Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  She laid a hand on Matthew’s arm and nodded briefly. There was a quick, grateful smile from Kathryn as Matthew stepped forward and set the crutches against the chair. Unlike the single crutch Matthew had once carved for Joshua back in Missouri, this pair was a finely crafted set and finished professionally. As he had done with the wheelchair, Matthew used a pattern he found in an Eastern catalog. He had turned the wood on the lathe until each piece was perfectly round, then sanded them until they felt silky to the touch. The place where they fit under the arms was padded with layers of soft cotton cloth. He had just finished putting the padding on late the night before.

  She reached out and touched the wood, letting her fingertips caress the polished surface. “Thank you, Matthew. They’re beautiful.”

  He reached down and kissed her on the cheek. “You’re most welcome. I hope I measured right. I made them a little long.” He flashed a warm grin. “It’s easier to take a little off than to add it back on again.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be just fine.”

  Jenny leaned over and hugged her. “Are you sure you’ll be all right alone?”

  “Of course.” She looked contrite. “I know I ought to go to worship services, but I just don’t feel up to it today.”

  “That’s fine. We’ll be home shortly after noon. We’ll come get you before we go over to Mother Steed’s.”

  “Okay. Do you really think Jessica will come today?”

  “That’s what one family told Father Steed. The man said Solomon had been out checking on the schools, but planned to come today.”

  “I’m so anxious to see them. I’ll bet little Miriam has grown a foot since we last saw them.” She lay back against the pillow. “I just wish it were happier times that brought them.”

  “Yes,” Jenny said, sudden tears springing to her eyes. Like thousands of other Latter-day Saints, Jessica and Solomon were coming to Nauvoo because they wanted to pay their last respects to their martyred leaders.

  “Well,” Matthew said, brightening a little, “I’m sure they’ll be here this afternoon sometime. But we’ll come get you before then.”

  “All right.”

  “Of course,” Matthew went on, “Mother plans a big supper this afternoon. It will be the first time the whole family has been together for some time.”

  “Except for Carl and Melissa,” Jenny said.

  There was nothing to say to that. Upon learning that Carl’s father was dying, Carl and Melissa had returned to Kirtland, Ohio, in March. Though his father had passed away a few weeks ago, in their letters there was no mention of returning to Nauvoo.

  “Get Betsy Jo,” Jenny said to Matthew. Then, as he left the room, she looked sternly at her sister, motioning toward the crutches. “You’re not to be rushing things,” she chided softly, “you hear me?”

  Kathryn answered with equal softness. “I know what I can and can’t do, Jenny.”

  Their eyes held each other for several moments; then finally Jenny nodded. “All right,” she said. “We’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

  Kathryn waited for a full twenty minutes just to make sure that they didn’t return to get something they had forgotten, or that some other family member didn’t stop to say hello, which they were in the habit of doing. But the house was quiet, and through the open windows she could hear nothing outside. Nauvoo had gone to worship services and the rest of the city was deserted.

  She drew back the covers, reached down with both hands, and pulled her feet up, swinging them around over the side of the bed, grunting with the effort, talking to them as if they were naughty children who refused to listen to their parent. She had to stop for a moment when she was done and the first beads of perspiration started to form on her forehead. She sat there, feeling the warmth of the floor on her bare feet. At least she had that much. Someone had told her that sometimes with paralysis, one lost all feeling too. But thankfully, that was not the case with her. She had feeling, just absolutely no control of her body from the waist down.

  She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the task ahead, then reached for the crutches and brought them to her. Today would be the first step to greater independence. She grimaced at the unintended play on words. First step? If you dragged feet and legs across the floor using crutches, did that qualify as a step? Then she nodded to herself. Maybe not to someone else, but it would be a major first step for her.

  Sitting straight now, she pulled at her dress until it was down around her ankles again, then positioned the crutches under her arms. Gripping the hand braces tightly, she held them out straight. She smiled as she remembered the day Matthew had come in with a carpenter’s ruler and measured her to see where the hand braces needed to go. He had made her stretch out so he could take the measurement from her armpits to the palms of her hands, and from her armpits to the bottom of her feet.

  “I feel like you’re measuring me for a coffin,” she had quipped.

  With great solemnity, Matthew shook his head. “We only do that for customers who have passed on,” he said. “That way we get fewer complaints.” She had giggled, and loved him all the more for being willing to tease her about it.

  With crutches firmly in hand now, she leaned forward, positioning the tips on the floor (the tips had been wrapped with a thick padding of canvas so as to cover the polished wood and take a better grip to the floor’s surface). The challenge immediately became evident. From a sitting position there was no way she could pull herself up using only her arms and upper body. Chiding herself for being so foolish, she set the crutches aside, slid sideways on the bed, then pulled herself onto the arm of the overstuffed chair beside her bed. Once again she had to stop, the effort momentarily exhausting her. Though it was barely ten-thirty now, the day was going to be a hot one and the house was quickly warming up. A droplet of sweat broke loose from her temple and trickled down the side of her cheek.

  She twisted around and, using the back of the chair, worked herself up into a semi-standing position, her breath coming in short, hard gasps now. That effort alone was enough to start her body trembling. Her feet were planted firmly enough on the floor to help her keep her balance, but they couldn’t respond if she started to wobble. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let her body adjust itself to this new, strange feeling. Then, biting her lip, she reached for the crutches.

  Now came the hard part. Steadying herself with one hand, she put one crutch under her left arm. She shifted her weight, cautiously letting go of the chair. She wobbled a little but steadied. Then she took the second crutch. She nearly fell twice before she had both of them under her arms. Once again she rested for a moment. Now the sweat was pouring down her forehead and into her eyes, stinging them. She was barely aware of it. She was on her feet, standing, with no one holding her, with no one having lifted her to that position. The exultation was like a deep draught of cold water on a hot day. It gave her the strength she needed to make the next move.

  With a quick breath she pushed off, leaving the safety of the chair. To her surprise, she found that maneuvering the crutches was simple enough. She would steady herself, make sure her feet were solidly on the floor, and then with a quick motion lift both crutches and move them forward an inch or two. Then all she had to do was lean her upper body forward, dragging the lower part of her after it. Once. Twice. Three times. She felt a burst of exhilaration. It was working! It would take weeks and weeks of practice to master it, she could sense that, but she was up. With no one else in the house. She was up!

  Halfway across the room, she had to stop. Her first step! The pure joy of knowing she was moving, completely free of anyone’s help, dizzied her and she nearly lost her balance. Leaning heavily on the crutches now, she took a deep breath, then another, grinning foolishly. Steadying herself, she reached up one hand to wipe away the sweat from her eyes. It was a mistake. The crutch beneath her slipped on the wooden floor and shot outwards. With a cry, she grabbed at it, which threw her body off balance.

  So simple a t
hing, to shift one’s weight to the other foot to stop from losing one’s balance. But for Kathryn, it was like asking an infant to walk. Down she went, trying to throw out one hand to catch the fall. But her hand was still tangled in the crutch and she couldn’t free it in time. She hit on her right shoulder, with the crutch half-beneath her body. She screamed out and rolled over to her back, writhing in agony, holding her shoulder. Tears of pain filled her eyes, but after a moment, they gave way to tears of frustration and hopelessness and despair. She rolled over onto her stomach, ignoring the searing pain in her shoulder, and began to sob uncontrollably.

  It was shortly after noon when Jenny returned to the house. Matthew had taken Betsy Jo to his mother’s to start helping with the cooking. Jenny went immediately into Kathryn’s room. Her first glance was to the chair. With relief, she saw the crutches were exactly as they had left them. Kathryn looked a little pale, but was sitting up in bed, reading a book.

  She looked up and smiled. “How was the worship service?”

  “Good. The brethren talked to us about remaining calm and not seeking revenge for Joseph’s death.”

  “Oh.”

  Jenny moved over to sit beside her. “Are you okay?” she asked, looking at her more closely.

  “I’m fine. I . . . I’m still not feeling quite well, but I’ll be all right.”

  Jenny placed a hand on her forehead. “You feel cold and clammy. Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Yes. I’m fine. I am tired, though. Perhaps I’ll sleep a little before going over to Mother Steed’s.”

  Jenny nodded, still looking concerned.

  Kathryn forced her brightest smile. “Did Jessica and Solomon come yet?”

  “No, the family who told us they were coming said they couldn’t leave before this morning, so it will be three or four o’clock before they get here, I imagine.”

  “It’s too bad they had to miss the funeral yesterday.”

  “Yes, well, the man said that Solomon was out visiting the settlements when the word came. But anyway, they’ll be here soon.”

  “Good. Will you come get me when they arrive?”

  “Of course.” She leaned forward a little. “Are you sure you are all right?”

  “Yes. I’ll sleep a little, and then I’ll be fine.”

  Jenny stood, still reluctant, and kissed Kathryn on the cheek. “All right, we’ll be back in a little while.”

  “Thank you for caring, Jenny.”

  Surprised, Jenny nodded, still eyeing her sister with suspicion. But after a moment, she turned and left the room, giving her a little wave of farewell.

  Peter had come, book under his arm, about an hour before, to help Kathryn pass the time until Jessica’s family arrived. When the door opened and Kathryn saw him standing there, she felt her heart drop. She hadn’t expected this, didn’t want it. Not today. The pain in her right side was growing with each passing hour. Nothing was broken—she had proven that during the agony of getting herself back to the bed and into it—but she was going to be one mass of black and blue on that right side. She had been lying here worrying about how she was going to explain all of that the next time Jenny helped her bathe. But the thought of having to smile and be pleasant to Peter when she hurt as keenly as she did was almost more than she could face.

  But she did smile. She did manage a forced cheerfulness at his presence. She even was able to convince him she was thrilled that he had brought a book of Shakespeare to read to her. Normally she loved that. She loved to hear Peter’s British voice, reading the great bard as though Peter himself had written the lines. She loved to watch the earnestness in his face, the light in his eyes. But not today. It was almost more effort than she could muster. She was so weary, so tired of it all.

  Her eyes opened with a jerk when she realized that his voice had stopped. He was watching her, his eyes wide and filled with concern. He smiled now, a little embarrassed. “Would you like to rest, Kathryn? I shouldn’t go on so.”

  She waved a hand and managed a soft laugh. “No, I wasn’t sleeping. I was listening to your voice. I like to hear your voice, Peter.”

  “Thank you.” He closed the book and set it on the bed beside her feet. He clasped his hands together in his lap and started to examine them closely. For a moment, she thought his acting this way might be because of her closing her eyes, but then she sensed it was something else. He was growing increasingly nervous even as she watched him. He shifted positions in his chair. His eyes rose to hers, then instantly darted away again when he saw she was looking at him.

  “Do you have another appointment, Peter?” she finally asked with her characteristic bluntness.

  That startled him. “No, why do you ask?”

  “Well, it’s like you can barely wait to get out of here.”

  His face flushed and he dropped his eyes to stare at his hands. “No, don’t be silly.”

  “Then what is it?” she demanded, the irritation and anger at herself suddenly taking focus on him.

  His shoulders lifted and fell as he took a quick breath. “Kathryn, I . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “I’ve been thinking about . . . well, about us.”

  She gaped at him. “Us?” she echoed dumbly.

  “Yes, you and me.”

  She was too dumbfounded to know what to say.

  His face was flaming all the brighter now, but his head came up. He swallowed hard twice, then plunged in. “I suppose this is not the most ideal time, but . . . Well, you know that we’ve always been good friends, Kathryn.”

  “Yes.” She heard herself say it as though from a great distance. Waves of panic were washing over her. No, Peter. Not today. On any other day this would be hard enough, but not today, Peter. Please! Please! Not now!

  “Well, my feelings are more than just friendship now, Kathryn. These past few months, I’ve come to realize that you mean a—”

  “Peter?”

  He looked up, surprised by the curtness in her voice. “Yes?”

  “Don’t!” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

  His eyes were large and wounded. “But—”

  “Peter, you are very sweet and I like you as a friend, but it could never be anything more than that for me. I just—” Her voice nearly broke and she reached out and touched his hand to cover herself. “I just don’t care for you in that way. I never could.”

  “Oh.”

  She looked away, not able to bear the pain she had brought to his eyes. Then finally, very softly, she heard, “I understand.”

  “I’m sorry, Peter.”

  “No, it’s all right. I appreciate you being honest.”

  She winced at that, and not because of the pain. Honesty was the last thing she was willing to give right now. “Can we still be friends?”

  He looked up, as though he hadn’t quite heard right. Then there was a sickly smile. “Yeah, sure. Who else would try to read Shakespeare to you?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes. Yes! Who else? But Shakespeare was not enough. How fully she had proved that on this day. “Thank you, Peter. Thank you for being so understanding.”

  He stood. “Well, maybe I’d better go.”

  “Yes,” she said softly. Her lips parted, wanting to say more, wanting to take away the hurt from his face, but she couldn’t. She was as crippled in that regard as she was in her body.

  He nodded, lifted his hand as if he was going to touch her cheek, then let it drop again. “Good-bye, Kathryn.”

  “Good-bye, Peter.”

  He nodded and left the room, walking very slowly. As the door shut quietly behind him, Kathryn turned her head toward the wall and began to weep.

  Joshua leaned forward, his dark eyes earnest. “Look, I’m not being critical of the Church. I’m just telling you, Joseph Smith was the force that made the Church what it is. Joseph is gone now. All I’m saying is that we need to start thinking about what that means.”

  Matthew’s Jenny was shaking her head even before he finished. �
��But that’s exactly the point, Joshua. It’s not ‘The Church of Joseph Smith of Latter-day Saints.’ It’s ‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ We believe the Savior is the head of the Church and the real power that makes it live.”

  Nathan had to smile. Spunk. That was the word for this Irish girl whom his younger brother had married. She was so gentle and so sweet of disposition, but cross her—especially on something that related to the gospel—and she stood right up and let herself be heard.

  Beside him, his own wife jumped in. “We all know what a loss this will be for us,” Lydia said. “No one disagrees with you on that. Joseph was a remarkable man but—”

  “Joseph was more than that,” Joshua cut in. “I know this sounds odd coming from me, but Joseph was more than just remarkable. He was the kind of man that comes along once in a lifetime. Maybe not even that often. If it weren’t for Joseph Smith, you would have no Church.”

  Jessica turned to him and smiled. “You are right, Joshua. Coming from you that does sound odd.” They all laughed at that, Joshua included. Then immediately several started answering him, all speaking at once—Caroline, Derek, Solomon. Jenny again.

  Jenny’s sister, Kathryn, sat in her wheelchair, hands folded in her lap. She followed the conversation, but so far had said nothing. Sitting somewhat apart from the others, Peter was equally quiet, not looking at Kathryn at all. Nathan watched the two of them with wonder. The rest of the family hadn’t noticed, but there was no mistaking it. Something had happened between Peter and Kathryn. He made a mental note to ask Lydia about it later.

  He turned to watch the other members of the family. He was half-amused, half-astonished. Jessica and Solomon had finally arrived shortly after four o’clock. Immediately all the family gathered to Grandma and Grandpa Steed’s home. Now it was dark. They were seated in the yard. Supper was over. The dishes were done. The three youngest—Caroline’s Livvy, who was not even a month old yet, Jessica’s Miriam, not quite a year, and Lydia’s little Joseph, just a year—were asleep next door in one bedroom of Nathan’s home. The window of that room was open so they could hear the babies if they cried. The rest of the children had gone down to Miller’s pasture to play night games. The night was soft and warm around them. Here and there a firefly winked in the darkness. The harmony of crickets and cicadas provided a droning, barely noticed background for their conversation.