Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  He turned back, straightening out his body to its full length. He folded his hands upon his chest and closed his eyes. In moments, his breathing began to increase in rapidity and became shorter. It wasn’t labored, but the deep rhythm was gone now. Joseph glanced at the small clock on the table. It ticked softly, as though providing the tempo for his father’s breathing. Then almost exactly eight minutes later, without a struggle or a sigh, the breathing stopped, and the spirit of Joseph Smith, Sr., took flight, leaving the tired old body behind.

  For a long time there was no sound in the room but the soft crying of the family members. Then finally, Joseph straightened. He moved close to his mother, who was standing now, and put his arm around her waist. She put her head against his shoulder, still crying softly.

  “It is right to mourn,” Joseph said, “for we shall greatly miss this noble and great man. How blessed each of us is by having had him as our father and grandfather.”

  Every eye was upon Joseph now, and the crying began to lessen. “But let us remember, even as we mourn, that he now enters a world of peace and rest. He is with Alvin. He is with his own father and mother, who went on before. What rejoicing there must be, even as we weep, for a great and righteous man has entered into the paradise of God. And how grateful we must be for the knowledge that, thanks to the grace of Christ, we shall rise with our father again in the glorious resurrection and be reunited in our love and companionship forever.”

  While the Smith children were still gathered around their dying father, being blessed individually by him, Benjamin and Mary Ann Steed were walking along Water Street, much more slowly now, both of them lost in their thoughts. As they turned back onto Granger Street and started toward their own home, Benjamin finally spoke. “Mary Ann?”

  “Yes?”

  “I should consider it a great privilege if when I am ready to die, you would gather our family around me too.”

  Her first reaction was to be angry. Benjamin was fifty-five now. Many men never lived to be fifty-five, let alone sixty-nine, and part of her sadness lay in knowing that someday she, like Lucy Mack, might have to stand beside this man and watch him die. But she also knew why he was making this request. “Yes,” she said simply. “I understand.”

  Joshua watched her out of the corner of his eye. She was near the lamp, doing needlepoint, her fingers moving quickly and smoothly. The lamplight, just behind her head, turned her hair to a flaming red, and with her head in profile she was achingly beautiful. She hadn’t looked at him for nearly five minutes.

  “Is this thing going to stand between us forever?”

  “It’s no longer standing between us, Joshua. I’ve accepted your decision.”

  He suppressed a groan. Oh, really!

  She lowered the sewing. “I have. I am not going to be baptized.”

  “And you’re not going to speak to me for the rest of your life?”

  “That’s not fair, Joshua, and you know it.”

  He raised one hand in surrender. “I was making a joke.”

  “Oh?” It was not a statement but a question, said archly, and it spoke her feelings more eloquently than a hundred angry words.

  “Look, Caroline, are we ever going to talk about it?”

  She carefully stuck the needle in the material, wrapped the thread into a neat circle, picked up the scissors, and then put them all away into the small sewing basket with great deliberateness. She picked small pieces of thread from the skirt of her dress, then finally looked up at him. “All right, Joshua, let’s talk about it. I know you think I’m just trying to punish you, that this is my way of trying to make you give in and say yes.”

  He waited, just watching her.

  “But you need to understand something. I won’t be baptized, Joshua. Not knowing how deeply you would resent it. But you can’t expect me not to be hurt and disappointed.”

  “Then be baptized!” he exploded. “Anything is better than this.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  There were instant tears. “Because you don’t want me to. Oh, you want everything to be happy, but down deep, you don’t want me to. And so I won’t.” She looked away. “I can’t.”

  He looked stricken. “You’re asking something I can’t give.”

  “I know.”

  He stood, unable to remain seated any longer. “I gave up St. Louis. I came to Nauvoo. I didn’t want to. It’s not like I haven’t given in to you, Caroline.”

  “You don’t even see it, do you, Joshua?” she asked softly.

  “I guess I don’t. What?”

  “That’s why I can’t be baptized. I know what you’ve done, and I know why you’ve done it. You did it for me. Because you didn’t want to see me unhappy.” Her shoulders sagged as she looked down at her hands. “And that’s why if my not being baptized is that important to you, then I will not be baptized.”

  “Good morning, Father Steed.”

  “Good morning, Lydia.” Benjamin stepped inside the store and shut the door behind him. “Morning, Caroline.”

  “Good morning, Father Steed. You’re up and about bright and early.”

  “Been looking at that new plat of building lots up by the grove. The surveyor is coming tomorrow to stake it out.”

  Lydia shook her head. “It just keeps growing and growing, doesn’t it? It’s really quite amazing.”

  “Yes, it is, especially when you think that it’s not even been eighteen months since this was nothing but swamp and river.”

  “And mosquitoes,” Rebecca piped in. She was in the far corner straightening up the shelves. Christopher was playing happily at her feet.

  “Oh,” Benjamin said, “I didn’t see you. Morning, Rebecca.” He walked over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.

  Lydia turned to Caroline. “You see that?” she said, pretending hurt. “Daughters get a kiss, daughters-in-law get only a wave and a good morning.”

  Benjamin ignored that and reached down and picked up Christopher. He grunted as he straightened again. Christopher was fifteen months old now and built like a miniature draft horse. “Hello, Mr. Christopher.”

  Christopher said something that sounded vaguely like “Grandpa” and threw his arms around Benjamin’s neck. Benjamin nuzzled at his neck and Christopher started to giggle.

  For a minute or two they played like that, then Benjamin set him down again and swatted him affectionately on the bottom. He turned and walked to Lydia, leaned over the counter, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asked.

  “Like I’m going to be carrying this baby forever,” she moaned.

  He touched her arm. “At least it’s getting cooler again.”

  “Yes, that does help. I may just survive after all.”

  He moved a few feet down the counter and reached across to take Caroline’s hand. He squeezed it quickly and smiled. “And where’s my other grandson?”

  “Olivia is home with him.”

  “And what about that darling little redhead who thinks I’m the most wonderful man alive?”

  Caroline laughed. “She’s over with Lydia’s children. You know Savannah. If there’s not someone around, she is not happy.”

  Benjamin nodded absently, then looked directly at Caroline. “It’s a beautiful morning out there. I was wondering if there might be someone who’d like to take a walk with me.”

  “I’m almost done here, Papa,” Rebecca said. “Me and Christopher will go with you.”

  Benjamin smiled at her, then turned right back to Caroline. “It’s a beautiful morning out there. I was wondering if there might be someone who’d like to take a walk with me.”

  “Oh!” Caroline said, as Rebecca laughed.

  Then Rebecca’s face grew serious. “I’m pretty busy right now, Papa,” she said. “Why don’t you go, Caroline?”

  “Yes,” Lydia said with equal gravity. “I don’t think I could get away right now either. Why don’t you go, Caroline?”

  Caroline l
ooked at them, then threw up her hands, laughing in surrender. “Why don’t I go with you, Father Steed? It looks like the others are busy.”

  “I’d like that,” he said.

  They walked westward, down to the river, not speaking much, but enjoying the early-fall sunshine. When they reached the water, Benjamin found a grassy spot and motioned toward it. “Let’s sit for a while.”

  Caroline did, spreading out her skirts around her. Benjamin sat beside her and began absently plucking at the blades of grass. She folded her arms across her knees and rested her chin on them, watching the muddy water swirl slowly past them.

  “How are things?” Benjamin finally asked, not looking at her.

  Her shoulders lifted and fell. She didn’t have to ask what things he referred to. “We’re in a truce of sorts, I guess.”

  He nodded.

  “We just don’t talk about it anymore. It’s too painful.”

  “For you or for Joshua?”

  She looked at him sharply; then, a little chagrined that she had been thinking only of herself, she answered. “For us both, I suppose.”

  “Hmm.”

  She smiled at him, loving him not only for his directness in getting her to leave the store with him but also for his reticence now about saying what he wanted to say. “Are you going to take Melissa for a walk too?” she teased.

  He chuckled deep in his chest. “No. She and Carl have the problem without the pain.”

  Caroline frowned. “I know. Why is that? Carl is not a lot closer to accepting Mormonism than Joshua. He’s not hostile about it, but I don’t think he’s got much interest.”

  “I agree.”

  “So why aren’t they battling over it?”

  “Why do redheads get freckles?”

  She blinked in surprise at that totally unexpected response. “What?”

  There was a layer of amusement behind the sobriety in his eyes. “Why do some men lose their hair? Why do women have soft voices and pretty eyes? I don’t know. Some things just are.”

  “Oh.” It was an answer, but it wasn’t much comfort.

  “You married Joshua, not Carl. Or Nathan. Or Derek.”

  “I know, but . . .” But what? Even if she had been able to see this far into the future, would she have backed away from marrying Joshua? As much as she liked her brothers-in-law, she suspected that if it had been Carl or Nathan or Derek who came to Savannah back then, she probably wouldn’t have given them a second thought. This wasn’t a question of love, she reminded herself again. Even here in Nauvoo she had seen men and women where both were Mormon who didn’t have what she and Joshua had. But . . . And there she was again. But what?

  Benjamin stopped picking at the grass and stared out across the river. “You know one of the things that brought me into the Church?”

  She looked up. “No, what?” He had never talked about this, at least not in her presence.

  “Joseph never made me feel like I didn’t matter to him because I wasn’t a Mormon. I never felt like I was some kind of project to him and that if I failed to make acceptable progress I would be dropped from his list of friends.”

  Her head had come up. “Do you think that’s how . . . ?” She shook her head. Was this his way of rebuking her?

  It was as if she weren’t there. “I was pretty hardheaded at times. I said some things about Joseph that should have cut pretty deep. Found out later, people had told him about it too. Didn’t make any difference. Mormon or non-Mormon, saint or sinner, somehow I knew that he cared about me.”

  “I care about Joshua!” she cried. “I love him very much. That’s why this hurts so much.”

  He reached out and took her hand. “I think it’s something we Mormons have to be careful about. We are so pleased to have the truth, we are on fire with the excitement and joy of the gospel, so it’s only natural that we want others to have what we have. We want them to see clearly what is so clear to us. We want them to share in what is so important and so precious to us.”

  “Yes, I agree. But that’s not our problem. Oh, there’s no question, I would be thrilled if Joshua decided to accept Mormonism and we were baptized together. But I’m not asking that. I’m not saying that he has to believe like I do as a condition for us working out this problem.”

  He nodded, still bemused. “I know that. I’m talking about our people in general. We love the idea of being an instrument in bringing about another person’s conversion. But if someone rejects the gospel, it’s like we feel this loss of interest and break off the relationship. Can’t we still accept a person who believes differently than we do? Shouldn’t we respect their right to choose, just as we hope they’ll respect our right to choose?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, that’s easier said than done. It isn’t always comfortable to be around people who think and act and believe differently than we do.”

  “But I do respect his right to choose, Father Steed. Why won’t he respect mine?”

  He gave her a small, twisted grin. “Why do redheads have freckles?”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier!” she cried.

  He sighed, feeling her pain. “Caroline, let me tell you about Mother Steed and me. And if you were to ask her, she would probably give you a completely different answer than I would. She’d talk about prayer and fasting and the Lord taking a hand with a stubborn and ornery old man. And there’s some truth to all that. But if you were to ask me what it was Mary Ann did that finally changed my heart . . .” He left it hanging.

  She turned to him, wanting him to finish. “Yes?”

  “If you were to ask me . . . ,” he started again.

  She laughed, unable to help herself. How she loved this gentle, wonderful man. He had that same quiet depth she had seen in her own father and that she had missed so terribly when he died. “Tell me, Father Steed, what was it that Mary Ann did that finally changed your heart?”

  He leaned back. “She loved me all the more.”

  For almost a minute, Caroline searched his face, then she looked away. “I don’t know if I can. Oh, I love him. You know that. But love him more? How can I when I feel so hurt? So betrayed? I can’t just make those feelings go away. I’ve tried. That’s what is so frustrating! What right does he have to stop me from doing something that means everything to me, when it doesn’t hurt him at all?”

  “Is that what he said?” he prodded gently. “That it doesn’t hurt him at all?” He didn’t wait for her answer. One hand came up and he began to rub his chin thoughtfully. “How far are you in the Book of Mormon now?”

  “I finished two weeks ago.”

  “So you’ve read the chapter on charity? It’s right close to the end.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you remember how Mormon defined charity?”

  “He said charity is the pure love of Christ.”

  “That’s right. It means to love as Christ would love.”

  “I do love Joshua!” she exploded, highly frustrated. And yet, strangely, she was pierced with a deep sense of regret, for she knew she was still filled with bitterness over it all and that it had put a barrier between her and Joshua.

  Benjamin didn’t seem to hear her. “And do you know what I’ve learned as I’ve gotten a little older and wiser?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “Loving as Christ loves isn’t something you talk yourself into. It’s not a mental state, Caroline. It’s not a set of steps you walk through and then everything is wonderful.”

  “Then how do you get it?”

  “I wish I had the Book of Mormon so I could read it to you. But it says something like this. After talking about the qualities of charity, what it is like, and how important it is, it says, ‘Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with your whole heart and all the energy of your whole soul, that you may be filled with this love which he hath given to all those who are the true followers of Christ.’ ”

  Now he turned his body so he was directly facing h
er. “Don’t you see? Charity isn’t a state of mind, it’s a state of heart. It’s a gift of the Spirit. It’s not just a matter of wanting it. God has to bestow that kind of love on a person.”

  “So—” She stopped, her mind racing. “So you’re saying I should pray to have this kind of love for Joshua?” She had never considered such an option.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been praying that he would change his mind.”

  “That’s fine. Just pray for the other too. That’s what I meant when I said that Mary Ann loved me all the more. Somehow, she has that gift. Somehow Joseph Smith has that gift. I knew that their caring was not dependent on my Church membership. And eventually that’s what brought me into the Church.”

  Now it was Caroline who leaned forward, and took his hands. “Yes,” she said very slowly. “I see. I see where I have been wrong.”

  “Not wrong,” he said. Then that slow smile came. “Just not as right as you could be, maybe.”

  She took a deep breath, feeling a great sense of release. “And do you think Joshua might ever join the Church, Father Steed?”

  Their eyes locked for several seconds; then he squeezed her hands. “There is no one else besides Mary Ann and me who knows how deeply you long for that,” he said, the pain making his voice heavy. Then he shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. Perhaps not.”

  She slowly let go of his hands and straightened. “I don’t know either.”

  “And if he doesn’t?” Benjamin asked softly.

  Caroline dropped her eyes to stare at her hands. Without looking up, she spoke in a whisper. “Tell me where that scripture is.”

  “In the book of Moroni, right near the end.”

  She repeated it softly. Then she looked up at him. “Thank you, Father Steed. I really needed a walk this morning.”

  Chapter Notes

  Joseph Smith, Sr., died on 14 September 1840 after a long illness. The final moments with his family, including the blessings given to his children and his last three dying statements, are recorded by his wife in her history. Joseph’s final comments presented in the novel are not part of Lucy’s account. Immediately following the burial, Joseph and Hyrum again fled the city to escape the possibility of being arrested by Missourians. (See Mack Hist., pp. 307–14.)