Pillar of Light

by Gerald N. Lund

  His eyes narrowed a little. “What do you mean, I was doing everything right ‘on the surface’?”

  Melissa looked him right in the eye. “Can I be honest with you?”

  “Of course.”

  “There for a while, you got pretty pompous. You were a successful missionary. You were in tune with the Spirit. You were going to convert the world. It was like the rest of us didn’t quite measure up.”

  He looked at her sharply.

  “Oh, you never said anything directly, but...” She sighed. “Well, that doesn’t matter anymore. I’m happy to say you pulled out of that stage.”

  He was staring at his hands. “Did I?” he whispered.

  “Yes, you did,” she said firmly. “There for a while, I wasn’t sure you were going to. But you did. But by then, Lydia had begun to doubt herself, started to wonder about her own worth. Then, to add to her problems, she lost the baby.”

  “I know. I’ve never seen her so forlorn.”

  “It was a heavy blow when she was already staggering.”

  “Then why did she insist that I go on Zion’s Camp? I had decided not to go.”

  Melissa smiled sadly. “Because by then the guilt had become unbearable. She knew what had to be done. She couldn’t bear to hold you back. We all saw the pain in your eyes. But, at the same time, she couldn’t bear to be alone again, especially not when we all knew that this time you were marching off to possible battle, not just to preach the gospel.”

  “So she went to Palmyra.”

  “Yes. By then her parents were calling for a truce. It came at an opportune time. Here was a chance to rebuild what she had lost. When they totally rejected her for joining the Church, that left only one leg on her stool, and that was you. But the Nathan leg was leaving, going into danger. If that leg collapsed on her, she would be left with nothing. So, yes, she went to Palmyra.”

  For a long moment he just stared at Melissa, then slowly he nodded. “I think I understand. So what do I do?” He laughed with soft bitterness. “Move to Palmyra? Take over her father’s store? I can just see it now. Me and Josiah McBride working side by side. Me calling him Papa and him calling me son.”

  Melissa clapped her hands and laughed aloud. “Oh, now there’s an image for you.” But she sobered instantly. “Nathan, can’t you see? The fact that Lydia is even considering something so ridiculous shows how desperate she’s become. She feels terrible that she’s abandoned you. But until she finds something to anchor herself to, she’ll grasp at any piece of driftwood to hang on to.”

  Upstairs there was the faint sound of a child’s cry. Melissa looked up. “There’s young Carl.”

  Nathan stood. “I’ve got to get going.” He walked around to his sister as she stood awkwardly. He gathered her into his arms. “Thank you, little sister. You are a gentle and a wise woman.”

  She looked up, touched by the sudden emotion in his voice. “Why, thank you.” She reached up and touched his face. “Just love her, Nathan. That’s what she needs right now.”

  He nodded, then suddenly he pulled her to him fiercely and buried his face against her shoulder. “It should’ve been you,” he whispered hoarsely. “It should’ve been you.”

  Caught completely off guard, Melissa tried to pull back to look at him, but he would not let her go. “What, Nathan? What should’ve been me?”

  Suddenly, great, racking sobs began to shake his body. Stunned, totally bewildered, she clung to him, trying to steady him as the sobs swept over him in violent shudders. “It should have been you that went to see Joshua,” he cried. “It should have been you.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Nathan Steed?”

  Nathan looked up in surprise. A man was standing at the front door of McBride’s dry goods store, staring at him. With the light at the man’s back, Nathan could not see his face clearly, but as the man strode across the room toward him, Nathan recognized the roundness of the body, the rolling gait.

  “Parley?” he cried. “Parley Pratt?” In a moment they were in each other’s arms, pounding each other on the back. Then Parley encircled Nathan with his big arms and lifted him right off the ground, nearly crushing his ribs. “I can’t believe it’s you,” he roared in delight. “Let’s go break the heads of a few Missourians, just for old time’s sake.”

  Josiah McBride was at the counter helping a lady select some yard goods. He kept looking up at the two of them, peering over his spectacles in disapproval. The lady kept looking over her shoulder nervously.

  Nathan ignored them both. It was as though spring had suddenly burst into the room in the middle of a January day. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

  “What are you doing here in Palmyra?” Nathan said breathlessly, when Parley finally freed him.

  “I’m on my way east to preach the gospel. Your family asked if I would stop and say hello.”

  “How are they?”

  “Fine. Your mother said to be sure and tell you that Melissa had her baby. Another boy. Everything’s fine.” He looked around. “Where’s Lydia?”

  “Upstairs. We live above the store.”

  Parley reached in his jacket and extracted a long white envelope. “Will you give this to her? It’s from Emma.”

  “Of course, she’ll be thrilled to hear from Emma.” Nathan leaned forward. “And how is Thankful?”

  A shadow crossed Parley’s face. “Not well. As you know, she has long been in delicate health. The trip back to Ohio did not help. But she is recovering. We are living in New Portage now.”

  “And the temple? How is it coming?”

  “Slow. There is so much to do, so little money.”

  “How long does Joseph think it will take?”

  “At least a year, maybe a year and a half.”

  “I wish I could be there to help.”

  “Me too. New Portage is just too far to get up there very often.”

  A sound behind Nathan brought him around. Josiah McBride had finished with his customer and had come up just behind them. He gave Nathan a sharp look, then folded his arms and took a rigid stance.

  “Parley,” Nathan said quickly, “this is Lydia’s father, Josiah McBride. Josiah, this is Parley P. Pratt, an old friend of ours from Ohio.”

  “And Missouri,” Parley boomed. He stepped forward and took McBride’s hand, which was belatedly offered. He pumped it up and down enthusiastically. With obvious distaste, Nathan’s father-in-law murmured something, then started back toward the counter.

  Nathan instantly forgot him and turned to Parley. “Have you seen Joseph?”

  Josiah McBride whirled as if he had been jerked with a rope. “Nathan!” he said sharply.

  Nathan looked up. “What?”

  “There’s to be no talk of Joseph Smith in this store. That was our agreement.”

  For a moment Nathan was dumbfounded—not only at the suddenness of the attack but also at the incredibly poor taste the man was showing in front of a guest. He fought to keep his voice even. “I agreed that I would not try to talk to anyone about Joseph Smith or the Church of the Latter-day Saints. But Parley is already a member of the Church. We’re just talking about a mutual friend.”

  “You’re talking about Joseph Smith.” McBride spat it out with contempt. “Our agreement was that his name would not be mentioned in this store.”

  “Look, Nathan,” Parley said hastily, “it’s all right. I’m going east on the canal boats. We don’t leave until morning. We can talk later tonight.”

  Nathan shot a withering look at his father-in-law. “No,” he said, starting to untie his apron, “we’ll go outside and talk.”

  “You’re in the midst of taking inventory, Mr. Steed,” Lydia’s father snapped. “You talk on your own time.”

  Nathan looked at him for several moments; then a great calm came over him. He finished untying the apron and slipped it over his head. With great deliberateness he turned and dropped it over the back of a chair. “I am on my own time, Mr. McBride. I no longer clerk
in this store.” And with that, he took Parley’s arm and both men walked out into the early September sunshine.

  “Please, can’t we talk this out like adults?” Lydia’s mother was on her feet in the midst of the sitting room, poised between Nathan and Lydia, who sat on the sofa, and her husband, who was perched on the edge of the large overstuffed chair across from them.

  Nathan shook his head. “I’m not trying to be stubborn, Hannah. It just became very clear today. We’ve been lying to ourselves for the last two weeks. This partnership thing is not going to work.”

  “Not if you won’t honor the agreements you made,” Josiah blurted. “You gave me your word.”

  “Papa,” Lydia started, “Nathan was just talking with a longtime friend. He wasn’t trying to preach about Joseph Smith or anything.”

  Josiah lowered his head. “Either a man’s word is his bond, or it isn’t. He promised! You sat right there and heard him.”

  “Josiah,” Lydia’s mother began, her tone soothing, “I don’t think it helps to—”

  “No!” he shouted. “You listen, Mrs. McBride. I’ve bent far enough. I will not bend any further. Either Nathan honors our agreement or I will not have him in the store.”

  A great despair swept over Lydia. “Papa—,” she started.

  But he leaped to his feet, glaring at her with so much venom in his eyes that it stunned her into silence. “I will not hear anything further,” he thundered. “Either Nathan honors our agreement or it’s over.”

  Lydia started to cry. Nathan touched her knee, then stood slowly. She looked up and grabbed for his hand, trying to ward off the explosion. But he stepped away, as though he wanted to disassociate himself from her so that what happened next would be his responsibility alone.

  “You are right, Josiah,” he began. There was no sarcasm, no animosity, just a great calmness. “This is your house. Your store. You have a right to set the conditions which prevail in them. And as long as we live here, we are obligated to honor them.”

  Josiah McBride blinked. He had gone up on the balls of his feet when Nathan stood, tensing for the confrontation. This was not what he had expected.

  “On the other hand, I have the right to believe as I choose. And I believe Joseph Smith to be a man of honesty and integrity.”

  He stopped. Josiah McBride had started to splutter. Nothing in Nathan’s face changed, nor had his voice altered in pitch. But something in his look stopped his father-in-law’s outburst before it cleared his throat.

  Nathan went on with that same wonderful calmness in his voice. “I believe Joseph Smith was called of God to be his prophet, just as Abraham, Moses, and other prophets in the Bible were called of God. I believe Joseph Smith to be an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ in exactly the same way that I believe Peter and James and Paul to be Apostles.”

  He turned, so that now Lydia could see his face. His eyes were filled with great sadness. “I believe that I dishonor the Lord and I think I dishonor Joseph’s name when I refuse to acknowledge my beliefs publically or speak of what I know.”

  Lydia felt hot shame shoot through her like fire.

  Nathan turned back to his father-in-law. “Since your wishes and my commitments are totally incompatible, I shall move out of your house first thing in the morning. Lydia and I will discuss at that time what that means for us and our children.”

  “No,” Hannah whispered.

  If he heard, Nathan didn’t respond. He turned to Lydia fully now. “I am going to visit with Parley now. I may be late. I will see you in the morning.”

  “Nathan, I—”

  “Parley brought a letter from Emma for you. I left it on the dresser.” He turned and walked to the door.

  But Josiah McBride wasn’t through. The spluttering now exploded. “Prophet? Apostle?” he shouted. “How dare you blaspheme in my house?”

  Nathan turned. “Good night, Josiah. Good night, Hannah.”

  Lydia’s father’s face had gone bright scarlet. His eyes were bulging with the fury that drove him. “The prophets gave their lives for God,” he screamed at Nathan’s back. “Paul was whipped and stoned and beaten. He said he bore in his body the marks of Jesus. That’s what it means to be a true Apostle. What has your precious Joe Smith done that he dares to claim apostleship?”

  Nathan’s hand was on the doorknob. He stopped, then slowly turned. Josiah McBride fell back a step. Lydia felt as though she had been slapped. It was the most haunted look she had ever seen on a man’s face.

  “I am not an Apostle,” Nathan said quietly. “I don’t think I will ever be one. But if it’s the marks of discipleship you are looking for, then please accept mine.”

  In one swift, savage move, he grabbed his shirtfront and ripped it open, sending the buttons flying. He threw the shirt off, then reached for the long cotton undershirt tucked into his pants and yanked it upwards, baring himself from waist to neck.

  Lydia gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth, and for a moment she thought she would be sick. Somewhere, far off, she heard her mother cry out too. The pattern of the bullwhip was there for all to see, each scar a long stripe, some running from shoulder to belt line. And all of the wounds were still new enough that they were dark and red and ugly.

  Nathan turned around. Lydia gasped again, and bit down on her lower lip so hard that she drew blood. There was no pattern now, no single, distinguishable lines like those on his chest. From shoulder to waist, the whole expanse of flesh was one obscene, horrible mass of crisscrossing scar tissue.

  Lydia pressed her fists to her eyes, trying to blot out the vision of what lay before her. As she did so, she suddenly remembered something. Since he had come to her two weeks ago, Nathan had never removed his undershirt in her presence. She had thought it very peculiar at first, but he had brushed aside her comments, saying something about the discomfort of being in her parents’ house. She had finally dismissed it and said no more about it, though it had continued to trouble her.

  The sound of the door brought Lydia up. She opened her eyes in time to see that Nathan had dropped his undershirt and gathered up his shirt and tucked it under his arm. He looked at her and smiled faintly. “I’ll be late, Lydia. Don’t wait up.”

  A moment later he pulled the door softly shut and left the McBride family sitting there, staring at the door.

  It was close to midnight when the door to her bedroom opened slowly. She didn’t move as Nathan stepped inside, moving on tiptoe so as not to wake her. She lay on her side, watching his shape move about in the darkness. He took off his shoes, then his shirt and trousers. Now she could see the lighter color of his undergarments. Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes again and began to trickle down the side of her face.

  Carefully, he lowered himself onto the bed beside her, trying not to bounce the bed with his weight. He adjusted the covers for a moment, then lay still. But in a moment he raised again and turned and felt the pillow with his hand. He turned it over to its other side.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. When her pillow had become soaked with tears she had traded hers for his dry one. That had been over an hour ago. “I forgot it was still wet.”

  He turned his head. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I’ve not been asleep.”

  “Oh.”

  She waited for a moment, to see if he would say more. When he didn’t she spoke again. “How’s Parley?”

  She could sense that he smiled in the darkness. “Parley is Parley. It’s wonderful to see him again.”

  She felt a pang. There hadn’t been many things that were wonderful in Nathan’s life lately.

  “I’m sorry about tonight,” he said slowly. There was a long pause. “I shouldn’t have done it. It proved nothing.”

  Her heart twisted inside her, as though it were going to break. “Why didn’t you tell me, Nathan?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

  “There’s not much to tell. Once the camp was disbanded, I went across the river into Jackson County to try and find
Joshua. I—”

  “Joshua did this to you?” she cried in horror.

  Again there was a long silence before he spoke. “No. It was my fault. I did something very stupid.”

  In an instant she slid next to him and buried herself against his side. She choked back a sob. “I never knew, Nathan. I’m so sorry.”

  He brought his arm up and pulled her into his protective embrace. He rubbed her shoulder over and over. “It’s all right, Lydia. There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. It’s all right.”

  After a long time, she lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m sorry about Papa.”

  “Don’t be. He’s doing what he feels is necessary.”

  “I’m sorry that I made you come here, that I made you take the store. I know how you’ve hated—”

  He reached out and gently put his hand over her mouth. “I said it’s all right, Lydia.” He pulled her closer and held her tightly. “I love you. That’s all that matters. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”

  She pulled her head away from his hand and came up on one elbow. “No, it’s not all right. I’ve been a fool. We need to talk about what we’re going to do.”

  “I’m the one who’s been the fool,” he murmured. “In so many ways. I’m sorry that I didn’t understand what you were going through, that I was so blind. I’m sorry.”

  Suddenly she started to giggle softly.

  He looked up in surprise.

  “If either one of us says, ‘I’m sorry,’ one more time, I think I’m going to be sick.”

  He laughed in spite of himself. “I guess we do sound pretty awful.”

  She sat up and crossed her legs, brushing at the last of the tears that were still in the corners of her eyes. “Can you get a candle from the hallway? I want to read you something.”

  He looked puzzled, but nodded and went out to where they kept the candle burning in the hall to provide some night light for the children. When he came back Lydia had retrieved the letter from Emma and was sitting back on the bed again. He wedged the candle in a holder on the desk, then got in bed again, sitting by her side.