One Candle

by Gale Sears

  “Well, these are the major towns and villages,” Elder Stenhouse said, pointing. “The higher you go into the narrow valleys, the communities become small; some are only a cluster of stone houses. It’s remarkable how they scratch out an existence up there. Often the mountainsides are steep. In one valley, I could have shot an arrow from one side of the canyon to the other.”

  “Remarkable,” Lorenzo said. “And how are the people?”

  “Simple and hardworking. Their lives are one long round of unremitting toil. And that goes for men and women alike. They have these large baskets fashioned with shoulder straps in which they carry everything from manure to wood to huge loads of hay. And these are carried not just by strong young men, but by elderly women with gray hair.” Elder Stenhouse shook his head. “Up and down on those rugged mountain paths. I don’t know how they do it.”

  “And what of their demeanor?”

  “Quite open. Of course, at first they are curious about my solitary wanderings, but when introductions have been made, with me using my modicum of French and Italian, they are quite solicitous. And I was never denied food, even though their stores were meager.”

  Lorenzo nodded, running his hand across the paper. “And when we begin to preach, do you think they’ll be accepting of our message?”

  Elder Stenhouse took a bite of bread and cheese and chewed while he thought. After swallowing and taking a drink of water, he made his observation. “I think some will hear the truth of the restored Church and embrace it, some will cling to the traditions of their fathers, and some will be too busy keeping alive in their harsh circumstances to care much.”

  Lorenzo gave him a half grin. “Perhaps we can entice them to come gather with the Saints in the blessed ease of the Great Salt Lake Valley.”

  Elder Stenhouse laughed. “Oh, yes! Travel thousands of miles over a roiling ocean, and then trudge another thousand miles—”

  “—A bit over a thousand,” Lorenzo said.

  “Ah! A bit over a thousand! Trudge more than a thousand miles across a country to settle in a barren wilderness of dirt, sagebrush, and very little water, where you’ll have to fight harsh summers, harsh winters, and crickets! A life of ease, I’m telling you. They’ll be signing up by the thousands!”

  Lorenzo laughed with him, and then sobered. “It truly is a miracle, Thomas, how conversion carries people. I have watched people leave everything for the truth.”

  “Your own life a testament,” Elder Stenhouse said.

  “And yours.”

  The two men sat quietly, taking in the stillness of the morning. Finally, Lorenzo spoke. “Now that I’ve finished writing and compiling The Voice of Joseph to help with our work here, I feel I have time to make a few travels with you.”

  Elder Stenhouse sat straighter and smiled. “’Twould be a wonder. Where would you like to go?”

  Lorenzo evaluated the map. “Let’s go up this small valley to the village of Rorà.”

  Elder Stenhouse stood. “Done! When would you like to go?”

  “Today. As soon as we’ve packed our knapsacks.”

  “Ah! A man of action and vision. And the gospel will roll forth to fill the whole world!”

  Lorenzo chuckled at the man’s enthusiasm. “Well, let’s just try to fill the valleys of the Piedmont, shall we?”

  At that moment, the landlord’s daughter came out of the inn, carrying a large basket of laundry. Lorenzo stood and moved to intercept her.

  “Here, Mademoiselle Guy. Let me carry that for you.” She relinquished the basket without speaking or smiling, which was very uncharacteristic of the normally cheerful girl. He also noted dark circles under her eyes and a drawn expression. “Are you well, Albertina?”

  She moved on in silence while the two missionaries shared a look of concern. They reached the clothesline and Elder Stenhouse stepped in front of the stoic girl. “Albertina, please let us take over this task. You look nigh unto the end of your strength.”

  A flood of emotion came with the offered kindness, and Albertina covered her face with her hands and turned away.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Lorenzo asked softly.

  “My . . . my brother Joseph.” The men waited as emotion stifled her words. “My little brother Joseph is ill . . . very ill.”

  “Oh, no,” Lorenzo whispered. He now understood the unique arrangement of breakfast on the outside table and the absence of Madame Guy fussing over them as was her wont. Lorenzo’s heart ached. In the past month of interaction with the Guy family he had grown to admire Rene and Francesca’s competent industry in working their small farm and running the inn, Albertina’s quiet confidence and beautiful singing voice, and young Joseph’s likable jauntiness. His own girls Rosetta and Eliza were near Joseph’s age and Lorenzo often found solace from his loneliness in a game of hide-and-seek with the little trickster, or walking the near trails around the property and answering a hundred questions posed by the precocious boy, who was smart beyond his years.

  “What can we do?” Elder Stenhouse asked.

  “Prayers,” Albertina answered, hanging a sheet on the line. “I don’t know what else can be done. Poor Mother is grieving—Father too.” She pinned another sheet to the line. “My younger sister, Pauline, died a little over a year ago. I don’t know what the loss of another child would do to them.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Lorenzo said. “My wife Charlotte and I lost a child. I know what it feels like.” Albertina nodded, unable to speak, as Lorenzo stepped closer. “Perhaps there is something more we can do for your family.” He looked to Elder Stenhouse and back to Albertina. “May we go and see your brother?”

  Albertina hesitated. “I . . . I suppose so. But perhaps you should speak with my father.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lorenzo said. He turned to the inn and Elder Stenhouse followed.

  “Are you planning to bless the boy?” Elder Stenhouse asked when they were out of Albertina’s hearing.

  “If the parents give their consent and the Spirit directs,” Lorenzo answered, increasing his pace. “I have been praying earnestly, Thomas, for the Lord to assist us in our efforts. I now feel fully awake to a sense of our position.” He hesitated with his hand on the door latch. “Should we not show forth the power of the priesthood restored to the earth?” He opened the door and moved through to the back of the inn. He knocked softly on the door that led into the Guy family’s private living area. He heard the sound of chair legs being scooted across stone flooring and then approaching footsteps. The door opened a crack and Rene’s face appeared there—a pale mask of exhaustion.

  “Ah, Monsieur Snow. Monsieur Stenhouse. Can your question wait? Our . . . our little Joseph is not well.”

  “We know,” Lorenzo said softly. “Albertina told us. We have come to offer help.”

  “Help? Are you doctors?” Rene asked without rancor.

  “No,” Lorenzo answered with a sigh. “But we want to offer you something from the Lord that may give you and Madame Guy hope. Please, may we come in to see the boy?”

  Slowly the door opened. “He is in the small bedroom up the stairs,” Rene said as Lorenzo and Thomas moved past. They climbed the steps with Rene following closely. “He is beyond speaking to anyone. He . . . he does not respond or move.” The anguish in Rene’s voice made Lorenzo falter. He sent a prayer heavenward for strength and inspiration. The three men moved quietly into the room, and Francesca stood up quickly from the bedside.

  “Rene? Now is not the time . . .”

  “They wanted to see Joseph,” Rene answered feebly. “They said they might be able to help him.”

  Francesca stood staring. “Help him?”

  Lorenzo stepped forward. The room was so small that a few strides took him to the side of Madame Guy. He looked down at the once-healthy little mischief-maker, reaching down and picking up his hand. “I didn’t realize h
e was so ill. I am so sorry,” Lorenzo said, working to keep alarm from his voice. Joseph’s lifeless visage shocked him, and it seemed the child’s end was near. Lorenzo looked directly at Francesca, well understanding her distress.

  “What can you do?” she pleaded. “What?”

  Lorenzo held her gaze. “Do you believe in the Lord Jesus Christ?”

  Puzzlement washed her face. “We . . . we do, yes.”

  “And that while He was on the earth, the Lord and His apostles performed miracles of healing?”

  Francesca hesitated, then answered warily, “Yes.”

  Lorenzo looked over at Elder Stenhouse. “This gentleman and myself are ministers of the restored gospel, and we hold the same holy priesthood as the apostles of old.” He turned back to the grieving mother. “We have the power to bless and heal.”

  Rene’s shaky voice broke the ensuing silence. “You can heal him?”

  “If it is the Lord’s will, we can.”

  “Then please, please, keep him from death!” Francesca begged.

  Lorenzo took her hands. “We need time to pray and prepare ourselves.”

  “But he is dying now!”

  A stillness came into Lorenzo’s voice. “The Lord will keep him through the night, Madame Guy, and tomorrow Joseph will receive the blessing meant for him.”

  “But—”

  “Pray, and have faith,” he said softly. He knew it was much to ask as he noted the pale marble hue of the child’s skin, indicative of dissolution, and the cold perspiration of death covering him. As he and Elder Stenhouse left the room, Lorenzo’s spirit chilled at the sound of Madame Guy’s desperate sobs.

  The next morning, the two Mormon missionaries stood on the outcropping of rock near the top of Mount Castelluzzo, catching their breath and surveying the beautiful Lucerne Valley below. Lorenzo marveled at the patchwork harvest of man’s handiwork coupled with God’s creation of trees, rivers, and surrounding mountains. It was the perfect place of beauty and solitude to have their prayer.

  They had come fasting, knowing the nearness of death for the young child and the need they had for the Lord’s intervention. The priesthood was merely a conduit through which the power of the Lord moved, and humility was the foundation for the requisite faith.

  “I am glad we decided to come here for prayer,” Elder Stenhouse said. “My spirit has been quite unsettled since seeing the little tyke yesterday.” He shaded his eyes and gazed down into the valley. “This is a tonic.”

  Lorenzo nodded. “God’s power and love made manifest.”

  After a long silence, Elder Stenhouse cleared his throat. “Do . . . do you have any feeling about the outcome?”

  “Since yesterday I have called upon the Lord to assist us. I laid before Him the course we wish to pursue concerning the Waldenese people and the claims that we will be making concerning the restoration of power and authority from on high.” He began weeping. “The work we do here, my brother, will be of vast importance, and the sparing of the life of this child will be a manifestation of the restored truth.” The passion in Lorenzo’s voice deepened. “I know not of any sacrifice I can possibly make that I am not willing to offer that the Lord might grant our request.” The force of the apostle’s pronouncement hit Elder Stenhouse like a thunderbolt, and he stepped back, awed by the power and unremitting love inherent in the words. Lorenzo placed his hand on the shoulder of his companion. “And now, brother, shall we kneel in prayer and ask the Lord to spare the life of our little Joseph?”

  At three o’clock in the afternoon, Elder Snow and Elder Stenhouse stood in the small bedroom of the Guy home surrounded by weeping family members and an old priest who had apparently come to give the child last rites. The palpable feeling of hopelessness in the room was worsened by Joseph’s father repeating the tortured words, “He dies, he dies.”

  Lorenzo too saw that death was apparent, so he did not take time for talk or introductions. He moved quickly to the side of the bed, drawing a vial of consecrated oil from his pocket and speaking gently to Joseph’s mother. “Madame Guy, I will need you to step back for a moment so Thomas and I may place our hands upon Joseph’s head.”

  Madame Guy gave him a blank look, but when Lorenzo undid her grip on Joseph’s lifeless hand, she pressed her lips together and stepped back. “It is too late, Monsieur Snow. Too late.”

  Lorenzo poured the consecrated oil onto his hands and laid them on the head of the child. Elder Stenhouse joined him, and through the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood, the apostle pronounced a blessing of healing and restoration. As he prayed, the dark aura in the room seemed to dissolve until the gloom was replaced with a spirit of tranquility. At the conclusion of the prayer, Lorenzo took a deep breath and slowly opened his eyes. When he looked up he noted that Francesca and Albertina had stopped crying, and that Rene was kneeling at the foot of the bed. The old priest took a few tottering steps forward, staring in wonder at the child in the bed.

  “Mieux,” he said in a choked voice. “Mieux. Better.”

  Joseph’s eyeballs were no longer turned upward, and a blush of color marked his cheeks. Madame Guy rushed over and slumped at the bedside. “How? How is this possible?” She took her son’s hand. “You have worked a miracle!”

  Lorenzo gathered his Italian words and spoke slowly, “Il Dio di cielo ha fatto questa per voi.”—“The God of heaven has done this for you.” He moved to the door, followed by Elder Stenhouse. He turned and looked tenderly at the family. “You should be able to get some rest now.”

  The elders left the room and exited the inn into the late afternoon sunshine. A young priest turned to watch them as they moved across the courtyard. Lorenzo noted an air of sadness about the young man, and presumed it was related to the ill health of the little boy. Lorenzo altered his course and approached the priest, giving a slight bow of his head, and holding out his hand.

  “Hello, Father. I am Lorenzo Snow, and this is my friend Thomas Stenhouse. We are lodgers at the inn.”

  Father Nathanael shook his hand. “Yes. Rene has told us of you. You are ministers from America.”

  Lorenzo smiled. “Well, I am from America. Mr. Stenhouse is from Scotland, but yes, we are ministers of the same church.”

  Elder Stenhouse shook the priest’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Father—”

  “Nathanael. I am Father Nathanael. I attend Father Andrew. I brought him this morning to be with his family.”

  “His family?” Lorenzo questioned.

  “Yes. Father Andrew is a great-uncle to little Joseph.”

  “Ah, I see. That would explain his distress at the boy’s illness,” Lorenzo replied solemnly. He had not had enough conversation with the members of the Guy family to know much about their friends or extended family members.

  “Have you come from seeing the boy?” Father Nathanael asked.

  “We have,” Lorenzo replied.

  “It is so very sad. I think his death will be a great blow to Father Andrew. His heart holds a special place for the lad.”

  Lorenzo hesitated. “I think that Joseph will live.”

  Father Nathanael frowned at him. When his words came they were slow and deliberate. “How . . . how can you think that? I saw him. The signs of death were evident.”

  Lorenzo nodded. “Perhaps. Perhaps you are right. But perhaps the Lord will watch over him. We will continue to pray and see what tomorrow brings.” He spoke without rancor or pretention, causing Father Nathanael’s look to change from disbelief to puzzlement. Before he had a chance to respond, Rene came to the doorway of the inn and called out to him.

  “Father Nathanael, come quickly! Father Andrew wishes to see you.”

  The young priest turned and ran to the inn. He and Rene withdrew into the building, and Elder Stenhouse took off his cap and fanned his face.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t wonder at the Lord’s gr
ace and power, Elder Snow, but I tell you truly, it near takes my breath away.”

  “He loves His children.”

  “Aye, ’tis a fact,” Elder Stenhouse replied with a grin. He replaced his cap and stretched his back. “And I’m thinking after this we may have a few inquiries as to the doctrine we’re preaching.”

  Lorenzo smiled. “I think you’re right. I think it’s time to commence our public duties.”

  Elder Stenhouse grimaced. “Just one small question before we commence?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Can we have a bite to eat first? I’m nigh on keeling over with hunger.”

  Lorenzo laughed. “A young lad like you?” Elder Stenhouse gave him a pitiful look. “Oh, all right. Let’s go to the eatery in town and I’ll treat you to supper.”

  Elder Stenhouse brightened. “Oh, now, that would be grand!”

  The two men set off for the center of Torre Pellice, the one singing a Scottish hymn, the other sending silent prayers of gratitude heavenward.

  Note

  The miraculous healing of Joseph Guy is a true story, as noted in Elder Snow’s journal. He also wrote the exact words he spoke to Madame Guy when she realized the life of her son had been saved: Il Dio di cielo ha fatto questa per voi. “The God of heaven has done this for you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Torre Pellice

  September 18, 1850

  “He’s here! He’s here!” Joseph Guy called out excitedly, running to the door of the inn and hollering inside. “Monsieur Snow, Monsieur Snow, I see him!”

  Elder Stenhouse came around the corner of the inn, wiping his brow, and setting the ax against the side of the building. “What’s all this ruckus, young master Guy?” he asked good-naturedly.

  “The man you are waiting for! I think he is there!” Joseph said, pointing off into the distance. “See him?”

  Elder Stenhouse came to Joseph’s side. “That little speck? How can you tell if that’s a man or a cow?”

  Joseph laughed. “A cow? That is not a cow. A cow standing up?” He looked to the door of the inn. “Why is Elder Snow not coming?”