Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  “I can’t believe it,” Peter said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Reed seemed pleased. He looked around at his creation for a moment, then stood and went down the steps. Peter followed, still visibly impressed.

  Reed laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Well, shall we go back in and see how the ladies are faring?”

  “Good night. Thanks again for letting us come speak with you.”

  “Good night,” Reed called, waving cordially. “We shall be in touch and let you know of our decision, but we are most impressed.”

  “Thank you.” Peter and Kathryn turned out the gate and started up the walk. Only when they heard the door shut did Kathryn look at Peter. She was trying to appear very demure, but the grin broke out and spread across her face in an instant. “‘We are most impressed,’” she said, in a deep voice that sounded surprisingly like Mr. James Frazier Reed’s.

  Peter stepped to the spot where they had left the wheelchair. He got Kathryn settled, then started pushing her back toward their own street. “So tell me,” he whispered loudly, “what all did she say?”

  “Well,” Kathryn said, tipping her head back and half closing her eyes in pleasure, “we talked about teaching school, of course. And I told her about both of us teaching for Jessica.”

  “Did she ask where?”

  “Yes. I told her it was in Nauvoo.”

  He groaned. “Did she ask if we were Mormons?”

  “No. I got the distinct impression she already knew. She did tell me not to mention Nauvoo to Mr. Reed, though. That it would be better that way.”

  He pursed his lips. “She did? Does that mean she’s considering you and doesn’t want to have our being Mormons influence him against us?”

  “Not just me, Peter. She’s considering us. And yes, I think that’s exactly it. She liked me. I could tell. And I like her. We got along quite famously, actually.”

  “Wonderful!”

  “She was much too polite to ask me about my legs, but I told her anyway. I told her about the lightning and how at first I couldn’t do anything. That seemed to impress her. I even told her about my wheelchair.”

  “I can’t believe it,” he said. “So you don’t think it’s going to discourage her?”

  “She seemed a little concerned about convincing her husband that I won’t be another problem for him. But as for her, she said she was sure it would work out. She has four children—one older daughter by a previous marriage, and three younger ones. She is determined that their education not be neglected while they travel west. She is a very determined woman.”

  “I can’t believe it, Kathryn,” he said again, his voice light with wonder. “I think we’ve got it.”

  “So do I, Peter. So do I.” She opened her eyes and turned back to look at him. “Did Mr. Reed give you any idea of when they will be leaving?”

  “Yes. In a little over two months. Evidently, there’s a large party of emigrants forming up to go to Oregon and California at Independence, Missouri, in May. They want to leave here in time to join up with them. He says he thinks it will be about the middle of April.”

  “Good. That will mean we are not that far behind your family.”

  “I’m telling you, Kathryn, these people are excellent planners. They have money. I don’t know how many extra yoke of oxen they are taking just for emergencies. They have riding horses, beef and milk cattle. And that wagon, Kathryn. Oh, that wagon! You won’t believe it.”

  “Mrs. Reed told me that he’s very proud of what he had done there.”

  “Very proud. And from what he says, the Donner brothers are just as well-to-do as the Reeds are.” He laughed aloud. “We are going to travel in style.”

  She threw back her head and laughed with him in pure delight. “Oh, Peter. You’re right. I think we’ve done it.”

  Benjamin waited at the window of the sitting room, watching through the curtains to the house across the street. He already had his coat and scarf on. After about five minutes, he grunted softly. “Caroline is leaving.”

  Mary Ann looked up from carding wool. “Are the children with her?”

  “Yes. Do you think he suspects anything?”

  Mary Ann smiled. “No. She’s told him she’s going over to Lydia’s to help with the packing. Joshua is working on the books from the lumber camp. He’ll be grateful for the time to be alone.”

  Benjamin was carrying a copy of the Book of Mormon in one hand. He tucked it under his arm, walked to Mary Ann, and bent down and kissed her forehead. “Any last minute words of advice?”

  She shook her head. “Just follow your heart, Benjamin. That’s all that matters.”

  He pulled a face, far less confident than she was. “It didn’t work with Melissa and Carl.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t know whether it did or not. We may not know that for a long time.”

  He kissed her again. “How did I ever manage to get you?” he said softly.

  She smiled sweetly up at him. “I guess it was just your lucky day.”

  Joshua looked up as he heard the front door open. “Caroline? Are you back already?”

  “Want to guess again?” said a deep voice.

  He pushed a large ledger book aside and stood up. Benjamin stepped around the corner into view, already shedding his coat. “Hello, Joshua.”

  “Hi, Pa. What’s up?”

  “I know you’re busy, but if you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk.”

  A little surprised, Joshua shrugged, nodding toward the table full of books. “I’m glad for any excuse to get away from this.” He pointed toward where two chairs flanked a small lamp table. “Let’s sit down.”

  As they did so, Joshua saw the copy of the Book of Mormon in his father’s hand. One eyebrow lifted slightly, but he said nothing. When they were settled into their chairs, Joshua sat back to wait, suspecting what might be coming.

  “I saw Caroline go. I thought about waiting until tomorrow, but . . .” Benjamin shook his head. “Tomorrow will probably be pretty hectic.”

  “What time are you scheduled to be at the ferry?”

  “Two o’clock. They’re hoping we’ll be across by three.”

  “And it’s for sure?”

  “Yes. Our captain sent confirmation this morning. We leave tomorrow.”

  Joshua leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and began to drum his fingers together softly. “It’s going to be hard, Pa.”

  Benjamin’s head went up and down slowly.

  “The family has been so close this past year and a half since Carl and Melissa came back. All of us together except for that time you were in Nashville.”

  “It’s been wonderful. It’s not easy leaving tomorrow, knowing that we won’t be together any longer.”

  “I know.” There was a fleeting smile touched with sadness. “Did you come to try and talk me into reconsidering?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No. I didn’t come to try to persuade you to come with us.”

  “Perhaps in a year or two.”

  “We hope so. Your mother is finding this very difficult.”

  “So are we. Caroline can hardly bear to talk about it. And Melissa? She’s already falling to pieces.”

  He nodded again, watching Joshua closely. “Do you remember the last time we said good-bye?” he suddenly asked.

  Joshua was momentarily startled. “You mean when you and Ma left for Nashville?”

  “No. Before that.”

  “When?” But it was obvious he already knew.

  “It’s been almost seven years ago now, Joshua. It was July of eighteen thirty-nine. I think people would say I was on my deathbed.”

  “I remember.” It came out barely loud enough for him to catch.

  “You didn’t like what I had to say, but you listened to me then because you thought I was dying.”

  “You were!” Joshua shot back. “We all thought you were gone.”

  “Well, I’m not dyi
ng now, but by tomorrow afternoon, I will be gone. Your mother will be gone. The rest of the family will be gone. And who knows when we will see each other again.” There was a challenge now in his voice. “And since this is our last day together, I thought you might listen to me again.”

  Joshua’s smile was rueful, but genuinely filled with love and affection. “Of course I’ll listen, Pa.”

  “Oh, no,” Benjamin chided. “I’m not just talking about being polite to me. I’m talking about listening.”

  He sobered. “All right, I’ll listen. But there are no promises.”

  “I don’t remember asking for any,” came the dry response.

  “All right, then, I’m listening.”

  “Tell me about the Savior, Joshua.”

  He reared back slightly. “The Savior? Me?”

  “Yes.” Benjamin waited, his face impassive.

  “I don’t know,” Joshua said, almost stammering. “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me about the Savior.”

  “I . . . I’m not religious, Pa. I don’t know if I believe all that stuff.”

  “Stuff? What stuff?”

  “About him dying for our sins and giving his life for us.”

  Benjamin nodded thoughtfully. “Do you think it’s possible a man could love others enough that he would do something like that?”

  Joshua thought about that. “Well, yes, I suppose. I would gladly die for Caroline if it came to that.”

  “And the children?”

  “Yes.” There was no hesitation.

  Benjamin nodded and fell silent. Joshua watched him, fighting the temptation to start to fidget a little.

  “Do you remember Cincinnati, Joshua?”

  That one came out of nowhere and he looked puzzled. “Cincinnati?”

  “Yes, you told me about it once. You said you still carry a six-inch scar on your shoulder from it.”

  His face fell. “Oh. Yes, the fight.” It had been in those first years after running away from Palmyra. There had been a barroom brawl. A professional gambler had been jumped by several men and Joshua didn’t like the odds. He had come away with a new friend, a vicious cut, and a warrant for his arrest for nearly killing one of the men.

  “And Independence?”

  Joshua’s eyes narrowed.

  “The whiskey. The gambling. Striking Jessica.”

  “What are you doing, Pa?” he asked in a low voice.

  Benjamin seemed not to hear. He was almost musing. “You were so filled with hate that you drove your wife and baby daughter out of their house into a winter’s storm.”

  “Pa,” he said sharply, “that’s over now. I’m not proud of that.”

  “Do you think I’m condemning you, Joshua? Well, I’m not, because I’m the one who drove you out of my house and into that life. You were young and foolish and way off the beaten path. And me? Well, I was old and foolish and way off the beaten path.”

  “That’s all in the past now.”

  Benjamin smiled softly. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” He began to finger the copy of the Book of Mormon in his lap, but his thoughts were still far away. Finally he came back, looking directly at Joshua. “Let’s suppose that someone came to you today and proposed to help you.”

  “Help me? In what way?”

  “Let’s suppose they had heard about all that had happened to you—Samuelson’s ruination of your partnership, the burning of the stables, the loss of the twenty-five thousand dollars—everything! And suppose that this person said he wanted to be your benefactor, that he wanted to help restore everything you had lost.”

  Joshua was openly skeptical. “I’m sorry, that’s a little hard for me to imagine.”

  Benjamin looked surprised. “Why? Isn’t that what you did for us after we lost everything in Missouri?”

  Joshua blinked, looking almost stunned. “But you were family.”

  “All right. Let’s say this benefactor was family. Let’s say that Nathan was extremely wealthy. Do you think he would do something like what I just described?”

  There was no need to even question that. “Yes, he would,” Joshua admitted quietly.

  “Why?”

  “Because he is family.”

  “It’s called love, Joshua.”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it?”

  Benjamin leaned forward now, his face almost radiant with a quiet joy. “That’s what the Savior did for you, Joshua. You’ve been restored. You were rebellious, angry, a drunkard, violent. You had lost everything. Everything! And now, look at you.”

  “I’ve lost everything now.”

  Benjamin’s look shamed him instantly. “Why is it you want to blame God for the bad things, and not give him credit for the other—Caroline, a beautiful family, a comfortable home.”

  “You’re right, Pa,” he murmured. “The only thing I’ve lost that really matters is Olivia.”

  “And the Savior is going to restore her to you as well, Joshua. You know that, don’t you?”

  “No, I—”

  “Yes, you do, Joshua. Just listen to what your heart is telling you. You don’t believe that Olivia is no more. You don’t believe that she has become nothingness. That her smile is gone. That her laugh that lifted everyone around her is forever silenced. You don’t believe that, do you? Not really.”

  “I don’t want to believe it.”

  “No! You don’t believe it. And that’s part of what the Savior has done for you, Joshua. That’s why he died on the cross. That’s why he suffered so terribly in the garden. He wanted to be able to restore people. Restore them to life. Restore them to goodness and happiness. Just as he has restored you, Joshua. Just as he restored me.”

  Joshua’s head had lowered and he was staring at the floor.

  “Suppose Nathan had used his wealth to give you everything back. How would you feel toward him? What would you do?”

  He still did not look up. “That’s obvious.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I would be forever grateful. I would do . . .” He stopped, seeing where his words were leading him.

  “You would do anything for him.”

  There was a mute nod.

  Now at last Benjamin opened the book on his lap. His fingers moved slowly, opening to the center of the book. He already had a slip of paper there. There was an inaudible sigh. “In the Book of Mormon, two men named Alma and Amulek were teaching a group of people called the Zoramites. Alma taught them about faith and how to get it. Amulek talked about the Atonement and how the Lord’s infinite mercy could save them.”

  He looked down. “I was reading this last week and one part just hit me hard, Joshua. It hit me hard for you. Here is what Amulek says. ‘And now my beloved brethren—’” He looked up. “Or I would say, ‘Now my beloved son.’”

  Joshua’s head came up. He looked as if he wanted to escape.

  Benjamin continued. “‘Now my beloved son, I desire that ye should remember these things, and that ye should work out your salvation with fear before God, and that ye should no more deny the coming of Christ.’”

  There was a long pause; then very slowly Benjamin went on. “‘That ye contend no more against the Holy Ghost, but that ye receive it, and take upon you the name of Christ; that ye humble yourselves even to the dust, and worship God in whatsoever place ye may be in—’” His voice now rose in both power and solemnity. “‘And that ye live in thanksgiving daily, for the many mercies and blessings which he doth bestow upon you.’”

  He closed the book and sat back, saying no more. The silence stretched out for a full minute, then two. Joshua was no longer looking at him, but staring beyond him at nothing.

  Finally Joshua drew in a breath. It was filled with pain. “So you came over to call me to repentance?” he asked softly. There was no bitterness, only a quiet sadness.

  “No!” Benjamin said fiercely. “You’ve already repented, Joshua. Don’t you see that? Your heart has been changed. No, Joshua, all I�
��ve come to do is call you to remembrance.”

  His words struck Joshua hard and he looked suddenly bewildered.

  Benjamin stood slowly. Joshua watched him, but didn’t move. “Joshua,” Benjamin said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Tomorrow we start west. We’re like Israel of old. We leave Egypt now to find the promised land. If you and Caroline and Carl and Melissa are not with us, we will be sad, but it is not a tragedy. But someday, this life will be over, and we’ll be going to another place of rest.”

  Suddenly his voice broke and he had to take in a deep breath to regain control. “If we do not have you with us then, then it will be a great tragedy, one that I cannot bear to contemplate.”

  He moved across the room to stand beside Joshua, whose head had dropped again. “Oh, my beloved son,” he said in a whisper, laying his hand on his shoulder. “That’s what I want you to remember as we leave tomorrow. Your mother and I can stand this farewell. We could never bear the other.”

  He squeezed his son’s shoulder briefly, then went quietly out into the hall, got his coat, and let himself out.

  Chapter Notes

  By some strange irony, because of various delays, the Brooklyn did not set sail from New York harbor until 4 February 1846, the very day the first wagons crossed the Mississippi River on ferryboat and started the long trek across Iowa Territory (see CHFT, pp. 326–27).

  The description of Samuel Brannan’s character, the company of Saints, the ship, and the supplies it carried comes from Paul Bailey’s work on Samuel Brannan (see Sam Brannan and the California Mormons [Los Angeles: Westernlore Press, 1943], pp. 25–31). He gives the numbers of passengers at 238. Another source says it was 234 (see Lorin K. Hansen, “Voyage of the Brooklyn,” Dialogue 21 [Fall 1988]: 52). In the History of the Church it is put at only 175, with 55 additional crew (see HC 7:587–88). This is probably an error, perhaps given out by the ship’s captain to disguise the fact that the ship carried more than the allowed load of passengers (see Hansen, “Voyage of the Brooklyn,” p. 52).

  Details of the land deal made by Brannan with Amos Kendall and the United States government are described in letters and the actual contract sent to Brigham Young by Samuel Brannan (see HC 7:587–91). The Twelve rejected the contract outright, seeing it for the extortion that it was.