husband. Savannah’s eyes were wide open, and in the sunlight coming through the window they were already looking like they were going to go blue for sure.

  Again Caroline held her breath for a moment. “Who was next?”

  He shot her a quick look, and for a moment she thought he was going to shut her out again; but finally he looked back down at his baby daughter and began stroking her hair again. “Rebecca.” His hand slowed its movement. “We all called her Becca. She had long brown hair and eyes that could just make you melt. She was probably most like my mother.”

  Caroline reached down and picked up the piece of sewing she had been working on before Savannah had awakened. She didn’t want Joshua to see the excitement in her eyes.

  “Then there was Melissa,” he went on. “She was just four years younger than me.” His eyes softened as he stared out of the window. “I heard she got married. Probably has three or four children now.”

  Still not looking up, pretending to concentrate on her sewing, Caroline waited for several moments; then, again as if she were half musing, asked, “So you had only the one brother?”

  Joshua jerked around, his eyes suddenly hard. She felt her heart drop, but did not look up, just kept sewing as if she had already forgotten the question. She could sense him gradually relax again. But she knew somehow she had touched a nerve. There would be no more questions.

  “I’ll bet if you walked her, she’d go right to sleep again.”

  He nodded and stood up. He shifted Savannah so that she was now cradled in his one arm, then began walking slowly back and forth. For almost two full minutes the room was silent. Then finally he spoke again, startling her with the answer to her previous question. “I have one other brother.”

  She glanced up, then back down quickly. “Oh.”

  “His name is Nathan. He’s two years younger than me.”

  She could feel the tension in him, even across the room. She nodded nonchalantly. “Hmm,” she murmured, going right on with her sewing.

  “You’re right,” he said again after a few moments. “She’s asleep.”

 
; “Do you want me to put her down?”

  “No, I will.”

  He walked up the broad staircase that led to the upper floor of their new home. He was up there for nearly five minutes, and Caroline had to smile. She knew what he was doing. Supposedly he lingered to make sure she was asleep, but in reality he just loved to stand and watch her.

  When he finally came down he walked to the coatrack and got his hat. “Well, I’d better put some time in at the freight office. Cornwell is beginning to think I don’t remember we’ve got a business to run anymore.”

  He came over and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. She looked up, her eyes filled with warmth. “That makes me very happy, Joshua.”

  He looked suddenly wary. “What?”

  She had thought about saying something about his opening up about his family. She immediately thought better of it. “Your loving our daughter so much.”

  He laughed, the relief evident in his eyes. He reached down again, and this time he kissed her firmly on the lips. “It makes me very happy, Mrs. Steed, that you have given me such a beautiful little girl.”

  * * *

  It was nearly eleven o’clock at night when Benjamin turned in at his gate and came up the path to his door. He was exhausted. They had walked all the way to Fairport, then stood around for nearly two hours waiting for the steamer to depart. Then they had walked the twelve miles back again. His feet ached, his eyes burned, and his back hurt abominably.

  He opened the door quietly, then slipped inside. As he started down the hallway, he stopped. In the sitting room, outlined against the lighter square of the window through which the moon shone, he saw his wife’s silhouette.

  “Hello, Ben.” He could hear the smile in her voice.

  He moved into the room. “I told you not to wait up. I knew we would be late.”