by Marian Wells
After watching the Saints rummage through the wagons and cart off their choices, Jenny shook her head and turned her horse away. “Atta girl.” She heard the soft comment and glanced up. Jake was grinning at her. Then she noticed others leaving the town square empty-handed.
Guiding Patches away from the main streets, Jenny worked her way slowly toward the fringes of town. She was passing the cluster of log cabins, noticing, with a sharp stab of surprise, the number which had been deserted.
She was uneasy, still pondering that discovery as she rode past the schoolhouse. A group of men stood close to the steps, one of them Sidney Rigdon. With a casual glance, Jenny had started on when the sharp voices caught her attention.
She pulled on the reins and turned Patches. Rigdon was standing on the steps, looking out over the men. His face was contorted with rage as he waved his arm and shouted, “The last Saint has fled Far West! So you don’t like the directions of the Lord? We’ll see to it that you do! The next to leave will be chased, brought back—dead or alive. I bring before you a resolution: if a man attempts to pack his belongings, take his family, and leave, I propose that the man who sees this happening shall, without revealing his intentions to any other, kill the fleeing Saint and hide his body in the bushes.” He paused and in the silence added, “Yesterday about this time, one man from Far West slipped his wind and was dragged into the bushes to die. Now, I warn you, any man lisping a word of this shall have the same happen to him.”
That evening as Jenny sat beside the fire, poking at the tumble of yarn in her lap, she thought about the afternoon scene around the wagon. The memory had become doubly troubling since she had heard Rigdon’s tirade.
Under the ripple of conversation Sally was releasing, Jenny was thinking. It hurt to imagine these people deprived of their possessions, but that wasn’t the reason she was hearing warning bells in her soul. It was something deeper.
With a sigh, Jenny straightened on her stool and said, “Sally, I’ve got to go back to Adam-ondi-Ahman.” As she described the afternoon’s events, she saw Sally’s expression change from placid content to shock and disbelief.
“Jenny, how ridiculous! You risk your life to go fuss at Joseph. I’m certain he knows how Rigdon feels. I don’t understand it all, but where’d we be if every man fled Far West? As for being in danger, they’re not. They are doing just what the Lord’s commanded them to do. How could He fail to keep them safe? Besides, they’d never listen to a woman.”
There was an urgency, an underlying current of fear in Sally’s voice. Jenny searched her friend’s face and could see the dark circles under her eyes, the weary lines on her face. Without a doubt Sally needed her, but Jenny’s need to get the talisman and the green book was growing deeper every day. This afternoon’s ride had confirmed the uneasy impression that something very wrong was happening in Zion. She needed all the power she could possibly conjure if she were to help these people.
As she studied Sally’s face, Jenny had the distinct impression that she alone sensed disaster moving close.
Jenny dropped to her knees beside Sally and clasped her hands. Even now she guessed that Sally would let her go, but she couldn’t endure leaving her without hope.
“Sally, listen to me. It isn’t just what happened this afternoon. There’s something else. When I went into Far West that first time, I met that horrible Samson Avard.”
“The leader of the Danites?” Sally whispered. Jenny could see she had her attention. She nodded. Sally was still speaking softly, as if she expected the walls to hear. “He’s terrible. I’ve heard whispers about how he’s deceiving Joseph and how he’s so cruel.”
“That’s why I must go. Surely Joseph doesn’t know of his influence with the men and the terrible things he’s planning. Sally, do you see? I must go.”
She watched the woman’s countenance fall and lunged for the nearest word. “Faith. Sally, you must have faith. You’re going to be ill if you continue in this hopeless way.” Faith. The word mocked Jenny, and she nearly thought she could hear the spirit’s laughter.
“You heard Joseph and Rigdon and the others. They’ve promised that the Lord will fight for the men and that not a hair on their heads will be lost. Don’t you believe it?” Sally studied her face without answering, but now there was a spark of a question in her dull eyes.
“Faith is just believing when your good sense tells you it’s all wrong,” Sally finally whispered.
Tamara was holding up her arms and Jenny lifted the child. She buried her face in the toddler’s hair and hoped Sally wouldn’t ask her for her own definition. How could she convince Sally of the faith she had professed? Faith was having a green book with instructions for living. Faith was having charms and the sure knowledge of power.
Jenny’s lips twisted as she imagined this woman, a devout follower of the Prophet, being exposed to Jenny’s beliefs. She closed her eyes and imagined the horrified expression on Sally’s face were she to know how she really believed. But still, faith was faith. “God of nature, God of all,” Jenny murmured, “bring me power to help this woman.”
“Jenny, I—I,” Sally stopped with a gulp. “I’m so fearful. It isn’t just about Andy. That’s part, but not all. I—I keep thinking that if I don’t do something soon—” She was silent for a long minute and Jenny, busy with her own thoughts, wondered how she could give Sally hope without shattering her tenuous faith in the Prophet.
“Jenny,” it was a timid attempt, and Jenny raised her head. “I—it’s been so long since we’ve seen each other to really talk and now I feel so—so bound up that I dare not say a thing.”
“Sally, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“Oh no,” Sally said quickly. “It isn’t that, it’s just that I’ve been entrusted with secret things—responsibilities. I dare not say more. It’s just that I feel the weight of it all so deeply.” She dropped her face into her hands, and Jenny saw her press her lips with a gesture of despair.
When Sally lifted her face she said, “The Prophet says we must obey if we are to have the assurance that the Lord will take care of us. Jenny, it’s a fearful responsibility.”
Slowly Jenny said, “You’re talking as if having faith is similar to lifting a sack of potatoes. Hard.” She looked curiously at her and thought of her own faith. And when she had examined it, she decided Sally’s definition just might fit.
Early the following morning Jenny rode through the woods. She headed north, away from Log Creek where Sally and Andy Morgan had built their cabin close to Haun’s Mill. As she approached Far West, she walked the horse deeper into the woods, making it appear as if she were out for a leisurely ride. She was also thinking it might be a good idea to have an excuse ready to offer since she would be traveling into forbidden territory.
As she rode, Jenny was still thinking about Sally. Momentarily she frowned, wondering at the depths of the woman’s agony. Finally Jenny’s lips twisted in amusement. To think she had once thought herself shackled to Joseph’s church, fearful and duty-bound to obey. Now Sally’s face served as a tonic, freeing her of the past.
She chuckled as she rode on, secure with her decision to win power, all the power the church boasted, plus more. “I’ve come full circle,” she reminded herself in a pleased whisper. “All I need now is Pa’s green book.”
North of Far West, Jenny turned back to the road and whipped her horse on toward Gallatin. Effortlessly, the horse flew with the wind, carrying Jenny’s light body.
At Gallatin she again left the road and cut around town at an easy walk. This was Gentile territory, and it was wise to avoid strangers these days. She began to relax, to enjoy the day and the ride.
She was on the far side of town, beyond the store and stables, when she met the man. The trail was dim and shadowed, and she was picking her way carefully when she heard his horse. Her heart began to pound, pressed by all those fearful stories.
Raising her whip, she waited for him to approach. He dismount
ed. Jenny jerked the reins and the man leaped for them. “Take it easy, ma’am, I mean no harm. Gentile or Saint, it isn’t safe for pretty young women to be out.”
She thought he looked familiar. “Saint, and I’ve business in Adam-ondi-Ahman.”
“Aren’t you Mark Cartwright’s wife? I’m John Lee. The missus and I met you at the last meeting. If you’re headin’ for home, I say don’t. Go back the way you’ve come.”
“But why?”
He turned to point toward the north. “See that and that? Them ain’t supper fires. The Gentiles are burnin’ and the Mormons are burnin’. Both are snitchin’ everything they can and burnin’ what they can’t.”
“Mr. Lee, that’s terrible! Burning! If we treat them that way, we’ll never learn to live with these people. What will happen if this keeps up?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Joe says this is civil war, and by the rules each of us is justified in spoilin’ the enemy.”
“Mark would call that wrong—lawlessness. Where does it end when we’re all doing that?”
“I’d guess it ends when there’s nobody left to fight.” It was a light answer, but peering up at him in the dusk, Jenny saw his brow was furrowed and his eyes unhappy. Thoughtfully he said, “I’m seein’ men becomin’ perfect demons as they spoil and waste each other. Seems to be the natural inclination of men to steal and plunder. But the thing that surprises me most is that these men got religion in the only true church left in the world. I’d expect there’s somethin’ wrong when religion’s not got the power to subdue the animal passion in man.”
“Animal?” she asked thoughtfully.
He nodded. “That’s what they’re like. The church takes its restrictions off, and they’re animals. Seems the ideal would be you wouldn’t have to pressure a man with fear of death to get him to act right.”
“But how do you learn what’s right? Don’t people have different ideas of right?”
He scratched his head and looked thoughtfully at Jenny. “Seems strange to be philosophizin’ beside the road with a pretty lady—but, no.” Jenny’s horse snorted and pawed restlessly. “Seems there’s some kinda standard built into a person. But I’m thinkin’ some squash it down, ’til you’d never know the man had a right idea.” Lee straightened and sighed. “But now. You can’t ride on to Adam-ondi-Ahman today. These men are roamin’ the countryside, doin’ all the damage they can. Go back.”
“I must go on,” Jenny insisted; “besides, it’s as dangerous to go back.”
He thought a moment and then admitted, “That’s true.” In another moment, he added, “I have a friend up the way here. Name’s McBrier. An old gentleman who’s been mighty good to me regardless of being Gentile. I’ll point you in the way. You go stay with McBrier until you don’t see smoke comin’ up around the place; then you high-tail for home, get your business done, and then get back to Far West.”
“How long will that be?”
“Day or so. Right now things are bad. While back, they pulled the state militia out here.” He shook his head. “The Saints sent them on back, saying they could handle the situation. Don’t know why they did it, seein’s Joseph called for help in the first place. So the fellas mobbing on both sides are gettin’ mighty brave about doing anything they want.
“In a day or so the squabbling will be coolin’.” While his restless horse pawed and snorted, Lee said, “Come along, I’ll point you in the right direction.” And Jenny knew it was useless to argue.
When Lee stopped at the end of the lane leading to the low log house, it was dusk. There was a faint glow of light coming from the windows. Jenny thanked the man and slowly rode toward the light. The house was pleasant, she could see that. She could also see the corrals and barn, the cows and horses, and she could hear the contented barnyard sounds. For the first time since Mark had left, the tightness around Jenny’s heart eased.
The gray-haired woman who opened the door at Jenny’s knock stood staring in shock. Then reaching out she pulled Jenny through the door. “My dear!” she exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing out alone?”
“Well, I thought I was safe,” Jenny explained, “until I met Mr. John Lee. He scolded me and brought me up here. Said I should stay until the fighting is over.”
As Mrs. McBrier bustled out to call her husband, Jenny unwound her shawl and looked around the large room. As she had ridden onto the farm, she had noticed the mellow look as if it had been here a long time. Inside there was a settled, homey look. Heavy timbers crossed the room, and a stone fireplace covered an end wall. A spinning wheel with carded wool stood close to the polished rocking chair. Comfortable chairs cushioned with colorful quilts edged the room. Jenny was admiring the walnut table and chairs and stroking the tall cherry cabinet when the McBriers came into the room.
The old gentleman had a twinkly smile, and his bright blue eyes seemed kin to his wife’s. He held out his hand. “Mother tells me John sent you. Any friend of John’s is our friend, too. You are welcome to stay until it is safe to travel again. My, such carryin’ on!” He continued shaking his head sadly as he led her to the fireplace. “We’ve put your horse up. Now, you just take this chair and let us offer you tea.” He paused; looking confused, he said, “I’m forgetting, if you’re—”
Jenny hastily said, “Tea! Oh, that would be wonderful.”
Before the evening was over, Jenny felt as if she had known these people for years. It seemed they had a story for every treasure in their home. Even the furniture was rich with family heritage. She handled the black-bound Book they held with such reverence and listened to them explain the list of names written on a page in the middle.
While they talked, Jenny was thinking of her mother’s black Book. Was her name written into it? Thoughtfuly she thumbed through the pages, recalling how her mother had held that book as if it were precious. And Mark. He had a Book just like this. On occasion he had taken it out and tried to read it to her.
Abruptly the picture of Jenny preparing to shove the Book into the stove flashed across her memory. She cringed as she recalled the fearful time of headaches and oppression that year in Kirtland just before Mark had left. She had blamed the Book for causing them. Just briefly, as she held McBrier’s Book, guilt touched her, and she could only wonder why. As she considered that time, curiosity was born in her.
She interrupted Mrs. McBrier’s story, asking, “Have you read this Book?”
“Oh my, yes.” The woman patted the pages comfortably. “When I was just a youngster I won a medal for reading it through in less than a year. It was hard at times, keeping awake through Chronicles and Numbers, but I made it.”
She paused and studied Jenny for a moment before saying, “The Mormons say they believe it is a holy book. Do they expect their young people to read it?”
Jenny cocked her head and thought. Slowly she said, “I don’t know. In fact, I don’t know any of the young people. I do know the twelve and the first presidency sometimes talk about the things that the Bible says. At times they read it aloud.”
“Then you hear it preached about how to know Jesus. About how He died for our sins in order to give us God’s righteousness and provide a way for us to be with Him for eternity.”
Jenny studied her curiously, “No, that’s not the way we heard it. But, then, it doesn’t matter, does it? There’s only one God; how we choose to worship Him doesn’t really matter. It’s the worship that’s important.”
From the far side of the fireplace, Mr. McBrier cleared his throat and with a twinkle in his eyes he said, “Well, I’m not up to talking theology with anyone, especially with a young lady looking as smart as you do. One thing I do know; reading God’s Word was like having Him rope me in.
“Just like a rebellious calf, fighting the branding iron and the rope, I was. But do you know, after getting a good exposure to the words, I found out I liked it. It made a change in me, sure. Can’t read about Jesus Christ without being attracted.
“But, sure enough, the first p
art of being attracted is being made mighty uncomfortable. You read about all that He went through, the spitting on Him and pulling His beard, the crown of thorns and such; then without complaining He gets killed. I really sat up straight when I found out about Him rising from the dead.” He stared thoughtfully into the fire for a long moment before he again faced Jenny and said, “I can remember how I used to feel inside. Reading made me churn around like a creek in spring thaw. I wanted to quit the reading, but by then I couldn’t. Now I’m glad.”
Jenny waited a moment and then asked, “Why?”
He looked directly at her and said, “Because I soon found out that this man is God, and that He came here to this earth just to die for us.”
“That seems like such a waste. I can’t understand why He’d do that,” Jenny mused as she stared into the fire.
“Well, He did it because He loved us enough to want us with Him forever. See, we couldn’t go to heaven on our own, because of sin. Sin, well, that makes everybody squirm just thinking about it. Until we finally accept what God did to get rid of sin.” He looked at her while Jenny wished he would talk of something else. “It’s like this. Sin’s so terrible man can’t ever undo it. He can’t ever make up for it. So God did. His dying made it possible for people to actually be holy themselves.”
“So everyone is holy,” Jenny said thoughtfully.
“Only if you believe it and accept Jesus’ death for yourself. That’s called faith, believing what God says to man in the Book.”
Later as Mrs. McBrier led Jenny to the spare bedroom and turned back the colorful quilt, Jenny was thinking about the conversation around the fire. She found herself sighing, and that surprised her.
Chapter 16
On October 18 when David Patten and forty men galloped into Adam-ondi-Ahman, the Saints were still spending most of their time huddled around the fire, just watching the snow melt and run down the road. Mark had been thinking how good it was to see the unseasonable snow melting rapidly.