Love,
Mother
Ian must have felt strongly about this restoration, strongly enough to have written home to his mother and even argue with his family. He seemed so certain about how he felt. The story the missionaries told her, if true, was clearly what Ian had been waiting for. Kate thought it seemed so simple and yet so completely fantastic. Would God really show Himself to a simple farm boy still clinging to the last of his boyhood for something as important as the restoration of His Church?
Kate also struggled with Leslie’s reaction to the Mormons. What on earth could one church do that would cause such contention from members of other faiths? Kate sighed and pushed her thoughts and questions aside, desperate to climb off the mental treadmill she’d been running on all evening. Finally, just before 2:00 a.m., she slept.
Chapter 18
Kate spent all day Tuesday and the earliest hours of Wednesday morning debating whether or not she should actually meet the missionaries as she had planned. In the end, her curiosity about Ian outweighed any concerns she had about the Mormons, and she went, journal in hand, to the church building the elders had described. Perhaps, though she wouldn’t admit it out loud, curiosity about Andrew motivated her as well.
The church house sat on a small rise right off the side of the highway. A large grassy field lined with trees provided a lovely backdrop for the little building. It looked perfectly at home nestled into the side of the mountain. Kate wondered how she’d driven the road countless times before and had never managed to notice it. She pulled into the parking lot and noticed a large white truck with Spencer Contracting written on the side parked next to the missionaries’ small sedan. Kate was immediately nervous. She had entertained the possibility of Andrew being Mormon, but why would he be here, at the church building, on a Wednesday morning? Kate pulled into a parking space and tried to remind herself that Andrew was not the only person who drove a Spencer Contracting truck. Even still, she was suddenly grateful she’d taken extra care in getting ready that morning. She’d chosen a light sweater that was a nice complement to her eyes and had spent a few extra minutes fixing her hair. She climbed out of her car and greeted the missionaries.
“Are we not the only ones here?” she asked, motioning to the truck.
“Oh, no,” Elder Christianson said. “That must be Andrew Porterfield. He’s the family history center volunteer on Wednesday mornings. Shall we go in?”
Kate’s emotions must have shown plainly on her face.
“Are you all right, Ms. Sinclair—Kate, I mean?” Elder Peterson quickly asked her. “You look terrified.”
Kate smiled and shook her head. “No, I’m fine, I was just . . . I’m fine.”
Elder Peterson looked at Elder Christianson and shrugged his shoulders then led the way into the building. The inside was lovely in its simplicity. The walls and furniture were soft, muted colors, the only decorations a series of large framed paintings depicting the life of Jesus and His followers. The largest painting hung just inside the door. It was a picture of the Savior with His arms extended and a serene and welcoming expression on His face. Kate did feel welcome as she paused and looked up at the painting. She thought back to that childhood moment in the Methodist church when she’d gazed on the stained-glass depiction of the Savior in a similar pose.
“It’s lovely,” she said softly.
“It’s one of my favorites,” Elder Peterson said, stopping behind her.
Elder Christianson wasn’t far behind. “The family history library is just down the hall. We’ll introduce you to Brother Porterfield, but we won’t be able to stay long. We’ve got an appointment in a few minutes, if you don’t mind us leaving you, that is.”
Kate murmured a hasty consent as she followed Elder Christianson down the hall. She paused outside the library door, allowing both of the elders to enter first.
“Good morning, Brother Porterfield,” Elder Christianson said, smiling broadly. “Thanks for coming out this morning. This is Kate Sinclair, the woman we mentioned yesterday.”
“Kate?” Andrew said, his voice incredulous. “What are you doing here?” He looked back at the elders. “You didn’t tell me the woman was Kate Sinclair.”
“You two know each other?” Elder Christianson looked from one to the other. They both started speaking at once—words bouncing around the room until finally it was decided that, yes, they did know each other, just not very well, but they were, nonetheless, happy to see each other again. With that settled, the missionaries left, promising to call Kate later that afternoon.
“Wow,” Andrew began. “I just . . . It’s good to see you. I really didn’t expect to see you. Not in general, but just here, at the church. You’re, uh, you’re not Mormon, are you?”
“No,” Kate answered. “I just met the missionaries on Monday. You are a Mormon?”
“All my life,” he said with a smile.
Oh, how it killed Kate when he smiled like that.
“So what are you doing here?” Andrew asked. “Are you looking for something specific?”
“Indeed, Brother Porterfield. I’m looking for someone specific. What’s with the brother, anyway?” Kate asked as she pulled the journal out of her shoulder bag.
Andrew shrugged his shoulders. “I think it helps us remember the relationship we have with each other within our Church family. There’s a great support network within the Church.”
“Hmm. What about the elders? Why are they both called elder?”
“Elder is their current office in the priesthood. Generally speaking, young men are ordained to the office of elder just before they go on a mission, so on their mission, they go by elder. It’s good for them too—helps them leave their first name at home and focus on being the Lord’s servant for two years,” Andrew explained.
“Priesthood, offices, ordained . . . You’re losing me here,” Kate said.
Andrew gave her a brief overview of offices and responsibilities within the Church. He was enthusiastic and extremely knowledgeable. Kate decided it might dampen his excitement if she told him most of what he was saying was going over her head. She was sure there would be time for clarification later. But she was curious about the missionaries.
“So let’s go back to the missionaries. They serve for two years? Do they do anything besides preach?”
“They preach and provide service to those in the communities where they are serving, but that’s pretty much it.”
Kate could tell Andrew was in his element. He seemed comfortable and open, almost like he’d taken down one of the walls Kate had imagined between them when they’d last seen each other on Monday morning.
“Did you serve a mission?” Kate asked.
“Aye . . . I served in Scotland,” he answered in a surprisingly convincing Scottish brogue.
“Scotland? Really? Do you get to pick where you go?”
“Nope. It’s more like an assignment. You go where God sends you.”
“It’s interesting that you served in Scotland,” Kate said, holding up the journal. “That’s where Ian is from.”
“Ian? A relative of yours, I take it.”
Kate looked down at the journal, reverently running her hand over its cover. Though she’d made reference to Ian and his journal to the missionaries, she had yet to actually share it with anyone else. She’d enjoyed the privilege of connecting with him and his family on her own. Just the same, she couldn’t keep it a secret forever, and she was curious to know what this little library might help her discover. She handed the book to Andrew, urging him to be careful with the delicate pages. He opened the cover and scanned the first few entries.
“I just found it in the attic of the house. I don’t think anyone’s looked at it in a hundred years. Ian Wylie is my grandfather five greats up the line,” Kate offered.
“That’s a great house, by the way,” Andrew said as he looked through the pages. “It was built when? 1905? 1910?”
“1907,” Kate responded. “How did you kno
w?”
“I recognize the architecture,” Andrew answered. “There are a lot of old buildings and houses in Rose Creek, but not many that seem to be in such great shape and that demonstrate such classic elements of turn-of-the-century architecture.”
“Well, you’re welcome anytime if you’d like to see more than just the front porch,” she said, blushing as she thought of their last encounter.
He looked up, his eyes sincere. “I’d like that.” He turned back to the journal and glanced at a few more pages. “Kate, do you realize how extraordinary this is?” he said. “To have this kind of a record from so many years ago . . . documents like this just don’t exist anymore.”
“I’ve been doing my best to make it out, but some of the entries are near impossible to decipher. Oh, and look, there are two letters from his mother in Scotland. They seem a little better preserved.” She pulled out the letters, carefully handing them to Andrew. He looked them over, shaking his head in wonder.
“My older sister is a history professor at UNC-Charlotte. She would love this.”
The two spent the next half hour poring over the pages of the journal as Kate pieced together what she knew of Ian’s story for Andrew.
Finally, Andrew said, “You already know so much about Ian, Kate. I’m not sure we could learn anything from the kind of records we have here.” He motioned to the room around him.
“I want to know whether or not Ian’s mother ever made it to the US,” Kate said. “Did she ever get to hold her grandchildren, see Ian as a man? And what happened to Ian’s sisters back in Scotland?”
Andrew nodded, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “Well, let’s see if we can piece together some dates, and then we’ll see what we can find.”
Kate pulled a copy of the family history recorded in the old Bible out of her bag. She’d copied it down by hand that morning, expecting the dates and names to be of use in her searching. “This will probably help,” she said, handing it to Andrew.
They started with census records, searching all of the Charleston area townships for any record of an Ian or Jennie Wylie. “Prior to 1850,” Andrew explained, “US census records listed only the name of the head of household and then a list of the number of females and males, white and black, who lived within. They didn’t include names of the household members in addition to the head of household until 1850.”
Kate did some basic calculating in her head. “What about the 1860 census? In 1860, Ian, if still living, would have been fifty-nine. It seems likely he could have lived that long.”
They did not find a record of Ian Wylie, but they did find a record of a Jennie Wylie, fifty-six years old, living with James and Lavinia Wylie and their six children, ranging in age from thirteen to three.
“There, Henry Wylie, thirteen years old,” Kate said, looking back to the scanned family tree. “He’s my great-great-great-grandfather.”
“And this must be Jennie MacDonald, Ian’s wife, probably widowed and now living with her children,” Andrew said.
“That must have happened a lot,” Kate remarked, remembering Ian’s journal entry about his own mother-in-law moving into his home.
When they searched the 1840 census, they were able to find an Ian Wylie in the same township in which they’d found his family in 1860, but the generic information included with the listing provided little information Kate didn’t already know. Simply searching for Ian’s mother was pointless. While she knew Ian’s father’s name was James, Kate didn’t know his mother as anything other than Mother, or perhaps Ms. Wylie. It would certainly make it more difficult to find her. Andrew suggested they search the Scottish census to see if they could find record of Ian’s father, perhaps then finding his mother’s first and maiden name, but they found nothing specific. Wylie was not the least common name in eighteenth-century Edinburgh, and it seemed to Kate that every third person in the census was named James. She sighed, temporarily discouraged but still, on the whole, hopeful that answers would come. At the same time, she wondered what it was she was looking for in the first place. Why did she feel such a need to locate as much information as possible, to connect with these people who had been dead for so many years?
Kate reached for the journal, searching the pages for the entry near the back where Ian discussed the tenets of Roger Williams and his own personal desire to wait for a restoration of apostolic authority. She handed it to Andrew.
“Read this one,” she said simply. She hadn’t told Andrew about her meeting with the missionaries a few days before, and though she could tell he was curious, he hadn’t pushed her for information. She watched as he read, wondering what he thought of Ian’s heartfelt words.
When he finished, Andrew looked up, eyes shining. “Kate, this is remarkable. What he sought . . . if only he’d had the opportunity to learn of the gospel. There were missionaries then, all over the southern part of the United States. He must not have ever heard them preach. If he had, he would have been baptized.”
Kate looked up. “I didn’t realize the timing was so close. When was Joseph Smith’s vision?”
“The spring of 1820, but the Church wasn’t actually organized until 1830. Even ten or fifteen years later, there were missionaries all over the United States, and many people had heard of the Mormons. But still, information traveled so slowly back then. There would have been many who never heard—your ancestor Ian, for example.”
“But how can I be so sure this is what he sought?” Kate questioned. “He was so adamant about his feelings. How could I ever have the same certainty?” Kate stood up. “I can’t know, and yet, for whatever reason, I can’t seem to let it go. I feel almost tormented by this Ian Wylie. He’s almost constantly in my thoughts, urging me to keep reading, keep digging for information. Why Andrew? Why does it even matter?”
Andrew circled his chair away from the computer and leaned forward, looking at Kate.
“It matters,” he said softly. “There are certain ordinances that, as God’s followers, we can receive. Baptism, for example, is an ordinance. When we are baptized, we make promises to obey God’s laws and follow His commandments. We can also make additional promises designed to bring us closer to our Father in Heaven and give us the knowledge and experience we need to live with Him again. It is these promises that allow us to live with our families forever in God’s presence.”
“I still don’t understand what that has to do with Ian,” Kate said.
“There are promises we make to prepare ourselves to live with our Father in Heaven, but we can also make these promises for people who have already passed on. We do work by proxy for the dead—for our ancestors.”
“Wait. Back up,” Kate said. “Explain this to me one more time.”
“The ordinances God requires are earthly ordinances,” Andrew explained. “They must be completed on this earth. But with so many, like Ian, who lived without the opportunity to hear of Heavenly Father’s plan, God created a way for the ordinances to be completed on behalf of those who are already dead.”
“So if Ian were to have an eternal family,” Kate reasoned, “someone would have to do these ordinances on his behalf?”
“Exactly,” Andrew said. “There are millions upon millions of names of people still waiting for their work to be done. And they will continue to wait until those of us here on the earth get it done. It’s an individual process for each person who is waiting. Perhaps Ian doesn’t want to wait anymore,” Andrew reflected.
Kate leaned back in her chair, her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. Suddenly, so much seemed to make sense—the house and Mary’s unknown reasons for leaving it to Kate; the journal, words so amazingly preserved; and the missionaries showing up on Kate’s doorstep, repeating the very words Ian had written so many years ago. Her mind raced back to another journal entry, one of the first that had truly touched Kate, where Ian lovingly described his sweet wife and spoke of the agony he felt at the thought of losing her. She remembered his hope that God would allow him to be by
her side beyond death and into eternity. It was Ian—all this time the pull she felt to read, to search, and to listen—it was Ian reaching out to her.
Andrew spun around in his chair and reached for a Bible lying on the shelf next to the computer. “It’s here, Kate, in the scriptures.” He flipped open the book, turning the pages until he found what he was looking for.
“In Malachi: ‘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 looked up at Kate. “You’ve felt the spirit of Elijah . . . Your heart is turning to your fathers, to your ancestor. He needs you to do for him what he didn’t have the opportunity to do for himself.”
Kate took a deep breath. She shook her head, biting her lip as she pondered what Andrew was telling her.
“So what do I do now?” Kate finally asked.
Andrew smiled. “Well, there’s a lot to learn. What you do is completely up to you, but I can certainly recommend a place to start.”
Kate looked at him encouragingly. “All right, then. Where do I start?”
“Before you do anything else, if you haven’t already, that is, I think you ought to read the Book of Mormon.”
Chapter 19
Kate stopped at her favorite café on her way home and ordered lunch to go. She didn’t drive home but sat in the parking lot to eat her sandwich and think about the morning’s events. She felt completely overwhelmed and unsure about her future. There was so much she didn’t know—so much that seemed confusing and almost impossible to understand. As much as she wanted to trust what Andrew and the elders had shared with her, she had nothing beyond their word to back up her feelings. Deep down, she knew she needed to read and ask for herself, but something was holding her back: fear of change, perhaps, or the ridicule of others? She’d gotten a small taste of how Leslie would react if she were to become a Mormon. And with their relationship just beginning to mend . . . Kate sighed. Suddenly, everything seemed so complicated.
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