One Candle

by Gale Sears

  “And how dare you usurp the holy calling of apostle?” another challenged.

  Elder Snow held up a hand. “Please, let me—”

  But the contention rolled over him. “We honor Christ and His apostles and the words they taught!”

  Suddenly one of the pastors slammed a book onto the table; the sharp sound brought instantaneous silence. He was a large man with an intimidating bearing. He glared at Lorenzo. “There in front of you is the only word of God, Monsieur. We have been preaching from its pages for hundreds of years. In candlelit caves, defying retribution, suffering torture and death.”

  The pastor from Rorà moved to the man. “Pastor Monastier, perhaps we should—”

  But the man only stepped closer to Lorenzo. “Do not think you can come here with your puny religion and abuse our faith.”

  Agitated voices rose again from the congregation.

  Colonel Beckwith rose slowly from his chair and patiently waited for the room to quiet. “My friends, we must hear their words. If these gentlemen say anything contrary to the Bible we may feel free to dismiss their testimony, but we must first listen, wouldn’t you agree?”

  Several heads nodded, and several of those standing took their seats grudgingly, but Pastor Monastier did not move. “No, Colonel Beckwith. No. I honor and respect you, sir, but I will not remain silent when there is a wolf among the flock. And I will not stay to hear blasphemy preached.” He went to gather his cloak and walking stick, turning at the door and fixing the Mormon missionaries with a reproachful stare. “Mark my words, gentlemen. You do not have a friend in me.” He strode out of the church, snapping the door shut behind him. An ominous silence hung in the room until Colonel Beckwith spoke, quoting from the book of John.

  “Do not treat prophecies with contempt, but test them all; hold on to what is good.” He looked out steadfastly at the congregation, letting the words of the scripture sink into their hearts. “Shall we hear the words?” There being no objection, he turned to Lorenzo. “Please, Monsieur Snow, continue.”

  Lorenzo prayed for enlightenment from the Spirit and the gift of tongues as he slowly turned the pages of the ancient Bible. He stopped at a verse and began reading. “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” He looked up into the watchful faces. “On a beautiful spring morning in the year 1820, a young man by the name of Joseph Smith knelt in the grove of trees near his home, to ask God a question that had been troubling him . . .”

  Three hours later the Mormon missionaries stood in front of the Waldensian temple speaking with a few stragglers and handing out the last of their The Voice of Joseph pamphlets. A young couple approached Elder Woodard, taking a booklet and turning to leave with only a word of thanks.

  Elder Woodard called after them. “Excuse me.” The couple stopped and turned back as Elder Woodard walked to them. He held out his hand and the man took it. “We are glad you came today. I am Jabez Woodard.”

  “I am Antoine Gaydou and this is my wife, Mary Malan Gaydou.” He smiled over at her. “We are glad we came today also.”

  “Are you from Rorà?” Elder Woodard asked.

  “No, we live in Torre Pellice. I am a tailor. I have a small shop. We came because we have heard rumors about the doctrine you preach.”

  Elder Woodard chuckled. “Well, do not believe all the gossip you hear.”

  Antoine smiled. “Yes, there are many strange tales. That is why we decided to come today, so we could find out for ourselves.”

  “Thank you for that,” Elder Woodard said. He tapped the pamphlet Antoine was holding. “I think you will find many answers here.”

  “Yes, we will read it,” Antoine said, reaching out to shake Elder Woodard’s hand again. “Thank you.”

  “Thank you,” Mary added.

  Elder Woodard watched the two with a light heart as they headed off down the path towards Torre Pellice. He was so engrossed with the spirit that surrounded the brief meeting that he did not notice Elder Snow and Elder Stenhouse approach. He started when Elder Stenhouse spoke.

  “Elder Woodard, we want to introduce Monsieur Jean Antoine Bose. He speaks Italian but seems to be most comfortable with French. We thought you might speak with him.” He brought the man forward. “Monsieur Bose, this is Elder Woodard.”

  Elder Woodard evaluated the man and found him to be neither grand nor ordinary. His clothes were homespun, but his bearing spoke of intellect and quiet confidence. “Good day, Monsieur Bose. It is good to meet you.”

  “It is very good to meet you, Monsieur, and I wanted to tell you and your friends that I thought it was a significant meeting.”

  “Thank you, Monsieur. I am afraid some did not share your view.”

  “Well, no, but that is because they were listening with their brains alone. One must hear spiritual things with the spirit inside them, no? My ears and my head heard words, but my spirit heard the truth.”

  Elder Woodard was set back by the straightforward declaration. “That . . . that is wonderful, Monsieur. Wonderful!”

  “I believe you are servants of God, and I would like to be counted among your flock.”

  Elder Woodard stared at him. He opened his mouth several times to speak, but no words were forthcoming.

  “I am sorry, Monsieur Woodard. Did you not understand what I said?”

  Elder Woodard nodded. “I did, yes. I . . . I am just astonished by what you said.” He turned to Lorenzo. “I am not exactly sure, Elder Snow, but I think Monsieur Bose has just applied for baptism.”

  “Really?” Lorenzo asked excitedly. “Ask him again. Find out where he lives. Ask if he has any family.”

  Elder Woodard shared his leader’s questions with the man, who answered each with a calm assurance. “He wishes to be baptized!” Elder Woodard reported. “He lives in Gianavella—the small town near Torre Pellice.”

  “Yes, I know it,” Lorenzo acknowledged. “And family?”

  “He does have family, but he is the first to hear the words of the gospel.”

  Lorenzo came forward and extended his hand. Jean Bose took it. “We are so glad you have felt the truth in our words, Monsieur Bose. When would you like to be baptized?” Even though Lorenzo was speaking Italian, it was evident the man understood him, for at the word “baptized” a wide smile planted itself on the man’s face.

  “Tomorrow, in the Pellice River,” he answered. “Is it possible?”

  “Tomorrow?” Lorenzo said, stepping back.

  “It is not possible?”

  “Yes, it’s possible,” Lorenzo answered. “But we have many other things we need to teach you.”

  “Are you going back to Torre Pellice now?” Monsieur Bose asked.

  “We are.”

  “Then I will walk with you, and Monsieur Woodard can tell me everything I must know.”

  Colonel Beckwith joined the group at that moment. His eyes narrowed when he noticed Elder Woodard’s stunned expression. “Are you feeling all right, Elder Woodard? It looks like you have been struck by lightning.”

  “Indeed, Colonel. Yes, indeed, for that is just the way it feels.”

  “Monsieur Bose has just applied for baptism,” Lorenzo said by way of explanation.

  Colonel Beckwith shook hands with Monsieur Bose. “Truth will out, I always say! The best to you, sir.”

  “Thank you, Colonel Beckwith. It is an honor to shake your hand.”

  “It is an honor to shake the hand of a man who will stand against the odds when he finds truth.” He turned to the group. “Are we off then? I am ready for supper and bed.” The others heartily agreed. “Nellie!” the colonel called. “High to, you irascible mutt!” The terrier came running around the side of a house with a bone in his mouth. “What’s that you have there, devil dog? How dare you start supper without me!”
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br />   The company laughed as they headed down the mountain, Nellie and Colonel Beckwith at the front, and Monsieur Bose and Elder Jabez Woodard at the back, already in conversation.

  Notes

  John Charles Beckwith was born in Halifax, Nova Scotia, in 1789. He left Halifax to join the British army at age fourteen. After losing his leg in the Battle of Waterloo in 1814, he stayed on in military service until 1820. In 1827 while in a library in London, he picked up a book by Dr. William Gilly about the history of the Protestant Waldenese. Inspired by their struggles, Colonel Beckwith consecrated the rest of his life to serving the Waldenese by living among them and building schools and churches in the valleys of the Piedmont.

  In a letter from Lorenzo Snow to Brigham Young dated November 1, 1850, Lorenzo relates having met Colonel Beckwith and having several interesting interviews with him. After one such meeting Lorenzo quotes Colonel Beckwith as saying, “You shall receive no opposition on my part; and if you preach the gospel as faithfully to all in these valleys as to me, you need fear no reproach in the day of judgment.” Colonel Beckwith died in 1862 in Torre Pellice.

  Jean Antoine Bose was the first LDS baptism in Italy. He was baptized October 27, 1850.

  Chapter Twenty

  Torre Pellice

  October 27, 1850

  In the early morning hours of sleep, Lorenzo had experienced strange dreams. And now, as he sat on the bank of the Pellice River, waiting for the arrival of Jean Antoine Bose, his mind wandered among the disjointed pictures of his nighttime imaginings. The one scene that was most complete included a lake, a boat, and fish.

  “Are you tired this morning?” Elder Woodard asked, sitting down next to Lorenzo.

  “No. Just thinking.”

  “It is a good day for thinking. An eventful day.”

  “Yes. The first baptism in Italy,” Lorenzo said.

  Elder Woodard shook his head. “Monsieur Bose’s conversion is a wonder to me.”

  “But you are a convert.”

  “Yes, but it took me a month to enter the waters of baptism. For Monsieur Bose it was one day!”

  Lorenzo nodded. “Ah, I see what you mean.” He slowly tossed a few pebbles into the swirling water. “I liked what he said about hearing the words with our ears, but feeling the truth with our spirits. He obviously felt the Spirit.” He gave Elder Woodard a half grin. “I have to admit that I was one of those intellectuals who spent a long time evaluating the words.”

  “Yet, here you are, sacrificing your life to preach the gospel.”

  Lorenzo pulled his mind away from home. “Yes, here I am.” He yawned and stretched his arms above his head.

  “You are tired,” Elder Woodard insisted.

  “A little. I had many dreams last night.”

  “Any of importance?”

  “I do think one odd little dream carried significance.”

  “We have time before Elder Stenhouse arrives with Brother Bose. Will you share it with me?”

  The only other people with whom Lorenzo had shared his dreams were his sister Eliza and his sweet wife Charlotte, but since they were thousands of miles away and unable to help him puzzle out the meaning, he figured he would rely on the friend at his side. He threw a few more stones into the water as he gathered his thoughts.

  “I seemed to be in the company of friends descending a gentle slope of beautiful green. We came to the bank of a large body of water and found two boats at its edge. I climbed into one while my friends followed in the other. We moved slowly over this ever-widening bay, without wind or any exertion on our part.”

  “The boats just moving along on their own?” Elder Woodard interrupted.

  “Just on their own.”

  “Interesting how unusual things can happen in dreams that we just accept as everyday.”

  “It is interesting,” Lorenzo concurred. “For example, in the dream I somehow knew that we were on a fishing excursion, and then, to my delight, I saw all these large and beautiful fish on the surface of the water—hundreds of fish all around, to a great distance.”

  “Fascinating!” Elder Woodard said, obviously enjoying the story.

  “I saw many persons spreading their nets and lines, but they all seemed to be stationary, whereas we were in continual motion. While passing by, I discovered that a fish had got upon my line. When my boat reached the shore, I drew in the line, and was surprised and mortified at the smallness of my prize. It was very strange that among such a multitude of noble, superior looking fish, that I should have made so small a haul.”

  “At least you caught a fish,” Elder Woodard cajoled.

  “That’s true,” Lorenzo returned. “And all my disappointment vanished when I discovered that its qualities were of a very extraordinary character.”

  “And that is the whole of the dream?”

  “It is. As I said, an odd little dream.”

  “Yes, but I think it meaningful,” Elder Woodard returned. “I think it is a vision of our work here in Italy. All around us are lofty and important people who will not be caught in the gospel net, and yet here in the Piedmont, we find simple men and women of extraordinary quality who are being drawn to the truth.”

  Lorenzo smiled. “Yes, I was thinking in that direction also.”

  “Elder Snow!” came an unexpected voice behind them.

  The men stood and turned toward the approaching pair. Lorenzo shaded his eyes from the sun and raised his hand. “Mademoiselle Cardon! Mademoiselle Guy! Hello!” He turned to Elder Woodard. “Did you mention where we’d be holding the baptism?”

  “I did not,” Elder Woodard said simply.

  “Nor I,” Lorenzo returned. “Perhaps it is just coincidence.”

  The girls drew close, each dressed against the autumn chill and carrying a woven basket. “I thought it was you,” Albertina said as they came to the missionaries’ side. “Madeleine didn’t think so, but I knew it was.”

  “Yes. You guessed right,” Lorenzo said, smiling.

  “What brings you out?” Elder Woodard questioned.

  Albertina held up her basket. “We’re going to pick the last of the wild berries.” She pointed upriver. “There by the bridge.”

  “Is your mother going to make a cobbler?” Lorenzo asked with anticipation.

  Albertina laughed. “No. I’m sorry, Elder Snow, she’s not. If we find any berries today we’re taking them to my great-uncle. We hope it will cheer him.”

  “Is he unwell?”

  Albertina nodded. “For the past several days.”

  “I am sorry to hear that.”

  “I think he’s just tired. He’s very old, you know.” The two missionaries held back chuckles as she continued. “He’ll be up and about in a few days, growling at everyone.”

  “And are you two off on another hike into the valleys?” Madeleine broke in.

  “No, we’re waiting here for Elder Stenhouse and Monsieur Bose to arrive.”

  “Monsieur Bose?” Madeleine asked.

  “Yes. He wishes to be baptized.”

  “Into your church?” Albertina blurted out.

  Now the missionaries actually did laugh.

  “Yes, Mademoiselle Guy, into our strange and wonderful church,” Elder Woodard said.

  Albertina’s face reddened. “Oh! I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know,” Elder Woodard returned. “I am just teasing you.”

  “Is he the first baptism, then?” Madeleine asked.

  Elder Snow smiled. “He is, Madeleine. The very first.”

  “Heigh-ho!” came Elder Stenhouse’s voice from a distance. The girls and the two missionaries looked over to where the men approached.

  Elder Woodard patted Elder Snow on the shoulder. “Well, we have a simple and extraordinary man to bring into the waters of baptism.”

 
“With satisfaction, I attend to this ordinance,” Lorenzo said, his voice growing husky. “And I rejoice that the Lord has blessed our efforts. What an astounding occurrence.”

  “Yes, indeed. Who thought it possible to open the door of the kingdom in Italy?” Elder Woodard added.

  “Amen.”

  Lorenzo felt a tug on his coat sleeve.

  “Monsieur Snow, would it be all right if Albertina and I stayed to watch?”

  “Perfectly all right, Mademoiselle Cardon.”

  The four waited in silence for Elder Stenhouse and Monsieur Bose to arrive. The sun was shining and the sky was a brilliant blue with wisps of white clouds. In shade or shadow, the grip of autumn was evident, but with the sun on his face, Lorenzo could feel the last vestiges of summer. He pondered the miracle of the moment. A man had found the truth of gospel restoration, and this he had found even though the Church’s presence in Italy was just tolerated and not recognized as any lawful right. This man had sorted through the slander and poisonous lies that were already circulating about the Church, beginning with its rise to the death of Joseph. He had heard the truth of the gospel even though many of the Waldenese considered the Mormons’ preaching to be an attempt to drag them from the banner of their martyred ancestry. In this last obstacle, Lorenzo could understand the people’s reticence. Though the underpinnings of their dogma had undergone transformation when they integrated with other Protestant faiths, many of the Waldenese still felt themselves the firstfruits of reformation. Many still saw themselves as the keepers of the original faith.

  “Good morning, brothers!” Elder Stenhouse said heartily as he and Monsieur Bose arrived in company. “’Tis a fine day for a baptism, I’m thinking!” He noticed Madeleine and Albertina. “And who do we have here? Two more candidates?”

  “Ah, no, Elder Stenhouse!” Madeleine spluttered. “We just came here by accident. Elder Snow said we could watch.”

  “Accident, eh? I’m thinkin’ there be no accidents.”

  “But I—”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to be gettin’ your feet wet, Miss Cardon?” She laughed when she realized he was teasing her. “All right. All right,” he said with a shrug. “I’m not counting you out for another day.” He winked at them. “Even you, Miss Guy.”