Emily couldn’t contain herself. “You actually saw where we’re going, President Young?”
Nathan held up his hands. “Why don’t we just let President Young say what he has to say. Maybe then we can ask some questions.”
Emily colored slightly, not because of her father’s reply, but because she had been so bold as to speak out as she had.
Nathan moved over to sit with his family as Brigham moved around so he could see everyone a little better. “A lot of people are saying it was a vision,” the Apostle began. “It happened while I was lying down, though I didn’t feel as though I was asleep yet.”
“Does it matter?” Lorenzo Young asked. “Dream, vision—as long as it’s from the Lord, isn’t it the same thing?”
“Of course,” his brother agreed. “What matters is what I saw and the feelings that followed.”
The adults sat very still, watching their leader. Even the little children were attentive.
Brigham leaned forward, his gray-blue eyes filled with a strange intensity. “It was a marvelous thing. I was shown a large valley—a very large valley. It was as though it were a grand panorama and I could look down upon the whole of it. Somehow I knew that it was in the midst of the Rocky Mountains and that it was our new home.”
“What did it look like?” Mark Garrett blurted out.
“Let President Young tell it,” Jessica said with a smile to her son.
You could see in his eyes that it pleased Brigham that the children were as excited by his account as the grown-ups. “Well,” he said slowly, savoring his memory of the scene, “it was surrounded by high snowcapped mountains, not just on one side, but on both sides. There were many trees on the mountains. They were green and beautiful. I could see many streams coming down from the mountains to water the valley.”
“Really?” Mary Ann breathed, caught up with his description to the point that she was almost seeing it in her mind.
“Ah, Mother Steed,” Brigham sighed, “it was a beautiful sight. And as I gazed upon it, I knew that it was large enough to hold our people. I was also given to know that it is far enough away from civilization that we shall be free from our enemies. No mobs will come in the night to burn property and whip and kidnap our people as they have everywhere else. It will be a place of safety and refuge. There we will build our homes, and there we will make a city.”
He stopped, far away in his thoughts now. No one spoke. Finally he came back to them. “Anyway, that was it. It didn’t last very long, but the images of what I saw will be in my mind forever.”
“That’s wonderful,” Lydia exclaimed. “Imagine, no more Far Wests. No more tragedies like Haun’s Mill. Could we really find a place where we have peace?”
Brigham straightened now. “We could and we will, Lydia. Of that I have not the slightest doubt.” He looked around. “Now, do you have any questions?”
“How far is it?” Josh asked, raising his hand and speaking at the same time.
“Far away,” was the answer. “I was not told exactly how far.”
“Were you shown where it was?” Rebecca asked.
“No, not exactly.”
“But it is in the Rocky Mountains?” Caroline asked.
“Definitely.” A look of frustration crossed his features. “I fear that there are still some of our people who think Brother Brigham has stepped off the cliff and is tumbling helter-skelter, head over heels across the plains of Iowa with no idea where we are going. But I tell you, that is not the case. Joseph knew more than ten years ago that we would be going to the Rocky Mountains. You remember that, Nathan? You were there that night, as we were getting ready for Zion’s Camp.”
“I do.”
“Joseph startled us all.” Brigham laughed softly. “He had a habit of doing that. We were talking about going to Zion, and all of a sudden he said something like, ‘You don’t begin to understand our destiny. We are only a little handful of priesthood here tonight, but this church will fill North and South America—it will fill the world. There will be tens of thousands of us who will gather to the Rocky Mountains.’ ” Again Brigham drifted away into his thoughts. “We were astonished at his words and weren’t sure what they meant or how their fulfillment could even be possible. Not then, at least. But that wasn’t the only time he talked about it. He knew that we were going west. Now his prophecy is being fulfilled.”
He leaned down, looking directly at the children. “So, we may not know exactly where it is,” he said, “but when I get there, I’ll know it for sure, so there’s no need to worry about Brother Brigham getting us all lost.”
Christopher Ingalls, Derek’s firstborn, who was now almost seven, nodded gravely. “I never thought you were lost, Brother Brigham.”
Brigham laughed in delight. “Why, thank you, young man. I wish everyone had your faith.” He turned to Nathan. “Well, we’d best be getting back.”
“Thank you, President,” Nathan said.
“Oh, yes, thank you,” Mary Ann added. “Thank you for taking the time to stop by and share that with us.”
They rose now and gathered around him. Brigham waved a general farewell to the adults, but took the time to shake hands with each of the children. As he was doing so, Nathan sidled up to Joshua. “Well?” he said.
Joshua gave him a bland look. “Well what?”
“What do you think of that?”
“Do you think I don’t believe him?” he asked curtly.
Nathan looked surprised. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just wondered what you thought.”
Joshua watched Brigham shaking hands with his own children now. Savannah’s eyes were glowing, and Charles stood there like a peasant boy finally privileged to meet the mayor of the town. “I think Brigham Young is a great leader,” he said carefully. “Maybe, for this task, even better than Joseph.”
“Hmm,” Nathan said, looking at him oddly.
“And what is that expression supposed to mean?”
“I didn’t ask you what you thought of Brigham Young, I asked you what you thought of his vision.”
“Oh.” There was an awkward moment, and then Joshua shook his head. “I think he had an experience of some kind. Sometimes when you’re between wakefulness and sleep, things can seem very real to you.”
“But you don’t think it was a vision? You’re not sure he actually saw where we are going?”
Now Joshua surprised Nathan a great deal. “No, I’m not sure. On the other hand, I want to believe him. Is that worth anything?”
That so caught Nathan by surprise that he just looked at him. Joshua chuckled and clapped him on the arm. “It’s good to know I can still sneak up on you now and then, little brother.” And with that he walked over to say good-bye to the two Young brothers.
The coals of the fire glowed a dull red-black in the darkness. Only a few flickering flames still remained. Joshua leaned half back, looking up into the sky. Here and there he could see a few stars, but it was mostly overcast and smelled like there might be rain before morning. Finally he turned his head and looked at his mother. He was surprised that she had stayed out. Once Brigham and Lorenzo Young were gone, the family had talked for a few more minutes, then had a family prayer and retired to their tents. Mary Ann sat down by the fire instead. Seeing that, Joshua waved Caroline on and sat down beside his mother.
They had sat together in comfortable silence, staring into the dying flames, both lost in their own thoughts. He could see she was tired, but he also sensed that she wanted to be with him out here. With the rigid schedule of trail life, these opportunities didn’t come very often. It was a cool night for mid-May, but cool was not cold. Finally the winter’s chill was being pushed back.
“What are you thinking, Mother?”
“About your father.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t a great surprise. Nights always seemed to bring his memory closer to the surface. He sat up straight, watching her eyes in the firelight. He would have guessed they would be sad. Instead, from what litt
le he could see, they were filled with a quiet peace.
“And what were you thinking, Joshua?” she asked.
He shrugged. “About you and Papa, I guess. I had always heard about people grieving for someone,” he said. “I never fully understood what that meant until now.”
She nodded slowly. “God said that it was not good for man to be alone, and so he made man and woman for each other. Now I know just how profoundly true that is, Joshua. It’s like . . .” She groped for a way to express what she was feeling. “I don’t know. It’s like a part of me is gone—not an arm or hand or something external, but some part of the inner me. I am no longer whole.”
He watched her, wishing he could better see her face and into her eyes, but knowing somehow that the darkness protected her and that that was one of the reasons she was willing to speak of these things. He smiled faintly in the darkness. “I remember one night. We were all having supper at your house. You and Papa were clear across the room from each other. There was lots of noise, everyone was laughing and talking. But I was watching you, and I saw something come into your eyes. I turned to see what you were looking at.” His voice went suddenly husky. “And there was Papa with that same look in his eyes. Something passed between you—I don’t know what—but it was as if you two were completely alone in a room speaking quietly to each other.”
“Yes,” she said, and now he knew that tears were close. “That’s why I grieve. Not because he’s dead, because I know that he isn’t, but because he’s gone and I am not whole.”
Joshua straightened and slid closer to her, so their shoulders touched. He didn’t speak, and she seemed glad for it. Two or three minutes passed in silence. The fire was almost gone now. The sounds of the night were muted and distant around them.
“You grieve too, Joshua, but for different reasons.”
Her words startled him. He peered at her, but her face was only just distinguishable in the light from the glowing coals. “I miss him too, Mother, but not in the same way you do.”
“I wasn’t talking about your father, Joshua.”
It took all he could do not to flinch with the pain that shot through him. He looked away, not trusting himself to speak, not wanting to if he could. Mary Ann didn’t look at him, didn’t say anything further, but after several moments she reached out and took his hand in hers and held it softly. After a long time, he finally lifted his head. “I think of her every day, Mama. I watch Rachel and Emily giggling about this boy or that and I think . . .” His throat constricted and he stopped and took a quick breath. “Olivia will never have that.”
“Joshua, I—”
“Not ever, Mama,” he whispered. “Not ever! She can never sit in front of a mirror and have Caroline brush her hair. How she would have loved Lydia’s little Tricia! Now she will never see her.” There was a choking sound. “And her father can never take her in his arms and say, ‘I’m sorry, Livvy. I’m so, so terribly sorry.’”
“Joshua, don’t.”
“Why? Do you think not saying it makes it more bearable?”
“That’s what I meant,” Mary Ann said gently. “You are grieving too, but my grief comes from love. Yours is born of guilt.”
He pulled free of her hand, accusing her with his stare in the darkness. “I loved Olivia, Mama!” he cried in a hoarse whisper. “I loved her!”
“I know that, Joshua.” She reached out and touched his arm. He was stiff and unmoving. “I know you loved her, but your pain is coming mostly from hopelessness. If you knew that Olivia still lives, as surely as I know that Benjamin still lives, you would still grieve, but it would not be filled with guilt.”
“It was my stupidity that killed her, Mama,” he burst out.
“No,” she whispered fiercely, “it was not. It was evil men, trying to harass an innocent Mormon family, who killed her, Joshua. You loved your daughter. What you did was what you thought was best for her.”
His head dropped. Now his voice was dull, without life. “If only I would have listened to her.”
She sat back. “I think it’s time you stopped just reading that Book of Mormon and started praying about it.”
His head came up slowly. “What did you say?”
“Oh, Joshua,” she said, the love welling up inside her, bringing her close to tears again, “you have it, don’t you?”
“Have what?” he stammered.
She shook her head. “From the time you were a little boy, I could always tell when you weren’t telling the truth. I watched you that day when Nathan asked you if you’d seen Lydia’s Book of Mormon.”
He didn’t know what to say.
She suddenly stood. “I’m very tired, Joshua. Thank you for being with me. We need to do this more.”
He stood too, still in a little bit of a whirl. She had known right from the beginning?
She stepped up to him, went up on the balls of her feet, and kissed him softly on the cheek. “You can’t just read it, Joshua,” she said into his ear. “You also have to ask.”
Lydia looked up as the front flap of her tent opened and a flash of sunlight lit the tent. She was seated on the floor, feet beneath her, folding clothing from the wash she and Mary Ann had done earlier in the day. Joshua’s head poked through the tent flap. “Hi.”
Surprised, she smiled up at him. “Good morning, Joshua. Nathan went out to saddle the horse. He’s all ready other than that.”
“I know. I saw him go. Do you mind if I come in?”
That caught her by surprise. She had just assumed that— “Of course not. Come in. There’s a stool in the corner.”
He stepped inside but remained standing. “That’s all right. This won’t take long.” He reached inside his shirt and withdrew something. Curious, she tried to see what he held, but he dropped his hand too quickly for her to see what it was. He took a breath, then another, his face flushing a little.
Thoroughly intrigued now by his obvious discomfort, she set the clothes aside. “What is it, Joshua?”
“I owe you an apology.”
“An apology? For what?”
He lifted his hand, palm up.
She stared at it for a moment, not comprehending. It was a Book of Mormon, but . . . She stood up and moved to Joshua, peering more closely at the book. He held it up so she could see the back of it. There was a soft gasp. There was no mistaking the darkened corner. It was her Book of Mormon.
“I took it,” he said simply. “That day when I stayed behind to dry out the bedding. I saw it there . . .” He thrust it toward her. “I should have said something sooner.”
She was too shocked to move. Finally she forced her gaze away from the book and to his face. His dark eyes were somber and hooded. “You had it all this time?”
“Yes.”
“I . . .” She shook her head. She took it from him and pressed it to her breast. “I’m so glad to find it. Thank you, Joshua.”
“I’m sorry, Lydia. It was wrong of me to do it. It was worse not to let you know when you thought you had lost it. I was going to say something, but then everyone would have known and—”
And then her joy at seeing the book gave way to something else. Her eyes met and held his. “Have you been reading it?”
For a long moment they stood there, eyes locked. Then slowly, ever so slowly, he nodded.
If she had been caught by surprise before, now she was absolutely astonished. “You have? You really have?”
“Lydia, I’m going to ask you not to say anything to anyone about this.”
She turned away for a moment, setting the book down, her thoughts tumbling wildly, and then she swung back. Joshua? It had been he who took her Book of Mormon? “Does Caroline know?”
“No. I just found out last night that Mother guessed that it was me. But no one else knows. Not Caroline. Not Nathan. No one but you and Mama now.”
“But why?” she cried. “Why haven’t you said anything? Of all people, Caroline should— Why now, Joshua?”
“Because Na
than and I are leaving in a few minutes. I’ve kept it long enough.”
The implications of what he was saying began to override her amazement. “Did you finish it?” she asked very softly.
“No.”
“How far did you get?” She was almost whispering, as though she were suddenly in a cathedral.
“I was in the book of Alma.”
“That far!” She clasped her hands together in pleasure. “That’s wonderful, Joshua.” She was still a little dazed. “Why now, Joshua? After all of these years of us trying to get you to read it. Why now?”
He had suspected she would ask him that question. “Partly curiosity, I guess. I look at some of these people—Drusilla Hendricks, Ezra T. Benson. I see what they are willing to go through for their faith.” His shoulders lifted and fell. “I’d like to understand it better.”
“And?” she asked after a moment.
He pretended not to understand. “And what?”
She stepped forward and took his arms, then shook him gently. “Tell me, Joshua. What are your feelings about it?”
He had expected this question too and wanted to be honest with her. “I’m not sure. Some of it I like. There are some beautiful things in there. Other times I don’t like what I’m reading, or don’t understand it. I have a lot of questions.”
“Oh, Joshua. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You’re actually reading it.” She was so excited now, she shook him again, barely aware that she still held his arms. “What passages did you like?”
He thought for a moment, then answered. “There’s a place where one of them—Nephi, I think—talks about himself, about how he feels.”
“What does he say?”
“He feels like he is unworthy. He talks about how weak he is.”
“Yes,” Lydia breathed. “That is one of my favorite parts of the whole Book of Mormon.”
She retrieved the book, turning the pages quickly, scanning. Then she held it out, pointing to a place on the page. “This?”
He looked, nodded, then took it from her. He read in a low voice, but one that captured all the emotion and pathos that Nephi had tried to express. “ ‘O wretched man that I am; yea, my heart sorroweth, because of my flesh. My soul grieveth, because of mine iniquities. I am encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which doth so easily beset me.’ ” He closed the book. “That’s the one.”
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