The Spoken Word

by R. R. Irvine

  “Count on it. Mrs. Decker won’t file charges. She knows excommunication would forfeit her soul.”

  The porch light came on an instant before the front door opened.

  “Come in and get warm,” Elihu Moseby announced in his tabernacle voice.

  Traveler steeled himself with a quick breath and crossed the threshold. Moseby immediately grasped his hand and led him around the recliners to the fireplace, where a log was blazing fiercely.

  “I built the fire myself,” Moseby said. “My Boy Scout training is finally paying off.”

  Martin, who was seated stiffly on the horsehair sofa, one of Kary’s treasures, raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He looked as weary as Traveler felt.

  Perched next to Martin was Moseby’s driver. Now that her hat and scarf weren’t in the way, Traveler saw that she was younger than he’d first thought. Twenty-five, he guessed, despite the careful camouflage of a well-tailored, matronly suit. She was staring back at him with fervent eyes.

  “Good heavens.” Moseby reached out as if to touch Traveler’s face then caught himself and began rubbing his own cheek sympathetically. “You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

  Traveler nodded at Tanner, who was standing just inside the door. “I tried to tell Willis that on the phone. I was getting close to—” Traveler broke off to glance at Moseby’s driver.

  “It’s all right,” Moseby said. “You can speak in front of Chris.”

  “I was getting close to Lael’s boyfriend when I ran into trouble. That ought to tell us something.”

  Moseby waved away the suggestion. “Let’s stick to the Sisters Cumorah. Even as we speak, our bishops and missionaries are out looking for them. Even the Women’s Relief Society is out in force.”

  He pointed a finger at the fireplace. His voice rose dramatically as it did every Sunday on Tabernacle Radio when he made his weekly pronouncement on theology. “Because of these followers of Satan who call themselves the Sisters Cumorah, the newspapers are raising hell. If word of the ransom demand gets out, our church may never recover.”

  “I understand the stakes,” Traveler said. “But that doesn’t justify involving my father in a crime.”

  Moseby made a show of examining the family photos on the mantel above the fireplace. “I looked you up in the genealogy library. The Travelers go back with us, all the way to Nauvoo and the trek west. Compared to your ancestors, I’m a latecomer.”

  He stared Traveler in the eye. “God has spoken to our prophet and he has passed the word on to me. No crime has been committed in this house. You have my word.”

  “Sarah Decker is here as a volunteer,” Tanner put in.

  “Volunteer or not,” Moseby said, “it’s obvious to me that Sister Decker and her so-called army are accomplices in the girl’s disappearance. The worry they’ve caused the prophet is unforgivable. Frankly, considering his health, I’m amazed it hasn’t killed him already.”

  Moseby stepped back from the fire, which was causing steam to rise from the front of Traveler’s jeans, before continuing. “The longer this goes on, the more I fear for the prophet. I’ve had Willis make that clear to Sister Decker already. We’ve given her time to think things over, to contemplate her sins. Now it’s up to you, Moroni, to get her help.”

  The First Apostle sighed deeply. “We must reunite Lael and the prophet quickly. Without such a reunion, I fear he won’t last the week. You’re a strong man, Moroni. Your being with us, you who are named for an angel, cannot be a coincidence. God has put us in your hands. I’m sure of it. You must do what has to be done.”

  Traveler didn’t like the sound of that. Neither did Martin, judging by the look on his face.

  “Have you spoken to Mrs. Decker yourself?” Traveler said.

  Moseby nodded at Tanner. “I had no part in bringing her here. Details like that I leave to Willis.”

  “She’s a church member in good standing,” Traveler said. “She told me so herself. If the First Apostle questioned her, she’d never be able to lie.”

  Moseby shook his head. “Brother Tanner questioned our Sister before bringing her here. We must leave it at that in case there are any repercussions.”

  “Such as?”

  “There should be no violence,” Moseby said. “I made that clear to Willis. Coercion, I told him, is a sin, even in a good cause, and must be explained to God one day.”

  The apostle shifted his weight. Chris, his driver, rose and moved to the front door, ready to open it for him.

  He signaled her to wait there before turning back to Traveler. “I understand that Sister Decker claims to be innocent. If she persists in that, give her my blessing but remind her that I’ve already convened a bishop’s court to take up the matter of temple recommends for her entire army. Without entry to God’s house, she is lost to her husband and her family for time and eternity.”

  “She must know the stakes already,” Traveler said.

  “Listen to Doctrine and Covenants as set down by our first prophet, Joseph Smith. ‘Let thine anger be kindled against our enemies; and, in the fury of thine heart, with thy sword avenge us of our wrongs.’ ”

  As if on cue, Chris opened the door. Moseby strode from the house. She nodded at Traveler, almost a bow, and followed in the apostle’s wake.

  The moment the door closed, Traveler made a grab for Tanner, who ducked out of reach and collapsed into one of the recliners.

  “Take a look at this, Mo, before you lose your temper.” Tanner handed Traveler a canceled check. “It’s made out to Sarah Decker and the Army of Nauvoo.” He pointed to the signature line. “Look for yourself. It’s signed by Opal Taylor for the Sisters Cumorah. One thousand dollars.”

  Traveler examined the check briefly before handing it on to his father.

  “Did you have a search warrant to get this?” Martin asked.

  Tanner shrugged.

  “Your evidence isn’t admissible in court.”

  “A bishop’s court answers only to God,” Tanner said.

  Martin rose from the sofa, handed the check back to Willis, and said, “I had them put Mrs. Decker in your room, Moroni.”

  “We’ve got guards on the perimeter,” Tanner added.

  “My father and I will talk to her alone,” Traveler told him.

  23

  SARAH DECKER was sitting on the cold linoleum floor in Traveler’s room. The down comforter Kary had made for his bed was wrapped tightly around her. When Traveler and Martin knelt beside the woman, she began rocking back and forth, humming atonally. Her eyes were open and staring at them, though Traveler had the feeling she saw nothing but her own demons.

  “It’s all right,” he said.

  Between Martin and himself, they lifted Mrs. Decker to her feet and helped her to the desk chair, the same one Traveler had carved his name on when he was twelve. The maple desktop still bore the marks of his first experiments with a chemistry set, a disappointing Christmas gift because it had the formula for gunpowder but not the ingredients.

  “I’ll fix some tea,” Martin said.

  “No,” she said so emphatically that Traveler thought she feared sinning against the Word of Wisdom.

  Her hand crept out from beneath the comforter and reached for Martin. When she caught hold of him, she sighed. “Stay with me.” She nodded at Traveler. “He’s too young to understand.”

  “I’ve tried to teach him the old ways, but you know how children are. They don’t listen until it’s too late, until we’re not around to tell them anymore.”

  Out of her line of sight, Traveler made a face at his father.

  “My son has reminded me that we don’t have much time,” Martin told the woman. “You must tell us everything, otherwise we won’t be able to do anything for you.”

  “My husband and I are sealed through time and eternity,” she said, beginning to rock again. “You can’t restore that seal once it’s broken.”

  Traveler smiled reassuringly; he’d be in a position to do just abou
t anything if he found Lael before the deadline. On the other hand, if word spread about the kidnapping and the revelation for ransom, Sarah Decker and her followers could be in danger of losing more than their souls.

  “If you help,” he said, “I promise to go to the prophet himself on your behalf.”

  She stopped rocking to stare up at him. Several seconds went by before she spoke. “I believe you. Whether or not that will save me, I don’t know.”

  “Tell us about the Sisters Cumorah,” Traveler said.

  Mrs. Decker wet her lips. “The first I heard about them was from some of our younger members.”

  “From Lael?”

  “It could have been. I’m not sure.” She blinked at Traveler. “You wouldn’t be making all this fuss, you and the First Apostle, if something hadn’t happened to her.”

  “It’s best if you just answer the questions.”

  The woman shivered. “Dear God. I knew it.”

  “Please,” Martin said. “We have a deadline.”

  She drew a quick breath. “After learning about the Sisters Cumorah, Jemma Hoyt and I decided there was strength in numbers. We tried to contact them, figuring to join forces. We telephoned several times. The one time we got through, we spoke with a woman named Opal Taylor. We invited her to our meetings but she never showed up.”

  Traveler squatted on his heels to bring himself down to Mrs. Decker’s level. “There are rumors that the Army of Nauvoo, your army, and the Sisters Cumorah have already joined forces.”

  “Not true.”

  “Do you recognize this check?” he said.

  She shook her head. “Did you see the First Apostle?”

  Traveler nodded.

  “Did you look into his eyes?”

  Traveler nodded again.

  “His word is almost the equal of the prophet’s. If the First Apostle speaks against me, the faithful will have no choice. Family and friends will shun me. When my husband and I are dead, he won’t call me to heaven.”

  “You endorsed the check,” Traveler said.

  Tears sprang from her eyes and began rolling down her cheeks.

  “Did you get it from Opal Taylor?”

  “We have student missionaries on the BYU campus in Provo. It was given to one of them.”

  “I need the names of those missionaries.”

  She tugged at the comforter, tightening it around her. “If I tell you, you’ll go after them.”

  “You don’t have any choice.”

  She sighed. “We never had a donation of more than a hundred dollars before that check arrived. That’s why I remember it so clearly, the day Lael Woolley and Amanda Ware brought it in. They were so proud. They’d been soliciting all day, getting nothing more than small change for their efforts until the woman appeared with the check.”

  She paused to catch her breath. “That’s when campus security showed up. The girls would have been arrested if it hadn’t been for Amanda’s father, Caleb Ware. He’s a member of the BYU faculty, though he doesn’t always teach classes.”

  She looked at Traveler. “After you came to see us at army headquarters, I tried to contact Amanda, but she’d disappeared too. I even called her father, but he told me not to worry. That’s it. That’s all I know.”

  Traveler looked at his father.

  “I believe her, Mo,” Martin said.

  “I do too, so we’d better get her out of here.”

  “The sooner the better. I’ve got work to do in Provo.”

  Traveler shook his head. “We should be together when we interview Caleb Ware.”

  “Who said anything about him? I’m going to visit Grandfather’s grave.”

  “Stop playing games with me,” Mrs. Decker said, shedding the comforter. “Tell me what’s happened to Lael.”

  Martin went to the patio door and opened it. “We can get her out this way.”

  “To hell with that,” Traveler said. “We’re not sneaking out of our own house.”

  “What about Willis?”

  “He won’t interfere as long as he needs us.”

  “Where are we going?” she said.

  “If I were you,” Traveler answered, “I’d leave the state for a while.”

  “We’d do the same thing if we were smart,” Martin added.

  24

  AFTER REUNITING Sarah Decker and her chief of staff, Jemma Hoyt, Traveler and his father snatched a couple of hours sleep before leaving for Provo. Morning traffic and continued rain turned the forty-mile trip on Interstate 15 into two hours of white-knuckled driving. By the time they neared Cascade Mountain, whose eleven-thousand-foot summit overlooked the BYU campus, the rain had reached cloudburst stage. The windshield wipers were useless, even at their highest speed.

  Traveler was about to pull his father’s Jeep Cherokee over to the shoulder of the road when an exit sign appeared, their exit.

  “Thank God,” Martin said with an exaggerated sigh.

  “You’re welcome to drive back,” Traveler said.

  “We’ll see after you drop me off at the cemetery.”

  “What would you do if I actually did it?”

  Martin snorted. “Sometimes you remind me of Grandfather Payson. You’re both great ones for talking. Of course that’s why I’d like to talk things out with him.”

  Traveler concentrated on getting them off the highway.

  “Grandad was a powder monkey when he was only eighteen,” Martin continued when they were safely on surface streets. “He worked the silver mines in Park City. All that’s gone now, of course, turned into a ski resort and tourist trap.”

  “I remember listening to his stories when I was a kid, but I don’t recall anything about him being a powder monkey.”

  “Exactly my point. Memories fail. That’s why you have to get your information from the horses mouth whenever possible.”

  “All right,” Traveler said. “Which way do I turn for the cemetery?”

  “Who can see in this downpour?”

  “The campus is to the right, I know that. City Cemetery must be to the left.”

  “I’m not crazy yet,” Martin said. “Now take a right and stop pretending you believe me about going to the cemetery.”

  Traveler fought off a smile as he turned onto University Avenue. Their appointment wasn’t actually on campus but at a nearby LDS ward house, one of those utilitarian brick and concrete structures that the church had duplicated all over the country. Pragmatic Mormon architecture, Martin called it, right down to a meeting hall that converted into a basketball floor.

  Caleb Ware, dressed in gym shorts and sneakers, was shooting baskets when they entered. Traveler recognized him from the dust jacket photograph on his latest book, Mormon Evolution. Ware’s shaved head was his trademark.

  “Don’t drip water on the floor,” he called to them before sinking a jump shot from the three-point line.

  After retrieving the ball, he dribbled over to meet them near the rollaway pulpit. He was breathing hard. His photo had made him look tall; in person he wasn’t more than five-five.

  Traveler introduced himself and his father.

  Ware shook hands. “It’s true what they say, you know. Exercise chases away the demons that haunt us.”

  Traveler had heard the same thing when he played church-league basketball, only usually it was put more simply: A healthy soul needs a healthy body.

  “What demons?” Martin asked.

  “Look around you, at the weather, for instance. They’re calling it a hundred-year rain for lack of anything better. I call it a sign. The devil may not have risen, but his handiwork is everywhere.”

  Martin rolled his eyes.

  “When we spoke on the phone,” Traveler said, “you agreed to meet us without any explanation on our part. Why was that?”

  “Elton Woolley is my friend. He trusts me completely.”

  Traveler mulled that over. Willis Tanner had assured him that no one outside himself and the apostles knew of the kidnapping and ransom.<
br />
  “Have you spoken to the prophet recently?” Martin asked.

  “We have conferred daily for years.”

  Traveler said, “I was told he’s too ill to see or talk to anyone.”

  “Considering those around him with their old-fashioned views, he needs a fresh voice.” Ware moved close to Traveler and stared up at him. “What are you, six-four?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Strip down and take off your shoes and we can play a little one-on-one.”

  “I thought we already were.”

  “Elton was right about you,” Ware said.

  Traveler shrugged. “We need to speak with your daughter, Amanda.”

  Ware waved away the comment. “Before this trouble, there was talk of a new revelation.”

  Traveler and his father exchanged glances.

  “Not among laymen like yourself, of course, but among scholars. It was our way of launching a trial balloon, just like politicians do. As you can imagine, word of it caused a great deal of consternation. It was shortly after that, that these rumors began. Satan has risen, things like that. Do you believe it?”

  “What do you believe?” Martin said.

  Instead of answering, Ware whirled around to face the basket. He dribbled once, then sighted over the ball as if contemplating a long shot. “Change can be dangerous to a church. Fatal even. Do you remember the uproar when black men were allowed into the priesthood?”

  Traveler and Martin nodded at the man’s back.

  “When women asked for the same consideration,” Ware went on, “the prophet said never. That was his word, never. Since he spoke for God on earth that was the end of it. But we have a new prophet now. Will God tell him something different?”

  He looked over his shoulder as if questioning Traveler.

  “You’re the expert,” Traveler said.

  “We’ve been taught that man is answerable to God, and that women are answerable to men. Yet isn’t man generic? Isn’t man the same as mankind?”

  Ware spun the ball in his hands. “God has given us Elton Woolley. Thus, if he makes a change, that is the way God wants it.”

  Without warning, he charged the basket but lost control of his dribble at the last minute and missed a lay-up. When he returned, his bald head shone with sweat.