Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  Lydia did not protest. She handed her to him, then returned to her rocking chair. She sat down and began to rock slowly back and forth, her eyes focused on a spot somewhere out in front of her.

  Joseph took a stool from beneath the table and set it down in front of her. “And what about you, Lydia?” he asked again, even more gently than before.

  Her head came up slowly, and now instead of tears, there was just pure anguish. “If you had come sooner, you could have saved him, couldn’t you? Like you just did for Elizabeth Mary. You could have healed little Nathan too.” It was a pleading cry for understanding, for some kind of solace.

  Joseph shook his head wearily. “It is not me that saves a person, Lydia, it’s—”

  “If that’s true, then why didn’t God save my child? Why didn’t he send you here sooner?” She buried her face in her hands and began to weep silently. Nathan had come back out and now stood watching the two of them. He seemed to sense that it was better that he stay back.

  “I don’t know,” Joseph answered in honest simplicity. “I don’t know why he spares one and takes another.”

  “Is it because I haven’t been faithful enough? Has Nathan not given enough to the Lord? What did we do wrong that this should happen to our son?”

  “Tragedies aren’t always caused by our sins.” He leaned forward, speaking in great earnest now. “Lydia, the Lord has other purposes in life besides punishment. He takes many away in infancy, that they may escape the envy of man and the sorrows and evils of this present world. They were too pure, too lovely to live on earth.”

  Her chin lifted and she blinked back the tears.

  “Yes,” he said, glad that he had finally pierced through her sorrow. “And if that’s true—and it is!—then rightly considered, instead of mourning we have reason to rejoice. First because a child like your little Nathan is delivered from evil, and second because you shall soon have him again.”

  His voice deepened and he spoke with great conviction. “All children are redeemed by the blood of Jesus Christ. They have no sin or uncleanness in them, and the moment they leave this world, they are taken to the bosom of Abraham. Think about that, Lydia. Your son is now in the bosom of Abraham. He’s in paradise. He is assured a place in the celestial kingdom. Would you call him back from that?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I keep telling myself all of that, Joseph. I’m supposed to know this is true. I used to.” Now the agony made her voice heavy and twisted. “I was so sure I had a testimony. Now it seems to be slipping through my fingers like it was sand. I can’t get ahold of it anymore.”

  He reached out and touched her arm briefly. “You only doubt what you don’t know, Lydia, and that is yourself.” He took a deep breath, still searching her face. “You need to find yourself. You are far stronger than you think.”

  She shook her head slowly, wanting to believe but not finding it within her. Joseph reached out and patted her hand. “Don’t give up,” he said, very softly. “Keep searching.”

  He stood abruptly and spoke to Nathan. “Well, Benjamin will be waiting for us. We need to cross the river.”

  Lydia’s head came up with a snap now, and shame flooded over her. She hadn’t even thought to ask Nathan how his father was. She looked to Nathan. “How is—” Then it hit her what Joseph had just said. “Benjamin is going with you?”

  Nathan walked over to stand beside her now. “Yes, Joseph blessed Papa.”

  “But . . .”

  He smiled down at her. “I know. I’ll explain everything later. But Father is fine. He’s going to live.”

  As Joseph and Nathan joined the others in the yard, Joseph turned his head and looked back at the cabin. “Nathan,” he said, “I think it would be best if you stayed with your family. Your mother will need some help as well.”

  “Yes.”

  Then he stunned them all, but none more than Joshua. Joseph reached out and took him by the arm. “Joshua, I think it would be good if we had someone accompany your father as he goes with us. Would you be willing to do that?”

  “I . . . well . . .” And then he found himself nodding. “Yes, of course. Let me go get my father. We’ll . . . we’ll be right with you.”

  They took a ferryboat across the river, then headed straight for one of the old military barracks where Brigham Young lived with his family. Though Joseph had been on this side of the river before, visiting the members of the Twelve who lived here, he let John Taylor take the lead.

  When Nathan had rushed back home, breathless with the news that Joseph was coming, he had told them what was happening. Joshua had been openly skeptical. It irritated him that his family looked to this man as though he were some kind of supernatural being with supernatural powers. And as for the report that Joseph was healing people everywhere, Joshua put that down as the hysterical reaction of people too long in the grips of the fever.

  Then Joseph had come to Joshua’s father. This was no secondhand report. Joshua had seen it with his own eyes. He had seen Joseph bless Jessica’s two boys and seen immediate results. Nathan told him about Elizabeth Mary, and he could not disbelieve him. His skepticism was now tempered by wonder and amazement and some very deep questions. The rational part of Joshua Steed was still reeling. He followed along now, searching for some kind of logical explanation for what he was witnessing.

  “Here we are,” John Taylor said, and they turned in at one of the old barracks buildings.

  Joshua didn’t know Brigham Young. He had heard his family talk a lot about him, about his leadership when Joseph was in Liberty Jail. As a teamster who knew what it took to move freight and people, Joshua was impressed with the reports of what Brigham had done to organize the exodus from Missouri.

  As they moved up to the building, Joseph knocked firmly. A moment later, a woman, heavy with child, opened the door. “Sister Mary Ann,” Joseph exclaimed, “how good to see you again.”

  She blinked against the brightness of the sunlight. “Brother Joseph?”

  “Indeed!” he boomed cheerfully. “We understand you have a sick husband.”

  “Why, yes, he’s—”

  “Joseph? Is that you?”

  Brigham’s wife stepped back. “Come in,” she said. Then turning, she called back inside. “Brigham, it’s Brother Joseph.”

  A man on the bed half raised himself. He was squinting at the light. “Brother Joseph,” he said, weakly, but eager. “What brings you here?”

  “It is a day of God’s power,” Joseph replied. “We are going about healing the sick, and we wish you to be with us.”

  Brigham fell back a little. “But I myself am sick. I have not been able to leave my bed for two days now.”

  “Then it is time,” Joseph said cheerfully. Then instantly, in that same powerful voice he had used with Benjamin, he commanded, “Brigham Young, in the name of the Lord, I command you to leave that bed and to be healed of your illness. Come with us.”

  Joshua felt his pulse start to race. He stepped sideways, so he could see the man before them more clearly. Brigham lay there, momentarily stunned by the Prophet’s call. Then he threw back the covers, swung his legs over the edge of the bed, and sat up. His wife gave a little cry and one hand flew to her mouth.

  “Give me just a moment,” Brigham said. “I shall need a shirt.”

  The company soon moved on to Wilford Woodruff’s place. Wilford was one of the few who thus far had escaped the illness. He responded immediately to Joseph’s request that he accompany them. As they strode down the walk from Wilford’s place, Joseph looked at Brigham Young. “Are there any that need our help here in Montrose?”

  Brigham nodded quickly. “There are many. Brother Elijah Fordham is especially ill.”

  Wilford Woodruff clucked his tongue sadly. “We may be too late. My wife heard not more than an hour ago that he was breathing his last.”

  “Take me to him,” said Joseph.

  As they moved off, people swarmed around them. Word that the Prophet was on this
side of the river was spreading through the community of Saints with great rapidity. Those well enough to walk were flocking in now. Many came with urgent requests that he come to their homes and help their families.

  The Fordham cabin was another small one, newly built. When the woman opened the door, it was clear that she was badly distraught. The sight of Joseph was surprising but seemed to bring her little comfort. Only partly coherent, she said that her husband was dying. Joshua and Benjamin stepped back as the rest of the members of the group started in the cabin. There were now seven of the Apostles with Joseph, and others started to push in behind them. In the doorway, Joseph held up his hand. “Brethren and sisters,” he said kindly, “there just isn’t the room. We’ll be out in a minute or two.”

  Then once again catching Joshua totally by surprise, Joseph beckoned to Benjamin. “Brother Ben, I brought you over here because I need your faith. Would you come in with me and the Twelve? You too, Joshua.”

  Half-dazed, Joshua nodded and followed the others inside. Once in, Joseph shut the door, then turned to the bed in one corner. A figure lay on it, but there was no movement. Joshua stepped back. The smell of death was in the room. The man’s wife was right. This time they were too late.

  Without hesitation, Joseph walked right up to the dying man and took hold of his right hand. “Elijah! This is Brother Joseph. Can you hear me?”

  Fordham’s eyes were open, but they could have been made of glass. He stared upwards at the ceiling, and as Joshua watched closely, he could not see him even blink. With the toe of his boot, Joseph pulled a nearby chair over, so that he did not have to let go of Fordham’s hand. He sat down, and for what seemed like a full minute or more he gazed into the eyes of the man before him.

  Joshua felt a jolt, as if someone had jabbed him. There was no question about it. The visage of the man was changing. The locked jaw was softening, the glaze over the eyes starting to fade a little. There was a softening of the whole body. And then he moved. There was a deep sigh, and Elijah Fordham turned and looked up into Joseph’s face.

  “Elijah,” Joseph said again, this time in a very low whisper. “Do you know me?”

  The entire group held its breath, and then came the reply, equally soft. “Yes.”

  There was a collective sigh, as breaths were released and several of the men began to smile.

  Joseph did not turn his head a fraction of an inch. He just kept his eyes burning into those of the man before him. “Do you have the faith to be healed, Elijah?”

  Again there was that interminable pause, then painfully, “I fear it is too late. If . . . if you had come sooner I think I could have been healed.”

  “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?”

  “I do,” came the feeble reply.

  Joseph rose, and Joshua leaned forward, his pulse suddenly pounding, leaving a roaring sensation in his ears. Erect as a steel rod, Joseph stood there, still holding Fordham’s hand in silence. When the Prophet finally spoke, Joshua jumped noticeably, as did several others, for he thundered it out. It did not seem like Joseph’s voice at all, and it was as though the very foundations of the house trembled.

  “Brother Fordham, I command you, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise from this bed and be made whole.”

  As calmly as though he were rising from an afternoon nap, Elijah Fordham sat up. Color rushed back to his cheeks. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He took three steps toward his wife, who was staring in shock and disbelief and was crying uncontrollably now. He walked awkwardly, but Joshua saw that that was because his feet were bound in poultices. He kicked them off impatiently, then spoke to his wife. “Have we any bread and milk?” he asked.

  By the time they returned to the ferry landing later that afternoon, Joshua no longer doubted the reports Nathan had brought back that morning. He had been a living witness of exactly the same scenes. After Elijah Fordham dressed and had his bread and milk, they started around Montrose. From house to house, from tent to tent, from lean-tos to wagons to open bedrolls they moved. Old people, young children, babies, women, girls, grandmothers—it made no difference. In that calm, unruffled manner Joseph moved among them. He spoke, he counseled, he commanded. But everywhere they went, they left people dramatically better than before they had come. Joshua’s mind was spinning. He didn’t know what to say. He knew full well that if he were sitting in a room and heard himself describing what he had just witnessed, he would immediately scoff and brush it aside. What shook him so deeply now was that he couldn’t brush it aside. He had seen it for himself.

  “Brethren?”

  Joshua turned. The Apostles were gathered in a half circle around their prophet. Their eyes were fixed on him. Joseph looked very tired, totally drained. “I must return to my family. We have done much good here today.”

  “Amen!” John Taylor said quietly. There were other murmurs and nods of assent.

  “But there are still many who are in need of God’s blessings.” He let his eyes move from face to face. “You are the Twelve. You hold the holy apostleship. When the Savior called his original Twelve he laid his hands upon them and sent them out to preach the gospel, to heal the sick, and to cast out devils. That is the same power which you hold. Go forth. Do as you have seen me do. Bless the people.”

  Now the looks turned to uncertainty, but Joseph’s words were so sure, so matter-of-fact, that they started to nod.

  “Give my best to your families, and—”

  “Mister Smith! Mister Smith!”

  Joseph looked up. A man was running toward them, waving his arms frantically. They all turned now, and Wilford Woodruff squinted into the afternoon sun. “That’s Amos Queensley,” he said, looking back at Joseph. “He’s not a member of the Church. But he’s been good to us.”

  The man ran up and came to a stop in front of Joseph. Panting heavily, he tossed out the words between intakes of breath. “Mr. Smith. Please! I heard what you were doing.”

  “Yes.”

  “My children,” he gasped. “I have twin girls. Three months old. They are dying.” He clutched at Joseph’s coat. “Please come! Please!”

  Joseph’s face was filled with compassion, but after a moment, to everyone’s surprise, he shook his head. “I am totally exhausted,” he said to the man. “I must get back.” But then as the man’s countenance fell, Joseph went on. “But I shall send someone.”

  He thought for a moment, then reached inside the frock coat he wore and withdrew a red silk bandanna handkerchief. He took it in both hands; then, to Joshua’s utter amazement, he lowered his head and closed his eyes for a moment. Finally he straightened and handed the cloth to Wilford Woodruff. Woodruff was startled. “Take it, Wilford,” Joseph said. “Go with this man. Wipe the faces of the children with this handkerchief and bless them and they will be healed.”

  Wilford stepped back.

  “Do it,” Joseph said gently.

  Tentatively, Wilford reached out and took the red cloth. “I will, Joseph.”

  Joseph laid a hand on his arm. “Wilford Woodruff, as long as you keep this handkerchief, it will serve as a league between you and me. Now, go, and God be with you.”

  The man grabbed the Prophet’s hand, thanking him profusely, then stumbled off after Wilford Woodruff, who had started up the riverbank. Joshua was incredulous, and it showed on his face. Benjamin nudged him. “Go with them, Joshua.”

  Joseph turned at that. He gave Joshua a long searching look. “Yes, Joshua,” he finally said. “Go with them. See with your eyes and know with your heart.”

  It was almost dark when the door to the cabin opened and Joshua stepped in. Benjamin and Mary Ann were at the table, reading the Book of Mormon. Matthew wasn’t there, having gone over to Jessica’s to be with Jenny.

  Joshua came in and shut the door. He took off his hat and dropped it on the small table there. Mary Ann stood up. “You must be starving, Joshua. Let me get you some soup and bread.”

  “Yes,” he said heavily. �
�I am hungry.”

  As she moved to the fireplace, he came over and sat down across from his father. For several moments, they looked at each other, searching each other’s faces. “Well?” Benjamin finally asked.

  Joshua almost flinched, as if he had been dreading the question. “Well what?” he half growled.

  “Did Brother Woodruff use the handkerchief?”

  Joshua looked down, staring at his hands. “Yes.”

  “Well?” Benjamin persisted. Mary Ann turned now to watch her son.

  “It worked. Almost immediately. The twins are going to be all right.”

  Benjamin leaned back, nodding very slowly. “And how do you explain that?” he asked.

  Joshua didn’t look up. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “I just don’t know.”

  Benjamin wanted to leap up and shout, but he didn’t. “Joshua?”

  “Yes, Pa?”

  “What you and Caroline have is good. It’s very good.” He finished slowly, emphasizing each word. “But there is so much more.”

  Chapter Notes

  July twenty-second, 1839, came to be known as, in Wilford Woodruff’s words, “a day of God’s power.” The healings were so frequent that only a fraction were recorded. Some of the sources say that Joseph went to every house. The demonstration of priesthood power continued on the west side of the Mississippi, with the most dramatic healing being that of Elijah Fordham, which is told here almost word for word as recorded by Wilford Woodruff (see Leaves, pp. 76–77).

  There is some discrepancy in the sources as to which of the Twelve accompanied Joseph on the Nauvoo side and then crossed over on the ferry to Montrose with him. The author’s choice reflects statements by Heber C. Kimball, Wilford Woodruff, and Parley P. Pratt (see LHCK, p. 263; Leaves, p. 75; PPP Auto., p. 254).

  It is also Wilford Woodruff who tells of the handkerchief experience. He kept it as a token of the bond between him and Joseph, treasuring it throughout the remainder of his life. (See Leaves, pp. 78–79.)