Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  The dream had begun with only her. Mary Ann found herself on a vast, open plain, walking steadily forward. There was not a tree anywhere to break the vastness of the landscape, but neither was it desolate or barren. There were flowers everywhere, butterflies, birds—the beauty of it all filled her with a great sense of joy and wonder. Gradually she became aware that she was moving towards something, a glittering point in the distance, a source of light so brilliant that it seemed to be the source of the radiant daylight rather than a sun overhead.

  Then to her surprise, Nathan appeared out of nowhere. He called and waved, and ran to join her, taking her hand. A moment later, Melissa did the same, then Matthew. Her family began appearing rapidly now, each one raising a hand in greeting and running to join them. There was no particular order. They just came, first one by one, then in pairs and small groups. Lydia, Derek and Rebecca, Jessica and Rachel and the two Griffith boys, young Joshua, Emily. They were laughing and singing and pointing eagerly to the great light in the distance, which they could now tell was a glorious, glowing city, lying on the horizon, beckoning them onward.

  When she finally finished describing the dream again to Benjamin, he was silent for a long time. She turned and saw that his eyes were glistening. “And I wasn’t there?” he finally asked.

  Now Mary Ann understood. The tears spilled out of the corners of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks, feeling hot even against her burning skin. “No,” she whispered. “You were in the city, waiting for us. I knew that. That was one of the reasons we were so anxious to reach it.”

  His hand came across the bed and found hers. “I’ve always loved you, Mary Ann Morgan. Did you know that? From the first day I saw you working on that turnpike with your father, I loved you.”

  She couldn’t hold it back; the weeping overflowed. “And I’ve always loved you, Benjamin Steed,” she said in a fierce whisper. She went up on one elbow and kissed him hard.

  When she dropped back again, he smiled slowly at her. “I always heard about that, but I never believed it.”

  “What?”

  “Love stronger than death. Now I do.” He rested for a moment. “I’ll be waiting for you, Mary Ann.” A faint smile came and went. “Don’t take forever.”

  “You stop talking like this,” she scolded. “You’re going to be all right.”

  “Mary Ann?”

  • She turned her head.

  “I want to talk to Lydia.”

  “Lydia?”

  “Yes. Today.” He stopped, his chest rising and falling. “If I’m asleep when Nathan comes, tell him. Please!”

  “All right,” Mary Ann said, feeling a great sense of desolation come over her.

  “And Joshua. I must talk to Joshua too. Tell him.”

  She turned her head away, the tears streaming down her face now. “I will, Benjamin.”

  Lydia came to Benjamin’s bedside late that afternoon. She was still pale and moved very slowly, but for the moment, at least, the fever had left her. Over both Lydia’s and Nathan’s vigorous protests, Mary Ann got out of bed, dressed, and insisted that Nathan take her over to Jessica’s so she could see how things were there.

  As they shut the door, Lydia dragged a chair over to the bed and sat down slowly. The weariness and hopelessness in her face left her looking almost like another woman. Benjamin closed his eyes for a moment. O Lord, he prayed silently, I need thy strength. Please help me.

  When he opened his eyes again, he saw that Lydia was watching him with grave concern. “Are you sure you can do this, Father Steed?”

  He nodded, and reached out his hand for hers. He tried to squeeze it to reassure her, but the gesture was so feeble it had just the opposite effect. With some effort, he shifted around and pulled the pillow up under his head more so that he could face her directly. “How’s the baby?”

  Instantly, Lydia began to cry. After a moment she pulled her hands away from his, and buried her face in them. “Oh, Father Steed,” she whispered in anguish, “what shall I do if I lose her too?”

  He watched her for a moment, then gently asked, “What did your parents say?”

  She looked up, surprised by the change of subject. Joshua had picked up a letter in Quincy. It was from Palmyra, New York, from Lydia’s parents, written while they thought Nathan and Lydia were still living in Quincy. That was a great surprise, for she had not heard from them in over a year.

  She straightened slowly, sniffing back the tears, brushing at her eyes with the back of her hand. There was a deep sigh, and her shoulders lifted and fell. “Papa is not well. Mama wants me to bring the children—” Her voice faltered; then she fell apart. Now the sobs racked her body with great shudders. “Oh, Father Steed,” she finally choked out between sobs, “why has God done this to us? Haven’t we suffered enough? Why did he take my son?”

  He didn’t answer, feeling the anguish as if it were his own. Finally, he began in a halting voice to try and answer her question. “In the Book of Mormon, it says, ‘Seek not to counsel the Lord—’ ” He stopped as he saw her frown, but then he went on, resolutely. “ ‘But take counsel from his hand, for he counseleth in wisdom and in mercy.’ ”

  • She looked away, her mouth tight.

  “He counseleth in wisdom and mercy,” he said again, falling back against his pillow. “I know that is true, Lydia.”

  She swung on him. “Was it merciful to take little Nathan away?”

  “I—”

  Her voice had gone harsh, almost brittle. “You haven’t been out, Father Steed. You haven’t seen the yards filled with the sick and the dying, the little children burning with fever and crying for relief.” She stopped. “The graves.” Suddenly her face crumpled and she had to look away. “Tell me. Where is the mercy in all of that?”

  He watched her, the pain in his heart more unbearable than the fire of the fever.

  “Sister Hatch came over yesterday,” Lydia went on. She was looking at the floor and not at Benjamin. “I know she was trying to comfort me, but . . .” Suddenly her head came up and there was a hard challenge in her eyes. “She said it was God’s will. She said that God has called little Nathan home. With all the thousands of people who are older and ready to die, does God really need one more little baby?” She was greatly agitated now. “John Griffith was gunned down at Haun’s Mill. Was that God’s will too? Is God’s work so limited that he has to take John home and leave Jessica a widow with four little children? Doesn’t Jessica need John more than God needs him right now?”

  Lydia saw the weariness in Benjamin’s face and was instantly repentant. She slumped in her seat and reached out to take his hand. “I’m sorry, Father Steed. You are so sick, and here I am troubling you with my problems.”

  Benjamin looked up at the ceiling. He had called for Lydia because he guessed she was struggling right now, but he was shocked at how deeply the tragedy had torn at her moorings. He really believed he could say things to her that might make a difference, things which even Nathan couldn’t say at this point. But now, in a sudden flash of understanding, he saw that she did not need answers from him. She didn’t need anyone else preaching to her. He turned and smiled, letting all the love he felt for this beautiful, brave woman show in his eyes. “Lydia?”

  She looked at him, but didn’t respond.

  “I didn’t like you at first, did you know that?”

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. Then finally a tiny smile broke through the tears. “Yes,” she said softly, “I knew that very well.”

  He took a breath, surprised that he was getting stronger. “There you were, the only child of Josiah McBride, one of Palmyra’s wealthiest citizens. And there I was, both of my sons, children of a dirt-poor farmer, smitten silly over the very sight of you.”

  Lydia wiped the last of the tears from her cheeks. She knew what he was doing, but she didn’t care. She needed this. “Nathan told me what you said when he and I were going to get married.”

  “What?”

  “About mu
les not running with thoroughbreds.”

  He frowned. “Well, it was true. You were way above what the Steeds were.”

  “Oh,” she teased, “I thought you were suggesting I was the mule.”

  He started to protest, then saw her eyes and smiled with her. He lay back, gathering his strength for a moment. “After you got married, I saw how hard you worked and I started to alter my opinion. But do you know when it all really changed?”

  She shook her head. “No, when?”

  “That day you were helping Nathan butcher a pig.”

  She laughed right out loud at that, surprising even herself. “I remember that day like it was yesterday. It was awful.”

  He laughed now too, deep and throaty as the memories warmed him. “You were carrying young Joshua at the time, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. And everything smelled so awful. I could look at a piece of bread and butter and want to throw up.” She cocked her head. “Say, how long had you been standing there that day watching me trying to hold that carcass steady, anyway?”

  He chuckled. “Long enough to watch Nathan open it up and see you lose your breakfast.” Now he squeezed her hand with real power. “At that instant, I knew my son had married a very unusual woman.”

  That brought the tears back to her eyes. “Thank you, Father Steed,” she said very softly. “You are as dear to me as my own father.” On an impulse, she left the chair and dropped to her knees beside him. She laid her head against his arm, crying openly again now. “Don’t leave us, Father Steed,” she whispered fiercely. “Please don’t leave us. I can’t bear to lose you too.”

  He laid a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair slowly. “Lydia?”

  She didn’t lift her head. “Yes, Father?”

  He started a little as he realized she had not finished his title. Suddenly there was a lump deep in his throat and he could barely get it out. “There’s still more hogs to be cleaned.”

  She flinched a little as the impact of his words sank in. “I don’t know if I can do that anymore,” she cried.

  “You can!” he said. “You can!”

  Five minutes later when Nathan and Mary Ann returned, they were still that way, Lydia kneeling by Benjamin’s side, both of them holding hands. Benjamin waved Nathan over weakly. The Lord had heard his prayer and given him strength to speak with Lydia. Now he felt completely drained.

  “Yes, Papa?”

  “Where’s Joshua?”

  “He’s with Derek and Rebecca right now. He said he’d be over to see you in a few minutes.”

  “All right.” He breathed deeply, searching for energy. “I know you’re too old, but I’m going to do it anyway.”

  Nathan looked puzzled. “Too old for what?”

  “To tell you what to do.”

  “What do you want me to do, Papa?” Nathan said. “You know I’ll do it.”

  “Promise?”

  “Of course.”

  Benjamin nodded, satisfied. Now he looked at Lydia, though he continued to speak to Nathan. “Take her home.”

  “What?”

  He came up partially on one elbow. “Take Lydia home. To her parents.”

  “But . . . ,” Lydia said, as floored by his words as Nathan was.

  “Promise?” It came out with sudden ferocity.

  “I . . . well, yes, I guess,” Nathan stammered. “Yes.”

  Benjamin sank back. “As soon as you are able. With the children.”

  Mary Ann was staring at him too. He looked at her and smiled, very faintly. “Josiah McBride needs to see his grandchildren.”

  Lydia’s head tipped back and she was looking up at her husband, her eyes large and liquid and pleading. “Would you, Nathan?” she whispered.

  “I . . . ,” he started, still a little dazed. Then he stopped and, shaking off the indecision, said firmly, “Yes, I will. Of course.”

  She lowered her head and closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she breathed. Then to Benjamin, “Thank you, dear, dear Father Steed.”

  Joshua sat at his father’s bedside for several minutes before Benjamin’s eyes opened. His eyes widened for a moment, and then there was a quick, satisfied nod. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I guess I’m getting old.”

  Joshua smiled. “You’re also very sick.”

  Benjamin nodded again and licked his lips. They were dry and cracked.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  “Yes.”

  Joshua left the small bedroom, and in a moment returned with a tin cup of water. He put his arm under his father’s shoulders and helped him sit up. As he watched him drink, Joshua was shocked at how much weight his father had lost.

  “Thank you,” Benjamin said as Joshua laid him back down. He was breathing hard, challenged by even that little an effort. He lay there, his eyes closed, until he recovered a little. Then he opened them again and turned to face Joshua. “I wish Caroline had come.”

  “She wanted to. But she’s feeling very sick with the new baby.”

  “That’s wonderful. The baby, I mean.”

  Joshua grinned. “It is wonderful.”

  “I—” He took a breath and started over. “I was hoping to see her again. And Savannah.”

  “You will, Pa,” Joshua said, struggling to keep his face expressionless. “You will. I’ll bring them up in a week or two.”

  “Too late.”

  Joshua leaned over, peering into his father’s eyes. “It’s not too late! You stop talking like that.”

  Benjamin smiled faintly. “Are we going to fight over this too?” he asked.

  Joshua laughed in spite of himself. “No,” he agreed. “Let’s not.”

  Suddenly, to Joshua’s astonishment, Benjamin’s eyes were filled with tears. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “For what?” Joshua asked in surprise.

  “For coming back. For all you’ve done for the family.”

  “They’re family, Pa. I’m just glad I’m able to help.”

  “For forgiving me.”

  Now Joshua’s vision was suddenly blurred. He swallowed hard. “No, Pa. Thank you for forgiving me. I was so blind. So stupid.”

  One hand came up and stabbed at the chest beneath the nightshirt. “Me,” Benjamin said slowly. “That was me.”

  Shaking his head, Joshua just laid a hand on his father’s arm. He thought of all the years of bitterness and hurt. The years of running and trying to deny how deeply he missed his family.

  Benjamin’s eyes closed again, and for a long time he was silent. Joshua finally decided he had slipped into sleep, and started to pull back. But Benjamin’s hand shot out and grabbed his arm. His eyes opened and were perfectly lucid as he gazed up at his son. “I have nothing to leave you.”

  “What?”

  “No will. Nothing except this cabin. Not much.”

  “Pa, stop it! You’re going to get better.”

  It was as if Joshua hadn’t spoken. “Nothing of the world, anyway,” Benjamin said. “Nothing to put in a box.”

  “Pa—,” Joshua started, but Benjamin gripped his arm with sudden power, cutting him off. “You’re happy, aren’t you, Joshua?”

  Joshua rocked back slightly, completely caught off guard by the question. “I . . . well, yes.”

  “Really happy?”

  “Yes, Pa. I’m happier than I have ever been.”

  “Good.” Benjamin breathed more deeply, as though trying to gather strength. “Caroline’s wonderful.”

  “Yes,” Joshua murmured. “The best thing that ever happened to me.”

  “Children wonderful.”

  “Yes, they are. We have really been blessed.”

  There was a small triumphant smile. “By whom?”

  Under different circumstances Joshua might have responded with another answer, but he looked down at his father and said simply, “By divine providence.”

  “By God.”

  Joshua shrugged. “Whatever you want to call him.”

  “By God,”
Benjamin repeated. His eyes slowly closed again.

  “You’d better rest now, Pa. We’ll talk some more in the morning.”

  The eyes didn’t open, but a smile stole slowly across his face. There was a deep chuckle. “Don’t panic, son,” he said. “I’m not going to preach to you.”

  Joshua’s eyebrows lifted, and then he saw that his father was looking at him. He chuckled now too, amazed that his father had read his discomfort so clearly. “All right, but you’re not going to make me into a Mormon, Pa.”

  “Don’t want to,” came the instant reply. “Only you can do that.” With an effort he turned onto his side, putting his hands under the side of his face so that he could look directly at Joshua. “I was happy too.”

  • Joshua nodded slowly. “I know you are, Pa. I can see that.”

  “No, not just now. Before.”

  “Before what?”

  “The Church.”

  “Oh.”

  “I was!” he said firmly. “Good life. Farm. Wonderful family.” His voice softened. “A wife that . . .” He couldn’t finish, just shook his head. “A good wife.”

  “Yes, Papa. Mama is a wonderful woman.”

  “Like you,” Benjamin said. There was an urgency in him now. “It was good. No complaints.”

  Joshua nodded, not exactly sure what his father was trying to say.

  Benjamin drew in a deep breath, staring past Joshua now. “But when the gospel came . . . So much more. Thought I had everything. But so much more.”

  Now Joshua saw where all this was going, and strangely he didn’t resent it. He leaned forward. “I know, Pa. I can see that it has made you very happy. And I’m glad for you.”

  Benjamin’s voice grew fainter now. “But there’s more, Joshua. So much more.”

  Joshua didn’t answer, just touched his father’s arm to let him know he understood.

  A great sigh went out of Benjamin, and Joshua knew this had been what he wanted to say. On an impulse, Joshua leaned over and did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. He kissed his father on the cheek. “You rest now, Papa.”

  Benjamin’s eyes flew open in surprise, then he smiled. “Yes.”

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”