Office of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints
He sat down slowly and began to read: “It’s addressed to you, Dad. ‘Dear Brother Draper. After careful consideration, you have been recommended . . . ’”
He stopped, his eyes almost popping out. His father was leaning forward, intent on every word. “What, David? What is it?”
He rubbed at his eyes, then started again. “‘You have been recommended as a full-time missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you can accept your call, please report to Salt Lake City as soon as possible, where you will be set apart as—”
“No!” He dropped the letter as if it were suddenly hot.
His father shot to his feet. “What? Tell me.”
David just stared, not even seeing his father. It was like he had been hit in the stomach.
Greatly exasperated, his father shot to his feet, reached out, grabbed David’s shoulders, and shook him lightly. “Tell me what it says, David.”
David slowly picked it up again. “‘ . . . where you will be set apart as a missionary in the British Mission with headquarters in Liverpool, England.’”
John sat down heavily on the bed. “England?” he said in a hoarse whisper. “They want ya ta go to England?”
David slowly shook his head. “Not me, Dad. You. This is your letter, not mine.” He lifted it again. “‘You are to make your way from Salt Lake City by rail to either New York City or Boston, and there take passage for Liverpool. On your arrival, you will report to President William Budge, mission president, at the address which is furnished you below. Your term of service . . . ’” David’s eyes skipped quickly across the line. Then he looked up, the shock giving him a gaunt, haunted look. “Your term of service is for three years.”
David couldn’t go on. He started over again, reading the last paragraph again to himself.
“Don’t stop,” his father cried. “Read it oot lood, please.”
David tipped his head back, then rolled it around, trying to loosen the sudden stiffness in his neck. The first feelings of betrayal were starting to rise within him. And anger. He let his eyes drop to the signature line, then let the letter drop in his lap. “It’s signed by President John Taylor, President of the Quorum of the Twelve.”1
He slowly folded the letter and handed it back to his father. “A mission’ry?” John said, his voice filled with awe. “Hoow can that be? Ah can ’ardly read and write.”
David swung around on him. “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“David! Hoow can Ah possibly teach the gospel if I canna read or write?”
David was astonished. “You’re thinking of going?”
He blinked. “Why wouldn’t I?”
David was incredulous. “Because you’re almost fifty years old. Because you just moved down to live with me. Because you have Mr. Jonathan Rhodes and who knows how many candymen waiting to get their hands on you in England.” He had to stop to catch his breath. “And . . . and . . . because you already have a call to go on a mission.”
That last came out with great relief. “That’s right, Dad. You already have a mission call. Salt Lake just doesn’t know that yet.” He smiled. “You can write and tell them that.”
John scoffed aloud. “That call was naw frum the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, David. Thare be a great diff’rence.”
David was up in an instant, facing off against his father. “Dad. This is insane. You are not going on a mission to England.”
The coffee-brown eyes turned on him and went very dark, almost beetle black. “What’s that ya be sayin’?” he asked. “Ya be talkin’ like this be yur d’cision and naw mine. The letter dinna cum to ya. It cum ta me, r’member?”
“Don’t even think about it,” David said hotly. “This is crazy.” Then he was pleading. “Dad, you just got here. After almost seven years, we’re finally together.”
His father dropped his head into his hands. “Ya think Ah dunna think aboot that? Ya think me ’eart isn’t achin’, joost thinkin’ aboot leavin’ ya?”
“Then don’t.” It came out blunt and hard.
There was a stubborn set to John’s jaw now. “If’n President Taylor be sayin’ the Lord ’as called me ta England, then Ah be goin’ to England. This ain’t joost aboot you and me, David.”
“You’re not going, and that’s final. I won’t let you.”
John stood slowly, putting the envelope in his inside jacket pocket very carefully. When he turned back to David, his face was resolute, and David knew he had lost.
David sat down on the bed and leaned forward, head in his hands. “You can’t go on a mission, Dad. Not now. You just can’t.”
“Maybe naw, David,” he said with great finality, “but Ah am. That be awl thare be ta it.”
Notes
^1. President Ezra Taft Benson made “Box B” famous when he told the story of his father getting a mission call from the First Presidency showing that it came from Box B in Salt Lake City (see Benson, Come unto Christ, 87). Box B, the postal address for Church Headquarters, was in use at this time (see Conference Report, April 1880, 160).
President John Taylor became president of the Church on the death of Brigham Young in 1877. However, the First Presidency was not reorganized until three years later, so in 1879 he presided over the Church as president of the Quorum of the Twelve.
Chapter 36
Wednesday, April 9, 1879
When David stopped by the post office the next morning, his mood hovered somewhere between gloom and rage. He had barely slept after battling with his father for another two hours, which had only left them both more deeply entrenched than ever in their opposite opinions. The only concession David won was that his father would talk to the Twelve when he got to Salt Lake and explain to them about his call to the San Juan Mission. But David knew nothing would come of that. After a fitful night, David had knocked on his father’s door on his way down to breakfast, but John had either already gone or was refusing to undergo any more of David’s attacks.
As he entered the post office, he was disappointed to see that it was Abby behind the counter sorting the mail and not Molly. She looked up and nodded soberly. “Good morning, David. Molly’s in Daddy’s office, doing the books.”
“Oh? Thank you.”
As he started toward the hotel lobby, she said, “I hear congratulations are in order for your father.”
He turned in surprise. It was barely eight o’clock. Seeing his look, she explained, “He came by the house early this morning to tell Daddy he won’t be going with us. That made us all sad.”
“Yeah, tell me about it,” he grumbled.
“He said that you were very angry.” There was a moment’s hesitation. “David, I—”
“Don’t!” he snapped. He was in no mood to start another round.
Her head came up. “I was only going to say that I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Is Molly alone?”
“She is,” Abby said after a moment. And with that, she went back to sorting the mail.
He knocked softly on the door to her father’s office, then opened it. She was sitting behind the desk with a large ledger book before her. But it was closed, and the pen was in the inkwell. She had been crying. “Is it true?” she asked, sniffing back tears.
“Is what true?”
“That you told your father not to accept his mission call?”
He rolled his eyes. “No, it’s not true. I told him not to accept another mission call.” When she tossed her head dismissively at that, he said, “He already has a call from the Lord, Molly. Remember? That’s what you all told him. ‘Oh, John, this is from the Lord. You’re doing the Lord’s will.’ What do you have to say about that?”
When she looked away, he leaned forward, wanting to take her hands. But her hands were in her lap now. “Look. I don’t want to fight with you about this. He’s going. There
’s no way I can change his mind.”
She looked down at her hands. After a moment, her shoulders began to tremble. He was instantly contrite. “Molly, please. Can’t we talk about something else? I have to ride out to New Harmony this morning. Would you like to come? We can take the buggy.”
She didn’t look up. When she finally spoke, her voice was choked, barely a whisper. “And what happens if we marry, David?” Finally her head came up, and the tears were coursing down her cheeks. “What will you say to our sons when they get their mission calls?”
He sat back, the breath going out of him. He wanted to yell at her, shake her, strike back, walk out and slam the door.
“David, I think it is better if we don’t court each other anymore.”
For a long moment, he just stared at her. She refused to meet his eyes. “Don’t do this,” he said quietly. “Not now. Not today.”
“I am so sorry, David. But I think we have our answer.” She wiped at the tears with both hands, went to say something else, then shook her head. “I’m sorry, David.”
He slowly got to his feet, looking down on her, feeling a great hollow in the pit of his stomach. And then suddenly, with perfect clarity, he knew what he had to do. “Fine,” he said. He turned on his heel and went to the door. “Good-bye, Molly.”
He went straight to the post office. Abby looked up, startled to see him. Then she grew alarmed at the look on his face. “David?”
“Where’s your father?”
“He’s with Carl down at the livery stable. They have a potential buyer.”
“Thank you.” He started for the door.
“David, is everything all right?”
“It is now,” he said.
When David walked into the livery stable, Patrick and Carl Bradford were standing near the stalls with a man whom David didn’t recognize. Patrick looked up in surprise, then lifted a hand in greeting. “Be right with you,” he said.
David shook his head. “I’m sorry, but could I see you for a moment now, Patrick?”
Patrick hesitated, clearly taken aback.
“It’s urgent.”
He cocked his head, his eyes questioning, but then he nodded. “Excuse me for a moment.” He came over, his face concerned. “What is it, David?”
“I thought you should know. After thinking about it, I have determined to accept Silas’s invitation to go with the exploring party.”
Patrick’s eyes widened in shock. “But . . .”
“I’ll be leaving this afternoon.”
He was stunned. “This afternoon?”
“They’re supposed to be leaving anytime now, if they haven’t already.”
Then understanding dawned. “Is this because of your father?”
“This has nothing to do with my father,” David said, his voice clipped. “I don’t expect to be paid while I’m gone. And on my return, I still plan to go with you, if you still want me.”
“Of course we still want you. But, David—”
David stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Patrick. I hope this will allow me to be of greater value to you and the family.”
“David, I . . .” But he was left to stare after him as David walked away, not looking back.
Dear Dad,
I am so sorry for the things I said last night. You are absolutely right. No son has the right to tell his father what he can or cannot do. Please forgive me. And please forgive me for taking this solution. It’s not because of you. It is just best all around if I leave right now.
It is not likely that we shall be where we can get any mail or send it, but please write to the McKennas and I shall catch up on everything when I return.
I am so proud of you. You will make a great missionary. It’s not what you can read or write that matters, but what is in your heart, and you have the greatest heart of anyone I know.
I have put my extra things in the two boxes that are in my room. Could you please put them in one of the storage sheds for me? I will pay my bill here at the boardinghouse as I leave.
I love you with all my heart. This last month has been the happiest of my life. Thank you for that. Three years seems like a long time, but maybe by then, when you return, it will be to “our ranch,” wherever that may be. May God go with us both.
David
Dear Abby,
I wish there had been time to say good-bye. You have become a trusted and wise—and honest!!!—friend.
I hope that you can help Molly understand why I left so suddenly. It is for the best. She will blame herself, but you will know what to say. It truly is for the best. (I hope you are nodding in agreement right now.)
You once told me I was denying reality because I refused to see the connection between Molly’s prayer one day and your father offering me a job the very next morning. Well, tell me what you see when you look at this. Yesterday, for the first time in a very long time, I said a prayer. Well, Molly actually said it, but I stood with her. And my heart was with her. She prayed that the Lord would bless our relationship so that we could be brought closer together, so we could resolve our differences. And here I am, less than twenty-four hours later, with my father leaving for three years and my relationship with Molly ended. I will be anxious to hear your explanation of that when I return.
My love to your mother. She reminds me in so many ways of my mother, and I could not pay her a higher compliment. Please tell Patrick Joseph (also known as Billy Joe) I’m sorry for not saying good-bye. I will miss him fiercely. Tell him he’s got the loudest whistle of anyone I know.
I shall return in about six months. To what I cannot say.
David
My dearest Molly,
I am sorry that I am saying good-bye in this way. I know it shall make you cry (yet again). Once the tears are gone, you will see that this is best. I could not bear the thoughts of seeing you every day and only nodding politely to you or smiling like amiable strangers passing on a sidewalk. Perhaps, in six months’ time, I will be able to be around you without being swept away in the depths of those beautiful eyes, or in the joy of your laughter. I shall miss you more fiercely than I can express. Maybe by then, I can bear the thought of being “just friends.”
Please try not to relive our last conversation, for I know you well enough to know that you shall take all the blame upon yourself, and leave me, who caused it all, innocent in your mind. (Is it any wonder that I love you so?) What hurts most is that you see me more clearly than I see myself, that you know me more honestly than I know myself.
I read in the New Testament where John the Baptist went out into the desert and found holiness there. Perhaps six months in our barren red rock country will do me good as well.
There is so much more I would like to say, but words and time fail me. I love you. I’m sorry for making you cry so often.
David
Monday, April 14, 1879
As David came out of the dining room of the Parowan Hotel, he stopped dead. Carl Bradford was in the lobby, speaking to the desk clerk.
“Carl?”
Carl spun around, then said to the clerk, “Oh, there he is right now. Thank you.”
They came together in the center of the lobby and shook hands. “This is a shock,” David said. “What brings you up here to Parowan?”
“I hear you’re leaving tomorrow.”
“Yes. In fact, you’re lucky you caught me. I’m going up to Paragonah later this morning. That’s where the company is forming up. We leave at first light.” Then, as he watched Carl’s face, he raised one hand as though to push him away. “I hope you’ve not come to try to change my mind, Carl.”
He shook his head, then reached in his pocket and extracted an envelope. “Nope. Just delivering your mail.” David took it, preparing to refuse it, but when he saw the name in the top lefthand corner, his mouth dropped open. It was not from Molly. “From Abby?”
Carl nodded. “She was very anxious that you get this before you left.”
He was dumbfounded. “
You rode twenty miles just to bring me a letter?”
Carl grinned. “It seemed to be very important to her.” Then he stuck out his hand. “Good luck, David. See you in six months.”
He stared at the man’s hand for a moment, then slowly shook it. “Thank you, Carl.”
Back in his room, David sat on the bed and took out his pocketknife. He slit the envelope open, not sure he was ready to be chastised for how shabbily he had treated Molly. But finally curiosity got the better of him and he extracted the folded sheets of paper. He counted them. Three pages. He took a deep breath, returned the knife to his pocket and began to read.
Dear David,
I wish to tell you a story.
He laughed in spite of himself. How perfectly Abby. No preamble. No mention of what had happened. Just raise the gun, pick your target, and fire.
Supposedly, this is a true story. In a way I’m glad that you are not here to interrupt me as I tell it, for I know this will greatly irritate you, especially in your present mood. But our friendship compels me to share it with you.
He chuckled again, knowing that she had him pegged exactly.
In India there is a religious sect that has great reverence for life. They don’t eat meat of any kind. They never harm fish, birds, animals, or insects. They feel so strongly about it that they even watch where they step so they don’t accidentally step on an ant or a bug. One day some Christian missionaries came to that area and began to preach about Jesus. When the people found out that Christians did not share their reverence for living things, they refused to listen to them anymore. One frustrated missionary tried to convince them that their beliefs were extreme, that this was more than was expected by God. When he failed to do so, he decided to confront them with the inconsistency of their own position.
He offered the leader of the sect a glass of water. After he had drank it, the missionary took an eyedropper and put a drop of that same water on a glass slide and put it under a microscope. “Look,” he told the man. When the man looked into the microscope, he saw swarms of bacteria, amoebae, and other microscopic creatures. “Those are all living things,” the missionary said triumphantly, “and you just drank them all. See? It isn’t possible for you to live consistently with your beliefs.” What do you suppose the man did next?
The Undaunted Page 39