One Candle

by Gale Sears

  Elder Woodard’s head was bowed. He took a breath and looked up into Father Andrew’s face. “I would say that martyrdom for himself and a brother he loved dearly was certainly a high price to pay for deception.” He took another breath to calm his emotions. “I did not have the privilege of knowing the Prophet Joseph Smith, but I was taught the gospel by many who did know him, and to a man they testified that he was a good person. Elder Snow was a personal friend and has a depth of feeling for the man, and for the miraculous things he accomplished in his short lifetime. Do you find Elder Snow a man to be easily misled?”

  Andrew dismissed the question with a grunt. “Even the best of men can be deceived, Elder Woodard.” He quickly changed to a different issue that was vexing him. “It is also rumored that once a person joins your church they are expected to immigrate to the desolation of Salt Lake City, where your new prophet, Brigham Young, will rule over them as a tyrant and a would-be king.”

  Elder Woodard paused. “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you afraid?”

  “What?”

  “Are you afraid?”

  How had the man thought to ask that question? How had he known that it was indeed fear that prompted his vitriol against the Mormon preaching? Fear that his own turning to the Lord had not been inspired by heaven. Fear that his years of prayers and service were without consequence. Fear that his Albertina would join with the Mormons and turn her back on her family—and him. Fear that she would leave them. He fought to keep the anguish out of his voice when he answered. “Why would you ask me that question?”

  “I have only been a member of this church for a short time, and I assure you, Father Andrew, that when the doctrine was first preached to me I felt the fire of testimony and the chill of fear. Had my life in the Lord been a fraud up to that point? Had my prayers never reached God’s ear? Had I been walking all that time in a dark underground tunnel, never realizing that above me was a beautiful meadow filled with flowers?”

  Andrew felt the press of tears at the back of his throat and he swallowed several times to stop the emotion. “And how did you answer that fear?”

  “I laid my fears out in front of the missionaries who were instructing me. They assured me that the Lord loved me and was aware of every prayer, every kindness, and every act of service. That I was God’s child and He knew my heart, and that none of my righteous sacrifices had gone unnoticed. They also assured me that God holds close all those who honor Him.”

  “Then why the need for a different faith? Do we not have all that we need in the religions of the day?”

  “Do the scriptures say, one Lord, one faith, one baptism? I grant that there is truth in all faiths, but what of the fulness of truth?”

  “And the Mormons have the fulness of truth?”

  Elder Woodard reached into his satchel and brought out his Bible. He turned to the Old Testament and began reading. “Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord; and he shall turn the heart of the fathers to the children, and the heart of the children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.” He lowered the book. “This is the doctrine that took me from fear to rejoicing. The doctrine preached to me by the missionaries was one of eternal sealing. Just as the apostles of Christ’s church had been promised that those things that they bound on earth would be bound in heaven, the restoration of priesthood keys and powers assured the same eternal bonds.”

  Andrew’s heart was beating fast. “What are you saying?”

  “With the return of priesthood power, the promises of Malachi would be realized. The hearts of the fathers and the children would turn to each other in a desire for eternal families. Family is the purpose of the earth and the promise of heaven—families bound together by sacred temple ordinances.”

  Andrew sat forward. “Families bound together in heaven? Temple ordinances? What temples? Do the Mormon people have temples?”

  “There was a temple built in Nauvoo, Illinois, and the Prophet Joseph was given all the temple ordinances. Many sealings were performed before the Prophet was murdered and the Saints were driven out of the state by mobs.”

  Father Andrew was silent for a long time, and Elder Woodard did not intrude on his ponderings.

  “And the temple?”

  Elder Woodard shook his head. “It was taken over by the infidels and destroyed.”

  Tears leaked from the corners of Andrew’s eyes. “I am sorry. I am sorry to hear that. So the power to seal families is lost?”

  “No. The power remains with the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles,” Elder Woodard said, leaning forward in his chair. “And one of the first things Brigham Young did when they reached the Salt Lake Valley was to walk to a certain spot, plant his cane in the ground, and declare that on that spot they would build a temple to the Most High God.” Elder Woodard paused to steady his emotions. “And I believe that there will come a time when many temples will be built—many temples around the world.”

  Father Andrew studied Elder Woodard’s face. “Families together in heaven?”

  “Yes.”

  The library door opened and Father Nathanael came into the room. He moved to Father Andrew’s side. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes,” Andrew said, quickly wiping the wetness from the corners of his eyes. He was upset that his conversation with Elder Woodard had been interrupted, but he couldn’t make that known. He was still angry and sorrowing, but a ray of sunlight was glimmering at the corner of his understanding.

  Father Nathanael looked at Elder Woodard. “It is time for our prayers.”

  “Of course. Then I’ll be going.”

  “Elder Woodard?” Father Andrew said softly.

  “Yes?”

  “Come again.”

  Elder Woodard smiled. “I will when I can. I am moving out of the inn. I’m going to live with the Malan family, and it’s a bit farther away.”

  “Are you leaving because of the trouble?” Andrew questioned.

  “Yes. I admire the Guy family, and I do not want there to be contention. But I’m also going because I was invited. There is much interest in the gospel message in that part of the valley, so I will go where I am needed.” He walked over and took Father Andrew’s hand. “Albertina will not be attending any more meetings. I stand firmly with Rene and Francesca regarding this. I hope that brings you some peace.”

  Father Andrew gave a slight nod, and Elder Woodard turned and walked away. Father Nathanael escorted him to the door and then returned.

  “There is time before prayers for a little supper,” he said. “Shall I bring you something?”

  “Yes, I would like that.”

  “Are you sure you are all right? You look tired.”

  “I have much on my mind—much to ponder. Nothing to worry about.”

  After Father Nathanael left, Father Andrew closed his eyes and let his mind drift through his life. Home. Somehow home was always the resting place. His mother was making barley and vegetable soup and his father was giving corn to the geese. He and his brother, Tristan, were chasing will-o’-the-wisp fluff in the warm sunshine, and from somewhere in the side pasture the old donkey was braying. Albertina came chasing Pauline and Joseph through the meadow, the sound of their laughter filling the scene with delight. Home. Family. Father Andrew’s heart settled and he slept.

  Note

  Sacred temple sealing ordinances and keys had been restored to the Prophet Joseph Smith in 1836 in the Kirtland Temple. Moses came to restore the keys of the gathering of Israel, Elias to restore the blessings that were conferred upon Abraham, and Elijah to restore the sealing power of the priesthood to bless both the living and the dead.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Prassuit

  February 27, 1851

  Elder Wooda
rd looked up from his writing to the snow falling outside his bedroom window. He smiled. Not really a bedroom—he had a small cot and table in amongst the household stores. He didn’t mind. The Malan family were cheerful and accommodating and filled with the spirit of the work. Since Elder Snow’s departure for London, Elder Woodard’s days had been filled with hiking, visiting, and preaching, wondrous days that fixed his testimony as he saw the light and power of the gospel change people’s lives. Young Stephen Malan often accompanied him on his travels, helping with the mountain dialects and standing up to the harsh persecution of some of the Waldensian pastors. He actually thought the boy found pleasure in voicing his newfound truths and sparring with the older men.

  Elder Woodard rubbed his hands together to warm them. Wood was a scarce commodity, so the house was often cold. Most of the time he wore his mittens, but that was not a possibility when writing a letter. He cupped his hands around his mouth and blew warm air into them, then picked up the letter to look over what he’d written.

  Prassuit, Piedmont, Italy

  February 27, 1851

  Dear Elder Snow:

  I write to you from the home of John and Pauline Malan. They took me in upon my departure from the inn. There were several reasons for leaving the inn, none of which shadows the Guy family in an unfavorable light. Indeed, the gracious care of Rene and Francesca made the departure difficult. There is no need for you to ponder on this decision. We will discuss the particulars when you again return to the beautiful valleys of the Piedmont. Be assured that all is well, and that the work is moving on.

  I am happy to inform you that the brethren and sisters in Italy are all well, and send their salutations to you, with the request that you will also salute the churches in England for them.

  On the twenty-fourth of February, two young men, John Daniel Malan Jr. and David Pons, presented themselves for baptism. It rained and snowed alternately, and the atmosphere was so dense that we could not see distinctly a little way ahead. But as we descended towards the Angrogna River, a singular scene was presented: the clouds were suddenly rent asunder, as if they had been a sheet of paper, and the side of Mount Brigham was visible, in the moment, from the top to the bottom.

  I exclaimed, “The veil over Italy has burst,” and yet, at the instant, I knew not what I was saying. I stood paralyzed with the magnificent views that opened on every side, then with a prayer to Israel’s God, we entered the stream.

  In the evening a congregation assembled, and I commenced preaching; but the devil entered into some who had been resisting the truth, and I saw that he had got a firm hold, and my words seemed to be wasted on the assembly, through the presence of such a deadening and defiling influence. I therefore stopped short, and sat down, after intimating that everybody might go where they liked. By this means I got rid of the chaff while the good grain remained. I then commenced preaching, and the power of God rested upon us. Many a tear rolled down those weather-beaten faces. The next day I baptized ten persons—the rest of the Malan family and a relative, Francis Combe. That evening, after their confirmations, the Spirit of God was made manifest and a joyous feeling filled the room. Sister Pauline Malan spoke in tongues and translated.

  The people here are not the rich and noble, but you shall judge their spirit by their own language, as they have each given me a line to send to their foreign brethren. As follows:

  May we meet when the earth is renovated.

  Pray for a young sister who wishes to grow in grace.

  Absent in body, but united in spirit.

  Hallelujah, for the Lord has remembered His people.

  If we do not meet in these bodies, may we embrace each other in the resurrection. (This brother is sixty-two years old.)

  In the midst of weakness I hope for strength.

  Pray for a poor brother.

  May we be crowned with glory when the world is judged.

  The other brothers and sisters send the following:

  We thank our Heavenly Father that we have begun to walk in the pathway of a new and endless life.

  Brother Malan, who you know is a firm believer in The Voice of Joseph, I have advanced as an elder.

  The work moves on apace. I often travel to the Cardon home to continue my preaching there. Madeleine Cardon is stalwart in her faith and helps me in the work of translating for some of the older Waldenese from the high mountains. The Beus family is one of the strongest in the faith, and I believe they will soon apply for baptism. The Pons and Bertoch families are very interested in the message, but several members cling to their religious traditions. They are worried of offending.

  Elder Woodard lowered the letter and looked again out the small window. The snow was falling more thickly now; big, soft flakes drifted past the glass. He thought back to his early days of listening to the message of the gospel and how he’d fretted over the thought of leaving the Church of England. He well understood the difficulty of the decision. He found his place in the letter and continued reading.

  You will find it interesting that Albertina Guy, who attended several meetings with her friend Madeleine Cardon, has now been absent for many weeks. Hers is a difficult situation. I see what the gospel means to her, but I also understand the deep affection she carries for her family, especially her great-uncle. The old priest and I had a talk a month ago, as he was upset about his great-niece’s interest in our message. The Spirit prompted that I should preach to him of eternal sealing, and I think he found solace in that doctrine. I find him the most interesting of fellows.

  How goes the work of translation? Many here have voiced interest in the message of the Book of Mormon, and long to evaluate it for themselves. I so admire their constant reading of the Bible. They truly are a people prepared.

  I think of you in the streets of London and I hear the call of home.

  Elder Woodard stopped reading. He mustn’t let thoughts of his dear wife and two enchanting children pull his mind and heart away from the work he was called to do. He also must not envy Elder Stenhouse, who now had his wife and little girl in the mission field with him in Switzerland. Discipleship was not easy. Elder Woodard warmed his hands again and picked up the pen to finish the letter.

  Remember me to Sister Woodard, and all friends whom you see in your travels.

  I have heard from Elder Toronto in Sicily. He indicates that the work with his family is not going as he’d hoped. He will continue on for a few months and then return to us in the summer. I will be grateful for his help, as all kinds of calumny and petty persecution are brought into use here. The devil is not idle.

  Yours in the new and everlasting covenant,

  Elder Jabez Woodard

  Elder Woodard waved the parchment in the air to dry the last of the ink, folded the missive, and put it into an envelope. He had made the decision not to tell Elder Snow about the attack at the inn, or of several other incidents of harassment and physical intimidation. Why worry him about something over which he had no control? Jabez moved to put on his winter coat, hat, and mittens. If he hurried, there was time for him to hike into Torre Pellice and post the letter for the outgoing mail. He also thought it would be a grand idea to take a bottle of the Malans’ walnut oil to the inn and visit briefly with the Guy family. He missed Rene and Francesca. He missed Joseph’s grown-up antics, and Albertina’s inquisitive spirit.

  He left a note on the table for the Malan family explaining that he would not be at the house for supper. He placed the letter to Elder Snow securely in his inner coat pocket, and ventured out into the snowy afternoon.

  Notes

  The letter is an actual one from Elder Woodard in Italy to Elder Snow in London, with only a few sentences added for story flow.

  Records of the baptisms concerning the Malan family indicate that John Daniel Malan Jr. was the first to be baptized. Elder Woodard’s letter indicates a second young man but does not give a name. I
chose David Pons to be the second individual. The Pons family was very interested in the missionary preaching at this time, so their son seemed a viable candidate.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Salt Lake City

  May 12, 1851

  Eliza placed a bouquet of wildflowers on Charlotte Snow’s grave and pulled a few errant weeds from around the headstone. It did not seem possible that the young woman was gone. Eliza could still hear her laughter and envision her hanging laundry. At those moments of disbelief, Eliza would think about Charlotte’s visionary appearance to Sarah Ann announcing that she dwelt in a beautiful place. It is heaven because we are there with the ones we love, Eliza thought. She laid out the lap quilt, sat down, and took a letter from her skirt pocket.

  “What a beautiful day, my dear sister,” Eliza said, speaking to Charlotte as if she were present. “Perhaps as beautiful a day as one can expect in a fallen world. The temperature is mild, the sky is blue, and there is still a cap of snow on the tops of the mountain. I know you liked the snow, so that is why I tell you.” Eliza took off her bonnet and let the cool breeze blow through her hair. She knew it was unsuitable behavior, as a lady always wore a bonnet when out in public, but there were no other visitors in the cemetery that day, so she felt the need for propriety could be set aside.

  It was nice to be outdoors. The winter months after Charlotte’s death seemed intensely bleak, and it was agreeable to see the trees greening as life renewed. Eliza took a deep breath of the fragrant spring air and took the letter from the envelope. “Since there is no one near to overhear my recital, I will read to you openly, dear Charlotte. It is a letter from our Lorenzo—from London of all places! Come, shall we discover what carried him from the fascination of Italy? You are welcome to sit with me on the blanket.” Eliza grinned. “Hmm. When I get back to the house, I will have to have a discussion with President Young on the subject of the rights and limitations of those who have departed.” She cleared her throat and read.